Chapter 38 Molly
Molly
Iset Daisy down from my lap and stand. We need to get the hell out of here.
Now. I push past a few parents, aiming for the side aisle.
Max’s grand exit down the middle is definitely not for me.
As Daisy and I leave, the headmaster, Mr Pritchett, joins a visibly trembling Mr Pratt on stage and apologises for the ‘interruption’, urging parents to stay seated in anticipation of the play resuming.
But honestly? His voice is barely audible over the excited hum of parents expressing moral outrage.
Max is halfway to the car before we catch him up. He still has Toby in his arms, and he’s vibrating with anger.
‘I had to get him out of there.’ The expression on his face suggests he expects me to disagree or call him out for bad behaviour.
‘I know.’ I take Toby from him. He’s too big for me to hold in my arms these days, so I put him down and stoop so we’re face to face. My hands go to cup his jaw. ‘How are you doing, dude?’ I ask him.
‘Fine.’ It’s his default answer, but one look at him tells me he has no clue what to think. He’s just been bullied on stage, been hauled out of school in the middle of the play, and been the centre of an almighty fuss. I’d say he’s reeling.
Daisy is definitely not reeling. She is loving the drama. ‘Max yelled at Mr Pratt!’ she shouts gleefully.
‘That’s because Mr Pratt let Tristan hurt Toby,’ Max says in a tone that brooks no arguments. ‘He let a little boy get bullied. He wasn’t doing his job, and Toby had no one to protect him. Nobody ever gets to hurt you two. Not on my watch.’
As if the magnitude of what’s happened is just registering, Toby lets his head fall onto my shoulder. I draw him into an awkward hug from my squatting stance, though if he leans any harder, I’ll fall over backwards.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ I whisper in his ear. I tug off his stupid headdress so I can smooth down his hair. ‘It’s all over now.’
‘Will Max get into trouble for messing up the play?’ Daisy wants to know.
I support Toby with my arms while I get to my feet. ‘The only person getting into trouble is Tristan,’ I say firmly, though I have no idea what the fallout will be.
‘And Mr Pratt, with any luck,’ Max mutters grimly.
‘I don’t want Mr Pratt to get into trouble because of me,’ Toby says, eyes wide with alarm.
‘He won’t,’ I assure him with a panicked glance at Max. He nods. Message received.
‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ he says with false cheer as he winds Daisy’s scarf around her neck, ‘but all that drama has got me hungry. Who’s in the mood for an Oast House pizza?’
It staggers me how easily distracted kids are. ‘Me! Me!’ they shout, jumping up and down to ram their point home.
Max throws a wary glance at me. ‘I think your mummy needs pizza and wine.’
‘That’s about right,’ I murmur tiredly. It’s not a bad call. I’m definitely too drained to cook.
‘I want a ‘dult one,’ Daisy says. ‘Not a little one.’
Max snorts. ‘Let’s see about that, you pint-sized hoover.’ He puts a hand around my shoulder as he leads us to the car. ‘Come on, then.’
He cranks up the radio for the short journey to the farm. It seems like the right move. The cheesy Christmas tunes most stations are playing back to back now give the kids the cheer they need while allowing me to process what’s just happened. I slump back in my seat and blow out a breath.
Max takes my hand. ‘You okay?’ he asks softly.
‘I’m good.’ I squeeze his hand and stare out the window at the darkness.
My answer is as unsatisfactory as Toby’s standard fine.
What I am is a tumultuous mess of emotion.
I’m quiet as Max gets a round of drinks in, including a large glass of wine for me, and places our pizza order.
The Oast House is buzzing despite the fact that it’s not even six o’clock yet, and our little gingerbread village is holding up well.
There’s a golden-oldies Christmas playlist on, and Tony Bennett’s voice is the ultimate comfort.
I watch the kids as they colour in a festive scene with the crayons the server has brought them.
I feel like crying, and I don’t know why.
That’s not strictly true. I suspect I know exactly why.
What Max did back there tells me everything I need to know about his suitability as a father-figure for my children.
Absolutely everything.
All doubts swept away in one fell swoop.
Because if he was protective enough, and upset enough, on Toby’s behalf to barge up on stage without giving a shit about ruining an entire year group’s nativity play, then I have all the information I need.
He chose Toby.
In that moment, all he saw was Toby in trouble. Suffering without anyone having his back. And it made Max see red. His fatherly instinct kicked in, his blinkers went on, and the only thing he cared about was coming to my little boy’s rescue. Extricating him from a situation where he was terrified.
What’s more, and what’s really bothering me, is that I can’t put my hand on my heart and swear that I would have done the same.
I was horrified, naturally, by what was unfolding up there.
Horrified, and fucking furious. My mind was reeling as I sat there, turning over my options.
I’d settled on a shortlist of two solutions by the time Max took action.
One: politely and unobtrusively get myself over to Mr Pratt so I could politely and unobtrusively tap him on the shoulder and suggest he should intervene.
Two: politely and unobtrusively slip out into the side aisle, and from there politely and unobtrusively try to get Toby’s—or Tristan’s—attention from the side of the stage.
Note: neither one of those options involved barging on stage, threatening a minor with retaliation, or yelling swear words at Toby’s teacher at the top of my voice.
And neither of my options would have been enough, because they were both compromises. Compromises between meeting Toby’s needs and not rocking the boat. They were both absurdly British, apologetic approaches at a time when compromise nor manners should have been remote priorities.
Max definitely didn’t give a shit about either. All he gave a shit about was getting our little man the hell out of there.
He had tunnel vision.
He saw our boy in trouble, and he dove right in without any regard for the consequences.
It was quite simply the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My ovaries and heart have been dancing a jive in tandem ever since we left the school, quite at odds with the self-flagellating guilt trip my brain is intent on playing on a loop.
No wonder I’m an emotional wreck.
Our drinks arrive, and I take a grateful glug of my lovely, cold wine before I find the courage to do what I need to do. If Max can be brave, so can I.
I clear my throat. ‘I have something to say.’
The kids glance up half-heartedly, but Max pauses with his beer bottle halfway to his lips and looks at me the same way he’s been looking at me since we walked out of the play. Like he’s expecting me to bollock him any second for taking over and ruining my son’s entire year group’s nativity.
I take his hand on top of the table. His eyebrows wing up in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.
‘Daisy and Toby,’ I say, ‘what Max did at school may not have been how we usually act, but it was exactly the right thing to do, and exactly what Toby needed.’
I glance at Max and squeeze his hand. His face is so serious. He gives me a little nod of acknowledgement.
‘You know,’ I continue, ‘so often, I tell you guys to be quiet. Behave. Don’t cause a scene.
Don’t inconvenience other people. Well, what Max did was completely the opposite.
He screamed at people, and caused a massive scene, and disrupted the whole show, and you know what?
I am so proud of him for doing that my heart could burst.
‘Because while I was trying to work out a nice, quiet way to help Toby, Max didn’t care about anything else but the fact that Toby was being bullied.
’ I shake my head for effect. ‘Nothing else was more important. All he wanted to do was save Toby, and I’m so glad we had him there.
’ My eyes are filling up. ‘And I’m so sorry it wasn’t me, Tobes, who came to your rescue. ’
Toby looks horrified by my tears. He pats the hand holding my wine glass. ‘It’s okay, Mummy.’
‘It’s not okay,’ I say with a fierce, snot-filled sniff that has Daisy grimacing and leaning back in her seat.
‘It’s not okay at all. I should have gone full Mama Bear and made a huge fuss, like Max did.
And I feel so bad that I didn’t. I feel so bad that I was more worried about disrupting things than about stopping that boy from hurting you.
But I’m so relieved Max went into full superhero mode and rescued you. ’
Toby grins. ‘Like Spiderman.’
‘Exactly like Spiderman,’ Max says. ‘Especially when I jumped on stage. Did you see it? That was a pretty good jump.’
My crying turns to a slightly hysterical giggle. ‘I think everyone saw it. But it was an excellent jump.’
‘So we can make a big fuss if someone’s in trouble?’ Daisy wants to know.
‘Yes,’ I say cautiously, wondering if this will come back to bite me on the arse. ‘Because if someone’s in trouble, then that’s more important than anything else.’
‘Will Max get in trouble with the school?’ Toby asks.
‘Believe me, mate, they wouldn’t dare try,’ Max tells him. ‘Not now they’ve seen my superpowers.’
‘No one is getting into trouble,’ I say firmly. ‘Except for Tristan, who cannot be allowed to carry on like that. But Max and I will go into school tomorrow and talk to Mr Pritchett and Mr Pratt, because they owe us, and you, Tobes, an apology for allowing you to get hurt on their watch.’
‘That should be fun,’ Max mutters. ‘They sound like a bloody comedy duo.’
I stifle a grin, because they really do.
‘I have one more thing to say.’ It’s now or never.
As far as I’m concerned, Max has earned his stripes a million times over this evening.
His tunnel vision at the play has shown me, clear as day, that my children’s wellbeing is his highest priority.
‘You know how Max and I used to be boyfriend and girlfriend?’
Max stiffens, but his face is breaking out into a smile of delight and disbelief. I draw encouragement from that.
‘Yeah,’ Toby says.
‘Yucky,’ Daisy adds.
‘Yes. Well, we still love each other. I mean, again.’ Best not to let the kids think I’ve loved Max the entire way through my marriage to their father. ‘And we want to be boyfriend and girlfriend again, and have Max stay in our cottage. What would you think of that?’
‘Yay!’ Daisy shouts, and then: ‘Would he still be our manny?’
Max snorts derisively, and I stifle a laugh. ‘I think, after today, we can promote him to boyfriend, don’t you? But both of us would look after you guys. We might even get another nanny, if Max wants to work full time on the farm.’
‘Can we get another boy nanny?’ Toby asks.
‘Not happening, mate,’ Max says grimly.
‘I think that’s a great idea,’ I tell Toby with a huge grin. ‘Maybe someone young? Athletic?’
Max pulls his hand out from under mine and squeezes my neck, and I let out a yelp.
‘Maybe a girl nanny would be better. Like Sylvie. But let’s see. That’s all up for discussion. What I really want to talk to you about is having Max live with us.’
‘Like, forever?’ Toby asks.
I glance at Max.
He nods. ‘Yeah, forever.’
I swallow, because jeez Louise, this is emotional.
‘The most important thing,’ I say, ‘is that you and Max have a good relationship. That you two feel like he’s in your corner. On your side. And I think he proved that tonight with his Spiderman stunt.’
‘I’m Team Toby and Daisy and Molly, and you’re more important to me than anyone or anything else,’ he tells them. ‘Got that?’
‘I like being at home wiv Max when I’m sick,’ Daisy says. ‘He’s nicer than Mummy.’
Max guffaws, and I gasp in outrage.
‘That is so unfair! I’m really nice when you’re sick.’
‘You’re busy. You do the washing up and stuff. Max hangs out wiv me and watches TV and doesn’t do any tidying up.’
‘Yeah, I noticed that when I got home the other day,’ I say drily.
‘Look. This is going to be a bit of an experiment. I know Max has spent a few weeks with us, but him getting to know you guys properly will be a long process. Let’s just see how it goes, okay?
I just wanted to tell you that I love him, and I love both of you, and it makes me very happy to think we’ll all be together. ’
‘And I love your mother very much,’ Max tells them. ‘But I love you both too, and I hope my little stunt earlier showed you that I will always be there for you when you need me. I’ll never let anyone hurt either of you.’
Swoon swoon swooooon.
Be still my beating lady parts.
‘I love you too, Max,’ Toby says shyly. ‘Thank you for rescuing me.’
Max holds out his arms, his eyes suspiciously red. ‘Come here, mate.’
Toby rounds the table and tucks himself between Max’s legs for a hug.
‘Will Max still sleep in the spare room?’ Daisy asks, astute little thing that she is.
Max sticks out his tongue at her. ‘I can say with absolute certainty, definitely not.’