Chapter Twenty-Six
From the voices in the hall, Eloise guessed that Bart’s son and family were leaving, and her face flamed. Any minute now Bart would come into the sitting room and she’d have to face him.
She was so wrapped up in her misery that Sarah’s gasp almost passed her by. Then she registered the stranger in the doorway as Sarah let out a cry.
“Karl!”
“Hello, snookums.” The man was smiling. It gave Eloise a shiver when his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Sarah scrambled off the sofa, placing herself in front of Toby. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Her voice was shrill, and Eloise’s hackles rose. Something was definitely not right, and she narrowed her eyes as she studied him.
Karl was about five feet ten, with a wiry slimness that gave his face a mean look.
The sneering expression he sported added to it.
Close-cropped dark hair, which was shaved above his ears, a pale complexion, and a tattoo sprawling across the right side of his neck lent him an air of danger, and Eloise shivered again.
“I want to see my son on Christmas Day,” he drawled. “Is that too much to ask?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Sarah retorted.
“Mama?” Toby peered around her. “Who’s that man?”
Karl tutted slowly. “You haven’t told him about me? I’m surprised.”
“Are you?” Sarah was acting defiant, but Eloise could see the fear in her eyes.
Slowly, Eloise got to her feet. Bart was frowning. He looked at her and pulled a face. He had no idea what was going on either.
Mitch hadn’t moved. But there was an alert watchfulness that Eloise hadn’t seen in him before.
Karl ignored Sarah, his attention on Toby. “I’m your dad, little man.” He held out a wrapped gift. “I’ve brought you a present. Merry Christmas!”
Toby made a move towards it, but Sarah pushed him back.
Karl glowered. “You can’t do this, snookums. You can’t stop me seeing my son.” His narrow-eyed gaze zeroed in on Mitch. “Well, this is cosy,” he drawled. “And who the chuffing hell are you?”
“Mitch Hastings.” Mitch’s tone gave nothing away.
Karl’s attention turned back to Sarah. “Replaced me already, have you?”
Eloise wanted to grab her hand and drag her and Toby away, but she didn’t dare move.
“Already?” Sarah cried, her voice high-pitched.
Was it with fear or anger? Eloise wondered.
“It’s been over two years, Karl!”
“He looks like me, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t. He’s nothing like you.”
“You’re not being very friendly, snookums.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“What about a nice cup of tea while I watch my son open his present?”
Karl’s emphasis on my made Sarah flinch. “This isn’t my house. You can’t just invite yourself in.”
Without looking at Bart, Karl said, “Got any vacancies, old man?”
Bart replied, “Not at the moment. We’re full.”
“Mama?” Toby looked wide-eyed and worried. “I’m scared. Is he the bogeyman?”
“My, my…what have you been telling him?” Karl dropped to a crouch and held out the present again. “I’m not a bogeyman; I’m your dad.”
Toby stuck his thumb in his mouth and edged away.
Mitch leant forward and put his arm around the boy, more reflex than anything, Eloise thought. Then he spoke. “Sarah, do you want this gentleman to leave?”
Hesitantly, she nodded.
Karl straightened up, but Eloise wasn’t fooled. This obnoxious man had no intention of leaving—until Mitch slowly uncoiled from the sofa, and Karl took a reflexive step back.
Mitch was giving off an air of someone not to be messed with. “You need to leave,” he told him.
“Oh yeah?”
Mitch stared him out until Karl dropped his gaze. “She can’t stop me seeing my son,” he muttered.
Sarah swallowed and lifted her chin. “Actually, I can. The restraining order forbids you from contacting me. If you want to see Toby, you’ll have to go through the courts.”
Bart stepped forward. “Should I call the police?”
“No need, old man. I’m going.” He turned to Sarah. “You really are a piece of work,” he sneered, then said to Mitch, “You’re welcome to her, mate. The kid probably ain’t mine, anyway.”
Sarah opened her mouth but closed it again when Mitch gave a small shake of his head.
With one final scathing scowl, Karl dropped Toby’s present on the carpet and turned on his heel. “I’ll see myself out.”
Mitch followed him into the hall, and no one moved a muscle until he returned and said, “He’s gone.”
Sarah’s shoulders sagged. “He’ll be back. He always comes back.”
“Not this time.” Mitch sounded pretty confident.
“You don’t know him.” She dropped onto the sofa, her hands covering her face.
Mitch said, “I know his type. He’s a bully.
Besides, I told him we’re getting married.
That took the wind out of his sails. I also told him that I’d like to know whether he’s Toby’s father too, because if he is, the childcare maintenance he’ll be required to pay will come in handy.
He couldn’t get out the door fast enough. ”
Sarah removed her hands. “You said that to him?”
Uncertainly Mitch asked, “Did I overstep the mark? If so, I’m sorry.”
Eloise thought he deserved a medal! Bart, however, looked dubious, and she thought he might remonstrate with him until Bart clapped Mitch on the shoulder. “Good job!”
Mitch continued to study Sarah, his expression concerned.
“Thank you,” she said eventually. Then she added, deadpan, “So—when’s the wedding?”
“I feel so stupid,” Sarah muttered as Eloise lowered herself into one of the chairs in the twin room Sarah shared with her son.
She pulled the pyjama top over Toby’s head, and for a second all that was visible was his curly hair, until his head popped through the neck.
One at a time, he held his arms out for them to be stuffed into the sleeves.
She’d been subdued and withdrawn for the remainder of the afternoon, and during the turkey sandwiches and nibbles that Bart had made for their supper this evening.
“Would you like me to read Toby a story?” Eloise asked. “To give you a break?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to his routine. He’s had enough excitement for one day.”
Haven’t we all, Eloise thought. Karl’s arrival had been the unwelcome topping on the bittersweet cake that this Christmas Day had become.
Sarah turned the duvet down on Toby’s bed and patted the mattress. “In you get.”
“I want Babbit and Cat.”
She found the toys and handed them to her son. Toby snatched them eagerly, then clambered into bed and scooted down, the plushies clutched tightly to his chest. Eloise wondered what he’d made of today’s hullabaloo. Had he understood any of it?
“I’ll let you get on with putting Toby to bed,” she said. “I just wanted to check you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” Sarah’s reply was as automatic as Eloise’s frequently was. Then she paused, bit her lip, and said, “Can I come find you after I’ve read him a story?”
“Of course. I’ll be in my room. How about I grab some of that wine we didn’t finish at lunch? I’m fairly sure there are a couple of glasses left.”
“That would be great. I won’t be long; he’s worn out.”
“I’m not surprised. Remind me, what time did he have us out of bed?”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Seeing his little face this morning when he spied the presents under the tree made my day.” Eloise got to her feet and made her way to the door, but not before she leant over the bed to give the little boy a kiss on the forehead. “Night, night,” she whispered.
“Night, Nana Weez.”
Startled, Eloise’s eyes flew to Sarah’s.
Sarah looked equally surprised. “Um, Toby, Eloise isn’t—”
“That’s fine,” Eloise broke in. “He can call me Nana if he wants. I’ll be an honorary nana.” Her heart aching (in a good way), Eloise went downstairs and into the kitchen.
Bart and Mitch were sitting at the small table, a bottle of brandy and two glasses between them.
Bart glanced up at her, then hastily looked away. He hadn’t been able to meet her eye all afternoon. The pain of his rejection was intense, and she struggled not to show how much she was hurting.
“How is she?” This was from Mitch.
“Upset, but trying not to show it. We’re going to have a chat. Is it okay if I take the rest of that bottle of wine upstairs, Bart?”
“No problem. And if you need anything stronger, help yourself.”
“Thank you.”
Back upstairs, she found Sarah waiting for her on the landing. “Toby’s out like a light.”
“You look done in as well,” Eloise observed, ushering her into her cosy bedroom. The curtains were drawn against the night, and the lamps on each side of the bed gave the room a warm glow.
Sarah blew out her cheeks. “It’s been a long, trying day,” she said, and then her eyes widened. “Oh heck, I didn’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful—”
Eloise laid a hand on her arm. “I don’t. Your ex turning up like that can’t have been easy.” She poured the wine and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the armchairs in the bay window.
Sarah sat and drank a large mouthful.
“Mitch was brilliant, wasn’t he?” Eloise said, and there was a brief flare of something in Sarah’s eyes. Eloise had a feeling it was more than gratitude or relief.
“He was great,” Sarah agreed.
“Do you think your ex will be back?”
“I hope not. With Mitch telling him we’re getting married, I doubt he’ll risk it, especially since he might be expected to pay child support.” She took another sip. “I suppose I should explain.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You deserve it. You’ve all been so good to me, and I want to.”
Eloise acquiesced with a tilt of her head, and Sarah began.
“I was raised by my grandparents, and I had a lovely childhood. My nan taught me to cook and to knit, and my grandad showed me how to ride a bike and put up shelves. Mind you, Nan was also a dab hand at DIY. If Grandad didn’t do something quick enough for her, she’d do it herself.
Then he’d spend the rest of the week grumbling she hadn’t done it right.
There was a time when she wanted a new curtain pole put up and—” She broke off, the animation draining from her face. “You don’t need to hear all that.”
“Are they no longer around?” Eloise asked gently.