Chapter Twenty-Four
The following Monday afternoon, Cliffside House had settled into its new after-school rhythm.
The children had started at Brookleigh Bay Community Christian School after Easter, as planned, and adjusted more easily than William had dared hope.
Mia and Sophie liked their teachers, Ollie had thrown himself into playground football, Jake loved Reception, and Ethan no longer came home with his shoulders locked tight.
That afternoon, Ethan had gone straight from school to the church hall to help Simon with the Carnival sound equipment.
Coats and bags were stowed in the hall cupboard, and the faint smell of the school dining hall clung to their jumpers.
William stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing out lunchboxes while the kettle hummed behind him. Every few seconds he glanced over his shoulder at the dining table.
“Dad, what’s seven times eight again?” Mia called, her pencil hovering.
“Well… what’s seven times four?” he asked, shaking water from a lid.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Good. So double it.”
Mia paused, lips moving as she worked it out. “Fifty-six.”
“There you go,” he said. “You already had it.”
Sophie didn’t look up from her spelling book. “Daddy, how do you spell because?”
“Break it into two parts,” he said kindly. “Be-cause. B-e, then c-a-u-s-e.”
She mouthed the syllables, wrote it neatly, and gave a small, pleased nod.
Behind her, Ollie was stacking coloured pencils into a tower instead of reading. William dried his hands, walked over, and tapped the book lightly.
A knock sounded at the front door — firm, polite. William glanced up, automatically counting the children in the room.
“I’ll get it!” Mia said, already halfway out of her chair.
William followed her into the hallway.
Lydia stood on the doorstep, the warm May breeze lifting a strand of hair, a small cake tin held in both hands.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “I brought a little thank you for all their help on Saturday. Carrot cake. Nothing fancy.”
“Hello, Lydia. Come in,” William said, stepping aside.
She handed him the tin, and he glanced at it automatically. “I’ll put this on one of our plates so you can take your tin home. Otherwise it’ll end up in the cupboard for six months and may lose a lid.”
Lydia laughed. “Please don’t let it. I lose enough lids as it is.”
William’s mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling. “I noticed. If you leave the lid behind this time, I’m charging a delivery fee.”
Her cheeks warmed a deeper pink, though her smile widened. “Deal. I promise to keep a firm grip on my lids from now on.”
“Good to know,” he said, guiding her inside.
The children looked up as she entered.
“Lydia!” Sophie beamed.
“Is that cake?” Ollie asked, abandoning his pencil tower.
“Look! Fire engine!” Jake held up his drawing.
Lydia laughed, kneeling to admire Jake’s picture. “That’s brilliant. I love the wheels.”
William returned to the table, tapping Ollie’s book lightly. “Come on, Ollie. Two pages, then you can build whatever you like.”
Ollie sighed dramatically, but William scooped him onto his knee, settling him against his chest. Ollie began to read, stumbling over the longer words but trying — really trying — as he relaxed into the steady support of William’s arm.
Beside them, Sophie proudly showed Lydia the neatest word in her spelling list. Mia leaned over her maths sheet and asked Lydia to check one of her fractions. Jake climbed onto Lydia’s lap without hesitation, holding his fire-engine drawing up for her to admire again.
Once the final sum was checked and Ollie had finished his two pages, William cut the carrot cake into generous slices. They ate around the table, Lydia laughing as Ollie solemnly argued that the carrot meant it counted as one of his five a day.
William leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with a steady sense of rightness. Not excitement. Not tension. Just a warm ease he hadn’t felt in a long time.
When Lydia finally stood to leave, the children chorused their goodbyes. Jake waved both hands, Ollie asked if she’d come again, and Sophie shyly offered her a spelling-book sticker.
Lydia accepted the sticker carefully. “Thank you, Sophie.” She smiled at Ollie. “And yes, I’d like to come again.”
William walked her to the door, the cake tin now empty and clean, ready for her to take home. Lydia stepped out onto the path, turning slightly as she did, and the soft evening light caught in her eyes — clear, warm, unexpectedly pretty.
He looked away at once. Don’t start that, he told himself firmly. She’s a neighbour. A friend. That’s all.
When he closed the door, the children’s voices carried from the kitchen, along with Ollie’s demand for another slice of cake. The house felt full — not crowded or chaotic, simply full. And that felt like a good thing