Chapter Forty-Three
William was standing at the counter, a half-empty mug of black coffee in his hand, when the scullery door clicked open. His shoulders squared automatically, his features settling into the guarded, polite mask he had worn since Friday night.
Richard and Sally walked straight over the threshold into the kitchen, their presence instantly disrupting the quiet morning light. The shift from the peaceful breakfast they had just enjoyed at The Gables to the lived-in domestic space of Cliffside House was immediate.
“Morning, Sally. Morning, Richard,” William said smoothly, offering a brief, measured nod. He forced his voice into a calm, hospitable tone despite the tension hammering against his ribs. “I hope you both slept well next door.”
“An exceptional night, thank you, William,” Sally replied. She moved past him, opened the larder door and surveyed its contents with a dissatisfied click of her tongue.
“There’s very little here for lunch. I’ll go down to the High Street at eleven and buy a proper joint of beef. The children need a substantial meal.”
Before William could answer, Richard stepped into the centre of the room, his arms folded tightly as his sharp eyes scanned the children.
The four younger children sat at the table, their postures tightening beneath Richard’s assessing gaze.
Jake stopped rolling his red car and drew it close against his chest.
“Ollie, sit up straight,” Richard ordered, tapping the edge of the pine table. “And keep that plaster cast off the wood. You’ll dent the grain.”
Ollie’s face fell. His bright sandcastle medal hung limply from his chair as he slumped back, his earlier excitement evaporating.
Sophie’s hand paused over her holiday activity book, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt.
Mia sat close beside her, one hand resting protectively near her sister’s elbow.
Sally crossed to the laundry basket beside the washing machine and lifted one of Sophie’s folded wool cardigans from the clean washing.
“And who folded these wool cardigans? They should be hung before the creasing sets in.”
Mia looked up from her sketchbook, her expression guarded.
“Lydia said folding the wool cardigans keeps the shoulders from stretching out, Grandma.”
Sally froze with the cardigan in her hands, her jaw setting into a hard, rigid line.
“I don’t know who’s been telling you that, Mia, but it isn’t correct. We do things properly.”
Ethan stepped into the kitchen from the sitting room, his phone in one hand.
“Dad, Christopher texted. The youth group gardening rota starts at ten. Simon and I are clearing Mrs Pennington’s back hedge.”
“You’re doing nothing of the sort, Ethan,” Sally cut in sharply. “You have grandparents who have driven five hours to see you. It is very rude to disappear to a church activity when we have barely arrived. You will stay here and spend the day with your family.”
Ethan looked down at the floorboards, his shoulders dropping as he quietly slipped his phone into his pocket.
William looked at Ethan’s defeated posture, then at the guarded faces around the table. Sally was not merely offering help. She was taking control of his home, and the peace the children had found was already beginning to disappear.
“Ethan made a commitment to Christopher,” William said, his voice low and firm, “and he’s going to keep it.”
Sally stared at him.
“You may not agree with every decision I make,” William continued, steady and unyielding, “but these are my children, and this is our home.”
For the first time since her arrival, Sally seemed to understand that William was not asking her permission.