Chapter 3
Later that afternoon, Marc was actually starting to enjoy being out and about with the boys.
He’d been nervous, in the immediate aftermath of Tessa’s death, about being solely responsible for them, about having to keep eyes on them both, by himself, at all times.
When she’d been alive, Tessa had laughed at his concerns, at his ‘old-school’ approach to parenting, but he’d never experienced his own father being the sole carer when he’d been growing up – their mother had barely gone out with friends alone – and when their father had died, Marc himself had only been nine years old.
His father had never taken all three boys out solo, and since his brothers hadn’t had children, he hadn’t experienced them doing it either.
Of course, some of the French dads had made it look easy, wrangling their numerous offspring with ease, but Marc had always felt terrified he was going to do something wrong.
Now, he had to put all of that to one side.
He was on his own and had been ever since poor Tessa had been too ill to look after the boys.
Now it was finally starting to feel manageable; he had two hands, after all, one for each of the boys, and now they were nearly six, they were well past the toddler escape-artist stage.
As he wandered along the pavement on the way to the centre of Lower Brambleton, holding their hands, the sun offering a little warmth to take the chill off the December air, he could almost imagine himself being happy.
Tessa had taught him to appreciate the simple things, the small moments.
It was a lesson he tried to adhere to, but in the early, dark days of his grief it had felt impossible.
Life isn’t a destination, it’s a journey, she’d been fond of reminding him, especially after her diagnosis.
The trouble was, he’d always seen things in destination terms. So many times, he’d been fixated on where they would end up, and not where they were. When Tessa had died, he’d made a vow to try to appreciate the journey more, for the sake of the boys.
As they walked he pointed out the things he spotted. They’d started at the edge of the lake, counting the ducks as they swam across the smooth surface of the icy cold water.
‘Don’t they get cold feet?’ Liam, the more inquisitive of the brothers, asked.
‘They’re used to it,’ Marc had replied.
Liam smiled up at him, and Marc’s heart expanded with love.
Sometimes he pretended, when he was out of the house, that Tessa would be waiting for them when they got back.
The illusion was both painful and comforting.
He hoped she’d be proud of how he’d taken on the sole parenting role, and, more importantly, proud of her boys.
The short walk into the village centre yielded more things to see.
Lower Brambleton, though small, was truly getting into the festive spirit of the Christmas season.
Several of the terraced houses on the main road had already decked out their gardens with lights and decorations – there was an alarmingly sized Rudolph in one of the front gardens, complete with glittery red nose, and a couple of nodding Santas in living-room windows.
More tasteful decorations included holly wreaths on front doors and trees sparkling with fairy lights.
As Marc approached the row of shops in the village centre, he smiled briefly to see the window of the Purrfect Paws charity shop set out with festive finery.
More lights of many colours created an eye-catching border to the display, which comprised several Christmas jumpers, a small tree and various other red and green ornaments, toys and trinkets.
Right in the corner of the window was a cute-looking grey tabby cat cuddly toy, with a red and green collar.
‘Can I have the cat?’ Luca asked, turning wide brown eyes on his father.
Marc smiled down at his son. ‘I don’t know if it’s for sale, if it’s in the window.’
‘Oh, everything’s for sale,’ a cheerful voice said, emanating from the doorway. Marc glanced up and saw Mollie Wakefield’s friendly face. ‘All donations are very welcome, especially at this time of year.’
‘Well, if he’s still in the window when we walk back, perhaps we’ll buy him,’ Marc replied. ‘And see if there’s something you might like, too, Liam.’
Liam shook his head. ‘Cuddly toys are for babies.’ He shot his brother a venomous look. ‘Are you a baby, Lukey, Lukey, Lukey?’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Luca’s eyes filled with tears as Liam punched him in the arm to go with the insult.
‘Liam, stop that!’ Marc’s cheeks felt hot, knowing that Mollie had witnessed the contretemps. He felt like he was being judged every time one or both of the boys misbehaved in public. ‘Apologise to your brother.’
‘Sorry.’ But the mutinous look on Liam’s face suggested he didn’t mean it.
‘Come on.’ Smiling briefly at Mollie, and waving at Noah on the other side of the building, he hurried towards Hope’s Café, one door down.
Marc had passed by the little place, which looked as though it was run out of someone’s front room, several times since he’d moved into the lake house, but he hadn’t stepped through the door.
Every time he’d been near, the café had been packed.
This afternoon, however, there seemed to be a couple of spare tables, and Marc felt in need of a break.
Even though the boys were long past the buggy stage, it was still exhausting keeping an eye on them, and he needed the caffeine boost.
Pushing open the door, he was met by the enticing scents of caramel and cinnamon, infused with a heady dose of freshly ground coffee. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of a treat. It was a long time since breakfast, and although he’d given the boys lunch, he hadn’t eaten any himself.
‘Can I have a cookie, Daddy?’ Liam asked, his previous aggression forgotten the moment he caught sight of the cakes and biscuits on the small counter.
‘We’ll see.’ Marc steered the twins towards a table by the window. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to chat to anyone, and hoped, if he stayed out of the way, he could just order and enjoy a quiet coffee.
‘Hi,’ a cheerful voice called as he was gesturing the boys to their seats. ‘I’ll come over if you like. I can see you’ve got your hands full!’
‘Thanks,’ he called absently over his shoulder. Sinking down gratefully into the spindle-backed wooden chair that looked out towards the street, he felt a stab of pain; Tessa loved Christmas, and she adored places like this. Once again, he was reminded of just how much he and the boys had lost.