‘Can we go to the party now?’ Sam demanded, clattering about the kitchen in the onesie.
‘It doesn’t start till half-six,’ Lucy said. ‘You need dinner first.’
‘But I’m not hungry,’ he retorted, ‘and there’ll be cakes and sweets at the party. Noah said—’
‘You can’t just have sweets and cakes, love.’
‘Why not?’
‘’Cause all your teeth’ll fall out,’ Marnie retorted, slipping into the wise older sister role she so enjoyed.
‘Don’t care,’ Sam huffed.
‘Yeah, who needs teeth?’ Lucy agreed with a smile. ‘We could just gum our food—’
‘Will Daddy see our costumes?’ Sam wanted to know as she put on a pan of pasta.
‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy replied, ‘when you come home. If he’s back in time, he might even come out and join us on the parade.’
‘Hurrah!’ Sam yelled, antlers bobbing.
She looked at her children, aware that it wasn’t just the party and parade they were delighted about. It was the fact that Ivan would soon be home. Never mind Lucy’s costume-making skills. As far as Marnie and Sam were concerned, nothing could compete with seeing Daddy on a Friday night.
Pesto pasta was shovelled down hastily, and Lucy managed to unearth some queasily coloured lime green face paint to complete Marnie’s incarnation as an elf. By the time they set off, the village was already milling with children dressed up and making their way to the party. There were Santas and snow queens and a plum pudding on legs, all hurrying along in the fine rain. As they entered the village hall, Lucy looked around in amazement at a sparkling scene of Christmas trees, model polar bears and stacks of presents. The entire building had been turned into a grotto. Festive music filled the hall as a strident woman wearing tartan trousers and a Christmas jumper – whom Lucy recognised as the school’s deputy head – called the excitable children to heel. Clearly in charge of the games, she soon had some kind of dance competition on the go as Lucy found Carys at the trestle table.
‘This is pretty impressive,’ she said, helping herself to a mince pie. ‘Is there always this much food?’
Carys nodded. The table was crammed with plates of cakes and cookies and dishes of foil-wrapped sweets. ‘Some people around here have the whole home baking thing wrapped up. It’s kind of competitive. No one says so, of course, but there’s something shameful about being the one who brought the unwanted ginger cake and brandy snaps.’
Lucy laughed. ‘I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t realise—’
‘It’ll have been noted,’ Carys teased her, ‘but you’ll be excused, seeing as you’re new.’
‘Am I still new?’
Carys smiled. ‘We’re still new and we’ve been here for five years. What I mean is, the real villagers are the ones who were born here and you and me will never be one of those.’
Lucy knew what she meant. Ivan had made a similar point: that they would always be ‘newcomers’, and that villages tended to have their own traditions and rituals that were run by a select few. Well, fine, Lucy thought now, glimpsing Marnie and Sam grabbing cupcakes with their new friends in tow. Occasions like this brought the whole village together. As the party ended, and the children headed outside, she felt lucky to be a part of things here.
Despite the steady rain, the parade was a riotous affair as the children had been handed bells to ring as they made their way through the village. Carys had rushed home to fetch Bramble, who now led the procession in his festive red and white fur-trimmed coat. People waved from their windows above the shops. Several shops had opened late and set out tables laden with yet more mince pies and cups of mulled wine ready for the taking. Lucy took a paper cup of wine with thanks and looked around for Ivan. No sign of him yet – but she hadn’t really expected him to come out and join them. He’d be waiting at home, she decided, as she sipped the warm, spicy drink. Hopefully he’d have brought back a decent bottle of red for them to share by the fireside once the children were in bed.
It was almost nine when they finally said their goodbyes and started to make their way home. Spirits were still high, despite the rain. Marnie and Sam clutched the bags of sweets they’d been given at the party as they ran ahead down the wet garden path.
Marnie was first to reach their front door. She rattled the handle impatiently. ‘Mum, it’s locked!’
‘Is it?’ Lucy frowned, quickening her pace. ‘That’s funny. I thought Dad’d be home by now.’
‘Where is he?’ Sam asked, pulling on a wilted antler.
‘He’s probably just delayed,’ she replied as she let them into the house. ‘Maybe something happened at work. Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon.’
‘I want Dad,’ Sam huffed, ill-tempered now as he stomped into the hallway. He unzipped the onesie, stepped out of it and kicked it aside on the floor.
‘So do I,’ muttered Marnie, pushing her damp honey-blonde hair from her face. ‘Why’s he late?’
‘I don’t know, love. I’ll try his phone.’ The children plunged their hands into their bags of sweets as Lucy made the call. ‘Not too many now, Sam,’ she warned as her husband’s voicemail message began: Hey, it’s Ivan. Sorry, can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you …
She glanced at Sam as he stuffed a handful of jelly snakes into his mouth. No point in trying to limit sweet consumption now, she decided. She wasn’t up to a big debate on the matter, and it was a special occasion after all. Instead, she turned her attention to lighting the log fire in the living room in the hope that it would catch quickly, and cosy up the house. Surely Ivan wouldn’t be too long now … Pushing away a niggle of concern, she herded the children upstairs for their baths, with the promise of hot chocolate once they were tucked up in bed.
Normally, that would have done the trick. Sam adored his bedtime stories, and even at eight, Marnie still regarded them as a treat when she was in the mood for being read to.
‘Mum, Marnie took some of my sweets,’ Sam complained, swinging on his bedroom door handle.
‘No, I didn’t,’ his sister retorted.
‘Yeah, you did! You held my bag for me in the parade. You stole some.’ He ran at her with a half-hearted kick.
‘Ow!’ Marnie screamed, unnecessarily.
‘Sam, stop that,’ Lucy exclaimed.
‘I didn’t do anything.’ His dark eyes radiated annoyance.
‘C’mon now, you two. You’ve just had far too many sweets tonight. This is why I try to get you to eat celery.’
‘I hate celery!’ Sam announced. Lucy’s feeble attempt at a joke had clearly misfired.
‘Stop shouting, Sam. I’m not going to try and force celery on you now.’
‘I hate it more than anything!’
‘Yes, we get the message,’ Lucy muttered, rubbing at her temples, sensing the start of a headache.
Marnie sighed heavily. ‘When can we get a dog, Mummy?’
Lucy looked at her, figuring that the green face paint would take some shifting in the bath. ‘We’ve been through this hundreds of times before, love—’
‘You said we could have one when we moved to the country,’ she added with a frown.
‘I didn’t say definitely. I said we’d consider it.’
‘We’re in the country now,’