Even as they parked up outside, a young family of four had stopped by the front gate, pointing with delight as they spotted one detail after another.
“That’s one way to get the neighbours’ attention,” chuckled Marshall, and Spencer stilled. Maybe Marshall had been joking, but this kind of stunt was bound to get people nearby talking and, at some point in time, coming over to meet the neighbours they had previously snubbed. Had that been his father’s intent? Or more likely his mother’s. Spencer wouldn’t put it past her.She had probably encouraged him with the front display while formulating a plan to discreetly shortlist potential babysitters.
Spencer got out first and collected his luggage and the cat carrier from the back seat before waiting by the front gate for Marshall to lock up, manage his carryall and the large bag of gifts. They wound their way up the garden path, to where a giant Christmas wreath the size of a ship’s wheel hung on the front door. Spencer had keys, but he wanted to surprise his mother, so pushed the doorbell a couple of times and stood to one side.
Except his mother wasn’t the one to answer.
“Fuck me!” said Garrett, on crutches, gaping like a guppy at seeing Marshall Highlander on his doorstep.
“From what Spencer tells me, I’m not sure I’m your type,” said Marshall, smirking and going to hold out his hand but stopping. “And I would shake your hand, if you didn’t already have them full. You must be Garrett.”
Garrett leant a shoulder against the door frame to steady his balance and took Marshall’s hand while looking over Marshall’s shoulder and pulling a face at Spencer.
“You sneaky little bastard. You could have said something.”
“And spoil the fun? Don’t worry, I’ve warned him about Mum’s cooking.”
“Then he’s going to be disappointed. Peony’s giving Mum a hand this year. And by a hand, I mean she’s taken over the cooking, using Mum as hersous-chef. You should see the two of them. I didn’t tell you this, but Peony trained as a chef straight from school. So she knows her way around a kitchen.”
“Bang goes another Wyrrell family tradition. Sorry, Marsh, looks like we’re not going to need that wholesale family bumper pack of Tums after all.”
“Mum,” Garrett shouted out at the top of his voice, and for a moment, Spencer thought his brother was going to snitch onhim. “Your presence is required. For the arrival of your second-favourite son. With his plus-one.”
“Don’t shout, Garrett, dear,” said Spencer’s mother, already entering the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Before noticing anyone else, she pulled Spencer into a customary hug. “Hello, love. My soon-to-be-famous reporter for theHerald. Oh, and you brought the cat for Garrett. Good boy. Glad you could make it. And who else did you bring us? Oh, hello, dear— My goodness. Has anyone ever told you, you are the absolute spitting image of—
“Tom Holland?” said Marshall, making Spencer burst into laughter. “Yes, I get that kind of thing all the time.”
“Who’s Tom Holland?” said his mother, puzzled. “I was going to say—”
“Mum, this is Marshall. Marshall Highlander. My boyfriend.”
“He’s Marshall?TheMarshall? Marshall Highlander?” said his poor mother, completely confused, looking back and forth between Spencer and Marshall, before settling her gaze on Marshall. “And you’re dating my son?”
“As long as I have your approval, Mrs Wyrrell.”
“Please. Call me Coleen. And believe me, if you knew anything about my sons, you’d know neither of them ever seek my approval to do anything. Welcome to the family home. Come and meet the rest of the inmates.”
Spencer felt a distinct sense of pleasure watching the surprised looks on the faces of his father and Peony, but even more at how quickly everything returned to normal. His mother had already let Tiger out. She had gone straight to Marshall, brushed herself up against his leg before heading over and swiping a paw at the bottom of one of Garrett’s crutches. While his mother went to prepare hot drinks for everyone, his father dragged out a newspaper and began asking Marshall about his experience in Kryszytonia. Spencer took the opportunity to catchup with Peony. Only as he walked around the counter to hug her did he notice her very noticeable bump. Instead of the usual heavy-duty Wyrrell hug, he kissed her gently on each cheek—until she pulled him into a fierce hug that squeezed the breath out of him.
“See?” she whispered into his ear. “I told you one day you’d surprise the lot of us. Just didn’t realise it would be so soon. He is an absolute dreamboat.”
“He is,” said Spencer, looking around and grinning at Marshall talking seriously to Garrett and his father. “I really lucked out there.”
“I bet he says the same thing about you.”
He turned back and smiled happily at her before his gaze dropped to her belly again.
“Enough about me. How are you doing? Tell me all about the joys of pregnancy.”
“Don’t. Twenty-three weeks and I look like a sumo, with huge boobs to match and swollen ankles, and I’m tired all the time. Insult to injury, I’ve developed an unhealthy obsession with Marmite and sugar sandwiches. Usually I hate the stuff, but for some reason it’s become my go-to craving. On the plus side, your mother has been an absolute saint. She seems to know how I’m feeling almost before I do.”
“Do we know the gender yet? Or are you going to be modern and opt for a non-gender-specific baby?”
While he was talking, the oven beeped. She opened the door and was about to bring out a tray of what looked like biscuits, but Spencer stepped in to help, placing them on the counter next to another two trays.
“Very funny. We had the ultrasound a couple of weeks ago, but Garrett wanted to tell you all tonight. I’ll save the news for the proud dad-to-be.”
“And can I assume his motorcycling days are over?”