‘Here.’ He handed me a large mug of coffee. Not my instant sludge, but a caramel cappuccino from the café in the village. ‘Upstairs next.’
‘Excuse me?’
Assuming Toby must have something DIY related to show me, I followed him to the bathroom. My assumption was incorrect.
‘What’s this?’
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘An apology for last night. And a disastrous morning. I daren’t admit on the phone that I’d lost control about the same time we finished dinner, in case you got mad and kicked me out. My plan was to get up early and sort everything, but then Hazel, and the fridge… and I get that not telling you was worse. Sorry, Libby.’
‘You ran me a bath?’
‘It always helps my mum when she’s having a bad day.’
He moved past me to light the candles dotted around the sink and on the windowsill. The flames were barely discernible in the June sunshine, but alongside the basket containing a face scrub, hand cream and hair mask, the tiny box of chocolates and pile of clean towels, it was like standing in someone else’s bathroom. Someone else’s life.
He dipped one hand in the bubbles. ‘Still hot. Should be good for a decent half-hour.’
‘Half an hour?’ I considered a full five minutes in the shower a luxury. ‘What am I supposed to do in there for that long?’
‘Drink your coffee. Listen to this.’ He clicked on his phone and music started playing from a speaker he’d stuck to the wall. ‘Or read one of those.’ He nodded to a small stack of magazines balanced on the laundry basket. ‘Do whatever you do with the potions and lotions. If Hazel keeps napping, brunch will be served in forty-five minutes.’
‘I can’t believe I’m crying over a bath.’
‘Tissues are beside the books.’
He gave me a wink and left me to it.
By the time I’d eaten a plate of eggs Florentine in the sunniest spot in the garden, Hazel cooing happily beside me while her daddy mowed the lawn, I felt sufficiently re-energised to tackle the business admin with a smile on my face, clicking send on one last email before it was time to fetch Finn and Isla from school.
In the meantime, Toby had taken my gas oven apart, cleaned it until it sparkled and put it back together again.
‘Dirty ignitor,’ he said, turning the oven on and gesturing his thumb proudly at the flames. ‘Common enough problem. I got some dough bases and toppings and stuff, so the kids can have proper pizzas tonight.’
‘Is it weird that I want you to stay forever?’
‘In a big sisterly or cool auntie kind of way?’
‘Well, I’m not sure about the cool, but yes.’
‘Not only is it not weird, Auntie Libby, it’s pretty much inevitable.’
‘A week ago you were a homeless, single dad, and now look at you. Irrepressibly hopeful.’
He turned the oven off and closed the door.
‘Best way to be, I reckon.’
Yeah. I used to reckon that, too.
Friday evening was pretty much perfect. We ate our pizzas in the garden, then played board games, none of which ended up with Finn hitting his sister over the head with a Jenga block or Isla throwing herself onto the floor because she wasn’t winning.
It wasn’t until Isla’s head started drooping that I realised, instead of me counting down the minutes until bedtime, we’d somehow slipped straight past it.
‘Are we seeing Daddy and Silva tomorrow?’ Isla asked as she snuggled into bed.
‘Yes. They’re taking you to the farm park, remember?’ I felt a twinge of apprehension. Farm animals provided Isla with countless opportunities to get scared or upset.
‘Silva said we could feed the ducks but only using the special food. Bread makes them poorly.’
