‘Babe, can I get an egg-white omelette with wilted spinach, thanks,’ she said and sat at the table, glancing at the boys.
‘Pancakes? I hope that’s a treat and not every day.’
‘It’s not,’ said Ethan.
‘Yesterday we had French toast made with… Christa, what was the bread?’
‘Brioche,’ she answered with a sweet smile at the boys. ‘With caramelised bananas and whipped cream.’
Avian made a disgusted face. ‘Can you not feed my children that crap?’
‘Hey, Ave, don’t call it that, and it’s their holiday so they can have some treats,’ Marc said.
‘I just don’t like sugar, or carbs,’ Avian said looking Christa up and down. ‘They make you fat.’
Marc wished they could go back to before Avian and Simon were here, when it was just him and the boys and Christa.
‘Mom, do you want to come and see the chickens after breakfast?’
‘You might see some of your birdlike friends,’ he heard Christa mumble to herself and he tried not to laugh.
‘Chickens? No thanks. I thought we could go into town and you can choose your Christmas presents.’
The boys looked at each other and Marc was sure he saw a hint of disappointment.
‘Finish your breakfast, kids, and I’ll go down with you. I wanted to see more of the garden anyway.’
Avian was already on her phone, tapping and scrolling like her life depended on it while sipping hot water that she had demanded from Christa.
Simon was sitting at the table now, his breath recovered.
‘This is funny – seeing you here, Christa. Never saw you as a house chef. Must be good pay.’
Christa put two plates of egg-white omelettes in front of Avian and Simon, which looked as appetising as a bowl of drool.
‘Perhaps if you hadn’t cheated me out of my share of Playfoot’s, I wouldn’t be here,’ she said and Marc glanced at her.
‘Don’t be bitter. My parents invested more than us – they deserved a bigger pay-out.’
Christa went to the stove and plated up pancakes and bacon for Marc. She handed it to him and then looked at Simon. ‘I am not speaking to you about this here, or at all, actually. It’s done.’
Marc sat opposite Avian and he noticed she looked at his breakfast with a longing he had never seen during their marriage.
‘Do you want some?’ he asked, cutting off some bacon and pancake and dipping it in syrup. He held it out on the fork for her to taste.
She shook her head and took a forkful of her omelette.
‘No thank you,’ she said, but he saw she watched every mouthful he took.
They ate in silence, including the boys, who seemed to read the room and figure out that this wasn’t a group meant to be together for any amount of time.
Paul walked into the kitchen and looked around. ‘Nope,’ he said, turning back around and then Marc heard him call, ‘Adam, we’re going out for breakfast.’
Christa was banging pots and pans about the sink when Peggy came in the back door and took off her coat.
‘Morning, all,’ she said and then looked at Avian and Simon.
‘You must be the boys’ mother. Hello, Mrs Ferrier, I am Peggy, the housekeeper.’
