‘No TV and no games,’ Beatrice warned.
Her daughter stared stubbornly straight ahead.
‘No story,’ Beatrice added, wondering what other sanctions she could impose.
Sadie shot her a glance, then hastily looked away.
Ah-ha! Leverage! ‘In fact, I won’t read you a bedtime story for the rest of the week, if you don’t do as you’re told.’
Sadie leapt to her feet and stamped her foot. ‘I don’t care! I won’t be a toadstool. Toadstools are for boys.’
‘Who says?’
Beatrice froze at the sound of Mark’s voice. Great. Now he was a witness to her abysmal parenting skills as well as her frumpy, mumsy appearance.
Ignoring her, he walked up to Sadie. Sadie gazed up at him in awe, her defiance miraculously vanished.
Sitting in the chair next to the one Sadie had abruptly vacated, he reached into the inside of his coat and withdrew a small pad and a pencil. Wordlessly he flipped the pad open and began to draw.
Sadie glanced at Beatrice, who shrugged. She had no idea what was going on, either.
Mark’s head was bowed, his attention on whatever it was he was doing, and Beatrice grabbed the opportunity to look at him properly.
Taller than her five-foot-six by at least half a foot, he had always been athletic, but he had filled out over the years, his shoulders broader than she remembered, tapering to a lean waist. His long legs were encased in black jeans, and he struggled to fold them underneath the low table.
His short, dark brown hair was longer on top, and had flashes of silver at the temples, and crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of his hazel eyes, those same eyes that had haunted her dreams for many months after he’d broken it off with her. Adusting of stubble shadowed his jaw, and her gaze lingered on his lips until she forced herself to look away.
His fingers gripped the pencil, guiding it across the page with firm, deft strokes and in less than a minute, he’d finished.
Sadie let out a gasp when he tore out the page and gave it to her. ‘It’s me, Mummy. He drawedme!’
So he had. He’d drawn her little face peering out from a toadstool and she had a wand in her hand, with stars issuing from its tip.
‘See?’ he said. ‘Toadstools aren’t for boys. They’re for girls, because they’re magic. Without toadstools, fairies wouldn’t be able to fly.’
The logic of that passed Beatrice by, but Sadie grasped it immediately.
‘Fairy dust!’ she exclaimed.
‘Exactly!’
Her eyes narrowed, then she said to Beatrice, in a tone remarkably like that of a queen bestowing a favour, ‘I think Iwillbe a toadstool. A pink one, with a wand. Can I show Miss?’ Without waiting for an answer, she trotted towards Miss Barnes’s desk where the two teachers were examining some books.
As Beatrice watched her go, she felt Mark’s eyes on her.
He said, ‘She’s cute.’
‘She’s a monster in little girl’s clothing.’
He chuckled. ‘She looks like you. They both do.’
‘You make a good Grinch,’ she countered.
‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’
Beatrice didn’t say anything. He could take it whichever way he pleased.
Sadie appeared at her elbow. ‘Can we go now? I’m hungry.’
