‘I don’t know, sweetie. I’ll ask him.’
‘He never comes to anything,’ she grumbled.
Taya was right, Eric rarely went to any school events. Sometimes she wished he would put his children first for once.
Beatrice decided to change the subject, steering the conversation into less fraught waters. ‘Are you doing anything special for Christmas?’ she asked Mark.
‘I’m going to my parents in Bath,’ he replied, ‘but I’ll be back in the New Year.’ He sent her a look that made her shiver with anticipation.
Then she sobered. He might be coming back to Picklewick, but for how long? His home was in Bristol, after all.
After tea, whilst he helped her clean up, he told her about his trip to London tomorrow, and she listened with growing dismay.
‘It sounds very glamorous,’ she said. Picklewick was a far cry from meetings with agents and editors, book deals and cuddly toy franchises. Would he want to come back?
‘Believe me, it isn’t. Most of the time, I’m cooped up in my house, trying to get the images in my head onto paper. It can get rather lonely. I envy you.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with this pair day in, day out,’ she replied, the sound of squabbling reaching her. The children were arguing over what to watch on TV.
‘I love this, being here with you and the girls,’ he said, and her heart fluttered.
He stepped closer and his gaze locked onto hers. The air grew thick as he reached out to brush his thumb against her cheek, his touch electric. ‘I want to kiss you.’
Her breath hitched and a rush of warmth spread through her, but she was brought back to earth by a shriek. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want them to see… There hasn’t been anyone since their father.’
He drew back. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for – it’s me who should apologise. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to… The children come first, I get that. But please can you stop being so damned sexy?’ he whispered.
He looked deep into her eyes and for a moment the rest of the world faded as she saw his hunger. It sparked an answering longing in her.
But was desire enough to keep him here? Wassheenough?
She hadn’t been the last time…
Mark parked the car on the drive, his eyes scanning the house. It looked drab and unwelcoming compared to the other houses in the street. All of them, except his, were readily embracing the festive season. It was a shame to let the side down and be the only Grinch in the street, but it was pointless putting any decorations up when he would only be here long enough to do some much-needed laundry and repack his case.
His meeting was at one p.m. – a working lunch, which suited him fine, because it meant he didn’t have to take time out of the day to eat. He’d only left Picklewick a couple of hours ago and he was already missing it. Or should he say, he was missingBeatrice.
After a check around the house to make sure everything was in order, he had a shower, opened the post, then flopped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief. It was great to be back in his own place, with a proper sitting room and a kitchen. Living in one room, as nice as The Black Horse was, had become somewhat claustrophobic. The space of a proper house around him felt totally luxurious and the thought of going back to the pub and his one-room existence didn’t fill him with joy. But if he wanted to be in Picklewick what choice—
Mark slapped a palm to his forehead. He was an idiot. A moron, an utter numpty.Of coursehe had a choice. He couldrent somewhere: a house, a flat or a caravan even, although a caravan would have to have bloody good heating to see him through the winter, because it was freezing out there.
Fired up with enthusiasm, Mark drove to the station at Temple Meads a short time later and spent the entire journey to London searching for properties to rent when he should have been concentrating on the impending meeting with his agent and publisher.
For Mark Stafford, successful children’s author, his book didn’t seem quite as important anymore.
Sadie and Taya dashed into the house as soon as Beatrice opened the door, in a flurry of discarded coats and flying hair, and from the smear of red sauce around her youngest daughter’s mouth as she shot past, Beatrice guessed their father had taken them to McDonald’s for their tea.
Trust him to fill them full of additives and leave her to deal with the fallout. It would be ages before they calmed down enough to go to bed. At least it was Friday, so she didn’t have to worry about getting them up for school in the morning. She had to go to work, but Mum was coming here, rather than her having to bundle them out of the house and drive them to their grandparents.
A knock on the door caught her by surprise and she opened it again, assuming one of the kids must have left something in their father’s car.
Eric’s hands were empty. ‘Have you got a minute?’
‘What’s wrong?’ Beatrice glanced over her shoulder worriedly. The girls had seemed alright, and from the sound of them charging around upstairs and yelling like a pair of banshees, they appeared to be fine.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Eric said, to her relief.
‘Do you want to come in?’
