Marc does his best.
When breakfast is finished, Dad stands up .
‘I’ve got a big ap ology to make to the two of you.’
‘You have?’ I sit up straighter, thinking that maybe Dad is seeing sense about Marc and I getting married.
Dad clears his throat. ‘Yes. You might be wondering why I didn’t bring any Christmas presents downstairs. Well, look I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I didn’t manage to go Christmas shopping this year. I’ve spent so much time moping that I’ve forgotten there are other people in the world apart from me. But that changes. As of now.
‘I’m going to stop thinking of myself and my heartache, and st art thinking about everyone else again. And I just hope the two of you can forgive me for being so thoughtless.’
‘It’s okay Dad,’ I say. ‘We know you’ve had a lot on this last week. It’s been a tough time. I wasn’t expecting a present. And I’m sure Marc wasn’t either.’
‘No. Not at all,’ says Marc.
‘You’re both very understanding,’ says Dad, taking a seat.
T here’s an awkward silence.
‘Dad,’ I say, after a moment. ‘Had you thought any more about Marc and I getting married? Are you … still feeling the same way?’
Dad glances at Marc, then looks down at the table.
‘I still n eed a little more time to think,’ he says. ‘But I’m happy Marc is here. It’ll be a good chance for me to get to know him. And you never know, by the end of Christmas I just might be able to give you both my support.’
‘That would be amazing ,’ I say, feeling hope warm my chest. ‘Let me get everything cleared up.’
We let Sammy open one present after breakfast. That’s another rule in our family – the children can open one gift first thing, and then they have to wait for the rest like all the adults do.
I’m not sure Sammy really gets that the day is special or anything, but he chooses Marc’s toy to o pen first, and he smiles and smiles when we help him tear off the paper and he sees the logging truck.
‘Nice gift, ’ says Dad, getting down on his knees to help Sammy release all the logs, which go rolling around the living room rug. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ says Marc.
After breakfast, we go for our traditional Christmas walk around the country lanes, with Marc pushing Sammy fast over the bumpy mud, and Sammy whooping with delight. Then we head home and I start on the Christmas dinner. I put the turkey in before we went for our walk so, in between chopping vegetables, I baste it and add more seasoning.
Dad play s with Sammy in the living room and, to my surprise, Marc comes and joins me in the kitchen.
‘I have a starter planned,’ he says, opening the fridge. There’s a white parcel inside that I don’t recognise.
‘Where did that come from?’ I ask, as Marc takes it out and cuts the string.
‘I had it sent over yesterday. Rodney bought these at London Bridge market.’
The white paper falls open to reveal eight fat red lobsters.
‘Wow.’ I look at the seafood. ‘They look amazing.’
Marc brushes hair out of his eyes and goes to the knife rack. He effortlessly sharpens a knife on the steel, and I watch him, surprised.
‘You look very at home in the kitchen, Mr Blackwell. I thought you couldn’t cook.’
Marc throws me that delicious spiky smile. ‘I don’t recall saying I couldn’t cook.’
‘But doesn’t Rodney do all your cooking for you?’
‘Yes. Mostly. I’m sensible enough to stand back and let a master do his work. The same goes for when you’re in the kitchen.’
‘So you can cook?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. But I can prepare certain things. Lobster being one of them. And I can sharpen a knife.’
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’
‘ I toyed with the idea of opening a restaurant in LA for a while, and I thought if I was going to do that, I should learn everything there is to know about the restaurant business.’
‘A perfectionist in everyth ing you do,’ I say,
When breakfast is finished, Dad stands up .
‘I’ve got a big ap ology to make to the two of you.’
‘You have?’ I sit up straighter, thinking that maybe Dad is seeing sense about Marc and I getting married.
Dad clears his throat. ‘Yes. You might be wondering why I didn’t bring any Christmas presents downstairs. Well, look I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I didn’t manage to go Christmas shopping this year. I’ve spent so much time moping that I’ve forgotten there are other people in the world apart from me. But that changes. As of now.
‘I’m going to stop thinking of myself and my heartache, and st art thinking about everyone else again. And I just hope the two of you can forgive me for being so thoughtless.’
‘It’s okay Dad,’ I say. ‘We know you’ve had a lot on this last week. It’s been a tough time. I wasn’t expecting a present. And I’m sure Marc wasn’t either.’
‘No. Not at all,’ says Marc.
‘You’re both very understanding,’ says Dad, taking a seat.
T here’s an awkward silence.
‘Dad,’ I say, after a moment. ‘Had you thought any more about Marc and I getting married? Are you … still feeling the same way?’
Dad glances at Marc, then looks down at the table.
‘I still n eed a little more time to think,’ he says. ‘But I’m happy Marc is here. It’ll be a good chance for me to get to know him. And you never know, by the end of Christmas I just might be able to give you both my support.’
‘That would be amazing ,’ I say, feeling hope warm my chest. ‘Let me get everything cleared up.’
We let Sammy open one present after breakfast. That’s another rule in our family – the children can open one gift first thing, and then they have to wait for the rest like all the adults do.
I’m not sure Sammy really gets that the day is special or anything, but he chooses Marc’s toy to o pen first, and he smiles and smiles when we help him tear off the paper and he sees the logging truck.
‘Nice gift, ’ says Dad, getting down on his knees to help Sammy release all the logs, which go rolling around the living room rug. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ says Marc.
After breakfast, we go for our traditional Christmas walk around the country lanes, with Marc pushing Sammy fast over the bumpy mud, and Sammy whooping with delight. Then we head home and I start on the Christmas dinner. I put the turkey in before we went for our walk so, in between chopping vegetables, I baste it and add more seasoning.
Dad play s with Sammy in the living room and, to my surprise, Marc comes and joins me in the kitchen.
‘I have a starter planned,’ he says, opening the fridge. There’s a white parcel inside that I don’t recognise.
‘Where did that come from?’ I ask, as Marc takes it out and cuts the string.
‘I had it sent over yesterday. Rodney bought these at London Bridge market.’
The white paper falls open to reveal eight fat red lobsters.
‘Wow.’ I look at the seafood. ‘They look amazing.’
Marc brushes hair out of his eyes and goes to the knife rack. He effortlessly sharpens a knife on the steel, and I watch him, surprised.
‘You look very at home in the kitchen, Mr Blackwell. I thought you couldn’t cook.’
Marc throws me that delicious spiky smile. ‘I don’t recall saying I couldn’t cook.’
‘But doesn’t Rodney do all your cooking for you?’
‘Yes. Mostly. I’m sensible enough to stand back and let a master do his work. The same goes for when you’re in the kitchen.’
‘So you can cook?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. But I can prepare certain things. Lobster being one of them. And I can sharpen a knife.’
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’
‘ I toyed with the idea of opening a restaurant in LA for a while, and I thought if I was going to do that, I should learn everything there is to know about the restaurant business.’
‘A perfectionist in everyth ing you do,’ I say,
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