‘Please stay,’ Alfie mumbled, his face buried in her jumper, but Stella shifted him away from her and shook her head.
‘It’s sweet of you to invite me but I have a million and one things to do. I’m going to be a bit busy over the next few days, but if you need anything, you can bang on my door. That tree looks fantastic. Keep up the good work. And make sure Posy doesn’t go near those baubles.’ Without looking at Daniel, she hurried out of the room and he heard the door slam shut.
Stella curled up in the stable, watching a Christmas movie and sipping hot chocolate, but somehow the evening didn’t have any of the pleasure that it should have had.
She kept thinking of the children, decorating the tree. Of the fun of making Christmas special for them. Of Daniel.
Angry with herself, she flicked through the channels, trying to find something that would hold her attention.
If she’d stayed there it just would have made things worse. It was bad enough still being in love with Daniel, without having the extra torture of playing house with him.
Finding nothing to interest her on television, she opened her laptop and accessed the internet. She’d finish her Christmas shopping. At least that would be another job done.
Checking the list she’d made earlier, she pul
led her credit card out of her purse.
The great thing about internet shopping, she thought to herself as she clicked away, was that you didn’t have to battle for a parking space and elbow your way through crowds.
Halfway through the evening her mother rang, full of excitement and stories about her world cruise.
As she listened, Stella felt a lump building in her throat. Her parents had been happily married for fifty years and yet her mother had managed to pick herself up after her father’s sudden death and build a new life for herself. She hadn’t sat at home feeling sorry for herself.
In fact, she’d sold the house, bought herself a little flat in a retirement complex and used the rest of the money to travel.
Feeling humbled by her mother’s drive and determination, Stella hung up and promised herself that she was going to stop being so pathetic.
She was going to enjoy this Christmas, no matter what it took.
By the following day, Daniel was stressed, exhausted and feeling inadequate for the first time in his life.
Posy had woken five times during the night and ended up in his bed where she’d wriggled restlessly, ensuring that he had no sleep at all. At five o’clock he’d given up trying, and had left her in the bed while he went to put the kettle on.
It was dark outside as Daniel flicked on the kettle and leaned on the Aga to warm himself.
The kitchen looked as though it had taken a direct hit from a rocket launcher. There were streaks of red on the wall from Posy’s artistic explorations and the remains of the previous night’s pasta dinner were still stuck to the saucepan in the sink.
‘Want Daddy.’ Posy was standing in the doorway, her thumb in her mouth, her other hand clutching the blanket she always slept with.
Daniel glanced at his watch through eyes blurred with sleep. It was barely five-thirty. ‘This is worse than being a junior doctor,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’
‘Want Daddy.’ Her face crumpled and Daniel put down his coffee and crossed the kitchen. ‘Honestly? So do I. But we’re going to have to make do, baby girl. So what is it you normally do at this time of the morning? Draw on the walls? Throw food?’ It was a wonder his brother managed to function, he thought to himself as he scooped Posy up and carried her into the sitting room.
Her curls tickled his chin and as her arms wound trustingly round his neck, Daniel tightened his grip on her protectively. ‘You wouldn’t be so trusting if you knew how inadequate I feel,’ he murmured, nudging a pile of toys to one side with his bare foot.
How did Patrick keep the place looking so cosy?
Despite the Christmas tree dominating the beautiful living room, the barn felt cheerless and morose so early in the morning. As if the family living there had moved out.
And that was his fault, wasn’t it? He had no idea how to inject sparkle into Christmas. Neither did he have any idea what to do with a three-year-old at five-thirty in the morning.
Feeling bleak, Daniel bent down and switched on the Christmas-tree lights and decided that it was an improvement. ‘Enough light for atmosphere, but not enough to illuminate the mess.’
‘Thirsty.’ Still clinging to him, Posy cuddled the velvet comforter she carried everywhere.
Daniel looked at her blankly. ‘What do you drink at this time of the morning? Not tea or coffee, I presume. Milk? Juice?’
‘Juice peese.’