Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

Julian

“Brelly’s home!” Samuel yells from his position at the window.

I pretend to continue reading my book on the sofa, but no matter how many times I read a line on the page, I only see the words Brielle repeated to me: your mother killed herself to get away from you.

I’m failing miserably at this parenting thing, and I feel as though the weight of the world sits heavily on my shoulders. Willow hasn’t uttered a single word to me since Brielle left last night.

Willow comes bounding down the stairs and rushes out the front door with Samuel to meet their nanny.

I clench my jaw and turn the page.

I hate that they prefer her company to mine when she’s only been here for all of ten days. I know that says a lot about me.

My fingers flick the page in annoyance. I can hear all three of them coming up the stairs onto the landing.

“Oops, have you got it?” Brielle laughs.

I hear the rustling of plastic bags, and then I hear something bang.

“Ouch, watch it,” Willow snaps.

“Oh, that was close to your toe.” Brielle giggles.

“I know, just missed it,” Samuel answers in his enthusiastic voice.

“Be careful, will you? I don’t want to have to take you to A&E,” Brielle tells them.

The three of them laugh, and I can’t help but roll my eyes as I listen.

They come through the door, ladened with shopping bags.

I sit up. “What on Earth?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Masters.” Brielle smiles warmly as she struggles. “How is the man of the house today?”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised that she's talking to me. I rise and take the shopping bags from her hands, taking them through to put them on the kitchen counter. "I'm fine. And you?" I ask.

“Happy now that I’m home for Will’s dinner party?” She smiles. “I’m so excited. Are we ready to cook, pumpkin?”

Willow smiles and nods. “Yep.”

I place my hands on my hips as I watch her and Willow unpack the shopping bags. Who is this woman and what has she done with my grouchy daughter?

“So, what’s been going on around here, Mr. Masters?” she asks.

I shrug. “I’m surprised you’re talking to me, to be honest,” I admit.

Her eyes find mine. “Yesterday was yesterday, and we don’t hold grudges in this house, do we?”

“No. Because you did run him over first,” Samuel points out.

Brielle points at Samuel. “That’s right. I did.”

I’m silently grateful that she hasn’t come back prepared to launch World War Three.

“Do you want me to do anything?” I ask.

“Hmm.” She looks around. “I’ll get you and Sammy to set the table a little later, but nothing at the moment.”