Page 61 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘I’m going to make sure you get home safely,’ he said. ‘It’s dark and cold, and there could still be a ghost or two hanging about.’

‘Halloween was ages ago,’ Sara retorted, but she glanced around nervously nevertheless.

‘It was only Monday,’ Owen said.

‘It’s Saturday now,’ Sara pointed out.

‘Six days is no time for a ghost. They can wander the earth for ages.’ He uttered a ghostly moan, and she giggled.

‘You’re silly,’ she said. ‘Ghosts don’t sound like that.’

‘They don’t? What do they sound like?’

‘They go woooowoooowooo,’ Sara yodelled, and all the way home she and Bobby competed to make the ghostliest noises possible.

‘You’re good with them,’ Harriet said, as the children trotted ahead.

‘You mean, considering I don’t have any of my own?’

‘You’re putting words in my mouth.’

Owen’s gaze shot to her mouth, and she felt his eyes linger on her lips, as tangible as a caress.

‘Tell me, honestly, did my son break your loo?’ she asked, keen to distract herself from her lascivious thoughts.

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘That’s a relief, because for a minute there I thought… Wait up, there’s something you’re not telling me. What has he done?’

‘Nothing. It isn’t his fault.’

‘Ha! So thereissomething wrong!’

‘Sneaky,’ Owen said, nudging her gently with his elbow. ‘OK, I admit, there is an issue with the toilet, but it’s nothing to do with Bobby. The pump is kaput. It’s been playing up for a while.’

‘Does that mean you’ve not got a working loo?’

‘That’s exactly what it means.’ He sighed.

‘Can it be fixed?’

‘It can, but I can’t do it myself. I’ll get straight onto the nearest garage on Monday.’

Harriet fished her keys out of her bag. ‘Right kids, it’s nearly bedtime, so I want you in your pyjamas with your teeth brushed, and your hands and faces washed, in five minutes. Chop, chop.’ She clapped her hands, the noise accompanied by groans from both children.

‘Can’t we stay up?’ Sara asked.

‘I think nine o’clock is plenty late enough, although you can both read for a while if you want. But lights out at ten.’

As she waited for the children to go upstairs, Harriet held a hand out for Owen’s coat, popping it on a free peg when he slipped out of it. ‘They won’t settle down for ages,’ she said. ‘They think I’m mean, making them go to bed at nine on a Saturday, but I do like to keep them in routine.’ She knew that if she let them stay up late tonight, they would be tired and grouchy tomorrow, and as they were back in school on Monday, she wanted them as fresh as possible.

Harriet was right, it did take her children a while to settle. She left Owen nursing a glass of wine on the sofa with Etta curled up next to him while she went upstairs to check that teeth had been brushed and hands and faces had been washed, before she tucked them in and gave them a kiss. By that time it was nine thirty, which she thought was a perfectly reasonable time for her children to be in bed.

Sara had other ideas. ‘Can we say goodnight to Owen?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Harriet said. She knew it was a delaying tactic, an attempt to go back downstairs and linger for a while.

Bobby, who had been listening, yelled, ‘Goodnight, Owen!’ at the top of his voice, and Owen called back, ‘Goodnight, Bobby; you too, Sara. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

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