Page 109 of A Manny for Christmas

Toby rounds the table and tucks himself between Max’s legs for a hug.

‘Will Max still sleep in the spare room?’ Daisy asks, astute little thing that she is.

Max sticks out his tongue at her. ‘I can say with absolute certainty, definitely not.’

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EPILOGUE - MOLLY

Max went viral.

Of course he did.

The main hashtags on TikTok were#hotdadrantand#superdadand#doyourfuckingjob. Oh, and#movealongfucker. I may have been responsible for a few thousand of those views. I couldn’t get enough of his alpha behaviour, or of the way his muscles flexed under that white t-shirt as he held Tobes and yelled at Mr Pratt.

It was almost as good as watching the terror on Pratt’s face.

Is it weird that thedadpart of the first hashtag turned me on more than thehotaspect?

I loved the idea that millions of people around the world saw his behaviour as unequivocally dad-like. Because I agreed. If ever I’d witnessed fatherly instinct in action, it was that afternoon as my secret boyfriend stormed the stage and swept Toby out of harm’s way.

By the time Max pulled me into Mr Pritchett’s office the next morning, several of the parents who’d been seated in the front row had sent me video footage of what Tristan was doing to Toby in the run-up to Max taking action. I’d also had an outpouring of support via the class WhatsApp chat, with many parents calling for Tristan’s suspension or expulsion.

We, but particularly Toby, got a big fat apology.

Tristan was suspended for two days and moved into a different class, effective immediately.

But as we strolled across the carpark, Max’s arm slung sexily and possessively over my shoulders, he said, ‘That’s not enough. Their attitude stunk the whole way through this. How many times did we warn Pratt about that Tristan fucker? And he still did nothing.’

I shrugged helplessly. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Move him to a private school. Somewhere small and happy, where smart kids like him are celebrated, not targeted.’

I’d always had a philosophical aversion to private schools, but I was quickly learning that morals came a distant second to my kids’ welfare.

‘It’s not like up north, Max. The fees down here are crazy. We’re talking six, seven granda term. It’s insane. I can’t afford that.’

His grip on shoulder tightened. ‘You can now,’ he said firmly.

The tears came then.

* * *

‘Oh. My. God,’Nora squeals. ‘I. Am.Dying.’She reaches forward and reverently touches a lock of my hair.

‘You’re so creepy,’ Evelyn tells her. ‘You know Molly’s taken, right?’

‘I know,’ Nora sighs. ‘And I promise I’m straight. I just have a crush on her hair.’

‘Maybe ask Theo for a locket for Christmas, and Molly can give you a lock of her hair,’ Sadie suggests, and I nearly choke with laughter on my champagne.

‘I’m flattered, honestly,’ I tell her.

‘It’s just so exciting,’ she protests. ‘And don’t pretend to be blase, Evelyn. I know you’ve waited for this day as long as I have.’

Evelyn smirks. I wish I could exude her coolness for just a day. ‘I’ve been intrigued about Molly’s hair for a while, yes. And it’s even more stunning than I imagined. Max will go wild when he sees you.’

Now it’s my turn to smirk. It was Evelyn’s idea to have us all over to get ready for the annual Sorrel Farm Christmas party in her stunning, and newly refurbished, home. She and Angus only got access last week, but already it’s decorated to the nines with an abundance of pine branches and eucalyptus and anemones and white roses. While our menfolk get our kids ready and plan to meet us there, we’re enjoying festive bubbles and the attention of a fleet of professional hair and makeup artists. Evelyn’s treat.

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