‘This is so brilliant. Like being in a restaurant or something.’ Alfie lifted the pan carefully and put it on the table. ‘Now what?’
‘We let it cool and then we put it in the fridge.’
Alfie watched, wide-eyed, as she deftly made little stuffing balls. ‘Wow. You are so clever at that. If you’re here with us, who is cooking Christmas dinner for your family?’
Hopefully someone really inept.
Hayley gave a weak smile. ‘They’ll probably go to a hotel to eat.’
‘I bet they miss you.’
Feeling Patrick’s gaze on he
r face, Hayley tried not to reveal her thoughts. He saw too much.
‘Yes, I’m sure they miss me.’ Like lions missing an antelope. No one to pick on.
Patrick leaned forward and pulled the pan further onto the mat, avoiding disaster. ‘You have brothers and sisters?’
‘Two stepbrothers. One stepsister.’ She kept her tone neutral but knew he wasn’t fooled.
‘You lived with a stepfamily?’
Oh, God, he wasn’t going to let it go, was he? ‘My dad left when I was little. My mum married her boss. He already had three children. End of story.’ Except it wasn’t the end of the story and she had a feeling he knew it.
‘My mum left, too.’ Alfie said the words casually but Hayley sensed the depth of emotion behind his simple confession and felt as though her heart was being tugged out of her chest.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick still, but Alfie was looking at her and she knew he was waiting for her to respond.
Suddenly she wished she’d done a degree in child psychology—at least then she would have known just the right thing to say. ‘That must have been very difficult for you.’
‘It was sort of difficult.’ Alfie gave an awkward shrug. ‘She went on Christmas Eve. Two years ago.’
‘Christmas Eve?’ Horrified, Hayley’s eyes flew to Patrick but he was watching his son.
‘We’re doing pretty well, aren’t we, Alfie?’
‘Brilliantly. We’re a team. Team Buchannan, that’s us. High five, Dad.’ Slapping his palm against his father’s, Alfie slid off the chair and walked over to the fridge. ‘The only thing wrong is that no one in our team is good at cooking. Sometimes Stella helps us, and that’s good. She can make gingerbread men. Can you make gingerbread men, Hayley?’
Still choked at the thought that their mother had left on Christmas Eve, Hayley struggled to answer. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, feeling a rush of anger towards a woman she didn’t even know. ‘I can make gingerbread men. Who is Stella?’
Patrick stirred. ‘A friend.’
Friend? Hayley felt a stab of jealousy and then realised how ridiculous it was to feel jealous of this man. They didn’t have a relationship, did they?
‘Stella used to be engaged to Uncle Daniel but he didn’t want to get married because he thinks he won’t be a good father.’ Alfie pushed the fridge door shut, a yoghurt in his hand. ‘Which is rubbish, because he’s pretty cool at a lot of things, but he doesn’t think so, so he told Stella that he wouldn’t marry her. That was the same Christmas Mum left, so Stella came here and cooked lunch and it was brilliant. And she and Dad drank a lot.’ He dug a spoon out of the drawer and Hayley’s eyes flew to Patrick, who rolled his eyes in apology, his neutral expression revealing nothing about what must have been a hideous time.
Oblivious to his father’s discomfort, Alfie dug the spoon into the yoghurt. ‘And then Stella went away for ages because she was so upset that Daniel wouldn’t marry her, but she still sent me nice presents. Then she came back.’ He licked the spoon. ‘And then she and Uncle Daniel were trying not to kiss each other all the time, and—’
‘Alfie.’ Patrick’s tone was mild. ‘Enough. Eat your yoghurt and stop talking.’
‘I’m just telling Hayley about our family.’
‘You’ve told her enough.’
‘But I haven’t finished.’ The spoon still poised in the air, Alfie frowned at his father. ‘I haven’t told her the best bit.’
‘Go on, then,’ Patrick said wearily, rubbing his fingertips across his forehead. ‘Tell her the best bit. Whatever that is. But make it quick.’