‘Yeah, she has to.’ Max sighed heavily. ‘She always wants me to have stuff, but it’s hard. So she works a lot, because that’s how she earns money, and it means I get new shoes when I need them and stuff.’ He looked down. ‘My feet grow really, really, really fast.’
Dimitrios smiled despite the direction of his thoughts. He guided Max into the kitchen.
‘I wish she didn’t work so hard, though.’
‘Oh?’
Dimitrios began to pull ingredients from the pantry. With only a moment’s notice, his domestic staff had made sure they had everything they needed on hand for the start of the Great Pudding Tradition.
‘Yeah.’ Max came to stand beside Dimitrios and, when he pulled a bag of flour out, Max took it, helpfully carrying it to a place on the bench before returning for another item.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because she’s tired all the time.’
More guilt slashed Dimitrios. Guilt and a sense of failed responsibility. But it was more than that. He grabbed for the sultanas and passed them to Max, a frown on his face.
‘And I’m loud and busy, and I like to do stuff like go to the playground, but I don’t always like to ask Mummy because I know she’s tired and if I do ask her she’ll say yes.’
Dimitrios nodded. ‘You’re considerate, Max.’
‘Thanks.’
Dimitrios had missed so much. He’d missed so much of Max’s life, and he’d missed Annabelle being a mum. He’d missed her tiredness and her happiness, her tears, her pleasure, her everything.
‘Do we need aprons? They always wear aprons in cooking shows.’
Dimitrios nodded, distracted. ‘Yeah, they’re here somewhere. Why don’t you have a look?’
Max rifled through doors and drawers and appeared with a pair of aprons a minute later. ‘There’s only two.’
‘Okay, I’ll go without.’
Max shrugged. ‘Can you help me with mine?’
‘Of course.’
He secured it around his son’s back, folding it in half to fit, tying it loosely into a bow. They were almost finished measuring ingredients before Annabelle appeared by the door to the kitchen, her expression inscrutable, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense pony tail he found his fingers itched to muss. He looked away with a sense that he was falling off the edge of a cliff.
‘We saved you an apron, Mummy.’
She stiffened, and Dimitrios understood—this was the last thing she wanted to be doing. Damn it, he’d regretted hurting her for seven long years, and now what? Their marriage was going to hurt her every single day. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live with this.
But what other option did they have? She was right—they were both trapped in this marriage he’d insisted on, trapped by their love for Max.
‘Thanks, darling. I’ll just make a cup of tea...’
‘I’ll make it,’ Dimitrios offered, his eyes holding hers until something shoved him right in the gut. He felt it like a physical blow, but it wasn’t. Everything around him was shifting.
‘That’s fine. You keep measuring.’ Her smile was brittle, but when she looked at Max it softened. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘You know what we need?’ Max said happily. ‘Christmas carols.’
He was evidently oblivious to the undercurrent of tension flowing between his parents.
‘Christmas carols are a great idea, darling. Let me see what I’ve got.’ Annabelle reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. Dimitrios frowned at the sight of it—so old and battered. How had he missed that? She pressed a button and some old jazz carols began to play, filling the kitchen with nostalgia and magic. But Dimitrios was only half-listening.
He went through the motions of making the pudding, following to the letter the recipe on his own state-of-the-art phone, noticing that Annabelle kept a careful distance from him at all times.