PROLOGUE
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Anne Mitchell had run out of ideas on how to keep the twins entertained during the summer holidays. With over two weeks left before Tom and Emma went back to school, she racked her brain for possible activities. The weather didn’t help; it had rained continuously for the past five days, leaving the kids incarcerated and bored.
To her relief, Tom had an invitation to spend the afternoon at a birthday party, and her next-door neighbour had asked her to babysit her son James while she went to the dentist. This meant Emma had a playmate for a couple of hours.
Taking advantage of the peace and quiet as the kids played upstairs, she flicked the kettle on and prepared herself a cuppa. As she sipped her tea, she planned her afternoon, deciding which chores took priority and which could wait until the next day.
The steak pie had just gone into the oven when the washing machine finished its programme. She quickly emptied it and set all the clothes to dry. Leaving the noisy tumble dryer, she marched up the stairs, ready for her next mission.
Humming to herself, she stepped on a small piece of Lego, sending a sharp pain through her bare foot. She swore under her breath and hoped the children hadn’t heard her.
Slowly, she hobbled towards the master bedroom, only to overhear the children playing. She stopped outside her daughter’s room and peered through the small gap.
Anne felt a pang of guilt as she spied her ten-year-old daughter dancing around. Something inside her told her she shouldn’t be spying.
Emma was dressed in her favourite white dress, which had a light pink ribbon tied around the waist. Her hair was pulled back with what looked like a makeshift veil, made with a white T-shirt, and her plastic princess tiara was securely placed at the top of her head. Her hands held a bunch of frail-looking flowers as she stepped over her stuffed animal, Leo, who sat neatly behind an open book.
Poor James had one of her husband’s suit jackets hanging over him. It covered his arms and legs. His index finger kept busy searching for treasure inside his nose. After a good rummage, he withdrew it and stared at his findings. A smile appeared on his lips as his eyes, behind his glasses, shone with excitement. He rolled the green goo between his fingers and flung it into the air. The goo almost landed on top of Leo the bear.
James asked, “When can we play Star Wars?”
His voice sounded flat and disappointed, and his gaze was focused on his new lightsabre lying useless on the pale pink carpet.
Emma ignored his question and concentrated on placing all her stuffed animals in a neat line. When she had them all facing forward, she pretended to photograph them with her toy camera.
James pouted and argued, “You promised we would play Star Wars.”
“We will,” Emma replied. “But you need to stop complaining or Leo won’t marry us.”
Emma’s right hand was fixed tight on her hip, and her copper eyebrows knitted together in a frown.
Anne couldn’t help but smile. She knew how strong-willed her daughter was. Emma was borderline bossy and, for some unknown reason, always got her way. There was very little chance James would get what he wanted. He must have known because he huffed, but stayed quiet.
Emma moved beside James and held the bouquet tight, leaving the camera on top of her bed.
With a deep voice, Emma pretended she was Leo and muttered, “Miss Emma Rose Mitchell, will you take James Alexander McNair’s hand in marriage, for better or for worst?”
Anne suppressed a giggle. She wanted to correct her daughter but decided against it; she didn’t want to give away her hiding place.
Answering in her normal voice, Emma said, “I do.”
Pretending she was Leo again, Emma then asked, “Master James Alexander McNair, will you take Emma Rose Mitchell’s hand in marriage for better or for worst?”
“It’s worse, not worst,” James corrected.
Emma glared and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow.
Flinching, James muttered, “I do. I do.”
“I announce you husband and wife,” delivered Emma. “You may kiss the bride.”
Emma turned, faced James, and kissed him.
Anne gasped, convinced she had just witnessed her daughter’s first kiss. She felt the heat reach her cheeks as poor James stood frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say or do. It was clear from where she was standing that the kiss embarrassed him. She decided to save him.
Anne opened the door, making as much noise as possible, and shouted, “Are you kids hungry? There’re biscuits and milk downstairs.”
“Okay, Mum,” Emma replied. She removed her fake veil and skipped out of the room.
James, on the other hand, stood motionless, staring into space. His face glowed red.
“Are you all right, James?”
He cleared his throat and nodded.
“Do you want to go downstairs for some milk and Jammie Dodgers?”
Without saying a word, James collected his lightsabre and ran towards the door, stumbling on the oversized jacket he wore.