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‘What’s wrong with that?’ Linda said, reaching for the gravy boat and pouring a generous dollop onto her plate. ‘I have excellent taste.’
If Daniel’s memory was correct, his grandad had bought him a gnome. It had been naked, apart from a mankini. Where on earth was he supposed to put it, he’d wondered at the time, and had ended up hiding it in the middle of his mother’s hydrangea. Therefore, Daniel seriously doubted his mother’s self-proclaimed good taste.
‘So maybe there is a call for a travelling gift shop,’ his grandad said thoughtfully, as their eyes met. He was clearly remembering the gnome, too. ‘I prefer picking out something myself, rather than relying on your mother.’ Edwin and Daniel shared another meaningful glance, and Daniel bit back a smile. He thought he’d shown a great deal of enthusiasm and appreciation for the gnome, but he obviously hadn’t been able to pull the wool over his grandfather’s eyes.
‘Daniel has been working in the garden this morning,’ Linda said. ‘Mulching. You miss having your own garden, don’t you, love?’
‘It’s lucky I can work in yours,’ Daniel said to her with a smile.
‘Talking of work, how is it going?’
Daniel grimaced. ‘I’ve just phoned someone Mrs Williams put me in touch with, who wants me to remove some ivy from the walls of her house. She doesn’t want me to start until the week after next though, so I’ve not got a lot on between now and Christmas.’
‘You’ve got your Santa thing, though,’ Edwin pointed out. ‘Surely that’ll tide you over?’
Daniel rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Mum, have you told everyone?’
‘Your grandfather isn’t everyone,’ Linda retorted.
‘You told Mrs Williams.’ Daniel wished she hadn’t done that.
‘She’s not everyone, either. She’s like family. There’s no need to be embarrassed. We’ve all done jobs we didn’t like to make ends meet. There’s no shame in it.’
‘I’m not ashamed,’ Daniel objected. ‘It’s just not my thing. The kids are cute – mostly – but I feel such a fraud.’
Edwin chortled, ‘So you should! The real Santa is still at the North Pole this time of year.’
‘Ha, ha, very funny. Seriously, it’s a responsibility I could do without. What if I let something slip? I don’t want to be known as the man who told a kid that Santa isn’t real, or that it’s the grown-ups who bring the presents.’
His mother leant across the table and chucked his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy,’ she said as he twisted away in embarrassment. He was too old for cheek-pinching. ‘You’ll make a good father.’
But that was the problem, he realised, as a memory of Amelia opening her presents last year swam into his mind – he’d thought he already had.
