Prentice’s look was already hard. “Aye. Now.”
Nigel hesitated then he sighed, “I’ll have a word.”
Prentice nodded. “It doesn’t work, Nigel, and I hear Elle didn’t have a good night then I’ll have a word with Hattie.”
The threat hung in the air for a moment before Nigel dipped his chin in acknowledgement.
Prentice was a man known not to make idle threats.
“See you Friday,” Prentice said by way of farewell.
“Aye, Friday.”
Prentice turned and walked away.
* * * * *
The children had not had to endure takeaway that night.
This was because, when Prentice and the kids came home, Jason found a note on the counter from Isabella informing them there was a shepherd’s pie in the fridge, explaining how to heat it up and telling them that the vegetables were already cut up and ready for boiling.
Jason may have found the note but Sally honed right in on the homemade chocolate cake that was sitting on the counter.
“PS,” Jason read as Sally was screeching about the cake, “tell Sally I’ve made cake for pudding but she has to eat all her broccoli. There’s ice cream in the freezer.”
When he was finished reading, Jason’s eyes moved to Prentice.
Sally danced around the kitchen chanting how much she loved chocolate cake.
Prentice smiled at his son.
His son smiled back.
* * * * *
Mikey was right.
Isabella could cook comfort food.
The shepherd’s pie was delicious.
And the cake was f**king exquisite.
But Prentice overcooked the vegetables.
* * * * *
It was pitch dark when Prentice jerked from a deep sleep, body alert after hearing the crash.
Tense, he listened to the sounds of his house for a moment and he could have sworn he heard a loud, drunken giggle.
He threw back the covers, knifed out of bed, exited his room and flipped the light switch on at the top of the stairs.
The lamp by the couch was on the floor, its ceramic base in pieces.
He was walking down the stairs when he saw movement in the hall. It was Isabella walking into the room wielding a broom.
Or, more accurately, Isabella weaving into the hall wielding a broom.