With the windows thrown open and the smell of cooking in the air, Theodore Rookwood was in his element. The radio had been switched on and in between glancing at the breadcrumbs in the oven that had, by that point, been toasting for nearly two hours, Theodore was dancing around the kitchen, singing wildly out of tune to Joe Crocker while chopping up vegetables to go into the ratatouille that he was making to go with the lamb and whatever French thing the recipe said would be good. Theodore had been cooking – well, prepping – for long enough, having started with the dessert earlier in the afternoon after, having had lunch, he’d grown grumpy and eager to do something.
Dinner had started off with a bang and between making puff pastry, mucking it up and going to the supermarket to buy some more, it was a miracle that Theodore had managed to get his raspberry millefeuille together and while it wasn’t quite assembled yet, Theodore knew that a lot wouldn’t need to go in it to make sure that he and Hallie had a half decent dessert. Nearly a success. Nearly. Now, however, he was cutting up veg, making sure that the lamb was well seasoned and all of the rest of it, hoping against hope that it would come together in around twenty minutes like the recipe suggested. He didn’t believe it, mind you. Still, he held out hope.
The lamb went in. The veg was done. After blitzing the breadcrumbs into something interesting in the food processor and adding the herbs, Theodore took a cigarette and beer break. After lighting up and taking a swig of the said beer he went and sat out in the garden which, that morning, he’d looked after a little bit by mowing the grass and buying some new flowers for the borders. It was beginning to look as he’d wanted it now. Pretty damn perfect if he did say so himself and once he abandoned himself into his retro seaside deck chair he put the beer down and enjoyed his cigarette for this was the idyll, in the sunshine, in his own home, drinking, smoking, awaiting the return of his wife who was, by the way, pregnant. It couldn’t get better.
Well, no, it could. It could because he was going to be a father, properly. The nursery was furnished and while it didn’t have that natural, feminine touch, needing the dressings, the foundations were there and the walls were painted. A fit of excitement had seen Theodore more or less abduct Elijah to have him paint the nursery and following that, lunch with Athena saw him order things on the spur just because she commented that she needed to buy some new beds for the boys. Excess seemed to be Theodore’s penchant at the moment but he couldn’t help himself. He was going to be a father. That was the mind-boggling thing that he was so amazed by. He and Hallie were going to be parents. Hence, he believed he was well within his rights to spoil her.