I said the plot starts rolling in this chapter, but that is not exactly true. The plot will thicken considerably in the next chapter, or so I solemnly swear.

I've also added trigger warnings to my other fics. As for this one: I don't think it warrants trigger warnings per se, but in the next chapter it will veer into the realm of the uncanny. What can I say? I've not seen Turnadette combined with a bit of horror before ;).

Thanks to purple-roses-words-and love for betaing.

"So, was there someone in our garden last night?" Timothy asked, spooning his last bit of porridge into his mouth.

"It was nothing, probably," his mother said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Angela's ear. His little sister had managed to smear honey around her mouth, the stuff shiny and sticky on her skin.

"Was there someone in the garden?" she asked, picking up her cup of milk with two hands.

"Apparently not, Ange," Timothy said, ladling jam on his toast.

"I think your mother just heard me come home," his father said. He spooned some sugar in his tea and took a tiny sip, grimaced, and added some more sugar.

"Then why were you brandishing your umbrella like a sword?" Timothy asked.

"Your mother saw me and screamed. It was a reflex," his father grunted. Timothy knew that tone of voice, and also knew not to push. His father's eyes were bloodshot, and he looked tired, drawn. Timothy wondered if the birth yesterday evening had gone awry; his father would sit with slumped shoulders and clouded eyes often if he could not help his patients.

"Maybe you saw fairies," Angela decided, wiping her milky moustache with the back of her hand.

"Not with your hands," his mother tutted, taking a napkin and gently wiping the residue of food from Angela's face. Her eyes snapped up and briefly met those of his father before flitting away again.

"Are there fairies in our yard?" Timothy asked his little sister, taking the opportunity to steer the conversation into safer waters.

"Not in our garden, silly. There is a fairy ring around the apple tree, though. If you step into it you can go to the fairies' home. Mummy told me. There are all kinds of fairies, and they like biscuits, just like I do," Angela said, face lighting up like a lightbulb.

"Really?"

"Yes. Fairies are interesting. They drink tea out of the cups of acorns and wear dresses made from cobwebs and…"

"Let's go and brush your teeth, Angela dear," his mother said, quickly taking Angela by the hand and drawing her away from the dinner table, eyes slipping sideways as she regarded her husband, as if afraid that Angela had said something terrible, something upsetting.

"Can I wear my charm bracelet today, Mummy?" Angela asked as their mother led her away. Angela had gotten a silver charm bracelet for her birthday, together with a little cross and a sunflower. She'd wear it every day if her parents would allow it.

Timothy felt a twinge of fear. His stomach coiled, and his fingers started to tingle. He folded his hands around his mug of tea to get rid of the sensation and looked at his father. "Dad, whatever is the matter?" he whispered.

His father looked up. "What?"

"Why is everyone behaving so strange?"

"I don't know what you are talking…"

"Oh come on, Dad! I'm almost an adult. I think I have the right to know what goes on in my own home. All this talking about fairies, and Mum with those biscuits in the garden last night… it doesn't make sense!" Timothy snarled. His blood roared in his ears and his heart pounded an angry rhythm in his chest. He hated how his father would try to keep him out of adult affairs. He was no longer a child to be shielded and coddled and told to put his hands over his ears when difficult topics came up.

His father's eyes widened in surprise. He tried to say something, then rubbed his mouth and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tim." He downed the last of his tea, then changed chairs so he sat next to his son. "I know I sometimes talk to you as if you're still a child, and try to hide things from you. It is only because I don't want to trouble you with my problems. "

"I know you don't, but bottling it up isn't helping anyone. It just makes me worried about you because I don't understand what is going on."

Like when his father and Shelagh had only been married a couple of months, and the atmosphere had suddenly turned strange and stilted. His mum had smiled a great deal, but it had looked tight, as if her mouth resisted the motion. Her eyes had been moist, and one day Timothy had even found her crying.

He had plopped down on the couch next to her and hugged her, even though he felt that he was really too big for that kind of thing. Surprised, his mum had hastily wiped away her tears with the palms of her hands before draping her arms around him. "I didn't know you were home already," she'd said, rubbing his back as if he was the one who needed comforting.

"I walked fast and now my legs hurt," he'd said, a desperate attempt to draw her thoughts away from whatever it was that had made her cry. From whomever, more like; his father had been oddly formal, his happiness forced and strained, like when Mummy had died. Timothy had been so desperately afraid that his new mother would leave if his father kept behaving so coldly towards her, and had hugged her to show her that he at least appreciated her being there, that he was not distant.

And then one morning all had been all right again, the smiles on his parents' faces no longer fake, as if the tension of the previous weeks had dissipated overnight. Angela had come not long after, and whatever had troubled his mum and dad had been forgotten.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I'll try to do better, alright?" his father offered, sighing and pouring himself a new cup of tea.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled like that," Timothy mumbled, cheeks colouring. "But I just want to know what's going on."

"It's nothing to be worried about, Tim," his father said, craning his neck so he could look into the hallway. He quickly brought his face close to that of his son and whispered: "It's just that Angela has been talking about fairies a lot, and she gets those stories from your mum, so I asked her about her own childhood. Apparently, all her friends were of the imaginary kind. She said she was a very imaginative child, but I think Mum may actually have been rather lonely."

Timothy repressed the urge to roll his eyes at his Dad; he appreciated that his father finally opened up to him, finally shared some of the things that were troubling him, but of course his mum had been lonely as a child. She'd lost her mother when she was very young, and that had forced her to grow up very fast. Timothy knew the responsibilities half-orphans had to shoulder, had experienced the grief and loneliness and estrangement from his peers first-hand. "She probably was, Dad," he said.

His father rubbed his mouth again. "And that is why I want to organise something special for her, something to show her that we love her."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know exactly. Not yet, anyway. I don't know much about these fairies…" His father's voice trailed off, and his shoulders slumped.

"I could find out," Timothy offered. "I play with Angela a lot. I bet she wants to tell me all about her fairies."

His father blinked slowly. "That could work." He started to grin, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "I do so want to make your mum happy. If you could help…"

"I'll be like 007, and find out exactly what mum's childhood with fairies was like," Timothy promised. "As long as I don't have to witness any mushy stuff, I am willing to help."

"Thank you," his father said, and ruffled his hair.

Timothy tried to duck away, but his father was quick, his hands big.

"Dad! I'm practically an adult now!"

"Right you are," his father chuckled softly, that strange haunted look fading somewhat.

Good, Timothy thought. "I'm going to see if Mum needs help," he decided. He was a man on a mission now, and would find out who exactly had peopled his mum's childhood garden, and what lived in the apple tree in their yard these days.