Twelve disappearing doughnuts

'Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy.'

'Just a minute, Georgie,' Mary said, concentrating on the traffic and looking for a gap she could use to turn onto the main road.

'Mummy. Mummy. Mummy,' George kept on in the back seat.

'Oh, for goodness' sake, what, George?' Mary snapped, her irritation rising.

'We have to take something to eat into school tomorrow for a Christmas bruffay.'

'A what?' she said, distracted as some kind soul took pity on her and flashed their headlights to let her edge out of the side road.

'A bruffay.'

'He means a buffet,' Sybbie said, the voice of sophistication at eight years old.

'I need to take things for everyone to eat.'

'Like what?'

'Stanley's mum is making sausage rolls. And Eddie's mum is making profiteroles.'

'Profiteroles? For a children's buffet?' Mary asked, incredulously. 'Some people have far too much time on their hands.'

'Will you make something for me to take?'

'Oh, George, I don't have time to make anything. Not for tomorrow.'

'You can't bake anyway, Aunt Mary,' Sybbie pointed out. 'Maybe Daddy could do it. He makes delicious brownies.'

'Or maybe he could buy something,' Mary said, her brain clicking into gear. 'He's at the supermarket right now. Mercedes, call Tom.'

'Calling Tom,' the automated voice of Mary's SUV said in an unruffled tone.

''Lo,' Tom's voice echoed out of the console.

'Hi, Daddy!' Sybbie called.

'Hello, baby. You all right?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Tom, are you still at the supermarket?' Mary broke in.

'Yes. What do you need?'

'George has just informed me he's got a Christmas buffet at school tomorrow. He needs to take something in.'

'You want me to get something for that?'

'Yes, please.'

'Mummy can't make profiteroles,' George piped up.

Tom laughed. 'No, George, that she can't.'

'All right, all right. Not all of us can be domestic goddesses,' Mary said, not appreciating her family's patently dim view of her culinary skills.

'What do you want me to get?'

'Not profiteroles. Or sausage rolls. Apparently, the more organised mothers have those covered.'

'What do you fancy, George?' Tom asked.

'Doughnuts!' George called, thrilled by the idea of being able to stuff his face with treats at school in the morning.

'Oh, good choice. That all right with you, Mary?' Tom asked.

'Yes, all right, fine. As long as he's got something to take with him, I don't really care,' Mary said, George's buffet fare way down on her priority list.

'Okay. Consider it done.'

'Oh, you're a lifesaver, Tom, thank you,' Mary said, gratefully.

'It's no bother. I'll see you at home, okay?'

'Okay.'

'Bye, Daddy!'

'Bye, Uncle Tom!'

'Bye, guys,' Tom replied and then rang off.

Mary silently blessed her brother-in-law and the co-parenting role they had going on with their kids. If there was one thing she could rely on in life, it was Tom having her back.

George stared at the box of doughnuts, his eyes wide and gleeful.

'Krispy Kreme?' Mary said, also staring at the brightly iced doughnuts, resplendent in festive colours, and no doubt chock-a-block with E numbers. 'You couldn't just get the supermarket's jam ones?'

'Ach, where's the fun in that?' Tom said, ruffling George's hair. 'These look awesome, don't they, George? Look, there's Santa and Rudolph, a Christmas tree and… whatever that one is.'

'They look amazing,' the boy breathed. 'I can't decide which one I want the most.'

'Well, they're not for you, are they?' Mary said, sternly. 'Not all of them anyway. They are for your class. You can have one of them then. Just one, mind.'

George slid his eyes up towards her, and Mary could see the cogs in his brain working.

'No, George. No more than one and not until tomorrow at school,' she said, wagging her finger at him.

He gave her a mournful look and returned his awed gaze to the doughnuts.

Later that evening, Mary pulled a bottle of wine from the permanent stock her father always kept in a large custom-made wine cooler, inspecting the label. Nodding, she turned to take it back to the living room to share with Tom.

As she walked through the kitchen, she stopped, turning to look along the counter. The box of doughnuts wasn't where they'd left it, ready for the school run in the morning. In fact, it wasn't anywhere in sight.

Returning to the living room, she handed the bottle of wine to Tom.

'Did you move that box of doughnuts?'

'No. Last time I saw it, it was on the kitchen counter near the back door.'

'Well, it's not there now.'

'I didn't move it. Did you?' he asked, stopping suddenly as he untwisted the cap on the wine, his eyes meeting Mary's.

'No. Oh, he'd better not have,' she said, narrowing her eyes and pushing to her feet.

Tom hastily put the bottle of wine down and followed her as she made her way up the stairs to George's bedroom.

'Don't be too harsh with him, Mary. It is Christmas.'

'Not yet, it's not,' she said, darkly.

She pushed open the door to George's bedroom to see her son writhing on the bed, rubbing his tummy, an empty Krispy Kreme box on the floor next to the bed.

'Muuuummmmmy,' George moaned when he saw her. 'My tummy hurts.'

'Tell me you did not eat all of them,' Mary said, more in hope than anything else.

'They all looked so nice,' George groaned, clutching his stomach.

'You ate all twelve?' Tom asked in disbelief, his eyes shifting from George to the empty box and back again.

'I couldn't choose. Oh, I feel sick,' the boy said, hauling himself upright, looking green around the gills.

Mary grabbed a plastic tub of Lego and dumped the contents on the floor, shoving the empty tub under George's face just in time as the green, red and yellow icing made a technicolour return appearance.

Tom pulled a face. 'Yuck.'

She glared at him. 'This is your fault! Bloody Krispy Kremes!'

'I didn't know he'd eat them all, did I?' Tom protested, wincing as George hurled again.

'Come on, that's right, George, get it all out,' Mary said, soothingly, rubbing her son's back, before tossing another annoyed glare at Tom. 'I don't think it was too much of a stretch to think he might.'

'Well, you didn't foresee this any more than I did,' Tom retorted. 'If it was that obvious, why didn't you put the doughnuts out of harm's way?'

Mary sighed, holding the tub at arm's length as George groaned and flopped back onto his bed.'I need to deal with this.'

Tom crossed the room and took the tub from her. 'I'll do it. You sort him out.'

Mary softened, her annoyance fading. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes. He needs his mum right now.'

'Thanks, Tom.'

'Don't mention it. It's the least I could do, right?'

Mary smiled at him and then her face fell. 'Oh, bother, now we've got another problem.'

'What?'

'He's got nothing to take to this wretched buffet now he's eaten his entire contribution.'

Tom sighed. 'Right, well, after I've cleaned this, I guess I'm making a batch of brownies.'

'Really? You'd really do that now?' Mary asked, brightening up.

'Can't have the Downton Mummy Mafia accusing us of not pulling our weight and stepping up to the plate, can we?' he said with a shrug. 'Besides, it won't take me all that long.'

'Oh, God, I adore you. You are my hero,' Mary said, a wave of affection for him rushing through her.

Tom chuckled. 'I'll remind you of that next time you're bitching at me for something I've done or not done.'

'Fair enough.'

Tom grinned at her and disappeared out of the door, leaving her to tend to George.