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The frozen January grass crunches underfoot as six small figures dart across the Brown House lawn, their breaths puffing like miniature locomotives in the frigid air. Simon, twelve and fiercely competitive, dribbles the patched leather ball with more enthusiasm than skill, his too-long socks slipping down his shins. Beside him, ten-year-old Tora moves with surprising grace, her braids whipping like pendulum ropes as she blocks Sebastian’s half-hearted lunge.
"Lily, NOW!" Simon shouts.
Eight-year-old Lily, bundled in a scarf that threatens to swallow her whole, delivers a kick so weak it barely rolls—but Eric, ever the dreamer, is already staring at the treetops, distracted by a pair of squirrels quarreling over their nuts.
"Sebastian!" Chrissie squeals, abandoning her post altogether as one squirrel tumbles onto the pitch, its bushy tail twitching. Simon seizes the moment—the ball arcs in a wobbly trajectory and smacks the oak tree trunk, sending a shower of acorns down onto the scrambling rodents.
"You brute!" Tora whirls on him, cheeks flushed with outrage rather than cold. "That poor thing was just eating!"
From the terrace, Aggie giggles into her mittens while Nanny McPhee’s single raised eyebrow speaks volumes.