Work Text:
Most of Robert’s favourite childhood memories centre around his bedtime routine.
A glass of milk, brushing teeth, pyjamas, bedtime story.
The last part was always the best. Sarah would come up and help him search through the bookcase in the corner of his room for a book to read, and they would snuggle up together in his little bed. Sometimes they would take it in turns to read a page, other times he would just snuggle into his mum’s warm jumpers, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume, letting her relaxed breathing and soothing voice lull him to sleep.
They were moments that were special and precious, a routine that was unique to the two of them. A couple of times Jack tried to read to him, but it was never the same. He didn’t have the patience to wait for Robert to sound out the more complicated words, and he didn’t have the same passion for reading that his wife did.
Sometimes Robert would even ask Sarah to read her favourite books, classic literature mostly, even though he didn’t yet understand a lot of them, just so he could hear the way her voice practically sang with enjoyment.
Sometimes, on evenings when they were both less sleepy, they would pick up a pen each to use as they read, underlining their favourite words and phrases and making notes in the margins about characters that they loved or hated.
Robert still has many of those books, complete with notes and scribblings, Vic having returned a lot of them to him when he moved back to Emmerdale. Since then they have been his most treasured possessions, priceless for the memories pressed into pages and the connection to his now long-gone mother.
It’s why he carries one of those storybooks upstairs now, as night begins to descend and calmness settles over the house.
Annie is already in bed, red and pink pyjamas on, and her long blonde hair loose down her back.
“You ready?” Robert asks her, as he nudges the door open, watching her head whip round as he enters, her sweet six-year-old eyes wide and excited.
“Yeah!” She says, shuffling to one side of her bed, so that her dad can join her.
He pulls the purple butterfly duvet up around her as she settles her head on his shoulder. “Do you want to help me read?”
“Hmm, no.” Annie replies, rubbing at her eyes tiredly already. “Don’t forget to do the voices!” she insists, as she always does.
Robert can’t resist squeezing his smart, passionate, determined daughter closer to him. Annie reminds him so much of Sarah sometimes that it takes his breath away, and just for a second, Robert thinks he can sense her in the room with them. He knew that his mum wouldn’t have been impressed with a lot of the decisions he’s made in his adult life, but Annie is something he got truly right. He only wishes that they could have met.
This particular book has no notes or underlining, the illustrations too beautiful for anyone to consider defacing.
There’s just one note, right on the very first page, that he makes sure to read every time.
“Property of Sarah and Robert Sugden. January 1993”