"Easy," Lyra said, lifting the lid off the pot for a deep sniff, though cold potatoes, even creamy bacony ones, weren't ever going to smell as good as hot ones. "It's Christmas, we should be drinking while we cook, yeah?" She asked it as a question, but she'd already decided, and reached across to pull two mismatched mugs from the hooks under one of the cupboards. She was ladling some steaming hot wine when Jem stepped back into the kitchen with Jemma in her arms, wide-eyed at the stranger.
"This is Patrick," Jem was murmuring in her youngest daughter's ear. "He's Lyra's father and he's very special. Can you say hello?" Jemma wasn't sure about this, either, her little fist holding onto her mom's sleeve, and Jem stroked her back and smiled encouragingly, first and Jemma and then over at Patrick. "She's a little shy, but I've been telling her all about you and she's been very excited to meet you. Do you want to hold her?"