by Rosie Green
‘So how are you, anyway?’ asks Erica. ‘I hear you’ve got a hunky man renovating your old house?’
‘Er, yes.’ I laugh nervously, feeling a tell-tale flush warming my cheeks. ‘It’s nearly finished actually. The house.’ My heart sinks just saying it. Perhaps I could invent some more jobs so that Seb would have to stay indefinitely. Loft extension? A conservatory? Landscaped garden? He’s so brilliant, I’m sure he could turn his hand to just about anything . . .
‘You look sad,’ Erica points out gently.
‘I am. The end of something is always hard.’
‘Never mind. You’ve got the memories.’ She gives me a hug. ‘Better dash. It was so lovely catching up. We should grab a drink some time soon.’
I smile at her. ‘That would be lovely.’
I wander back to the table and Isla, thinking that actually, it would be nice to start socialising again. Perhaps it’s time. I promise myself there and then that in a week or two, I’ll take Erica up on her suggestion.
I can’t just sit around being miserable about Dad and moping about Seb for the rest of my life.
‘I’ve just found out some things about Janice that you’re not going to believe,’ I murmur to Isla, glancing around me to make sure no-one is listening.
She leans forward and I sit down and proceed to tell her what Erica revealed . . .
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The days pass slowly in the run up to Christmas Day.
Jonathan’s demand for baubles – especially the personalised kind – seems never-ending and I’m busier than ever in the studio. I’m glad, though. It stops me thinking about things I’d rather ignore. Such as Isla going back to France on the 23rd (she’s booked her flight) and Seb finishing up in the house the same day.
The only bright spot on the horizon is Mum.
She seems to be much improved since she broke down in front of Isla and me in her studio. We’ve been in constant touch ever since – the three of us – mostly by phone because I’m so busy.
It’s the 21st December – just a couple of days until Isla flies off – and when I get back late from the studio, she’s sitting watching TV in the living room. And to my surprise, the Christmas tree is up.
I clap my hands together and smile at the sight. ‘It looks amazing.’
It’s the tree from Moondance Cottage. The one we bought the Christmas after Mum left. I think Dad thought a new start – a brand new way of doing things – would be good for us. So this tree has definitely seen better days. But if I’m not mistaken, there are definitely some new ornaments on there - and they’re in far better taste than the ones I’ve been using year after year.
Isla smiles. ‘It looks nice, doesn’t it? My share of the profits from the shop and flat landed in my bank today, so I thought I’d start trying to pay you back for eating you out of house and home.’
‘You don’t need to do that!’
‘Yes, I do. And anyway, the old decorations were a bit tacky.’
‘These must have cost you a fortune,’ I say in wonder, crossing over to the tree and resting one of the gorgeous baubles in my hand.
‘Your hand-blown glass ones are nicer. But I thought you might be a bit sick of them, having made seventy-thousand of the buggers this Christmas!’
I laugh. ‘Not quite that many, although it sometimes feels like it.’
‘Listen, we need to see Mum. She sounds good on the phone, but I’m just worried that she might – I don’t know – slip back?’ She shrugs.
‘Without us to keep her on the right track?’
‘Precisely.’
‘How about we take her back to Christmas Manor? She adores that place. I think it has fond memories for her.’
I nod. ‘We went there as a family, remember? The year before everything went pear-shaped. It was a great day.’
‘Oh, yes. The chocolate fountain! You’re right. We were all excited because we’d never seen one before and we were obviously desperate to try it.’
‘Haha! Yes. And we got there right on lunchtime and The Grotto was closed for lunch, but we persuaded Mum and Dad to wait there until Santa came back from scoffing his burger or whatever.’
‘Yeah, so we sat on that bench outside The Grotto for an absolute age in the freezing cold, just to make sure we could be first in the queue for the chocolate fountain!’
‘No wonder Mum has fond memories of it. That chocco fountain was fabulous.’
She laughs. ‘I don’t think it was the liquid chocolate that she remembers.’
‘I know. I was joking.’ I smile sadly. ‘Mum must just remember it was our last Christmas outing as a proper family. You know, she still has this hope that you’ll change your mind and stay for Christmas, but I’ve told her that’s not going to happen. That you’ve booked your flight back, despite the fact you’ve sold the shop and the flat.’
‘I might have some news about that, actually,’ she says, with a mysterious smile.
‘What news? Tell me!’
‘No. It’s not set in stone. But you’ll be the first to know.’
There’s an excited twinkle in her eye and my heart sinks. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I hope she’s not planning to set up another business in France now that the money from the sale is through. Because if so, Mum and I will never see her.
I feel a pang of sadness at the thought, and I wish for the thousandth time that she could at least stay and share Christmas with Mum and me. But I know Isla of old. She’s stubborn, and once she’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it . . .
*****
The morning of our trip to Christmas Manor, I pull back the curtains to another fresh layer of untrampled snow. It feels like a sign. It’s going to be a good day . . .
We decide to delay our visit until the afternoon so we can enjoy the fairy-light spectacular at its very best, when it’s growing dark.
When we drive over to pick Mum up around three, she’s on top form, reminiscing about us sledging when we were small with our Scottie dog, Whisky. ‘Remember when you sent poor Whisky down the hill on your sledge all by himself? I nearly had a heart attack.’
‘Oh, God, yes.’ Isla groans. ‘He went down wearing only your bike helmet, Jess, and a look of betrayal.’
I wince. ‘That poor dog. He was okay, though. He sat on the sledge at the bottom as if he wanted another go.’
‘And I made you come in because you gave me such a fright,’ laughs Mum. ‘Gosh, those were the days.’
I’m waiting for her to bring Dad into the story, even though he wasn’t actually there, and when I glance at Isla, I catch her looking at Mum as if she’s thinking the same as me.
But Dad doesn’t even come up.
Mum seems fully engaged in our conversation and is joining in cheerfully – a far cry from how she was only a week ago.
‘She’s much better, isn’t she?’ I murmur to Isla when Mum goes off to find her handbag.
She nods. ‘I think she’s turned a corner.’
We smile, optimistic that we might have the old Mum back.
I drive us all over to Christmas Manor.
‘It’s just as well there’s a couple of over-flow car parks,’ says Isla as we get out of the car.
Mum nods. ‘I knew it would be busy but this is amazing. Look at all the cars!’
My heart is beating fast. I’m actually feeling quite sick. I’m desperate for this to be a Seb-free visit so I can just try and enjoy the time with Mum and Isla. Isla flies back the day after tomorrow, so we need to make the most of having her here. The trouble is, as we set off along the path towards the manor and all the Christmas stalls, I’m constantly on the look-out for a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair, wearing a black puffa jacket.
Mum fishes her glasses out of her bag, along with an old Christmas Manor leaflet, and starts studying it as we walk.
‘You okay?’ murmurs Isla to me. ‘You’re very quiet.’
I paste on a bright smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Apart from the severe case of butterflies and jelly leg. ‘I can’t believe how busy it is!’
‘That’s what Mum just said. Pay attention!’ She gives me a sad little smile. ‘You’re worried you might bump into Seb, aren’t you?’
I swallow. ‘More to the point, Seb and his little family.’
‘What was that about Seb?’ asks Mum. ‘Is he nearly finished the house?’
‘I think so, Mum.’ I endeavour to rally myself. ‘Wow, this place is so popular now, isn’t it? The marketing team have done a great job.’
‘We’re lucky to have it right on our doorstep,’ says Mum, taking my hand. ‘Oh, this is so lovely. A day out with my girls! And it’s nearly Christmas! There was a time I thought we’d never be this close again.’ She links her arm through Isla’s. Then she squeezes my hand and looks up at me, her eyes misty with tears. ‘I hurt you so much, Jess, when I left. I thought you’d never forgive me.’
‘Oh, Mum. Of course I’ve forgiven you.’ I turn and draw her into a hug and she holds onto me tightly. ‘Back then, I didn’t understand why you left. But now I know you were depressed after the miscarriage and on top of that, to find that Dad had . . . it must have been the most horrible time of your life.’
It’s the first time in years that I’ve hugged Mum spontaneously like this, and my heart swells with love.
We pull apart and Mum dabs her eyes with a hanky. ‘All that’s in the past now. Thank goodness. Now, let’s enjoy today.’ She links our arms and we gather close for warmth as we pass the busy Christmas tree outlet. The paths have been cleared of snow and gritted so at least there’s no danger of me landing on my butt again.
‘Shall we go and grab a warm-up hot chocolate first?’ Isla suggests as we draw near the manor house.
We agree that’s an excellent idea and hurry inside, stamping our boots on the welcome mat. We grab a table by the window and after much debate, Isla decides on a gingerbread latte, while Mum has her usual Earl Grey tea. My insides are still in a bit of an uproar, although with no sign of Seb, I’m gradually starting to relax. So I opt for a hot chocolate.
When we’re all settled with our drinks and a plate of deliciously melt-in-the-mouth mince pies, Isla clears her throat. ‘Okay, I’ve got an announcement to make. I’m starting up a brand new venture. A coffee shop with a difference.’
I look at her in alarm. This is what I was afraid of. Her eyes are sparkling with glee at the prospect of a new project. And typical Isla, it’s obvious she can’t wait to get started.
Mum reaches for Isla’s hand, worry written across her face, although she’s probably not aware of it. I’m with her on this. My own heart is sinking at the thought of Isla going away again - throwing herself into this brand new business. We’ll never see her.
I know it’s selfish but we’ve only just drawn closer, the three of us. It’s a precious feeling and I really don’t want to lose it . . .
With some effort, I arrange my face into an expression of delight. ‘A coffee shop with a difference, eh? What’s that all about, then?’ Mum’s instinctive reaction to Isla’s news – fear that she’s going to lose her daughter all over again – has brought a lump to my throat.
Isla, looking blissfully unaware of the emotions her announcement has stirred up, draws in deep breath. ‘It’s going to be a coffee shop, bookshop and gift shop, all in one!’
I swallow. ‘Wow. That sounds amazing, Isla.’ I raise my mug of hot chocolate and smile at her and Mum. ‘To Isla’s new adventure.’
‘Thank you, Jess.’ Isla is brimming over with excitement. ‘What do you think, Mum? Will my pastries manage to win over the locals?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Rising to the occasion, Mum hastily picks up her tea cup and clinks Isla’s gingerbread latte. ‘You’re a wonderful baker. Whatever makes you happy, my darling.’
‘The locals?’ I query with a frown. ‘You mean where you’ll be living in France?’
Isla’s face spreads into a huge smile. ‘No. I mean the locals right here, in Lower Luckworth. Jonathan and I are going into business together.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
‘What?’ I yelp.
‘Oh, my Lord!’ gasps Mum, doing a fair impression of a goldfish.
And then we’re all laughing, and Mum and I are asking a string of questions, talking over each other in our eagerness to find out more about Isla’s amazing plan.
It turns out that the ‘old school friend’ she kept meeting was Jonathan all along.
‘I bumped into him in the village soon after I arrived and he mentioned his worries over The Treasure Box no longer being financially viable,’ she tells us, an excited glow in her eyes. ‘I suggested that he should maybe think about diversifying. And he said he could buy the bakery next door, once it closed, and knock through to make one big shop, then expand into books and a café. We laughed about it and I said I’d be happy to run the café part for him. Of course, we weren’t being serious. We were both broke!’ She grins. ‘But when I heard we’d got a buyer for the shop and flat in France, it occurred to me that I’d have a big chunk of cash to put down as a deposit – and I could think about buying the bakery.’
‘So you’re both serious about this?’ I ask, stunned. ‘Are you sure you can afford it?’
She nods. ‘We’ve done the sums and it’s looking good so far. Obviously I’ll have to find someone to give me a mortgage on the bakery, but I’m sure we can make it work.’
Mum’s face is shining with delight. ‘I’m certain you will, love. Oh goodness, I can’t believe it. Does this mean you’ll be here for Christmas?’
‘Yes!’
Mum claps excitedly. ‘This is so good. Oh, your dad would have been so delighted you’re back home to stay.’
Isla nods. ‘He would, wouldn’t he? I’ve hated Christmas these past few years . . . since Dad . . . but this one is going to be really special. I can sense it.’
I nod, focusing on my happiness at Isla’s fabulous news, and determined to ignore the little niggling voice in my ear that’s saying, How can you ever be totally happy when Seb is no longer in your life?
Tears spring to my eyes, but I don’t want to spoil the moment for Isla and Mum. ‘Just nipping to the loo. Back in a minute.’ And I head out of the café, almost bumping into a woman carrying a loaded tray because my vision is so blurry. Instead of going to the loo, I rush outside, snowflakes landing on my cheeks. The stalls are bustling with people but I just want to be on my own. Hurrying along the path that leads round the side of the manor to Santa’s treehouse, I’m hoping one of the garden benches that have views over the rolling countryside might be free.
I’m in luck. I throw myself down on the seat and curl into myself, elbows on my knees, tears sliding through my hands.
And then suddenly, Isla and Mum are there.
‘Jess. There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ Isla’s eyes are shining.
‘What is it?’
‘I just bumped into Seb. He wants to see you.’
My heart lurches. ‘Me? Now? But what about Bella and her mum?’
‘They’re waiting to see Santa.’
I swallow. A queue was already forming when we first arrived. It will be a lot longer now. So I guess I don’t have to worry that I’ll be bumping into Aleksandra any time soon. But while my heart longs to be with Seb, my head is saying: why put yourself through more agony?
He’s here with his little family. He might think he’s being kind, wanting to let me know how things are going, but the last thing I need right now is to have my nose rubbed in Aleksandra’s happiness!
‘He says it’s important,’ urges Isla, seeing my hesitation. ‘He said he’d wait by The Grotto. It’s not so busy there, so you’d be sure to spot him.’
I swallow hard. ‘Okay. I’ll go over there.’
My heart flutters in my chest as I head out of the manor house, past the rows of bustling stalls, and across the grass on my jelly legs. What can be so important? It can�
�t be about the house, because surely he’d have spoken to Isla if there was anything to discuss on that front? It can only be to tell me of his plans . . . but do I really want to know?
My insides are rolling around queasily as I approach the rendez-vous place.
Through the gloom, I can see the outline of a man sitting on one of the wooden benches just outside The Grotto. The same one Isla and I were talking about only yesterday. He’s staring into the distance and for just one second, my heart lurches with joy because I think it’s Dad.
I shake my head and laugh to myself.
It must be the memory of sitting on that bench with Mum and Dad that last time, waiting for the chocolate fountain, that prompted that bout of wishful thinking.
It has to be Seb.
I walk towards him, my heart beating loudly, expecting him to turn at any moment and see me. But he doesn’t and it puzzles me. Isla said Seb was waiting for me, and yet he doesn’t seem to be watching out for me? He’s just staring into space, as if he’s unaware of everything else around him . . .
‘Jess. You’re here.’
The voice behind me makes me jump. I whisk around in confusion. ‘Seb?’
‘Hello.’ He frowns. ‘Sorry, did I give you a fright?’
My hand flies to my chest and I smile. ‘My fault. I thought that was you over there.’ I point to the bench. The man is getting up now and I laugh to think I thought he was Seb. Now that he’s standing up, I can see he’s much older. He has a beard and he’s wearing glasses.
‘Jess, I’ve got some news.’
My stomach shifts. Do I really want to hear this? What if he tells me that he isn’t going to lose Bella after all - that Aleksandra has decided not to go to Australia – and that Christmas this year is going to be a wonderful family affair?
The lump in my throat aches so much. I’m pleased for him and Bella. I really am. But I need to try and stay detached when he tells me . . .
I paste on a smile. ‘Good news, I hope?’
My eyes flick away from his face. I can’t look at him as he tells me or he’ll see the anguish in my face. So I concentrate instead on the man I thought was Seb. He’s now walking slowly across the grass. There’s something about the way he moves that’s familiar. But I don’t know anyone with a beard like that.
