by Rosie Green
‘You don’t believe she was pregnant?’
He shakes his head sadly. ‘She couldn’t have been. When Marion and Jim met us when we docked at Camaret, we went out for dinner, and Marion happened to mention the hysterectomy that Janice had when she was very young. I can’t remember the context. But that’s when I knew it had all been a lie, right from the start. We argued on the boat and she got hysterical. I demanded that we turn back but she was furious at me. I’d seen that wild look in her eyes too many times before and I knew it wasn’t going to end well. She . . . came at me with a knife.’ He rolls up his shirt and shows me the scar on his side, just below the ribs.
My hands fly to my mouth. ‘What happened then?’
‘We were on deck in a howling gale. I staggered back against the side of the boat and she came at me with the knife again. I really thought that was it. My life was over. But the boat rolled on a huge wave, sinking down on our side, and Janice was thrown overboard.’
‘Oh, my God. Dad . . .’ I shake my head slowly, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing.
‘I threw the life raft overboard after her and dived in to try and rescue her. But it was useless with the storm that was raging. I just remember knocking my head quite badly against the side of the boat and then trying to clamber into the life raft. I must have made it but I can’t actually remember anything else until I was being hauled ashore by Reg.’
‘So you must have drifted in the life raft for ages?’
He nods. ‘God knows how I survived in that state. With a head wound and bleeding from a knife wound. But somehow, I did. The boat drifted for miles and I washed up on the Irish coast.’
‘Thank God for Reg,’ I murmur, and he nods.
‘They saved my life, the pair of them. I was so confused in hospital. I’d lost most of my memory and I’d no idea who I was or if I had a family. Because of my accent, everyone assumed I lived somewhere in Ireland, so a headshot of me was circulated but no-one knew me. Not surprisingly. It had been forty years since my family left Ireland for the UK.’
‘So Maggie and Reg took you in?’
‘Yeah, they were great. I must have been a pain in the backside at times. Even my short-term memory was shot to bits, so they had to pretty much do everything for me, especially to begin with. But they were so patient.’ He shakes his head. ‘I owe them so much, Jess. So, so much.’
‘They’re lovely people.’
He nods. ‘When I spotted Christmas Manor in Reg’s copy of The Week, it rang a bell in my mind. And bless them, Reg and Maggie paid for us to fly over here so I could see the place for myself.’ He smiles. ‘We went there every day of that fortnight and I sat on that bench because I knew I’d sat there once before.’
‘With Isla and me. And Mum,’ I recall, smiling. ‘Our last Christmas together before it all went wrong. Waiting for the chocolate fountain.’
‘Yes.’ He smiles as if he’s suddenly remembered that part. ‘The chocolate fountain.’
A thought suddenly occurs.
‘Oh, my God, I think Mum might have seen you there!’
‘What?’
‘We were there before, one afternoon earlier this month, and Mum was convinced she saw you. We raced out, Mum and me, but it seemed like a false alarm. I just thought it was wishful thinking on her part. But maybe she did actually see you.’
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘Weird.’
‘We’ll never know if she saw you or she didn’t.’ I smile. ‘But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Because you’re back.’
We smile at each other, lapsing into silence for a moment, and Dad takes my hand.
‘You know, Jess, the day I spotted you and knew I recognised you was actually going to be our last visit. It was the last day of our fortnight. We were due to fly back to Ireland the following day.’
‘Really?’ This sends a shiver through me. ‘So if we hadn’t visited Christmas Manor that day, you might have returned to Ireland still not knowing your own identity. And we’d be spending yet another festive season without you.’
He nods. ‘I’m finding it hard to get my head round that. That it was such a close call. A chance in a million that you visited Christmas Manor on that day.’
I smile. ‘It was Mum who was desperate to go. And I think it was because she remembered that last time we visited, as a family.’
His eyes fill with sadness. ‘She won’t forgive me, Jess. I can see it in her eyes. And I can’t blame her.’
‘She doesn’t know the whole story. You need to tell her.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m not sure she’d believe it. She’d think I was just making it up. After all, Janice isn’t here to dispute my story.’
‘I’ll tell her. I’ll make her believe,’ I promise him.
His mouth twists ruefully. ‘Good luck with that, Jess! Your mother is a stubborn woman.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
We smile at each other and my eyes fill with happy tears. Dad reaches out and pulls me into a warm hug, and I stand there in the safe circle of his arms, my cheek pressed against his jumper, thinking how very lucky we are. If it hadn’t been for Mum’s obsession with Christmas Manor, this golden moment – right here - might never have happened . . .
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Christmas Eve finally dawns.
The big Moondance Cottage festive reveal is taking place at seven tonight – and Isla is whizzing around, flying in and out of the flat like a bee on anabolic steroids, making sure that everything is going to be ready on time.
It was quite a relief to head over to the studio after lunch with Dad to inspect the results of our glass-blowing session the other day. He hadn’t forgotten any of the techniques and I felt so proud of him. I could tell the experience had boosted his self-confidence and made him realise he’s slowly getting back in touch with the person that he truly is.
The only person allowed in Moondance Cottage ahead of time, apart from Isla, is Mum because she’s volunteered to take charge of the food. Everyone else is banned from stepping anywhere near the property, although I did catch Dad having a peep through the dining room window. But I figured that being the star guest at the celebration meant he had carte blanche to be as naughty as he liked . . .
It’s mid-afternoon, and excitement is slowly building inside me.
I’ve been out and treated myself to a gorgeous outfit. It’s a figure-hugging ‘bandage’ dress in palest grey, the bodice embellished with pearls. It has a square neckline and long sleeves, and it’s shorter than I’d usually wear but it looks good with my black heels, especially after I smoothed some of Isla’s fake tan cream on my legs.
I’m waiting to hear from Seb.
He phoned first thing to say that he might be a bit later to join us than planned. Aleksandra was apparently pressing him to put in an appearance at a friend’s cocktail party but it meant finding a babysitter for Bella.
I’m so hoping he can come tonight. In fact, I’m pinning all my hopes on it.
In my mind, tonight is going to be perfect.
The house will be like a double-page spread from Homes & Gardens, the turkey will be roasted to perfection and the atmosphere as we sit down to dine will rival a Waltons Christmas happy ending. Mum will have stopped sniping at Dad, Seb will make it over in time for dessert and Isla will have relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself.
The plan is for Dad and I to join Isla and Mum at Moondance Cottage around seven, and then Maggie and Reg will come over for the meal at eight.
My phone rings at six as I’m emerging from the shower. It’s Isla. ‘Candles!’ she shrieks. ‘We need candles and lots of them.’
I hear Mum shout something in the background and Isla sings, ‘Never mind. Sorted,’ and the phone goes dead. I smile to myself as I get into my party dress and heels, and start on my make-up, adding extra smoky definition to my eyes. My hand is trembling. I just want everything to be perfect.
Just before seven, I draw up outside the hotel and Dad emerges from
the revolving door, a tall figure, handsome in a dark suit and blue shirt, and my eyes prick with happy tears. Could we ever have imagined this would be happening? Dad joining us for the Christmas celebrations . . .
My heart is bumping against my ribs as we draw up outside Moondance Cottage. I’ve no doubt Isla will have done a fabulous job. We walk up the path and ring the bell. The house is in almost total darkness but there’s the sound of excited shrieks from within, then Isla comes tottering along the candle-lit hallway in her sky-scraper heels to open the door.
‘Welcome to the Rigby Family Christmas!’ she squeaks, the high colour in her cheeks suggesting she and Mum might possibly have been ‘at the sherry’, helping to make the cookery preparations go with a swing.
She hugs Dad and I hug Mum. But then Dad folds his arms, looking awkward, and Mum dashes along to the kitchen saying she needs to check the turkey.
My heart sinks.
That part of the plan isn’t working, then. The part where Mum and Dad breach the icy divide on this special day. Still, I suppose there’s time . . .
‘Right. The tour!’ says Isla, her eyes shining, making me wonder if maybe Jonathan has already been round today.
She ushers us to the door of the living room and flicks one switch – and instantly, the room is glowing with festive magic. There’s a log fire burning in the grate and fairy-lights over the fireplace, and a tall Christmas tree in the corner, decked with the baubles Dad and I made and hundreds of little pin-dot lights.
‘Wow.’ I breathe in slowly, loving the scent of the real tree. ‘This is amazing.’
I glance at Dad, who’s standing silently beside me. His adam’s apple bobs up and down and I can tell he’s feeling emotional. But then Isla swoops over to him and starts chatting, hugging his arm possessively, in a way that catches at my heart.
Mum is standing by the tree, looking lovely in a fitted, knee-length dress in a rich turquoise that sets off her elegant white pixie cut perfectly. She doesn’t think anyone is looking and she’s just gazing at Dad with such a mournful expression on her face, my heart drops into my posh shoes watching her.
Then Isla’s offering everyone drinks and we’re being taken upstairs to see the bedrooms, and Mum steps out of the shadows and starts joining in.
Maggie and Reg arrive a little while later and we all assemble in the dining room with our drinks at Isla’s gorgeously-bedecked table. There’s foliage from the garden, dotted with red holly berries, all along the centre of the table and fairy-lights entwined around the dozens of candles, all combining to cast the perfect festive glow over our evening. Everyone looks extra lovely by candlelight.
Dad is more talkative now that Maggie and Reg are here, and it’s lovely to see. But every time I catch Mum’s eye, she seems to be looking a little downcast. Reg carves the turkey and Mum nips away for the side dishes, and I can tell she’s glad to be occupied. Once we’ve eaten, she’s first up from the table to clear away.
I slip away to join her in the kitchen and find her standing at the window, staring out into the blackness beyond the window.
‘Mum?’
She turns. ‘Oh, Jess, this should be the perfect night, and I’m really sorry I’m not jollier. But . . . it’s so hard.’
I go over to her and pull her into a seat. Then I sit down beside her. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask softly.
‘It’s your dad. It was so wonderful to see him that first day. I couldn’t believe my dream had finally come true. But . . .’
‘But what, Mum?’
She sighs. ‘He wants me to forgive him, but I’m just not sure that I can. Oh, Jess, what’s wrong with me?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with you! You’re just nervous, that’s all. Uncertain. Dad broke your heart once before. It’s totally understandable that you should be worried about going back there.’
She nods. ‘I found it impossible to forgive him back then, and it’s still so hard now. I didn’t think it would be.’
I take her hand. ‘You know, he never loved Janice like he loved you . . . still loves you. You have to try to forgive him.’
She looks me straight in the eyes. ‘Have you forgiven me, Jess?’ Her chin is trembling.
‘Yes! Of course I have! Oh, Mum, there was nothing to forgive in the end. You were protecting me, not telling me the truth about Dad. That’s real love in my eyes.’ I swallow hard. ‘I should never have been so stubborn.’
‘Oh, Jess, I love you so much.’ Her eyes shine with tears.
‘I love you, too, Mum.’ A sob escapes as I reach over to hug her and I’m not sure if the sound came from me or her. Both, I think.
We cling so tightly to each other, as if we’re both trying to make up for all those lost years . . .
‘Come on,’ I say eventually, taking her hand. ‘They’re going to be wondering where we are.’
I take her through and make sure she’s okay, then I slip back out to the kitchen.
There’s still no word from Seb and my heart sinks. He must be having problems with Aleksandra, and knowing how feisty she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets her own way and he decides to stay on at that cocktail party.
I swallow down my disappointment. It doesn’t matter. I’ll keep a smile on my face for Dad and everything will be fine.
But no matter how much of a talking-to I give myself, all my doubts about whether Seb feels the same as me are slowly but surely rising to the surface.
The doorbell rings and my heart starts hammering with joy. I rush to the door, expecting to see Seb’s smiling face.
But it’s Jonathan.
He grins. ‘Hi, Jess. I don’t want to intrude on your family party, but Isla invited me over for a drink.’
I pull him into a hug. ‘Of course you’re not intruding. Come in.’ I turn and call, ‘Isla! You have another guest!’
She rushes through and my heart squeezes to see the happiness shining on their faces at the sight of each other.
I wander into the kitchen, just wanting to be on my own. But now the pudding is being served, so I have to put on a party face and go in and join them.
It’s almost midnight before Maggie and Reg make a move to leave. After they’ve gone, Isla and Jonathan flop out on the sofa in front of the log fire and Dad goes upstairs to get changed into something more comfortable. Mum and I start clearing away and we find Maggie’s purse on the table.
There’s a ring at the doorbell.
‘Oh, that’ll be Maggie,’ says Mum, picking up the purse and hurrying to the door.
I hear voices in the hallway, but I just can’t bring myself to go through and be cheerful again. So I stand at the window, staring unseeing into the inky blackness.
‘Jess.’ I jump at the deep voice behind me and my eyes flit, startled, to the reflection in the window.
Seb?
Instantly, my heart is hammering so fast, I can hardly breathe. I spin round and fall into his arms, and he groans into my hair. ‘At last. I thought I was never going to be allowed to leave that damn party!’
Gently, he tips up my chin and I smile happily, losing myself in the warmth of his blue eyes. Those eyes that have mesmerised me since the very first time I saw him. I reach up to kiss him and he responds, gently at first, then more firmly and insistently until all thoughts swim from my head except the wonderful feeling of his lips against mine. His body against mine . . .
We break apart, gasping and laughing with the sheer delight of it all.
‘You need a drink.’ I look around for Mum but she appears to have vanished and Dad must still be upstairs. ‘Champagne?’
‘If there’s some open.’
I cross to the fridge, feeling suddenly self-conscious in my figure-hugging dress.
‘Looking gorgeous, by the way,’ drawls Seb, and I turn shyly to see him standing there, studying my every move, arms folded, that lazy smile on his face that always makes my stomach flip over.
‘Thank you,’ I say primly. ‘Can you get another bottle
of champagne from in there?’ I point to the cold utility room, where Isla is storing the booze.
‘Don’t open one just for me.’
‘Why not? It’s Christmas.’
He grins and nips next door, and I lean back against the brand new island in the centre of the room with a happy sigh, trying to get myself together.
Seb appears with a bottle and pops the cork and we toast each other, still standing there in the kitchen.
‘Sorry the party’s over here,’ I smile, leaning into him.
‘I’m not,’ he murmurs. ‘It means I get you all to myself, Jess Rigby. Every single inch of you, which by the way I’ve been fantasising about exploring for far more hours than is probably good for me.’
‘Mm, I like the sound of that.’ I smile wickedly, my body responding eagerly to the words he’s breathing in my ear.
‘What’s that music?’ I cock my head. ‘It sounds as if it’s coming from the garden. It must be next door.’
I’m sure I know the song but it’s not being played loud enough to identify it.
Seb goes to the back door. He opens it a fraction and at once, I know the song.
He beckons. ‘Come over here.’
So I join him at the door and he slips his arm around my waist, and I look out into the garden. Fairy-lights have been strung along the hedge and ‘Moondance’ is playing, and in the centre of the lawn, a couple are dancing.
‘You thought they wouldn’t get on,’ Seb murmurs in my ear. ‘I don’t think you needed to worry.’
I laugh softly, shaking my head. And just then, Dad stops moving and draws Mum closer to gently kiss her. My heart is so full, I think I might explode.
‘Maybe we ought to retreat and leave them to it,’ he whispers.
I nod. Turning, I take his hand and pull him in, closing the door. Then I flash him a wicked smile. ‘Have I shown you the bedrooms? Isla’s done an amazing job.’
‘Beds as well?’
‘Oh, yes. I really think you should take a look.’
‘Happy Christmas, Jess,’ he murmurs. He kisses me again, achingly softly this time, until I feel I might explode with desire. Then, our arms around each other, we walk slowly up the stairs . . .
