by Sarah Morgan
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“I like teasing you. I like the way you look when you’re mad. Your mouth pouts and you have these cute little frown lines and—Ow!” He ducked as she crossed the room and flung a pillow at him. “Did you really just do that? How old are you?”
“Old enough to have developed perfect aim.”
He threw the pillow back on the bed, tossed his clothes back on the chair and tumbled her underneath him.
She landed with a gasp on the mattress.
“Stewart!”
“What?”
“We have things to do.”
“We do indeed.” He lowered his head and the last thing she saw before he kissed her were his blue eyes laughing into hers.
By the time they got out of bed for the second time, the first fingers of weak sunlight were poking through the curtains.
“And now I’m late.” Stewart dived into the bathroom. “I blame you.”
“And it’s my fault because...?”
But he was already in the shower, humming tunelessly as the water splashed around him.
Suzanne lay for a moment, her brain fuzzy and contented, the dream all but forgotten.
She knew she ought to make a start on those stockings.
Knitting was the perfect form of relaxation, although it had taken her years to discover it.
She hadn’t knitted a thing until she was in her thirties.
To begin with it had been her way of showing her love for the girls. She’d clothe them and wrap them in warmth. When she’d picked up her needles and yarn, she hadn’t just been knitting a sweater; she’d been knitting together her fractured, damaged family, taking separate threads and turning them into something whole.
Stewart came out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a towel. “Did you want me to sort out a Christmas tree on the way home?”
“Posy said she’d do it. I thought we’d wait a few more days. I don’t want the needles falling off before Christmas. How many trees should we have this year? I thought one for the living room, one for the entryway, one in the TV room. Maybe one for Hannah’s room.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one for the boot room? How about the downstairs bathroom?”
She studied him. “There are still plenty more pillows on this bed that I can fling.”
But he’d distracted her from her nightmare. She knew that had been his intention, and she loved him for it.
“All I’m saying is that maybe you should leave a few in the forest.” He threw the wet towel over the back of the chair and then caught her eye and put the towel in the bathroom instead. “Every year you half kill yourself turning this place into a cross between a winter wonderland and Santa’s workshop.” He dressed quickly, pulling on the layers that were necessary for his job. “You have big expectations, Suzanne. Not easy to live up to that.”
“It’s true that things can be a little stressful when the girls are together—”
“They’re women, not girls, and ‘a little stressful’ is an understatement.”
“Maybe this year will be different.” Suzanne stripped the sheets off the bed. “Beth and Jason are happy. I can’t wait to have the grandchildren here. I’m going to hang stockings above the fire and bake plenty of treats. And Hannah won’t need to do a thing, because I plan on getting everything done before she arrives so I can spend time with her. I want to catch up on her news.” She held the sheets to her chest. “If only she would meet someone special, she’d—”
“She’d what? Eat him for breakfast?” Stewart shook his head. “I beg you do not mention that to her. Hannah’s relationships are her business. And I don’t think she’s that interested.”
“Don’t say that.” She refused to believe it might be true. Hannah needed a close relationship. She needed her own family. A protective circle. Everyone needed that.
Suzanne had craved it. At the age of six, she’d dreamed about it. Her early years had been spent with a mother too drunk to be aware of her existence. Later, when her mother’s internal organs had given up fighting the relentless abuse, Suzanne had been placed in foster care. Every story she’d written at school involved her being part of a loving family. In her dreams she had parents and siblings. By the time she was ten, she was resigned to the fact that it was never going to happen for her.
Eventually she’d ended up in residential care, and that was where she’d met Cheryl. She’d become the sister Suzanne had longed for, and she’d poured all the surplus love she had into their friendship. They’d been so close people had assumed they were related.
Cheryl’s love filled all the gaps and holes in Suzanne’s soul, like glue bonding together broken fragments. She stopped feeling lost and alone. She no longer wished for someone to adopt her because then she’d have to leave the care home and that would mean leaving Cheryl.
They’d shared a bedroom. They’d shared clothes and laughter. They’d shared hopes and dreams.
The memory was vivid and the need to hear Cheryl’s infectious laugh so strong that Suzanne almost reached for the phone.
It had been twenty-five years since they’d spoken, and yet the urge to talk to her had never gone away.
The part of her that missed her friend had never healed.
“Suzanne? What are you thinking?” Stewart’s voice dragged her back to the present.
He’d thought Cheryl was a bad influence.
The irony was that Suzanne never would have met Stewart if it hadn’t been for Cheryl. She wouldn’t have been a mountain guide if it hadn’t been for Cheryl.
“I was thinking about Hannah.”
“If you mention her love life, I guarantee she will be on the first flight out of here and we will not have a happy Christmas.”
“I won’t say a word. I’ll ask Beth for an update. I’m glad they’re both living in New York. It’s good for Hannah to have her sister close by. And Beth is settled and happy and loves being a mother. Maybe spending time with her will be an inspiration for Hannah.”
Soon, the three sisters would be together again and Suzanne knew that this year Christmas was going to be perfect.
She was sure of it.
2
Beth
Motherhood was killing her.
Beth was trying in vain to extract her children from their favorite toy store when the call came. For a moment she felt guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
She’d promised Jason no more toys, but she wasn’t good at saying no to the girls. Jason continually underestimated the persistence of children. No one could chip holes in a person’s resolve like a determined child. Please, Mommy, pleeeease—
She found it particularly difficult because she badly wanted to be a good mother and had a more than sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t. There was, she’d discovered, an annoying gulf between intention and reality.
She grabbed her phone and coaxed Ruby away from yet another oversize fire truck, this one with flashing lights and blaring horns that was no doubt the brainchild of a young single man with no children.
The number wasn’t one she recognized, but she answered anyway, reluctant to pass up what might be an opportunity for adult conversation. Since having children, her world had shrunk, and Beth felt she’d shrunk with it.
These days she was willing to befriend anyone who didn’t want to talk to her about problems with eating, sleeping or behavior. The week before, she’d found herself prolonging a conversation with someone trying to sell her car insurance even though she didn’t have a car. Eventually they’d hung up on her, which had to be a first in the history of cold calling.
“Hi there.” Her phone was sticky and she tried not to think about the provenance of the substance stuck to her phone. Melly’s favorite treat? When Beth had been pregnant, she’d resolved neve
r to give her kids sugar, but that, like so many other resolutions, had evaporated in the fierce heat of reality.
“I want the fire truck, Mommy!”
As usual, the children ignored the fact she was on the phone and carried on talking to her. There were no breaks from motherhood. No commercial breaks, no bathroom breaks and certainly no phone breaks.
Her needs were right at the bottom of the pile.
Beth had always known she wanted children. What she hadn’t known was how much of herself she’d have to give up.
She turned away slightly so she could hear what the person on the other end was saying.
“Beth McBride?” The voice was crisp and businesslike. A woman with a purpose, ticking this call off her to-do list.
Once upon a time Beth had been that woman. She’d luxuriated in the glamour and glitter of Manhattan. Energized by the frantic pulse of the city, she’d thrived. It had been like trying on a dress and discovering it fitted perfectly. You never wanted to take it off. You wanted to buy two in case you damaged one and somehow tarnished the perfect look.
And then one day you woke up and discovered the dress was no longer yours. You missed it. You saw other people wearing it and wanted to tear it from their bodies.
“This is Beth McBride speaking.”
McBride.
No one had called her that in years. These days she was Bethany Butler.
“Beth, it’s Kelly Porter from KP Recruiting.”
Beth would have dropped the phone had it not been for the sticky goo welding it to her palm.
Before having children, Beth had worked in public relations for a number of beauty companies. She’d started at the bottom but had rapidly worked her way up, and Kelly had found her at least two of her roles.
“Hi, Kelly. Good to hear from you.” Beth smoothed her hair and stood a little straighter, even though it wasn’t a video call.
She was Beth McBride, someone who took calls from recruitment agencies.
“I have something you might be interested in.”
Beth was interested in anything that didn’t squeak, leak or leave marks on the floor, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Kelly would be calling her.
She and Jason had talked about her going back to work at some point when the children were older. Now that Ruby was in preschool, it was time to have that discussion again, but Beth usually found herself too exhausted to put together a case.
And then there was the part of her that felt guilty for wanting to leave the girls.
“I’m listening.”
“I understand you’ve had a career break.” Kelly’s tone suggested she classified such a thing in the same group of unfortunate life events as typhoid and yellow fever.
“I’ve taken time out to focus on my family.”
Beth extracted the princess outfit from Melly’s hand with a shake of her head. Melly already had a closetful of princess outfits. Jason would go insane if she bought another one, especially this close to Christmas.
“Have you heard of Glow PR?” Kelly ignored the reference to family. “The team is young, dynamic and making a name for themselves. They’re looking for someone with your profile.”
What exactly was her profile?
She was a wife, a mother, a cook, a cabdriver, a cleaner, a play leader and a personal assistant. She could clean spaghetti sauce off the walls and recite all of Ruby’s picture books without lifting them from the shelf.
On the wall next to her was a mirror surrounded by enough pink and glitter to satisfy the most demanding wannabe princess. The mirror might look like something out of a child’s fairy tale, but there was nothing fairy tale about the reflection staring back at Beth.
She had dark hair, and her few early attempts to dye it a lighter shade had convinced her that some people were meant to be brunette. Right now she had perfectly coordinated dark patches under her eyes, as if nature was determined to emphasize how tired she was.
Beth had once thought she knew everything there was to know about beauty and how to achieve a certain look, but she knew now that the best beauty product wasn’t a face cream or an eye balm—it was an undisturbed night’s sleep, and unfortunately that didn’t come in jars.
“Mommy—” Ruby tugged at her coat “—can I play with your phone?”
Whatever Beth had, Ruby wanted.
She shook her head and pointed to the fire truck, hoping to distract her younger daughter.
Ruby wanted to be a firefighter, but Beth thought she’d be better suited to being in sales. She was only four years old but could talk a person into submission within minutes.
“Ms. McBride?”
“I’m here.” The words came out of her mouth, pushing aside the words she’d intended to say. I’m a stay-at-home mom now. Thanks for calling, but I’m not interested.
She was interested.
“The company is headquartered right here on Sixth Avenue, but they have a diverse network and a bicoastal presence.”
A bicoastal presence.
Bethany’s imagination flew first-class to the West Coast. Today, a toy store. Tomorrow, Beverly Hills. Hollywood. Champagne. A world of long lunches, business meetings where people actually listened to what she was saying, glamorous parties and being able to use the bathroom without company.
“Mommy? I want the fire truck.”
Beth’s brain was still luxuriating in Beverly Hills. “Tell me more.”
“They’re growing fast and they’re ready to expand their team. They’d like to talk to you.”
“Me?” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that. She should be projecting confidence, but confidence had turned out to be a nonrenewable resource. Her children had stripped hers away, one sticky finger at a time.
“You have the experience,” Kelly said, “the media contacts and the creativity.”
Had, Beth thought.
“It’s been a while since I was in the business.” Seven years to be exact.
“Corinna Ladbrooke asked for you specifically.”
“Corinna?” Hearing her old boss’s name stirred up a tangle of feelings. “She’s moved company?”
“She’s the one behind Glow. Let me know when you have an opening. I can arrange for you to meet everyone.”
Corinna wanted her? They’d worked together closely, but Beth had heard nothing from her since she’d left to have children.
Corinna wasn’t interested in children. She didn’t have them herself, didn’t want them, and if any of her staff were foolish enough to stray into the realms of motherhood, Corinna chose to ignore it.
Ruby started to whine and Beth stooped to pick her up with one arm, automatically checking that her daughter was still holding Bugsy. Nothing parted Ruby from her favorite soft toy and Beth was careful not to lose it.
Would she worry less about the children if she had a job?
She was too anxious—she knew that. She was terrified of something bad happening to them.
“Kelly, I’m going to need to call you back when I’ve taken a look at my schedule.” It sounded more impressive than it was. These days her “schedule” included ferrying the girls to ballet class, art class and Mandarin immersion.
“Do it soon.” The phone went dead and Beth stood for a moment, her head still in fantasy land and her arm in the dead zone. How was it that children seemed to increase in weight the longer you held them? She put Ruby down.
“Time to go home.”
“Fire truck!” Ruby’s wail was more piercing than any siren. “You promised.”
Melly was rifling through the dress-up clothes. “If I can’t be a princess, I want to be a superhero.”
I want to be a superhero, too, Beth thought.
A good mother would have refused and proffered a clear explanation for her decision. The children wou
ld then have left the store feeling chastened and with a greater understanding of the value of money and the concept of delayed gratification, as well as behavior and reward.
Beth wasn’t that mother. She caved and bought both the fire truck and another dress-up outfit.
Loaded down with two happy children, an armful of parcels and a nagging feeling of maternal failure, Beth stepped out of the store onto the street.
To see Manhattan in December was to see it at its wintry best. The dazzle of lights in the store windows and the crisp bite of the winter air mingled together to create an atmosphere that drew people from around the globe. The sidewalks were crowded, the population of Midtown swollen by visitors unable to resist the appeal of Fifth Avenue in the festive season.
Beth loved Manhattan. After she’d graduated, she’d worked for a PR company in London. When they’d transferred her to their New York office, she’d felt as if she’d made it, as if simply being in Manhattan conferred a certain status. When she’d first arrived, she’d been torn between euphoria and terror. She’d walk briskly down streets with familiar names—Fifth Avenue, Forty-second Street, Broadway—trying to look as if she belonged. It was fortunate she’d been living and working in London prior to the move, otherwise the contrast between the noise levels of New York City and her home in the remote Scottish Highlands would have blown both her mind and her eardrums.
Every day she’d walk down Fifth Avenue on her way to work feeling as if she was on a film set. The excitement of it had more than compensated for any homesickness she might have felt. So what if all she could afford was a tiny room where she could touch both walls without leaving her bed? She was in New York, the most exciting city on earth.
Through marriage and two children, that feeling hadn’t left her.
Their apartment was bigger now and they had more disposable income, but other than that, nothing much had changed.
Holding tightly to Ruby’s hand, Beth called Jason to tell him about Kelly, but his assistant told her he was in a meeting.
Only then did she remember he had a major pitch that day and a busy week ahead. Would he be able to make time to take care of the children if she went to meet Corinna and the team?
