Christmas on the Island

by Jenny Colgan

  Well, if she’d still take him; if she still had a moment for him – which, hell knows, he didn’t really deserve – then he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. Making it good. He took out his phone to text her.

  Just then, Tripp stood up in front of the bed, looking florid and solemn.

  * * *

  The great house, as usual, was hushed. Fintan, who had lost weight too, was sitting on Colton’s bed, holding his hand. Colton looked like he was in so much pain – great big crevasses of it carved into his paper-thin face – but every time Saif asked if he could help, he shook his head, just a little.

  Fintan was trembling even though the room was toasty warm, the carpets thick, a great fire burning in the grate; the house was so insulated that you couldn’t even hear the snowy wind outside. The vast Christmas tree in the hallway was more beautiful than ever. None of them had noticed it.

  ‘Okay.’ Tripp cleared his throat. He glanced at his phone. ‘Okay, I think . . . I’ve been working with my sis on this, okay? She – Mom – she doesn’t know. Okay?’

  Colton waved a hand. His heart was fluttering; Fintan could feel it.

  ‘If she doesn’t . . . I mean . . . well. She should . . .’ said Tripp. ‘Forget about Pa for a minute, okay? He wouldn’t understand. We got his carer to take him to IHOP.’

  Colton nodded.

  And then Tripp pulled up Skype and they all listened to the plinking bongs with bated breath.

  * * *

  There was a crackle, then the screen opened up onto an old-fashioned room with brightly patterned wallpaper and ornaments everywhere. Outside was blinding sunshine.

  A middle-aged woman was fussing with the computer. She looked mostly like Tripp, not Colton, but when the focus changed to show an old lady on the couch, Fintan could see the resemblance to his husband immediately. Tripp must look like their father; Colton, with his fine features and high forehead, resembled his mother. She must have been beautiful once, he mused. Beautiful, young, with a baby . . . where had it gone so terribly wrong?

  The old woman blinked. ‘Hello? Hello? Who is that?’

  The other woman – Colton and Tripp’s sister Janey – spoke.

  ‘Put your glasses on, Mom.’

  The old woman did so, from a tie around her neck, and leaned forward, peering offputtingly into the camera lens.

  ‘Mom!’ came a booming voice, loud in the quiet room. ‘It’s me, Tripp.’

  ‘Tripp?’ The voice was frail and querulous.

  ‘That’s right, Mom!’

  ‘Where are you, son?’

  ‘I’m in Scotland, Mom, remember? I called you yesterday?’

  The old woman blinked.

  ‘Oh. Did you? Did you? Yes. That’s right. That’s right, Tripp.’

  Fintan’s heart sank. This woman was half out of her mind. And Colton wasn’t really up to talking to her. It might just be best to let bygones be bygones after all.

  Tripp, he realised, was still talking. And suddenly he felt something oddly like respect for someone who, for whatever reasons, had come all this way to find his family.

  ‘Mom, there’s someone here . . . there’s someone here who’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘Eh? What?’

  Her face, riddled with cracks, was very near the screen now.

  Tripp then sat down next to Colton, the laptop balanced on his knees. He tilted the computer closer to Colton’s face.

  ‘Mom . . . it’s Colt.’

  The room held its breath as the old woman squinted into the lens.

  Finally Colton, in a terrible attempt at his old, laid-back drawl, said, ‘Hi, Mom.’

  Her hand went to her mouth, and Janey immediately put her arm around her shoulders to support her.

  ‘That’s Colton?’ She could be heard whispering, thousands of miles away. ‘That’s my Colton?’

  And Janey, in tears, nodded and hugged their mother to her. Neither of them remarked on his terrible appearance or the prognosis that Janey, at least, was well aware of. Instead, Colton’s mother leaned forward and said just three words.

  ‘My baby boy.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  There wasn’t much said after that. No long-drawn-out conversations. No explanations.

  And everyone was thinking of their mothers. Joel felt extraneous and excused himself to the bathroom, where he threw water on his face. Saif was staring very, very hard out of the window for a completely different reason: he was wondering, God help him, how long it would take his boys to reunite with their mother. Even if was never ever too late. Fintan was thinking of just how much he missed his mum; how grateful he was for her unconditional love, all his life; how he wished he’d told her. He hoped she’d known. She’d known a lot of things.

  Meanwhile, Colton’s mother was actually touching the computer screen as if that could bring them there, as if she could touch her son. And Colton was saying, ‘I’m going to look after you, Mom, I promise. Don’t worry,’ as if it were she who needed reassuring, not him, but Fintan could feel off him – sense the effort it took but the way it made him feel so much better about himself just by doing it.

  Just by saying it, he felt like strong, powerful, world-beating Colton once more.

  And then his mother was saying, ‘I miss you, my boy.’

  And Colton said, ‘I know,’ in a low tone of voice. And, Fintan, who knew him better than anyone in the world, realised that he felt seven years old.

  ‘I’m so . . . You know, I didn’t mean . . .’

  It felt as if his mother was about to start on an apology. Colton shook his head sharply.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mom,’ he said, his voice a rasp. ‘Nothing matters now. Except that you’re my mom.’

  ‘I love you.’ The voice was querulous.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ rasped Colton. And then, quietly, very quietly, ‘You too, Mom.’

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Afterwards, there was a heavy silence in the room. Tripp looked as if he was in church. Fintan turned to him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

  Colton had his eyes closed. Fintan went to him.

  ‘Get Joel,’ he said, sweat clear on his forehead. Joel returned immediately. Colton pointed at Tripp.

  ‘Change the will,’ he said. ‘Make sure . . . just make sure my family is taken care of.’

  Tripp shook his head.

  ‘Look, man, I don’t . . . I’ve thought about it. Don’t. You don’t need to give us your money. Forget it, man. We’re all right.’

  ‘Just for Mom and Pa – not for you, you old bastard.’

  But amazingly he had conjured up a smile as he said it. His dry lips curled over his teeth.

  ‘But. Make sure Mom is okay. And Pa is taken care of. All of it.’

  Tripp nodded. Joel said quietly, ‘I can sort all that out, don’t worry.’

  Then Saif stepped forward out from the shadows of the dark window and Fintan reflected that he looked like a sad angel, like a portent of the days to come, his silhouette long against the curtains.

  ‘Fintan . . .’

  And Fintan looked on the bed where Colton had fallen back on the pillows, the suffering clear on his face – and the atmosphere in the room changed, and something else had changed: they had reached the end game, and they all knew it.

  * * *

  Then two phones went off, and the noise was almost unbearable in the silent room. Saif’s first, then Joel’s.

  Saif’s was Charlie. He was brusque and serious.

  ‘Can you come to the Seaside Kitchen please? It’s Flora.’

  Joel’s caller was more blunt. It was Lorna.

  ‘Get your arse down here if you give two shits about Flora.’

  Without another word, she hung up.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Christmas Eve had been absolutely mad-busy in the Seaside Kitchen: everyone was out doing last minute bits and bobs of shopping and wanted to pop in and chat about their purchases an
d what they were doing and could they just get a couple of extra slices of cake in a bag, just for tonight, or some mince pies for leaving out for Santa. They’d sold hundreds, it felt like. Flora was dead on her feet, and she knew she still had to go home, get the turkey out to defrost, pre-make the red cabbage, the bread sauce and the venison.

  She was so weary just thinking about it. The girls were clearing up rapidly, both excited – Christmas Eve would be a big night in the Harbour’s Rest, and they were ready – or rather, they would be – the faster they cleaned up. Then there was make-up to be put on and party dresses to be changed into and mistletoe to carry about and Russians to be surreptitiously met. Flora couldn’t begrudge them any of it – they’d worked so hard – so she smiled and handed them the Christmas bonuses they hadn’t managed to afford the previous year but had this, and the girls jumped up and down in excitement, and they all hugged each other as they said goodbye and wished each other a happy Christmas and Flora thought bitterly that if it wasn’t for that, what a sweet moment this would have been.

  She really didn’t feel well though. Just exhaustion, she knew. Just the strain of all the work – which was good of course – and everything she had to do ever since she’d taken over being officially ‘mother’ to just about everyone which was also fine except she apparently also had to take on being a real mother and . . .

  Suddenly, Flora felt an odd cramping sensation in her stomach and at the same time an odd light-headedness. It was very strange and very quick. Simultaneously, she felt the blood drain from her head and wanted to throw up.

  She leaned forward to put her hand on the countertop. Unfortunately, she missed it and slipped forward and hit her head, and the next thing she knew was . . . nothing . . .

  * * *

  It had been Charlie who found her. Charlie often stopped by just after the Seaside Kitchen closed as that was the best time to pick up leftovers, but he didn’t have any of his mites with him today; he just wanted to say ‘Merry Christmas!’ and was taking the opportunity of Jan not being there to do so. He had absolutely no idea what went on between the two women, but he sensed it didn’t make Flora happy and it didn’t seem to make Jan very happy either so normally he just stayed well out of it. But he did want to wish her a merry Christmas – and hope that everything was okay with her and Joel. He didn’t feel he knew Joel very well despite spending time together with the Outward Adventures boys, and he had absolutely no idea what knowing Joel might be like; he was just aware that the man seemed even sadder and more distant than ever and he was worried about him.

  Charlie was a simple man, and a decent one, and just wanted everyone to get along, so he was going to wish everyone a merry Christmas and . . .

  The front lights were extinguished in the little café but the kitchen light was still on, and from it Charlie could just make out . . .

  Fortunately, he remained calm. He tried the door and, finding it locked, rushed around to the back door, which almost never was. Flora was lying there, out cold, and Charlie’s extensive first aid training kicked in without his needing to think about it. She looked so white, though, and there was . . . He noticed there was blood on the floor.

  He pulled out his phone and called Saif immediately. Then, as soon as he’d hung up, he phoned Lorna, who called Joel. Charlie hadn’t wanted to call Joel directly: he would have been very hard-pressed to explain why.

  He took off his jacket and covered Flora up, and was considering calling the air ambulance when she started to come round, her eyes flickering, trying to get a grip on who she was.

  ‘Ssssh,’ said Charlie, and Joel, flying into the café before Saif, couldn’t help but feel stabbed through the heart at the sight of another man cradling Flora so tenderly and carefully.

  Saif pushed them both gently but firmly out of the way as Joel pulled his phone out.

  ‘I’ll get the ambulance out,’ he said.

  Saif shook his head and looked up.

  ‘Let me check her – if I call the air ambulance out for someone fainting, they will laugh.’

  Between them they made a fireman’s carry as Lorna came tearing down, having run into Innes. Saif blinked. In a moment, half the village would be out there.

  ‘Take her to mine,’ ordered Lorna. ‘It’s warm and it’s just across the road.’

  This did make sense; Flora was trying to protest but still looked wan and very green, and outside a blizzard was growing higher and higher. Siberian winds had blown in from Russia, and the tempest wasn’t yet near its peak. Joel looked into the battering storm and suddenly thought gravely that even if they did need the helicopter to the mainland, it wouldn’t be able to land in this.

  Then he glanced at Saif and, for the first time, said the words out loud.

  ‘You know . . . you know she’s pregnant,’ he said quietly.

  Saif nodded, his mouth a thin line.

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  Coming thundering up behind was Tripp, whose huge bulk was very helpful for carrying Flora, and together they staggered across the road to Lorna’s, put Flora down on the bed, which Saif couldn’t see without a very awkward flashback and reminiscences – even being in there made him suddenly highly conscious of the sense that Lorna was there, right behind him – and it took every ounce of his doctor’s professional experience to put the mask back on and to keep his head cool.

  ‘Okay, everyone out,’ he announced, and moved to examine her.

  Charlie’s phone went off; it was obvious he was being summoned home and reluctantly he left, with Tripp saying he’d be right downstairs if anyone needed him. Everyone nodded as if Tripp had been a part of them all for ages and this was totally normal.

  Joel and Lorna loitered awkwardly in the kitchen; Innes was waiting for news to then go and tell Eck. Not knowing what to do, Lorna put the kettle on. She was terrified, and dreading the worst – the idea that Flora might lose the baby – was so awful she worried she might spill the kettle on Joel accidentally on purpose.

  For his part, Joel was utterly shell-shocked. It was . . . it was poetic justice, he knew. Just as he’d been ready; just as he’d decided to do – as he’d thought, with some reluctance – the right thing . . .

  Suddenly a huge emotional tsunami burst over him. He wanted this baby. He was terrified, more terrified than he could imagine that something might be wrong with Flora. He might lose her – he might lose either or both of them.

  Unable to speak, he sat down and took off his glasses. Lorna, whose shoulders were still rigid with frustration, eventually turned around to look at him. He was, she saw, crying, whether he knew it or not; great fat tears were rolling down his face.

  Bit bloody late for feeling sorry for yourself, was her first, uncharitable response, but when she saw the way his hands shook, her kind nature overtook her and, calmly and quietly, she made a large pot of tea and set out five mugs. Innes grasped her shoulder. With her eyes she thanked him, but nodded at Joel. Innes rolled his eyes. Lorna nudged him. As she poured the tea, she watched Innes tentatively pat Joel on the shoulder.

  * * *

  ‘I am so . . .’

  Flora was trying to explain to Saif that she was embarrassed, but she wasn’t really getting the words out. She felt as if she had a terrible hangover, a splitting headache and an utter sense of dislocation from the world.

  ‘I am . . .’

  ‘Ssh,’ said Saif, working briskly. ‘Do not worry. You’re going to need one stitch in your head. Is fine. Looks worse than is.’

  ‘Okay. Yeah,’ said Flora, blinking. ‘What happened?’

  ‘And watching for concussion. Keep talking.’

  ‘I can . . . I can do that. I can.’

  Then something else.

  ‘Saif. I can feel something. My tummy. My tummy hurts.’

  Saif nodded. That was what was giving him the most concern.

  ‘Saif, there’s . . . Is there blood?’

  Flora realised suddenly she was lying on a towel.<
br />
  Saif looked at her, face full of concern.

  ‘A little.’

  Flora, her face still covered in blood, burst into tears.

  ‘Sssh,’ said Saif. ‘Please. Do not upset yourself. It will not help.’

  ‘Am I going to lose the baby?’

  Saif straightened up and went into the bathroom to wash his hands. If either of them had been paying more attention, they’d have noticed how he automatically knew exactly where the bathroom and the towels were.

  He returned and stood by the bed. This was not a part of his job any doctor ever enjoyed.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Sometimes there is bleeding with a pregnancy. Sometimes these things just happen, Flora. Often. You say you felt cramping?’

  Flora nodded miserably.

  ‘Just before I fell.’

  ‘You feel now?’

  Flora nodded quietly. Saif’s face was full of pity.

  ‘I think,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. You will just have to wait for it to pass. I have paracetamol for you. But . . .’

  Flora burst into noisy sobs.

  Joel, next door, could stand it no more and pushed the door open.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Saif. ‘I will have to ask you to—’

  But Joel was already on the bed, his arms around Flora.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ he said, burying his head in her shoulder. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said Flora, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘No!’ said Joel. ‘Oh God, Flora. No. You haven’t . . . Tell me you haven’t lost the baby?’

  ‘I think I’m losing it now,’ said Flora, her voice cracked and weak. ‘Right now. That’s what I’m going through.’

  Joel put his arms right around her.