Christmas at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 3)

by Kate Hewitt

  It hadn’t surprised her, really, and yet somehow saying it out loud had been a shock. I don’t have good friends. The kind whom you called for help and they came running.

  It was clearly time to start making some deeper connections, and so she’d said yes to the pub at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, although judging by Ava’s breezy attitude, Lindy didn’t think this was going to be a time of deep sharing. Still, a glass of wine—or two—wouldn’t go amiss.

  “So what’s everyone having?” Ava asked when they were all settled in a booth in the back. The pub was nearly empty at this time of day, with just a few people at tables scattered around, and a few old guys hunched over the bar. “I’ll do the first round.”

  “Is there going to be more than one?” Alice asked dubiously.

  “There better be,” Ava replied grandly, and then took everyone’s orders. Lindy settled for a boring white wine, but with a laugh, Emily had agreed to push the boat out and had ordered a passionfruit martini. Alice had gone with a fairly sedate G&T.

  “So, how are the plans for your performance going?” Alice asked eagerly. It had been two weeks since she’d floated the idea, and Lindy had been busy making preparations.

  “They’re going well, although we’re going to be hard pressed for time.” She’d only just started choreographing routines for each of her classes, and teaching and then perfecting it within two months would be challenging indeed, but one Lindy thought she was up for. It was good to have focus, as well as something to aim for.

  “I think it all sounds amazing,” Emily said. “And who knows, maybe I can convince Owen to sign up for classes. He insists he has two left feet, but I think he could be a smooth operator if he tried.”

  “All are welcome, no matter what the ability,” Lindy answered. “In fact, the less ability the better—I love seeing people find their groove.”

  “Isn’t that one of your students at the bar?” Ava chimed in as she came back with a tray of drinks. “He’s got a grim face, but then he doesn’t look like the type who smiles very often.”

  “What…” Lindy craned her neck to get a glimpse of the bar, a jolt of surprise running through her at the sight of Roger sitting hunched over at one end.

  “Isn’t he the one you said was unsuitable?” Emily whispered, and a shot of something fierce and determined made Lindy snap, “He is not unsuitable. That was one impulsive comment made after I was pushed into it.”

  “Whoa.” Ava held up a pacifying hand while Emily bit her lip, looking far too chastened. “I feel like we just hit a sore spot.”

  “Sorry.” Lindy gave Emily an apologetic grimace. “I didn’t mean to lash out. It’s just…”

  “You’ve got the hots for your unsuitable bloke?” Ava finished with a grin. “Go for it, girl.”

  “I don’t,” Lindy said, not entirely convincingly. She glanced again at Roger, alone at the bar. Ava had said he looked grim, but then Roger often looked grim. But why was he drinking alone at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon? He was the last person she’d expect here.

  Then she suddenly thought of Ellen, and her heart lurched. “Oh no…” she whispered, and Emily touched her arm in concern.

  “Lindy, what is it?”

  “I just need to check…” she murmured, barely aware of her friends looking worried around her as she headed for the bar.

  As she came closer, she saw that Roger had his hands flat on the bar, and he was staring at the tumbler of whisky in front of him as if it were a chalice of poison.

  “Roger…?” Lindy asked cautiously. She slid onto the bar and stood next to him. “Is…is everything okay?”

  Roger sighed heavily, not breaking his gaze on the glass as he answered, “No. Not really. And it feels like nothing will ever be okay again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The words were melodramatic. He knew that. Roger was not the type of person to be prone to melodrama, and yet here he was, saying nothing would ever be okay again and staring at a glass of whisky as if it was his only hope. He didn’t even like whisky, but it had felt like the right drink to order. You didn’t drink a nice rosé while grieving your mother.

  “What’s happened?” Lindy asked softly. He could see her in his periphery, a cloud of dark hair and soft lips, not much more. It was enough. He felt his breathing steady, even as the grief remained, like a surging sea inside him, threatening to break loose. He couldn’t let it.

  “Nothing, really,” he told her in a level voice. “Nothing that wasn’t expected, anyway.” He took a measured sip of whisky as if to make his point. It was hard not to grimace as the medicinal taste burned the back of his throat.

  “You’re not here because of nothing,” Lindy said quietly. “Is it…is it your mum?”

  It was, but he could tell from Lindy’s expression—even in his periphery—that she thought the worst.

  “She’s been recommended for palliative care,” he stated flatly. “Which obviously should not be a surprise since, as I told you before, she has terminal, incurable cancer and she’d already been recommended to have no further treatment.” He took another sip. It tasted just as bad. “Really, this is simply the next step in a process whose particulars I was aware of all along.”

  “Still, it doesn’t feel that way,” Lindy said quietly. “Does it?”

  No, it most certainly did not. Somehow Roger couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. What a surprise. He just shook his head, and forewent another sip of whisky.

  “After my parents died,” Lindy said after a moment, “about three months after, I was going through their things. I knew I had to do it, sort it all out, and I’d prepped myself for it, because I knew it would be hard.” She paused, and Roger had the sense she was struggling with some greater emotion.

  “But when I was actually there, pulling open the drawers, looking at the photos and books and the shopping lists in my mum’s handwriting…it was so much harder than I thought. No amount of preparation could have ever helped me get through that moment.”

  Roger turned his head to glance at her, her expression distant and shadowed. “But you did get through it.”

  For a moment she looked as if she was going to disagree, and then she nodded slowly. “Yes, in time, in my own way, I suppose I did. And you will, too.” She rested her hand on top of his—slender, soft, warm. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any less hard in the moment.”

  “It just feels too soon,” he said quietly as he stared at their hands. “I thought she was fine. I mean, ill, yes, I know that. I’m not delusional. But still…okay.” He drew a revealingly ragged breath. “But then today she reminded me of how tired she’s been. How she falls asleep in the middle of a sentence. Going to dance class saps her energy for an entire week.”

  “I didn’t realise…”

  “She still wants to. She’ll most likely keep going to your class until the bitter end. She loves it.” He paused, risking another look at her even though he feared his eyes were becoming a bit damp. “Thank you for giving her that, Lindy.”

  “Oh, Roger…” Lindy pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes looking as suspiciously damp as he suspected his own were. “You don’t need to thank me. For anything.”

  They remained silent for several moments, her hand still resting on top of his. Even with the wild sorrow locked inside, Roger felt a surprising, settled sort of happiness cloak him in comfort. They were just being, he realised, and it felt right.

  “I was angry with my mother today,” he said after a moment. “Which is absurd, I realise. Absurd and reprehensible.” The tone he’d taken with her in the hospital shamed him now. How could he have been such an idiot?

  “Understandable, though,” Lindy said. “In a situation like this, you feel like you’ve got to be angry with someone. I raged at a barista once, and it had nothing to do with the way she’d made my coffee.” She gave him a shamefaced smile that he managed to return, sort of.

  He let out a wavery, ragged
y sigh. “I don’t want this,” he said. The words were infantile, futile—and yet he felt them. He had to say them.

  Lindy squeezed his hand. “I know.”

  “I don’t want to go through the next few months, or however long it takes,” he continued relentlessly. “I can’t stand even thinking about it. For the last year I’ve more or less been acting as if my mother doesn’t have cancer. I don’t let her talk about it. I’d rather pretend.” He glanced at her bleakly, realisation thudding through him. “That isn’t fair to her, is it?”

  “No,” Lindy said quietly. “It isn’t.”

  He knew that, and yet he was glad she’d said it. He was glad, perversely, that she hadn’t said something to make him feel better.

  “What do I do now?” he wondered aloud.

  “You don’t drink any more whisky,” Lindy said, the barest hint of a smile in her voice. “And you go back to your mum and you let her talk if she needs to talk. And you let her be quiet if she needs to be quiet. And you say the word ‘cancer’ when it’s necessary.”

  He nodded slowly, like someone receiving instructions. “Yes. All right. I can do that.”

  “And you make the most of these months that you’re dreading, because they’re all you have left.” There was a break in Lindy’s voice that made Roger ache. “If I’d known…the number of times I didn’t call or I cut it short or I didn’t come home for the weekend…”

  “Lindy…” He couldn’t stand the sadness in her voice, but she shook her head fiercely.

  “Never mind. This isn’t about me right now. All I’m saying is, make the most of it, Roger. Celebrate every moment if you can.”

  Except he was not a celebrate-every-moment type of guy. Perhaps now was the time to change…and he knew, of course he knew, just how he could. He gazed down at his barely touched tumbler of whisky and then said, a bit aggressively, “I’ll do it.”

  Lindy blinked. “Do…what?”

  “The performance. The extravaganza. What have you. I’ll do it.”

  He glanced at her as if she’d just delivered his death sentence, and was slightly heartened to see a smile of wondering incredulity blooming across her face. “Seriously? You will?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “I know I don’t have to,” Roger cut across her. “I have been perfectly aware of that all along. But you’re right about celebrating the next few months. I’ll regret it if I don’t. And I know…I know doing this dance performance, God help me, will make my mother happy, even if I fall on my face, which I most likely will do. So.”

  “Oh, Roger, that’s wonderful.” Lindy looked like he’d given her a million pounds, a feeling that would almost certainly desert her when she realised what this meant for the performance—ruination. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, especially since you’ve already witnessed my dancing.”

  “It’s not about being some sort of star,” Lindy said a bit severely and Roger grimaced.

  “Thank heaven for that.”

  “What are you doing for Bonfire Night?” she asked abruptly, and Roger blinked at the sudden swerve of subject.

  “Er…I haven’t thought…” He’d been planning to give the community fireworks on the village green a miss, because it would mean standing in the freezing dark while explosions went off all around him. Not his idea of a good time, although he realised he wasn’t sure what his idea of a good time actually was.

  “I’m going to be staying in,” Lindy stated matter-of-factly, “because of Toby. The behaviour specialist from Blue Cross said the big bangs might scare him, so I thought we’d have a chilled night.”

  “Okay…”

  “So why don’t you and Ellen come over for supper?” Lindy continued. “It won’t be anything fancy…chilli and jacket potatoes and maybe some sparklers in the garden, if Toby isn’t freaking out too much. And then we could watch a film?” Her face suddenly fell. “Unless of course you want to spend the time together, just the two of you, which of course I’d understand.” She shook her head, doing a mock face palm. “Sorry. I just rushed in with my idea without actually thinking…”

  “No,” Roger said quickly, before she could back out of the invitation entirely. “That sounds…” Lovely. It sounded lovely. “Nice.”

  Lindy grinned at him, and the sight of her obvious delight made him feel like grinning too, and yet he didn’t. He gave a nod instead.

  “Okay, then.” She touched his arm again briefly. “Now go back to your mother, Roger.”

  “You make me sound as if I’m about ten.”

  “No, just a loving son of any age.” Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It took all of Roger’s effort to react normally, as if the brush of her soft mouth against his skin hadn’t filled him with yearning. She eased back, smiling self-consciously. “You’re a good man, Roger Wentworth.”

  The place where her lips had brushed his cheek was buzzing. Roger managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll talk to you on Monday about details for Bonfire Night,” she promised.

  “All right.”

  Roger watched Lindy head back to her friends in the back of the pub; they were all watching her avidly, and would no doubt press her for details as soon as she sat down, a prospect that gave Roger a visceral shudder of dread. Would she tell them about her Bonfire Night invitation? Would they think it was a date?

  He knew his mother would, and he realised, with grim sobriety, that there was no point disabusing her of such a notion. Let her hope there was something going on between him and Lindy. By the time it was obvious there wasn’t, his mother might not be here anymore—a thought that had Roger reaching for his whisky yet again.

  *

  “What on earth was that all about?” Ava demanded before Lindy had even taken her seat back at the table with her friends.

  “Nothing,” Lindy said as nonchalantly as she could. “I was just saying hello.”

  Ava gave her a blatant look of disbelief. “That was not a hello; that was an intense conversation. You touched his hand three times, and you kissed his cheek.”

  “You counted?” Lindy said with a little laugh.

  “Of course.” Ava leaned forward. “So, spill. What’s going on with you and Mr. Unsuitable—”

  “He’s not—” Lindy began fiercely, and Ava held up a hand, laughing.

  “Lindy, I know he’s not. Of course I know. You were just talking intensely to him for the last forty-five minutes. That is the definition of suitability, not the opposite.”

  “Forty-five…” Lindy couldn’t keep from gaping. Had it really been that long?

  “Yes, and we were watching pretty much the whole time,” Alice chipped in with a friendly smile. “It did look intense. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Lindy answered after a pause. As much as she appreciated her friends’ concern, right now their interest felt a bit too much like well-meaning nosiness. It wasn’t her place to share Roger’s grief or Ellen’s diagnosis. “We were just…chatting.”

  “Riiiight.” Ava looked amused and unconvinced. “Well, we won’t pry, no worries. At least not right now. Drink up, everyone. I really do need to live vicariously.”

  Lindy was glad for the reprieve, and she did her best to contribute to the conversation as they chatted about village life—William, Ava’s son, had started nursery in September; Emily and Owen were thinking about getting engaged.

  “But nothing’s settled yet,” Emily insisted, blushing. “We’re really still in such early stages.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t ask Owen when he’s going to put a ring on it,” Ava teased. “Anyway, you’ll just have this to look forward to—swollen ankles, stretch marks that make you look like a sunburned zebra…” She sighed, patting her bump, and Emily smiled.

  “And a lovely little baby at the end of it all.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Ava agreed.

  Lindy glanced at Alice, surprised to see he
r looking stricken for a moment, before she chimed in with the murmurs of appreciation. Was that why Alice had seemed brittle the other week, over Sunday lunch? Were she and Henry trying for a baby and having no luck?

  Lindy had assumed she was living the perfect fairy tale, but even fairy tales had their difficult moments. Poor Alice…it had to be hard, being happy for Ava and trying not to let her own fear and sorrow show.

  Lindy sat back and sipped her wine, for the first time putting herself in similar shoes. Here was Ava, in her late thirties, having found Mr Right when she was thirty-five—the same age as Lindy herself. And now expecting her second baby… Lindy knew there had been some pretty significant bumps along the way—a first husband who’d died, two adult stepchildren who were nightmares, and the fact that William was Ava’s first husband’s rather than Jace’s. But still, here she was, cradling her bump with a loving look, no matter how she pretended to moan and groan.

  Could such things be possible for her?

  In all her life, Lindy had never considered them to be. As a child and then a teenager, she’d been perfectly content travelling with her parents, living out all their adventures. She’d never even thought about a husband and family of her own, not even in the distant, far-off future. And then after her parents had died…it had felt, in many ways, like an invisible concrete wall had come down between her and the rest of the world.

  Other people went to their grandparents’ for Christmas, or talked about their past boyfriends, or flew to Ibiza for a hen night with their five BFFs. They went to parties and barbecues and had cosy nights in with their loved ones. Not Lindy.

  To be sure, she’d always had plenty of friends to head out to a wine bar on a Friday night, and she was first to sign up for the office Christmas party or summer picnic. She’d never been short of casual outings or social occasions, but it had never, not even once, gone deeper.

  That person to ring in the middle of the night and simply say ‘help’? Didn’t exist. Never had. Not even Ellie, who was probably her closest friend besides Roger.