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

by Kate Hewitt

  “I do,” Lindy assured her.

  “Please be patient with him,” Ellen entreated quietly. “He doesn’t do well with emotions, especially hard ones. He might…he might shut down when I go into hospice. When I die.” Her throat worked but she managed to continue steadily, “He did a bit, when his father died. Didn’t want to talk or even see anyone. It took a lot of effort, a lot of love, to bring him out of himself. Please don’t take it to heart.”

  “I won’t,” Lindy promised, even though she quailed inwardly at the emotional challenges that were sure to lie ahead. “But in the meantime, let’s think about you and what you need—”

  “What I need,” Ellen assured her, “is a night of dancing. So let’s get on with it!”

  Back in the ballroom everyone was milling around, waiting for the final practice of the performance. Taking a deep breath, Lindy turned to them all with a purposeful smile.

  “This is it, everyone! Last chance before the big day. So give me your brightest smiles, your best moves—heads up, shoulders out, feet moving! Let’s go!”

  She started the music as the three couples took their positions. Her heart expanded with love at the sight of Roger holding his mother so tenderly, moving her around the floor with both gentleness and surprising finesse. Simon and Olivia were actually doing okay too, and Maureen and Helena were gamely whirling around, Maureen taking the lead. Lindy’s heart filled with both hope and joy. It was going to work. It was going to be beautiful.

  In the next moment everything seemed to shift and tilt—Ellen stumbled, and Roger caught her in his arms. Olivia noticed, and took a step away from Simon, and even as the music continued and swelled, Lindy felt as if it had stopped, as if the whole world had gone silent.

  “Ellen…” she began, only to stop in horrified surprise as Ellen sagged in Roger’s arms, her head lolling back as she went unconscious.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “She’s been pushing it a bit too hard, I’m afraid.”

  The A&E consultant gave Roger a sympathetic look and he nodded mechanically back. There was a buzzing in his ears, a blankness in his brain. He didn’t think he’d said anything coherent since he’d come to the hospital in Oxford two hours ago. He hadn’t even thought anything coherent. From the moment his mum had collapsed to now—the call to 999, the ambulance that had come, the terrifying ride while she’d lain so still and unresponsive and they’d given her oxygen—all of it had created a white, buzzing blankness inside him that he couldn’t seem to shift. Even now he simply stared at the consultant who seemed to be waiting for him to speak. There was a plastic holly wreath on the door of the little room where he’d been asked to wait.

  “But…” Roger licked his lips as he finally spoke. “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? I mean…” He trailed off, because of course she wasn’t going to be okay. His mother had terminal cancer; she was determined to go into hospice in just two days’ time. She was dying. She wasn’t okay.

  “Her cancer has certainly progressed,” the consultant answered carefully. “According to her notes, she was going into hospice shortly…?”

  “Yes, but…” Again he trailed off. He’d refused to engage with his mother about the hospice thing still. It had been foolish but had felt necessary, but now he saw it was only selfish. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. He’d just wanted life to be simple for a little while, to enjoy his time with Lindy without worrying about anything else, including his own mother.

  He was a cad.

  “So what happens now?” he asked into the void of ignorance he’d allowed himself to linger in.

  “Your mother is insistent that she go directly into hospice,” the consultant answered. “She can stay in hospital here overnight, and be transferred to the hospice in Burford tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Somehow, even now, he hadn’t expected this. “But the ball,” he said stupidly. Of course his mother wasn’t going to the ball. She wasn’t going to dance the way she’d intended to. The way she’d dreamed.

  “Why don’t you talk to her?” the consultant urged. “She’s awake now, although she’s tired. I’m sure she’d be very happy to see you.”

  Wordlessly Roger nodded. He left the depressing little room he’d been sitting in where people received bad news. Lindy had wanted to accompany him to the hospital, but Roger had refused. He hadn’t wanted to detract from the preparation for the ball, her big day, but he also hadn’t wanted her to see him in such a moment of weakness.

  In any case, he knew this turn of events would detract from, if not completely derail, the ball. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had. It was just he hadn’t wanted to realise it had already changed.

  Slowly he walked to the ward where his mother was. The curtains had been pulled around her bed and he slipped between them quietly. Ellen opened her eyes as he came in, smiling wanly.

  “Roger.” She raised one hand towards him and then let it fall back onto the bed. “I’m sorry to have caused so much fuss.”

  “Don’t,” Roger said, his voice thick with emotion, “be sorry. For anything.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed briefly before she opened them again. “I hope you’re not here to argue with me.”

  “No, I’m not,” Roger replied. He felt as if his heart were breaking—literally rending in two. He had an urge to clutch at his chest.

  “I’m going into hospice tomorrow,” Ellen stated firmly.

  “Yes.” He drew a breath. “If you’re absolutely sure…”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But Christmas…”

  “You can visit me on the day, Roger.” She paused, closing her eyes again in a way that made Roger panic. Don’t close your eyes, he wanted to say. Don’t leave me like that. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it. “But the truth is, I’m amazed I got this far. I’m tired, Roger. So very tired. I can’t cope for another two weeks, putting a brave face on it. I just…can’t.” The words seemed to exhaust her, and she sagged against the pillows, her eyes closing once more. For a few moments, as Roger watched in helpless misery, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

  Finally, after several endless minutes, she opened her eyes again. “Spend Christmas with Lindy,” she urged.

  Roger had nothing to say to that. He and Lindy hadn’t spoken about Christmas; really, they hadn’t spoken about anything. They’d been existing in a happy bubble of romance and kisses, but the problem with bubbles was, they broke. They didn’t last.

  “Roger,” Ellen prompted. “Tell me you’ll spend Christmas with Lindy.”

  “I…” Roger shrugged helplessly. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

  “Good.” Ellen closed her eyes again, resting once more before she opened them and gazed at him with steely determination. “And promise me one other thing.”

  “What other thing?” Roger asked, even though he knew it didn’t matter. He’d promise his mother anything.

  “Promise me you’ll dance at the ball. With Lindy.”

  “The ball…” He stared at her in shock. “Mum, I can’t go to the ball now—”

  “You can and you will. I’ve been looking forward to it for too long to miss it now.” She smiled faintly. “The nurse has told me I can watch it on my laptop, on Zoom, of all things.”

  “Zoom…”

  “Yes, she’ll set it up, and all you have to do is bring your laptop to the ballroom and make sure the camera is aimed at the dance floor. It’s apparently very simple. Please, Roger. For me.” Exhausted by her little speech, Ellen let her eyes flutter closed again before she opened them and gave him a rather beady look. “Say you will.”

  Wordlessly, helplessly, Roger nodded.

  *

  The night before the ball, Lindy barely slept. She’d returned from Willoughby Manor in a daze, worried and heartsick about Ellen…and Roger. She wished he’d agreed to let her come to the hospital with him; perhaps she should have insisted. Yet the last thing she’
d wanted to do was insert herself into an important moment between mother and son.

  Still, she longed to hear something from Roger. She’d texted him twice, and then spent an hour pacing the downstairs of her cottage while Toby watched her and whined. Alice, Olivia, and Helena had all texted her, and Maureen had rung, everyone asking for news, but there wasn’t any. Lindy’s nerves were completely shot from the uncertainty and fear. What if…

  But, no. She couldn’t let herself even think it.

  Then, finally, at a little after eleven, Roger rang.

  “She’s going into hospice tomorrow,” he said abruptly, without any greeting, while Lindy breathed a silent sigh of relief that the news wasn’t worse.

  “I’m so sorry, Roger.”

  “She won’t dance at the ball. Obviously.”

  “No…”

  “She wants us to do it instead.”

  “You and me?”

  “Yes, apparently a nurse said she could watch it on Zoom.”

  “Oh, well that’s—”

  “I should go,” Roger cut her off. “I’m tired.” And then, before she could reply, he disconnected the call. Lindy stood in the centre of her living room, holding her phone and trying not to feel hurt. Trying not to feel like Roger was pushing her away.

  He was overwhelmed. He was hurting. And Ellen had told her to be patient. Lindy let out a shuddering breath. Part of her wanted to drive over to Roger’s cottage right now, give him a big hug and tell him she loved him. Tell him she would be there for him the way he’d been for her.

  But what if he didn’t let her? What if he didn’t want her?

  Fifteen years of being on her own meant she had a whole load of insecurities. Lindy knew that, and yet it was hard not to feel them as she put her phone down and got ready for bed, her heart heavy inside her. Tomorrow it was the ball; next week was Christmas. From her upstairs window Lindy could just see the fairy lights glinting on the hedges and bushes outside of Willoughby Manor. As she looked, they blinked off, no doubt turned off by Henry. The world was cloaked in blackness. With a sigh, Lindy turned from the window and slipped into bed.

  *

  The day of the ball was bright and wintry, the whole world glittering with a hard frost, as if a Christmas fairy had sprinkled everything with glittery dust. It was perfect weather, and yet Lindy woke up with her stomach in a tight knot of nerves; when she checked her phone, there were no messages. She texted Roger to tell him she was thinking of him and to let her know if there was anything she could do, but there was no reply and she felt as if she’d both done too much and not enough.

  She’d promised to help Alice with all the final preparations for the ball, so at least she wouldn’t be sitting around worrying and waiting for Roger to message. She knew she would drop everything in a split second if he asked her to come. If he said ‘help.’

  But as the hours passed and she rushed around tweaking decorations and putting out champagne glasses, he didn’t ask. And while her phone was lighting up with texts and WhatsApp messages from parents and pupils alike, none were from Roger.

  At lunchtime she broke and called him, but it went to voicemail. Her stomach clenched, even as she told herself this was stupid. Roger would be settling Ellen into hospice, no doubt feeling overwhelmed by it all. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intentionally withdrawing from her, that he’d decided she wasn’t worth the risk.

  She knew how quickly things could change and unravel. She knew how a life and all its hopes could vanish in an instant. She just hoped that wasn’t what was happening now.

  At four o’clock Lindy left Willoughby Manor and a fluttery, nervous Alice to return home and get ready for the ball. What she had thought would be a time filled with excitement and hope was tinged with both anxiety and sorrow.

  She’d bought a new dress for the ball—a fairy-tale dress of crimson satin, strapless with a diamante belt cinching her waist, and a matching spangled wrap.

  She kept her make-up understated but elegant—smoky eyeliner and a bit of lippy, but not much more. She curled her hair and piled it on top of her head, letting a few curls cascade down her shoulders like Marie Antoinette, and completed the outfit with a pair of faux diamond chandelier earrings.

  Gazing at her reflection, Lindy thought she’d looked very nice indeed—if only she didn’t appear so miserable. Outside the bright, beautiful day had darkened into a perfect Christmassy night, the sky sparkling with stars, the air cold and sharp with festive promise.

  Willoughby Manor was ablaze with lights as Lindy walked up to it a little after six; the ball started in an hour, but she’d asked the Year Sixes and juniors pupils to arrive half an hour early, and she wanted to be on hand to help Alice with any last-minute needs.

  “Lindy!” Alice, looking lovely in a sleek, off-the-shoulder navy gown, and she even seemed to be starting to bloom a little, at least now that Lindy knew she was pregnant. Alice gave her a quick hug as Lindy stepped into the hall. “Have you heard from Roger today?” she asked, a crinkle of worry appearing in her forehead, and speaking past the lump in her throat, Lindy shook her head as she answered.

  “No, not yet.”

  “I hope everything’s okay. Poor Roger. Poor Ellen.”

  “I know.” Lindy tried to smile but it was hard. She’d been so looking forward to this evening—to the ball, to the performance, to celebrating with Roger, to Christmas—yet now everything felt both tarnished and fragile. “Ellen is insistent that Roger still dance tonight,” she told Alice. “With me as his partner. She’s going to watch it on her tablet.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m glad she’ll be able to take part, at least in some small way. How do we set it up?”

  “Roger will, I think. When he comes.” If he came. Lindy was starting to wonder.

  *

  Soon the other residents of Willoughby Close were coming in, everyone wanting to pitch in to help make the Christmas ball a success. Lindy exchanged hugs with Emily and Olivia, Ellie and Ava and Harriet. Everyone asked for news, and each time Lindy had regretfully had to shake her head. She still had no news, no word from Roger since last night.

  Soon enough she didn’t have time to wonder or even think about it, because her pupils were arriving and she was racing to and fro, attending to final costumes fixes and soothing the inevitable jitters. At the very last minute, a Year Six who had bowed out appeared, wanting to dance after all, and in a flurry of panic Lindy had had to rejig the whole routine yet again. Fortunately her pupils seemed up to the challenge, fizzing with both nerves and excitement.

  Seven o’clock, and the first guests were arriving in a flurry of greetings; a string quartet was playing Christmas carols in the hall while waiters circulated with trays of champagne and mulled wine. Still no sign of Roger.

  Lindy had gone ahead and set up a Zoom link for Ellen on her own tablet, but as she didn’t have Ellen’s information to connect the call, she felt helpless. She needed Roger. In so many ways.

  Don’t panic, Lindy reminded herself. If he doesn’t come, the performance can still go on. It would have to. But where was he? And what about Ellen?

  “You look gorgeous,” Ellie told her as she gave her another hug. “Absolutely amazing. I can’t wait to see the performance, Lindy. I only wish things were a bit happier.”

  “Me too.”

  At quarter past seven as she paced the entrance hall, Lindy’s phone rang, a number she didn’t recognise, and she snatched it up breathlessly.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Lindy.”

  To her shock, it was Ellen on the line. “Ellen…how…how are you?”

  “I’m very well, dear. I’ve got my tablet set up for Zoom, and I’m looking forward to tonight very much.” Ellen’s voice sounded wispy and tired, but there was humour and cheer in it too. Lindy’s eyes stung.

  “We’ve got the camera all ready,” she assured her. “I’m just waiting for Roger to come and invite you to the online meeting so you’ll be
able to see everything.”

  “I can’t wait. I’ve given him strict instructions, so you must hold him to account.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “And do visit me when you can.”

  “I’d love to, Ellen.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you online!”

  Lindy had just put her phone away when she felt someone behind her and she whirled around. “Roger…”

  He looked amazing in his tuxedo, if a little tired, and Lindy longed to rush into his arms. Something in his expression, or perhaps in her own heart, held her back. She waited instead, hovering uncertainly as he gave her as inscrutable a look as she’d ever seen.

  “You’re here,” she said after a moment, when she realised he wasn’t going to say anything.

  “I am,” Roger agreed.

  “Your mum just called—she wanted you to set up the link so she can watch online.”

  He nodded mechanically. “I’ll do it,” he said, and brushed past her without another word or glance.

  *

  Willoughby Manor was ablaze with candles and lights, bedecked with garlands of evergreen and holly tastefully tied with ribbons of crimson velvet. The cheerfully frantic melody of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ was reverberating through the air and everyone seemed to be in full festive spirits, chatting, laughing, and drinking with both alacrity and ease.

  Roger glanced at the huge Christmas tree festooned with glittering baubles and had a mad urge to pull the tree down, watch the ornaments scatter and break, to see something wrecked and ruined amidst all this merry beauty. He didn’t want to be here. He certainly didn’t want to dance.

  The only reason he’d come was for his mother—his mother, whom the consultant, the perfectly amenable and yet wretched Ms Weston, had informed him had only a few weeks left to live, if that. Weeks. Roger had been as breathless as if she’d punched him in the gut.

  How it all happened so fast? How could he possibly be here, in this place?

  He fumbled with his phone, wanting to focus on doing something constructive, even though he didn’t want to set up a stupid Zoom call. He didn’t want to dance with Lindy, even as he longed to take her in his arms, bury his head in her shoulder and just breathe her in. Let her steady and anchor him.