by Susan Lewis
Grimacing as he sipped his wine, Michael said, ‘As Simon puts it, Carlotta’s never been someone to pass up the chance of making a crisis out of a drama, but we’ll get something worked out, eventually. And I’m ever hopeful that I’ll be able to have custody of the boys more often than she’s allowing now.’
Knowing that he’d only had them for Christmas because Carlotta had been invited to stay with friends who preferred not to have children around, Lucy said, ‘How many times have I met them now? Four? Five? But it’s obvious they love being with you.’
He smiled. ‘You’ve made them very welcome,’ he said softly, ‘and that’s helped a lot.’ Then he sighed wearily. ‘I hate to admit it, but I think they’re a little afraid of their mother with her fiery temper and random impulses. Charlie’s definitely more nervous than a boy his age ought to be, and I get the impression that the other two look more to him for guidance than they do to their mother. That’s a hell of a responsibility for a ten-year-old, and it has to stop before it gets any worse.’
‘Have you spoken to her about it?’
‘Not since I was last there. To be frank, I’m afraid she’ll take it out on them if we end up rowing on the phone. At least when we’re face to face I can protect them from the worst of it. Anyway, today isn’t about my family, it’s about yours, and how you’re going to handle telling the children that you’re not married to their father.’
As Lucy’s heart jolted, she drank some wine. ‘Actually, there’s a chance they might not have too much of a problem with it, because they really didn’t want to think of us trying to slug things out in court. And since half their friends’ parents aren’t married to one another, it’s hardly unusual these days. No, I’m afraid it’s Joe who’s most likely to have a hard time with it.’
‘In spite of already knowing that you want it to be over? Incidentally, if he does come on Boxing Day …’
‘I’m sure he won’t – apart from anything else, he’ll be too hung-over to make the journey.’ Not wanting to give that any more room than it had already taken up, she returned to her own feelings about the news. ‘So Lucy Winters really doesn’t exist any more,’ she said, finding the fact as impossible to grasp as the words themselves. It was as though the substance of her self was as ephemeral as the snowflakes drifting outside, there one minute, gone the next. ‘It seems so strange to think that I’m not the person I thought I was. It’s as though I’ve been living someone else’s life, which I suppose I have.’
‘It’s only a name,’ he reminded her, ‘you’re still you inside, the person we all know and love, whether we call you Lucy, Alexandra or Titania Buttercup.’
With a choke of laughter she said, ‘Where on earth did that one come from?’
‘Absolutely no idea.’
‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful,’ Pippa sang from the door. ‘On my way home,’ she announced. ‘I believe Hanna’s taken the boys for a viewing of your big surprise for tomorrow, so will I be sending them back for their tea, or keeping them a while longer?’
‘Time they came to unpack their bags,’ Michael told her. ‘And I’m sure my mother’s ready for a glass of wine.’
‘Och, if you think my brother hasn’t already taken care of that then you don’t know him at all,’ she informed him, and with a jaunty wave of her hand she went on her way.
‘Please God let me be like her when I’m that age,’ Lucy commented as she watched her through the window, trudging down the path and apparently carolling away again. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind being like her now,’ she corrected herself. ‘She’s amazing, isn’t she? Always so up, and ready to give anything a go.’
‘She is very special,’ he agreed.
Lucy’s heart swelled with affection as she smiled. ‘I think she’s going to like the surprise we have for her tomorrow,’ she decided happily.
He was in no doubt of it. ‘Hopefully as much as you like yours,’ he murmured.
Turning to him with playful eyes, she said, ‘Are we talking about the puppy Hanna thinks she’s got for me, but that is actually for her, or do you happen to have something else in mind?’
Pulling her to him, he said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till tomorrow to find out.’
Much later that evening, after leaving Pippa dozing in front of her TV with both puppies curled up at the foot of the bed, John tiptoed across the landing to close one of the guest-room doors. With at least one of the big surprises hidden in there, and a few others in with Pippa, he was starting to lose track of what was for whom, never mind who was supposed to be giving it. He was even half afraid of blurting out the wrong thing to the wrong person, which was why he was doing his level best to leave all the subterfuge and chicanery to Rose and Hanna. Of course, they didn’t know what was in store for them either, and right at that moment he wasn’t sure he could remember anyway.
Satisfied that all was in order upstairs, he took himself down to the kitchen where Sarah and Rose were peeling, scraping and dicing ready for tomorrow, while Giselle and Jean-Marc rustled up a gourmet supper for tonight. Since it was usual for them, being French, to celebrate with a big meal on Christmas Eve, it was lucky they’d agreed to limit themselves to four courses instead of the seven Giselle had suggested, or twelve – twelve – that Jean-Marc had been ready to dish up.
As John met Rose’s eyes he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her, or waltz her around the kitchen, or simply laugh out loud. She was here, they were together, and if it were possible to feel any happier then he was damned if he knew how.
‘Here, you be the judge,’ Jean-Marc commanded, passing him a spoonful of soup that, when tasted, floated John straight to heaven.
‘I think it needs a little more saffron,’ Giselle stated. ‘Do you agree, John?’
Clocking Jean-Marc’s scowl, John tried not to panic.
Coming ungallantly to the rescue, Rose said, ‘He doesn’t know what saffron is, do you, my darling? Personally, I think it’s divine as it is, but if you add a little more we’ll love that too.’
‘Absolutely,’ John agreed. ‘Now, how’s everyone doing for drinks?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ Giselle responded, her hypnotic doe eyes going to Simon as he carried a basket of wood in from outside. Though John, personally, would never have described her as beautiful, he’d have been the first to agree that there was a magnetism about her Latin looks and voluptuous physique that made it hard to look away. That she was completely mad about Simon was evident in almost every glance she gave him, though John was finding it highly amusing to discover that, in spite of how smitten Giselle appeared, Simon was as easily bossed around by a female as he was.
However, both father and son could make a stand when necessary, he reminded himself, which the womenfolk would do well to remember.
Relieved that neither Pippa nor Rose was able to read his mind – though perhaps the jury was still out on that – he turned to Jean-Marc who, still stirring his soup, was already holding out his glass.
‘This is a very fine aperitif wine,’ he informed John. ‘I bring him in case you not know that he exist. He is from my region, which is Bourgogne … Oh là là, Giselle, you have created a miracle,’ he swooned, as she opened the oven. ‘It is always great sadness to me that I cannot paint the smell of something beautiful,’ he explained to John, ‘because it is, sometimes, the most important part of the beauty.’
Finding himself in surprised agreement with that, John poured even more wine into Jean-Marc’s glass, then looked all innocence as he caught Rose laughing. Though it might be difficult for Jean-Marc to measure up to a movie star in looks, there was no doubt in John’s mind that next to the Frenchman’s fiercely aquiline features and riotous cap of inky black corkscrews most male idols would appear downright bland. Douglas, John felt sure, would have been thoroughly approving of his prospective son-in-law, because who could possibly have wanted more for Sarah than the fact that she was clearly so loved, and in love (or at least getting that way), and t
hat the man, even though he was an artist, was successful.
Following Simon’s brave lead in sampling a slimy-looking something stuffed in a vol au vent, he found it so much to his liking that he readily accepted another when Simon secretly slipped him one. Then, realising he might be about to overflow with happiness as much because of the connection he was starting to feel with his son as for everything else, he took himself off to the dining room to try and calm down before he ended up making a fool of himself. With the table already laid and glistening with seasonal colour, he sat at the head of it and let his thoughts float like stars around him. How was it possible to feel so much joy and love in one moment? Was he really here, in the bosom of his family, after dreaming about it for so many years?
Though the desolate and desperate Christmases he’d spent in prison, when he’d try to picture what Rose and his children might have been doing, were a long way behind him, he knew that in spite of how he was feeling now, they would always be with him. Far worse, though, was the unending torment he’d experienced of never knowing where Alexandra might be. Was Christmas a special day for her, with gifts and laughter and people who loved her? Or was she, like him, locked away from the world, deprived of her freedom, her childhood, her innocence, lonely and terrified, perhaps even starving – or, God forbid, the object of savage abuse, or dead? It was, perversely, what had made his own ordeal more endurable, to be able to tell himself that she wasn’t suffering alone, and that maybe his torment was a sacrifice that would persuade life to let her be. To know now that she had been loved and treated well was, for him, as great a gift as having her returned to them. Nothing that happened tomorrow, or at any other time, could ever mean more than having his little angel, who was now a beautiful and healthy young woman, safely back in his world. Though he and Rose understood that she might never call them Mummy and Daddy again, or perhaps even fully accept them as her parents, it was enough to be close to her and know what was happening in her life, and occasionally be able to play a role.
Rose, Alexandra, Simon and Pippa. Feeling his heart swell with far too much happiness, he imagined them all under the same roof tomorrow for Christmas, and had to blink back a tear. Maybe it was asking too much to wish that Becky could be there too, when life was already being so kind, but he wasn’t going to give up hope, because there was always next year. If this past one had taught him anything at all, it was that absolutely anything was possible. And meanwhile there was his extended family of Sarah, whom he already thought of as his own, Michael, Jean-Marc and Giselle to fill up the table with their banter and laughter – and of course the children, without whom Christmas could never be complete. Thinking of the surprises in store for them all he smiled mistily to himself, because even if he couldn’t remember exactly what was meant for whom, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that no one could possibly have been happier than he was with what this magical, wonderful Christmas had already brought.
Tiptoeing past the bedroom where Michael was reading the boys a story in a so far vain attempt to get them off to sleep, Lucy went quietly down the stairs to find Hanna and Evelyn in the sitting room, snuggled up in chairs either side of the fire. With the Christmas-tree lights casting a rich ruby glow over the gifts below, and the TV rerunning an old black and white film, they looked so cosy and settled that Lucy didn’t have the heart to disturb them. It wouldn’t be fair to make them go out at this hour on a wintry night just because she wanted to. So, closing the door again, she took herself off to the kitchen where an assortment of cereal boxes, pots of jam, plates and bowls were already laid out for the morning. With the boys around there was a good chance they’d be up at four, though she doubted any of them would be interested in breakfast then.
Since Midnight Mass wasn’t due to begin until ten thirty she had a few minutes to spare before it was time to set off, so, bracing herself, she took out her mobile to call Joe.
Though he clicked on straight away, all she could hear was the sound of throbbing music and loud voices, telling her he was either at the pub or a party, which meant he was likely to be drunk, or certainly on his way there.
‘At last,’ he finally shouted down the line. ‘I left a message hours ago.’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s been quite hectic here.’
‘You’ll have to speak up, I can’t hear you. Or hang on, I’ll go in the conservatory.’
Knowing now that he was at Charlie’s, where the party would probably throb on through the night, possibly even to Boxing Day, she could hardly have felt more relieved not to be there. Not that she’d spent many Christmases in London with his family, but whenever she had done so, she had sworn that they’d go to her parents again next year.
‘So, you finally deigned to call back,’ he stated, over the sound of a door closing. ‘You know I’ve already spoken to Hanna?’
‘Yes, she told me, and it’s lovely that you’re going to take her and Lucas to see a show the day after Boxing Day. They’ll enjoy that, and if they decide to stay the night with you we can always bring them back with us on Thursday.’
‘You’re coming to London?’
‘Yes, we’re taking the boys to a matinee and we’ll have two cars, because Rose and John have decided to come with us.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ he commented nastily. ‘Sounds like a right happy little family outing.’
Since it was pointless going any further with that, she breezed on past it, saying, ‘I read in the paper that you’re seeing Imogen Fields.’
‘So, do you have a problem with it?’
‘Not at all. She’s very beautiful.’ She wouldn’t add ‘in a tarty sort of way’, because it wouldn’t have been kind, and anyway she’d never met the girl, so for all she knew she could look more natural in the flesh.
‘Yeah, and young, I guess that’s what you’re thinking,’ he challenged.
‘Actually, I wasn’t, but no matter how old she is, if you think she’s the right one then I’m happy for you.’
‘Sweet.’
Realising her attempts at friendliness were going to carry on hitting a brick wall, she decided to stop wasting time and come to the point. ‘There’s been a ruling on the status of our marriage,’ she told him. ‘Apparently it isn’t valid.’
There was a moment’s silence, during which she became so tense she almost put the phone down. Then he gave a shout of laughter. ‘And you think,’ he said sneeringly, ‘that lets you off the hook, I suppose. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, darlin’, but you’re dead wrong about that.’
‘Joe, I don’t want to argue about this …’
‘I bet you don’t when you’re the one with all the dosh, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Lucy whoever-the-fuck-you-are-now. Married or not, we were together for nineteen years, so no way do you get to walk away with everything. I want half, which is my legal entitlement …’
‘You put nothing whatsoever into our marriage,’ she cried angrily, ‘so how the hell you think you can justify demanding anything at all, never mind half, beggars belief.’
‘Well, you’d better start getting your head round it, because it’s going to happen, and when it does …’
‘Joe, listen,’ she cut in harshly, ‘I can tell you’re drunk now, and I understand that you’re upset, so why don’t we leave this conversation until you’ve had some time to think things through?’
‘I don’t need it. I know my rights.’
‘You might think you do, but what if a judge doesn’t agree? You’re a household name again now, and, unfortunately, I am too, so do you really want it splashed all over the press how you’ve never contributed to anything, yet you still seem to feel it’s OK to try and destroy what’s mine?’
‘That’s your way of telling it. Guess what, mine doesn’t go anything like that.’
‘But I can only give you what you’re asking if I sell, and you know how much the business means to me. All right, it’s why you’re doing it, I understand that, to try and punish me for leav
ing you, because you don’t need the money these days.’
‘But I could in the future, so …’
‘Look, I know the children have talked to you about the cottage. There’s no mortgage on it, so you could easily end up with something worth two hundred and fifty thousand, possibly more. And I’m offering a cash settlement too, which’ll wipe me out financially, but if I’ve still got the business I can recover.’
‘And I should care about that because?’
‘Because I’m the mother of your children, for God’s sake. Do you really want to alienate them over this, because that’s very likely what it’ll come to? This business belonged to their grandparents, which happens to mean something to them …’
‘Except they’re not their grandparents, are they?’
‘You know what I mean, and to try using that as some sort of justification to tear it all apart is beneath contempt.’
‘And you think trying to slough us all off like we’re yesterday’s crap is any better?’
‘For heaven’s sake, you know very well it was over between us long before any of this happened … Anyway, I’m not arguing any more tonight. It’s Christmas, and I won’t allow you to spoil it, so you do whatever you feel you have to, and if you decide not to be reasonable we can both instruct our solicitors in the new year.’
‘Except yours is already in your bed?’
Abruptly ending the call, she took a deep, unsteady breath, and was just turning the phone off altogether when she realised Hanna was standing in the doorway. ‘Oh God, how much did you hear?’ she groaned, holding out her arms.
‘Enough, I guess,’ Hanna replied, going to her. ‘It’ll be all right though, Mum, honest. He’ll come round in the end, I just know it.’
Wishing she felt even half as confident, Lucy pressed a kiss to her head and thought how naive she had been to hope that Joe would let his bitterness go just because he had a new partner, and because it was Christmas.
‘So, do you want to come to Midnight Mass with me?’ she asked Hanna, smoothing her hair.
