Christmas at Butterfly Cove

by Sarah Bennett

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Luke. I must say it’s good to see you, again. Nee’s been doing a wonderful job of sorting things out, but another pair of hands certainly won’t go amiss. It… it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it’s still difficult.’ There wasn’t even a ripple of surprise in her father’s voice, like her estranged husband turning up out of the blue was the most natural thing in the world. That familiar cough of his came again. ‘Right, well, I think I’ll put the kettle on. Will you have something, Luke?’

  ‘Cup of coffee would be brilliant, thanks, Mr Thorpe.’

  ‘I think we’re past time for you to call me George. Coffee’s only instant, I’m afraid, we’ve run out of pods for the machine. Lots of visitors, you see. Everyone’s been very kind. Come on through to the kitchen when you’re both ready.’

  Laughter sputtered through her tears at their exchange of mundane pleasantries, as if she wasn’t falling to noisy pieces in front of them. She grabbed for the laugh, tried to hold on to it and bring herself back under control, but now acknowledged the grief wouldn’t be denied. Luke pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Take all the time you need.’ She nodded, all she could manage before the tears swamped her again.

  When she finally felt able to lift her face from the now-sodden front of his coat, she’d lost track of time. Limp, exhausted, like she’d cried for a week. Luke tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, an infinitely tender gesture, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Silence hung between them as he waited her out, broken only by the faint strains of her father whistling along to some classical tune on the radio. China rattled against wood, followed by the metallic clink of cutlery. If her dad was laying the table still, they couldn’t have been standing there as long as she’d thought.

  Inertia held her in its claws. She should move, step back and at least give Luke a chance to take his coat off. But if she broke the moment, she’d have to deal with all the bitter truths she’d just wept out on his shoulder. That was the trouble with life. It didn’t wait for you to catch your breath, didn’t care if you were ready or not, it just kept coming at you. Move. Drop your arms. Take a step back. Her fingers clung stubbornly to the back of his coat, her feet glued to the spot.

  A loud grumble rolled from his midriff, and Luke chuckled as he continued to smooth his hands up and down her back. ‘My stomach smells whatever your dad’s toasting.’

  ‘Probably crumpets.’ She’d made a trip to the supermarket that morning, anything to get out of the house for a little while. They hadn’t needed much—mostly refills for the coffee machine, which was the one thing she’d forgotten, of course—so she’d wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles grabbing random things that wouldn’t take much thought and even less effort to prepare. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had crumpets, but they’d appealed to her enough to end up in the trolley.

  He gave an exaggerated groan. ‘Have pity on a man. Next you’ll be telling me there’s strawberry jam to put on them.’

  ‘You always had such a sweet tooth.’ She saw him in her mind’s eye, covers pooled at his waist, Sunday papers strewn across the bed as he munched his way through a mountain of jammy toast and endless cups of coffee. His breath whispered against her cheek, and it would be so easy to turn her head, to seek out his lips and pretend the past year had been an aberration. But this wasn’t one of those time-slip stories. She couldn’t wish herself back to another point in time and tread a different path.

  Tasting the bitterness of that truth on the back of her tongue, she stepped back. His arms lingered, a brief resistance to her attempt to retreat before he let her go. And so he should. Luke might be here with the best of intentions, but she didn’t deserve the easy comfort of his presence. People didn’t just forgive and forget, and even if he believed he was different in that, she wasn’t the hopeful girl he’d fallen in love with. ‘Let me take your coat, and we’ll see what Dad’s rustled together for tea.’

  He ducked his head, trying to catch her eye, but she fixed her gaze at a point over his shoulder as she held out her hand. Tension filled his frame for a moment, before he released it on a sigh and quickly unbuttoned his coat. She busied herself with hanging it on the row of hooks, fussing at the soggy mess she’d made on the front until he caught her hand and pulled it away. The firm grip on her fingers told her he wasn’t about to let go in a hurry, so she chose to ignore the way her palm slotted perfectly into his as she led him down the short hallway.

  The gilt-edged frame of a mirror caught her eye, but she ignored that too, knowing she’d see nothing good in it. Her eyes itched, that awful dry-burn which came after too many tears, and the skin around her nose felt raw. Fixing the best smile she could muster on her lips, she entered the kitchen, pausing when she saw the feast laid out on the table. ‘Oh, Dad, this looks brilliant.’

  George shrugged a little awkwardly. ‘It was no bother, and I thought Luke would probably be hungry after his journey.’ He turned to Luke who was pulling out the chair next to the one she’d chosen, ‘You came up on the train? The service from London is pretty good, I find.’ Another attempt by her dad at polite small talk, she assumed, because she might not have seen him for a few years, but he’d always been a creature of habit and trips to the capital weren’t something she ever remembered him making.

  Luke nodded. ‘Euston’s pretty easy access for me, too, which helped.’ He reached for the mug George held out to him. ‘Thanks. Nee’s right, this looks great.’

  George passed a mug of tea to Nee then took a seat opposite. ‘Please, help yourselves. I didn’t know what you would want, so I put a bit of everything out.’ His smile faltered. ‘Everyone’s been very generous, we’ve more food than I know what to do with. If you’d prefer something hot…’

  He made to stand, but Luke waved the hand already gripping a crumpet at him. ‘No, no. This is perfect, honestly.’

  Nee added a dash of milk to her tea and watched in silence as the two men filled their plates with a selection of sandwiches, cold meat and, in Luke’s case, a slab of fruit cake to go with the crumpet already dripping in jam. He paused, the crumpet inches from his mouth, fixing a determined look on her. ‘Eat something.’ Order given, and it was most definitely an order, he stuffed about half the crumpet in his mouth and closed his eyes with a happy sigh.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse him, a tiny spark of heated indignation breaking through the suffocating weight of sadness blanketing her, but two things stopped her. Firstly, she was bloody starving for the first time in days. Secondly, he’d come when she hadn’t known she needed him, when she’d given him no reason to ever want to be near her again.

  Helping herself to some fruit and cheese, she ate in silence as Luke told her dad about the newest addition to Aaron and Kiki’s family, and the ‘surprise’ party they’d thrown for his brother the previous month. It sounded like he’d had a great time with everyone, reinforcing her decision to leave Butterfly Cove as the right one, even if it caused a pang of regret at the same time.

  He cut himself another slice of fruit cake, adding a thinner piece to her plate at the same time. Raising an eyebrow at his presumptuous action got her little more than a cocky grin in return. Damn him for knowing how much she loved fruit cake – they’d treated themselves to a Fortnum’s one as part of their homemade wedding supper. Memories of that day swamped her, bringing the fresh sting of tears to her eyes. His smile faltered and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the waterworks. ‘I’m okay. Thanks for the cake.’

  ‘I’m being bossy, sorry.’ He didn’t try too hard to look contrite, whatever his words.

  ‘It’s fine.’ She didn’t examine her own motives for acquiescing so easily. Being taken care of was too bloody nice.

  ‘In that case, when you’ve finished that, I’ll make you another cup of tea and you can take it up to bed with you.’

  Give a man an inch… ‘I’m going to have a bath.’ A pathetic little rebellion, but she wo
uldn’t let him push her around too much.

  He nodded. ‘Fine. Bath, then bed.’ She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the corner of her mouth from twitching in amusement.

  ‘I think we could all do with an early night,’ her father interjected with a slightly desperate attempt at diplomacy. ‘There’s clean bedding in the airing cupboard so it won’t take me two minutes to make up one of the other rooms, unless…’ George trailed off, colour rising in his cheeks.

  Oh. God. He couldn’t possibly think she and Luke would be sharing a room, could he? Nee gaped at her father, feeling her own blush heat her skin. Luke surely wouldn’t expect it…

  She didn’t dare wait for him to respond. ‘I’ve already made up Kiki’s bed ready for tomorrow, but Luke can use Mia’s old room.’ Her elder sister had decided to stay with Pat and Bill, the parents of her late husband. They remained close and had welcomed Daniel into their family with a graceful ease few possessed. The couple would be spending Christmas with their other children and grandchildren, so Mia wanted to catch up with them while she could. Kiki’s children were staying home with Madeline and Richard, who had also agreed to look after the couple of artists staying at the studios until Mia and Daniel returned. No one had mentioned Luke to her when they’d been making arrangements, and she wondered whether they even knew he’d shown up. They’ll find out soon enough when they arrive.

  Needing to escape, she pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll make up the bed while my bath is running.’

  The bland expression on Luke’s face told her nothing. ‘Thanks. I’ll fetch your tea up in a minute.’

  Chapter Six

  Luke waited until he could hear the water running upstairs, then stood and began to clear the table. George rose and began to work beside him silently, although Luke could tell he had something on his mind. He refilled the kettle, wiping down the spaces on the kitchen table as the older man cleared them and bided his time. Now he’d set his mind to things, he had all the patience in the world. Nee was his, until the day she said otherwise, and nothing would stand in the way of that. He’d had a long chat with Mia on the phone before he’d travelled up, and though she’d issued a number of outrageously dire warnings to him, she’d eventually come onboard with his plans.

  The kettle bubbled and steamed and the loud click of the automatic cut-off switch set Luke into motion, rinsing their cups out, going through the familiar ritual of tea-making. ‘Coffee?’ he asked George, with a quick glance across to him.

  ‘Tea, please. I think I’ll take it upstairs with me, if you don’t mind?’ George brushed a few imaginary crumbs off the front of his neatly buttoned cardigan, then set his shoulders in a way that told Luke he’d made up his mind to speak. Abandoning the tea for now, he put his back to the kettle, giving his father-in-law his full attention. Face to face, he could see the girls had inherited their brown eyes from him, as well as a certain stubbornness around the jawline.

  George folded his arms with a sigh. ‘I’m probably the last man with any rights to behave like a protective father, but I’m going to anyway.’ Luke nodded. He’d learnt about the difficulties within the Thorpe family over the past year, as neither himself nor Nee had spoken much about their backgrounds during their madcap courtship. ‘She’s lost all her spark, my poor girl, and I need to know whether that is down to you.’

  A reasonable assumption, given all the man knew was that his daughter had walked out on her husband. ‘She wasn’t like this last summer, I swear. Kiki thinks it’s to do with whatever happened in New York. Has Nee said anything to you about it?’

  ‘Not a word. She spent most of her time at the care home, before, you know…’ A tight, painful expression crossed George’s face. ‘I went when I could, but I had to sit outside the room to avoid upsetting Vivian, and it didn’t seem fair to leave her alone.’

  Luke tried to imagine the agony of it, especially for someone as self-contained as George. The excruciating embarrassment as people speculated and gossiped about the man who couldn’t even enter his wife’s room. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’ Such inane, pathetic words, but they were all he had.

  George shook his head. ‘It’s a relief, truth be told, and my soul be damned for saying so. We were never suited, though I loved her once. Love’s not enough, though. Not if you don’t know how to take proper care of each other. I wanted her all to myself, and Vivian was always such a social butterfly. I held her too tightly, crushed her wings.’ A shudder rippled through the older man’s frame and he raised a hand to cover his face briefly. ‘My therapist says I need to be more open about things, but it’s never come naturally to me. I was raised in a household where one didn’t, you see.’

  Luke blinked at the idea of George seeking therapy, and hoped none of his surprise showed on his face. The older man took a deep breath, then raised his head. ‘My Eirênê’s happiness is more important than my own discomfort, though, so I’ll elicit a promise from you, here and now. If you can’t help bring the fire back into my daughter, you must let her go. For both your sakes.’

  He spoke sense. Luke might believe he and Nee were meant to be, but if the connection between them had broken irrevocably, they’d be doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. He’d said as much to Aaron when they’d talked late into the night after his birthday party, but damn it, he wasn’t giving up without a fight. ‘Give me until the New Year.’ If his plans for Christmas didn’t work out, he doubted anything would.

  George nodded. ‘Thank you for hearing me out, and for coming here today. I hope you have more luck in figuring things out than I ever did. Now, I think I’ll take my tea and get out of your hair.’

  Breakfast the next morning was an easier affair than the previous night’s meal. The radio was tuned to Radio Four and Luke flicked through one of the two daily newspapers that had been delivered, while George hid behind the other. Nee looked better – whether from the cathartic release of her tears or just a decent night’s sleep, it relieved him to note the dark circles under her eyes had faded somewhat. There was still something off about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She chatted to them both about the day’s plans, deciding which of the many meals in the freezer could be combined to feed everyone once Kiki and Aaron arrived that afternoon.

  He watched her flip back and forth through a notebook, double-checking the arrangements for the funeral, and George’s measured responses to her questions were in marked contrast to his agonised tone the night before. The spiky blonde cut she’d sported during the summer had begun to grow out, softening around her face. She reached up to brush impatiently at the full fringe when it fell into her eyes, only for it to slip straight back into place again. A good inch or more of dark roots showed, giving a glimpse of the rich brown colour he thought suited her better than the harsh bleach job. Not that he would say anything. She could die it pink as a baboon’s arse for all he cared – she’d still be beautiful to him.

  Her pen tap-tap-tapped on the notebook, and the missing piece tumbled into his brain. Frowning he glanced around. It had to be there somewhere…

  ‘Lost something?’

  Startled, he met Nee’s curious gaze. ‘Where’s your sketchbook?’ In the time they’d been together, the battered A3 spiral-bound book had never been more than a couple of inches from her hand.

  The colour drained from her face and the tap-tap-tap of her pen ramped up to machine-gun speed. ‘I’ve not really been in the mood to draw.’

  Not in the mood? Art was an extension of Nee’s very being, an essential component of her make-up. George curled one corner of his newspaper down to stare at Luke across the table. His expression was shielded from Nee, but Luke read the shock in it loud and clear. Making a mental note to have a quiet word with Kiki when she arrived, he shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner. ‘You’ve had a lot on your plate lately, so that’s not surprising.’ God, he couldn’t lie for shit. Hastily changing the subject, he grabbed his plate and mug. ‘Anyone need another drink?’

/>   ‘Coffee, please, if you’re making one,’ George said, still nose-deep in his paper.

  Nee shook her head as she started paging through her notebook again. ‘Not for me. So, just family flowers, and the vicar will make an announcement about donations for the Alzheimer’s Society.’

  They’d already covered the point not five minutes before, but George responded as though it was something new, his voice patient as they discussed the wording on the back of the Order of Service handouts, which had already been delivered to the funeral director for distribution. On and on, she chattered like a magpie and Luke forced himself to keep clearing away the breakfast things, keeping busy, keeping his jaw clenched to hold back the words bubbling on the back of his tongue.

  His self-lauded patience hadn’t returned by the time he’d loaded the dishwasher and handed George his coffee. With a quick glance out of the window, he folded the tea towel into a neat square and placed it on the board beside the sink. ‘If you don’t need me for anything just now, I’m going out for a run.’

  Nee kept her eyes on her notes, so it was George who answered him. ‘I think we’re all set for now. If you turn left at the end of the street, it’ll take you onto Park Road. You should see the entrance a few hundred yards further on. We should still be here when you get back, but there’s a spare key in the top drawer of the bureau in the hallway, help yourself.’

  Luke nodded his thanks, and headed out of the kitchen. Glancing back over his shoulder proved a mistake. The sight of Nee hunched almost into a ball as she diligently scribbled in her notebook clawed at his guts. There was something seriously wrong with her, and he was going to get to the bottom of it before he returned to London. Pushing her now would be for his own selfish benefit. He could hold his tongue for a couple more days, let her hang on to whatever bit of strength she had to get through the funeral first. Forcing his feet to keep moving, he jogged upstairs to get changed, hoping the bitter November cold would help temper the anger roaring inside him.