A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  Despite the disruption to her morning routine, Liberty arrived at work on time and her spirits lifted, as they did every morning, when she pushed open the door of the Button Hole. It was almost a year now since she’d left her old job in a department store and she adored working here. Outside, the late November sky might be grey and the light weak, but Evie’s patchwork and quilting shop was a bright star in the high street, an Aladdin’s cave of colourful fabrics and sewing materials. Here, among the giant cotton reels and buttons that hung from the ceiling, and the display quilts that decorated the walls, Liberty felt perfectly at home. When she gazed around she saw infinite possibilities for exciting new designs. And in the back room those designs became real: bespoke quilts made for their online customers all over the world. This shop was her happy place.

  Her boss, Evie, was leaning on the counter chatting to Natasha, who owned the florist’s across the road. Both greeted Liberty with bright smiles and hugs – although it wasn’t easy to hug Natasha now she was eight months’ pregnant.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Liberty asked.

  Natasha was petite, and her bump was neat but big beneath her flowery tea-dress. ‘Like I’m being kicked about. I’m sure this baby’s going to be a gymnast. I swear it keeps doing forward rolls and stretches.’ She tucked her blonde hair behind one ear.

  ‘How long until your due date?’

  ‘Four weeks. Luc’s getting overprotective and keeps telling me to stop work and put my feet up, but there’s so much to do in the shop that I need to carry on for another couple of weeks. I’ve packed my hospital bag, though, just in case. And Evie’s on standby to look after Lottie when I go into labour.’

  Evie nodded.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got everything organised,’ said Liberty.

  Natasha’s cheeks glowed pink, but she was moving slowly now, and Liberty wondered if her pregnancy was wearing her out more than she was letting on. Or perhaps it was just tiring to work full time as well as look after an active toddler.

  ‘Happy birthday, Lib!’ Evie thrust a gift into her hands. It was wrapped in a square of cotton material and tied with an orange ribbon.

  ‘Thanks, Evie. Gorgeous fabric,’ Liberty murmured, as she untied the bow.

  ‘I know you don’t normally read thrillers, but trust me, this one’s brilliant.’

  Liberty turned the hardback over and skimmed the blurb.

  ‘What do you normally read?’ Natasha asked.

  ‘Small-town romance,’ said Liberty. ‘I love them. And cowboy heroes. The kind who look mean and hard but have a hidden soft centre.’

  ‘The ones who seem like they can’t be tamed?’ Natasha’s blue eyes gleamed.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Liberty.

  ‘I like those too.’

  Natasha gave her a pair of pyjamas in beautiful brushed cotton, downy soft and patterned with cotton reels. ‘They’re beautiful, Nat. Thanks.’

  ‘I know you like a quiet night in quilting and watching a good film. These should be perfect.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll wear them lots.’ She smiled.

  But as she spoke, an uncomfortable feeling crept over her. She told herself it was about missing Carys, but it wouldn’t be dismissed. It niggled insistently. Her friends’ gifts were thoughtful and showed how well they knew her – but was this how she’d expected her life to be at thirty? Pyjamas, cosy nights in, and heroes who existed only in her imagination?

  ‘Right. I’d better get back,’ said Natasha. ‘I’m changing the window display today. Going for something nice and Christmassy. See you both soon!’

  ‘We need to think about a new window display too,’ said Evie, when she’d gone. She pulled her long plait forwards and twisted the end around her fingers as she eyed the window thoughtfully. ‘It’s the first of December on Monday.’

  Liberty tucked her gifts behind the counter. ‘Last year’s display was eye-catching.’ When she’d started work there last December the window had been filled with giant baubles and fabric-covered gifts.

  ‘It was, but this year I’d like to give people ideas for small projects they can make to give as presents. Customers are always telling me how much satisfaction they get from making gifts.’

  Liberty gave this some thought. ‘How about starter kits for cushions? We could include instructions, squares of fabric and matching thread. And I could make up a few finished cushions for the window display so they can see how they’ll look in different colourways.’

  Evie’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s a great idea. They can either buy the kit and make it, or give it away to someone who enjoys crafting.’

  They set to work, choosing which fabrics to use, and cutting out squares.

  ‘Did you get another mystery bouquet, then?’ asked Evie, as she sliced through the fabric.

  Liberty picked up the four-inch squares and stacked them neatly. ‘I did, and I got up early so I was there when it arrived.’ She told Evie about the chase.

  Her boss’s eyes widened. ‘You followed her all the way to town? Well I never …’

  ‘Why is that so hard to believe?’

  She reached for another bolt of fabric and measured a four-inch strip. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I had you down as someone careful and sensible.’

  In other words, dull, thought Liberty, for the second time that morning. ‘Well, it was all for nothing because she wouldn’t tell me who they were from.’

  Evie’s mouth twisted in sympathy, then she brightened. ‘Perhaps that’s a good thing,’ she said, and her hazel eyes shone. ‘You know – the mystery of it. If you knew who they were from it wouldn’t be anywhere near as exciting.’

  Liberty smiled. Evie always looked on the bright side, no matter what the situation. ‘It’s romantic, too – don’t you think?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Evie. ‘I’d love to be sent flowers from a mysterious anonymous person.’

  The shop bell jingled as their first customer arrived, and the morning passed quickly. At lunchtime, Liberty nipped out to the bakery next door to buy lunch.

  ‘We’ve got some delicious new Christmas fillings if you want to try something different,’ said Marjorie. ‘Turkey and stuffing, smoked salmon and prawn, Brie and cranberry sauce?’

  ‘I’ll just stick with the usual, thanks.’ Liberty paid for the coronation chicken sandwich and vanilla slice.

  Marjorie laughed. ‘I dread to think what will happen if you come in one day and we haven’t got it.’

  Liberty was alarmed at the thought. ‘That won’t happen because you always keep one aside for me.’

  ‘True. You’re a creature of habit, Liberty, and a very easy customer!’

  She took her paper bag with a smile, but as she left the bakery Marjorie’s words played on her mind. They reminded her of something her ex had said when he’d broken up with her last year: You’re too set in your ways. She and Carys had laughed it off because he’d dumped her for a party girl, who had ditched him two weeks later, but now she asked herself if he had been right. Was she stuck in a rut?

  Her routine was the same every day: she got up, walked Charlie in the forest, and drove to work. She helped customers in the shop, and ran sewing workshops. Then she went home, and spent her evenings working on her own quilts. All this used to be more fun with Carys for company, of course – they’d shared Damselfly Cottage for five years before the accident – but even now she couldn’t imagine an evening without sewing. Her online name was Liberty Homebird, and for good reason. People loved the pictures she posted of her sewing projects with the log fire burning in the background. They said her cosy cottage looked dreamy, a world away from their city lives. But had she allowed her life to get too cosy?

  Things had changed so much since Carys’s accident. Problems that used to seem small had doubled in size now she had to face them alone. She’d never been a risk-taker, but now she was cautious in the extreme, and the thought of socialising with strangers made her break out in a sweat. And although she visited her just once a
week, Carys was constantly at the back of her mind. What if she died in the night? What if she never woke up? What if she woke up but wasn’t Carys any more? The gnawing questions were exhausting, and Liberty found comfort from the uncertainty in her quiet, familiar routine.

  But thinking of her friend in a coma made her wonder: what if today was her last?

  Back at the shop they had a sudden rush of customers, but Evie and Liberty had a system that worked well when this happened: one cut the fabric, while the other rang it through the till and took payment. That way they got through a queue of people in no time. When the last customer left, they began to put away all the rolls of fabric.

  ‘So what are you doing tonight?’ asked Evie, as she pushed a bolt of fabric back into place. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach the high shelf.

  Liberty rolled up the remaining bolts left on the counter and stacked them one on top of the other. ‘Oh just the usual. A quiet night in sewing. I’ve almost finished a Maple Leaf quilt.’

  ‘Maple Leaf? Isn’t that a bit traditional for you?’

  Liberty smiled. Evie was right. Her quilts were always modern with bold blocks of colour against a plain background. ‘I designed my own take on it with stylised leaves rather than lifelike ones. And I used those new woodland fabrics.’ She pointed to the far corner of the shop.

  ‘Ooh – nice! Which colours?’

  ‘Orange, red, purple and brown.’

  ‘Autumnal,’ Evie said approvingly. ‘I’d love to see it.’

  ‘I’ll bring it in when it’s finished.’ She hoped to finish and photograph it while the leaves of the oak trees were still clinging on. She always shot her quilts against the backdrop of the forest behind her cottage then posted the pictures on social media. This one would look gorgeous against the caramel tones of late autumn.

  Evie’s brow pulled a little as she returned to the till. ‘But aren’t you going out tonight to celebrate your birthday?’

  Liberty picked up four bolts of fabric. ‘I’m seeing Carys’s mum and dad at the weekend. They’ve invited me round for tea,’ she mumbled, and hurried away. She began to slot the fabrics back into place, tidying the shelves as she went, tucking in loose ends.

  Evie frowned. ‘But it’s your thirtieth! You’ve got to celebrate it.’

  ‘You know me. I’m not a party person. And without Carys …’ It felt wrong to celebrate when her best friend was in a coma. They had had big plans for their thirtieth birthdays. After the success of their weekend in Paris last year, Carys had come up with the idea of a backpacking holiday around Europe – by train because Liberty couldn’t fly – and they’d been saving up, excited at the prospect of visiting so many countries.

  But Liberty’s savings were gone now: she’d had to use them to keep up with all the bills for the cottage. Living alone meant her finances were stretched. She pushed the last bolt of fabric into place and realised her boss was watching her.

  Evie’s hazel eyes were warm with understanding. ‘It doesn’t have to be a party. How about something low key – a meal at the pub, maybe?’

  ‘It’s fine. I don’t want to make a fuss.’

  ‘Since when is celebrating with your friends a fuss? It’ll be fun. Come on, Lib!’

  She bit her lip. It was tempting …

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Evie reached into her pocket for her phone. ‘Right. I’ll organise it. I’ll invite Jake and Natasha. Luc will probably have to stay with Lottie. I can’t believe you were going to let this go by without celebrating. You always look after everyone around you, but what about you?’

  Liberty didn’t reply straight away. They both knew that normally Carys would have organised it. ‘I don’t want a fuss,’ she repeated.

  ‘Oh, Liberty,’ said Evie. She put her phone down and came over to hug her. ‘I know you miss Carys, but it’s important to keep living your life.’

  Evie had lost her sister a few years ago. Liberty knew she understood. She nodded mutely, her throat suddenly tight.

  The shop bell tinkled and a lady came in, clutching a piece of fabric. Evie greeted her brightly, then turned to Liberty and said quietly, ‘I’ve an idea. Why don’t you leave early and visit Carys this afternoon?’

  Liberty’s spirits lifted. ‘Are you sure? Will you manage here?’ She glanced at the customer.

  ‘Of course I will. Go! It’s your birthday.’

  ‘Hi, Carys!’ Liberty called, as she entered the hospital room. She hung her coat over the back of the chair and took her friend’s hand. ‘I know it’s not Sunday, but today’s special.’

  Carys slept on, eyelashes resting on her cheeks. She looked so peaceful, which always made Liberty feel better.

  She launched into her usual patter, updating her friend on everything that had happened since her last visit. She told her about the meal with friends that Evie had spontaneously organised for that evening, and how she’d chased the florist. ‘I thought this was the year the sender was going to show themselves, Car. I’m so disappointed.’

  Those damn flowers had really got her down this morning, and it wasn’t the sender’s fault: it was hers. She’d pinned her hopes on having a secret admirer, that he’d come forward and her life would move in a new direction. Before today’s disappointment she hadn’t realised how dissatisfied she felt with everything.

  The hospital room remained silent, but she knew her friend so well she could imagine what her response would be: Never mind Mr Anonymous Flowers. Get yourself out there and find your Dream Guy.

  But how? Liberty picked a thread off her sleeve and wound it around her finger distractedly. She wasn’t brave like Carys. She was even less brave without Carys by her side.

  It was hard to keep up a one-way conversation, so after a while Liberty began to sing. She began as she always did with Carys’s favourite, ‘Your Song’, then worked her way through to Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’. She was halfway through it when one of the nurses came to check Carys’s stats and see to her drip.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, when Liberty paused. ‘You have a beautiful voice.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t, Jacqui. Not when people are listening.’

  ‘Why not? As I said, you have a great voice. Not like my husband. He thinks he’s Tom Jones, but he sounds more like a tom cat howling.’

  Liberty smiled but stayed quiet. Carys was one of the few people who’d heard her sing, and that was how she intended to keep it. ‘Jacqui, can I ask you something?’

  The nurse stopped. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Is Carys less likely to wake up now six months have gone by?’

  Jacqui thought about this. ‘I’m not sure what the statistics are, but in my experience there’s no pattern. I’ve seen patients wake up years after.’

  Liberty watched Carys’s chest lift and fall with each breath. The ticks and beeps of machines beat a steady rhythm. ‘But,’ she said slowly, ‘she could equally never wake up?’

  The nurse nodded gravely and touched her arm. Liberty watched her slip out of the room. Until now she hadn’t allowed herself to think like this. Giving up hope would be like letting her best friend down. She’d promised herself she’d keep hoping and praying and visiting Carys for as long as it took. But today Evie’s words echoed in her mind: It’s important to keep living your life.

  Liberty and Carys had been best friends since primary school. Like sisters, even. They hadn’t needed anyone else. And since Carys’s accident – well, Liberty hadn’t felt much like socialising. So she’d put her own life on pause. But six months had gone by, and now she had to face it: what if Carys never woke up from the coma?

  And that was when she realised what had been niggling her all day.

  She was lonely.

  And because she’d turned thirty, which felt like a huge milestone, Liberty was afraid it would always be like this: just her and her dog and her quilts.

  At the moment, anyone observing her could set a watch by her daily routine. But today’s birthday had made her consc
ious of time ticking, and she saw now that she was stuck in a rut. If she carried on like this, she’d be hitting forty and still be alone. She never left Willowbrook except to visit Carys in hospital or occasionally to shop in town. She never met anyone new, apart from customers in the shop and they were mostly female. Liberty loved her cottage and she loved village life – but she hated being alone.

  She blinked hard and tried to ignore the plunging sensation. She missed Carys, she missed her mum. But she was a firm believer that the best way to make things better was to take control of the situation. So what was she going to do? Something had to change. The only question was what?

  Back at her cottage, she scrolled through her Instagram feed. One of those inspirational quotes caught her eye: Open your mind to possibilities and suddenly they become realities.

  She paused a moment then flicked past it. Another post came up showing an Advent calendar. The countdown to Christmas begins in five days!

  She shifted uncomfortably. If her birthday felt hard without Carys, how much harder would Christmas be? Everything felt more acute then: the lonely felt lonelier, the days were darker. And it was creeping up fast. In the woods outside the leaves had almost all fallen, the early-morning air was frosty when she walked Charlie, and decorations were gradually appearing in the village: a bare tree had been placed in the green, the pub landlord had strung lights above the door of the Dog and Partridge, and the shops were filled with Christmas cards.

  Liberty scrolled on, pausing to admire a beautiful quilt photographed against a snowy mountain background, then deliberately whizzed past pictures of cake and food because her tummy was already rumbling but dinner wasn’t booked until eight. An ad popped up for a dating app. She flicked straight past it.