A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  Was that really what he was like?

  His father had been the epitome of selfish. He’d swanned through life causing nothing but hurt as he’d pursued his own pleasure and thought of no one but himself. Alex bristled at the thought that perhaps he’d done the same.

  Was she right? Had it been selfish of him to go out on his bike late at night?

  Perhaps she had a point. He wasn’t used to living with others. He eyed his tiny room and the quilted bedcover critically. And his lifestyle couldn’t be more different from hers.

  He sighed, knowing he’d have to speak to her.

  Once showered and dressed, he went downstairs to the kitchen, careful to duck under the low doorway. The dog seemed excited to see him and followed him around hopefully. Alex sneezed once, twice, three times. Still, the dog trailed him like a shadow while he made breakfast. His stomach growled and he found a loaf of bread and dropped a slice into the toaster.

  After his altercation with Liberty last night it had taken him a while to calm down. He’d lain in bed seething and replaying the confrontation in his mind. He wasn’t used to conflict, apart from the obvious rivalries on the racetrack. He spent a lot of time alone, and that was how he liked it, how he’d lived for the last ten years. After his relationship with Solange had ended, he’d decided it was better this way. His lifestyle, being constantly on the move, made relationships difficult. And a solitary existence meant that no one got hurt.

  So last night had thrown him, but as the clock had ticked into the early hours, sleep had eventually begun to tug him down, and this morning he was astonished by how well rested he felt.

  The toaster popped and the dog looked at him with big hopeful eyes.

  ‘What do you want?’ Alex asked. ‘A walk? Food? I’m sure Liberty wouldn’t like it if I overfed you.’

  The dog perked up, and rushed away into the entrance hall. He reappeared moments later with a lead in his mouth.

  Alex muttered a curse. ‘You understood? You’re cleverer than I thought.’ He bent and gave the dog a friendly pat on the head. Then remembered he shouldn’t have done that, and pulled his hand back. ‘Sorry, my friend. I don’t want to get it wrong and get in even more trouble with your mistress. Another time, okay?’

  He buttered his toast and left it a moment to make himself a cup of coffee. When he turned back, he stopped.

  His plate was empty, bar a few crumbs.

  ‘What—’

  The dog, who was now in his basket, kept his head down and his gaze averted.

  Alex frowned. The Labrador looked … guilty. ‘Did you just steal my toast?’

  The dog thumped his tail.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Shaking his head, Alex got another piece of bread. This time he made sure to keep a close eye on it.

  When he’d finished breakfast, he washed his plate and cup. He noticed Liberty kept everything spotlessly clean and tidy – apart from the dog hairs, which were everywhere, especially in the lounge, clinging to all the quilts and the thick carpet. When he’d dried the crockery and put it away he looked around the lounge. What was the word Liberty had used to describe her cottage? ‘Cosy’. It was tiny and would feel more spacious if it wasn’t crammed with furniture and knick-knacks.

  He examined the photo frames that covered the sideboard. In one Liberty was waving at the camera and beside her was a black girl of the same age, with a wide smile and glossy hair. He peered at the rest. There was Liberty as a child with the same friend, Liberty in school uniform, Liberty with an older woman – her mother? Liberty and her friend in front of the Eiffel Tower. This must be the friend in a coma. The girls’ closeness was almost palpable: he could practically hear their laughter and see the intimacy of a lasting friendship in their eyes.

  He looked out of the window. Even the little garden at the back, fenced off from the forest, was cluttered with gnomes and coloured jam-jars suspended from the branches of trees. He presumed they held tealights in summer, but against the sparse winter landscape they looked mournful. This place felt unbearably claustrophobic with that army of trees assembled outside, closing in on him, the low ceilings and tiny doorways.

  Alex closed his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here. Maybe he should have taken a few weeks off to lie on a beach and get his head around the fact that his career was over. But a beach holiday would never have worked for him. He was too restless. He had too much energy. At least here he had his bike with him, and if he could find the woman who’d written those letters to his father it would make the trip worthwhile.

  ‘So how’s it going with your lodger?’ asked Evie, as they tidied the counter after a busy morning in the Button Hole. ‘What’s he like?’

  Liberty pictured Alex’s exotic dark looks and deep frown. ‘He’s not what I expected,’ she said tactfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought he’d be like Luc – charming, friendly – but he’s not. We’ve had a couple of disagreements already. And he’s allergic to dogs.’ His angry words from last night rang in her ears and she remembered how he’d threatened to leave. For all she knew, perhaps he’d gone already.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Evie. ‘What were the disagreements about?’

  But Liberty didn’t get a chance to answer because a customer came over needing help with fabric choices. While Evie was serving her, the bell tinkled and Natasha came in.

  ‘Is this a good time for a coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Liberty smiled and gestured to the back room. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. You sit down and put your feet up.’

  Her friend didn’t argue and lowered herself carefully into a chair. A few moments later, the customer left with her bag of fabric, and Evie joined them in the back room. Liberty handed out drinks and reached into the cupboard for the box she’d bought from the bakery. ‘Here. Have a mince pie.’

  Evie beamed and helped herself.

  ‘Eves, what did you do to your finger?’ Natasha asked, spotting the big plaster.

  ‘Accident with a rotary cutter. Fortunately Jake was home.’ Evie grimaced. ‘There was a lot of blood.’

  Natasha winced.

  ‘It’s not as painful as it sounds,’ Evie said cheerfully. ‘I’ve had worse accidents.’

  Liberty laughed. Evie was one of the clumsiest people she’d ever met.

  Natasha suddenly clutched her stomach and gasped.

  ‘Nat? What’s wrong?’ asked Liberty.

  She let out a long slow breath and relaxed back into her seat. ‘It’s nothing. Just another Braxton Hicks. Practice contractions. I keep getting them.’

  Liberty and Evie exchanged a worried glance.

  ‘You look a bit tired,’ Liberty said carefully. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Liberty’s gaze dropped to Natasha’s bump and she felt a shiver of wonder that a little being was safely nestled in there, growing and developing.

  ‘I’m fine. Just a little weighed down by this one.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Mm, these mince pies are delish.’

  Evie studied her with concern. ‘Perhaps the early mornings are taking it out of you.’

  ‘You sound just like Luc. But I really want to get all the books in order before I go on maternity leave. Plus, I don’t think I’d get much of a lie-in with Lottie anyway. She’s an early riser.’

  Liberty smiled. Natasha’s three-year-old daughter was adorable but demanding. She talked constantly and asked endless questions. Liberty loved to babysit her, but she always went home exhausted. ‘Well, any time you need a hand looking after her, just ask. You know I love to help.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She licked a crumb of pastry from her finger.

  Evie turned to Liberty. ‘What were you going to say before – about your lodger?’

  Liberty glanced at Natasha and hesitated. Her friend would worry if she knew how bad things were between them, and Liberty didn’t want to add to her problems when she was already exhausted with her pregnancy. ‘Oh, nothing. He just … wasn’t ve
ry happy about living with a dog, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it true that he’s really good-looking?’ asked Evie.

  Liberty pictured his mesmerising eyes. ‘Unfortunately, he knows it.’

  Natasha peered at her. ‘You don’t seem too enamoured of him.’

  ‘He keeps himself to himself.’ She didn’t say that he was sullen and snappy. She didn’t say she’d be glad if he left, and last night she’d paced up and down in the darkness, too angry even to think about sleeping. Ever since he’d arrived he’d turned the air sour, pushing her away every time she tried to be friendly, sulking moodily, and thundering around on that beast of a motorbike.

  Although perhaps stomping onto the landing and yelling at him in the heat of the moment had been rash.

  She didn’t say anything, but Natasha must have sensed there was more because she waited expectantly for her to go on.

  Liberty sighed and made light of it. ‘I suppose I’m disappointed he doesn’t want to chat like Carys, or watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate and wearing knitted slipper socks.’

  Natasha laughed and touched her hand in sympathy. ‘Oh, Lib.’

  The pity in Natasha’s eyes made her cringe. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. ‘On the bright side, he doesn’t hog the bathroom.’

  Natasha absently stroked her bump. ‘Luc said he’s not fully recovered from the accident he had earlier in the year. It can’t be an easy time for him.’

  Liberty’s head jerked up. ‘He had an accident?’

  ‘A bad one. Haven’t you looked him up?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘On the internet. He’s a bit of a celebrity, you know, in the racing world.’

  ‘Is he?’ She wasn’t impressed. She equated celebrity status with arrogance and wealth and big egos.

  Actually, thinking about it, that explained a lot.

  ‘And his dad died last year,’ Natasha continued.

  ‘Yes, he mentioned that.’ She remembered his icy tone. We weren’t close.

  ‘All in all, he’s got a lot going on. Luc said he didn’t seem his usual self when he arrived. Still, at least he’s with you and not in some impersonal hotel. That would be really lonely for him, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Liberty said guiltily. She sipped her coffee, careful to avoid her friend’s eye: what if he’d already moved out?

  Now she wished she hadn’t shouted at him. She could have waited until morning when she’d calmed down, and had a quiet word with him instead of being confrontational. But that bike of his infuriated her – it was so big and noisy. He infuriated her.

  But Natasha’s friendship was more important.

  She frowned. If he was still there when she got home tonight perhaps she should try a little harder to make things work with him – if for no other reason than that she didn’t want to upset Luc and Natasha.

  Later that day Liberty was checking through their list of online orders and the last dates for posting before Christmas, when the shop bell jingled and a blond guy came in. He closed the door, then headed directly towards her. She felt a quick kick of excitement – and recognition because he’d been in a couple of times before, shopping for his mother. He was tall, and his eyes were a startling slate blue. Usually he was casually dressed in jeans, but today he wore a long coat and a smart suit, and looked even more dashing. She thought of the dating app. If his profile came up she’d definitely say yes.

  ‘I wondered if you could help me,’ he said. His voice was deep and low. ‘I’m on my lunch break so I haven’t got much time.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Reaching into his inside pocket, he produced a few scraps of fabric and a piece of paper, then placed them on the counter. ‘Mum’s sent me on an emergency trip to get more of these,’ he explained, with a rueful smile, ‘and half a metre of another coordinating mid-blue.’

  Liberty smiled. ‘I’ll show you where the blues are.’

  He followed her across the shop, seeming mildly alarmed. ‘Oh, I don’t want the responsibility of choosing. Mum will be much happier if you recommend one.’

  ‘No problem.’ Liberty held up the swatches in front of the shelf. They were mostly ditzy prints with tiny flowers, but one or two were plainer with geometric designs. From what she recalled about his mother’s taste, she seemed to err towards traditional floral prints. Definitely nothing too modern. ‘This one would work,’ she said, pulling out a tone-on-tone scroll-patterned print, ‘or this one.’ She showed him another with butterflies outlined in navy. It was plainer, but the perfect colour.

  His blue eyes creased as he smiled. ‘Which do you prefer?’

  Liberty examined the swatches again. ‘If she only needs half a metre, then I’d go with the first,’ she said, careful not to answer his question, because her personal preference would likely be the opposite of his mother’s. ‘It’s more in keeping with what you have already and she’s finishing a quilt she’s already started, right?’

  ‘How do you remember that? I’m impressed.’

  She pulled the bolt of fabric off the shelf. ‘We don’t get many male customers in here. You stand out, I’m afraid.’

  He chuckled and followed her back to the counter. Hurriedly, she pushed aside the laptop. ‘How’s your mum?’ she asked, as she measured the blue material then sliced through it. If she remembered correctly, his mum was ill.

  ‘Not bad.’ His eyes clouded and she recognised the pained look of someone worried about a loved one. ‘No change, really.’

  Liberty wondered what illness prevented his mother from coming into the shop herself. She was clearly a keen quilter, judging by the amount of fabric and quilting thread he’d bought over his last couple of visits. ‘Does she have mobility issues? Because we have a wheelchair ramp at the back, you know.’

  ‘It’s not a physical illness.’ He rubbed a hand over his beard. ‘She’s agoraphobic.’

  He must have logged her confusion because he explained, ‘She can’t leave the house. She gets panic attacks.’

  Liberty felt a tug of sympathy. That must be difficult for both of them.

  ‘It’s hard for her,’ he went on. ‘But at least she has her sewing to keep her busy.’

  ‘Has she been ill for a while?’

  ‘It started two years ago, when Dad died. I suppose she was an anxious person before then but Dad was good at calming her down, and without him she can’t face the world.’

  Liberty put the rotary cutter down and folded his material. ‘That’s so sad.’

  He lifted a bag onto the counter. ‘Want to see the quilt so far? I brought the middle section with me. She’s working on the outer border now. It’s nearly finished.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Lots of customers came in with examples of their work and Liberty was used to giving polite praise, but when he unfolded this one, she blinked. This wasn’t run-of-the-mill squares or triangles. It was a collection of complex blocks clustered around a Mariner’s Compass in the centre. The points of each long triangle were as sharp as pins, the colours and patterns had been carefully chosen to blend or contrast, and the whole quilt spoke of great skill and meticulously neat workmanship. ‘Wow,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s amazing.’

  ‘It’s some kind of online challenge. Apparently people are taking part all around the world, following the same design but choosing their own colours and fabrics.’

  ‘I know the one you mean. From what I’ve heard it’s very difficult. Your mother has serious talent.’

  ‘You think so?’ He sounded proud.

  Liberty felt a tingle in response. ‘Definitely. Believe me, this is way above the standard we usually see here in the shop. Do you mind if I show my boss?’

  He looked surprised and even prouder. Liberty opened the door to the back room. ‘Evie, come and take a look at this.’

  Evie came in, her dimples showing as she smiled at the customer. She flicked her long plait over her shoulder before leaning in to study the quilt. Immediately, he
r expression changed to one of serious awe. ‘Did you make this?’ she asked him.

  ‘Not me. My mum.’

  Liberty explained, ‘This gentleman comes in to buy fabric for her because she can’t come in herself.’

  ‘My name’s Ethan,’ he said, and his gaze locked with Liberty’s, making her heart give a little bounce.

  ‘I’m Liberty,’ she said, ‘and this is my boss, Evie.’ She wasn’t sure why her cheeks heated.

  ‘Ethan,’ said Evie, ‘does your mum enter her work for shows?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know there were shows for this kind of thing.’

  ‘There are, and this deserves to be on display so other people can enjoy it too. I’m fairly certain it would get high praise from the judges. It’s really very good.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that stuff. But it might give her a boost just to know it was on display for others to see.’

  Evie nodded. ‘There’s a big festival in Birmingham in the summer, but if you don’t want to wait that long there’s one starting at the end of this month. It’s in the South of France, but I’ll be entering a few of my own quilts and I could send hers, too, if she can finish it in time.’

  ‘Oh, that won’t be a problem. Time is the one thing she has in abundance.’

  Evie grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something. ‘This is the website. Why don’t you ask her and let me know? If she’s interested she’ll need to enter it online and the deadline is soon because they print programmes listing all the entries. They won’t need the finished quilt until just before Christmas, though.’

  ‘I’ll speak to her. Thanks.’

  They exchanged business cards, and Evie disappeared into the back room to finish machine-piecing a quilt.

  Liberty pointed to the scraps of fabric he’d brought in. ‘I’ll get these for you.’ As she cut them, she asked, ‘Do you think your mum might be persuaded to go to the show if her work was going to be on display there?’