A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  ‘No trouble at all. Oh, and tell Liberty to go slow on that bike, won’t you?’ His eyes danced with humour.

  Alex smiled. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed how carefully she drove. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’

  Liberty knocked at the door. If she’d been at all nervous about visiting a complete stranger, she was more than a little reassured by the neat house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was already decorated for Christmas with lights strung below the eaves and glowing reindeer in the front garden. She must get her own decorations out soon, although she always waited until the middle of the month to buy a tree because she hated to see it lose its needles.

  The front door opened. In the golden light Ethan’s hair looked blonder than she remembered.

  ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘It’s cold tonight, isn’t it?’ he said.

  Liberty stepped inside, clutching her sewing bag. ‘Freezing. I had to scrape the ice off my car this morning. It definitely feels wintry now.’

  Mini quilts hung all around, and Ethan drew a quilted curtain across the front door to keep the draught out. It was made from ochre and crimson silks, some decorated with sequins, and it reminded Liberty of Indian saris. The rich colours evoked exotic lands and added to the warmth of the house. Everything was immaculately tidy, and the smell of furniture polish and cinnamon baking filled the air.

  A woman with short, spiky salt-and-pepper hair bustled through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. Her nails were painted a deep shade of blue. ‘You must be Liberty.’ She smiled. ‘Hello, love. I’m Brenda.’

  Liberty wasn’t sure how she’d imagined Brenda would look, but she certainly hadn’t pictured her so trim and with such an air of energy and purpose.

  ‘Come into the lounge, and I’ll make us a hot drink. What would you like, love?’

  ‘Tea would be great. Thanks,’ said Liberty.

  ‘I’ll get it, Mum,’ said Ethan. ‘You two go ahead and get comfortable.’

  ‘Thanks, Ethan.’

  Liberty followed Brenda into the lounge. As she sat down on the sofa, she noticed everything was immaculately tidy, not a cushion or a coaster out of place, and not a single thread on the furniture. A lap quilt was draped over the back of the sofa, like a throw, and in the corner of the room a slim artificial tree was covered with knitted decorations: snowmen, Christmas puddings, choirboys holding tiny paper hymn sheets, reindeer. They weren’t like anything Liberty had seen before, and she suspected they were homemade.

  Brenda took the armchair beside her. ‘I know it’s early,’ she said, following her gaze, ‘but I love Christmas. I like to have the decorations out as soon as possible, and get a whole month’s enjoyment out of them.’

  ‘It’s not so early. Some of the shops in town put their trees up straight after Halloween.’

  Brenda smiled. ‘Yes, that’s pushing it a bit far.’

  Liberty spotted the large folded quilt next to her. ‘Ethan showed me your quilt. Is that it there?’

  ‘It is.’ Brenda unfolded it and held it up for her to see. Liberty got up to take a closer look at the detail. She couldn’t believe how much progress Brenda had made in less than a week. ‘Don’t look too closely,’ Brenda joked. ‘There are lots of places where I had to fudge it.’

  ‘Really? You can’t tell. These pieces here are thumb-size, they’re so small.’ Yet the triangle corners were as sharp as pins, and the stitches tiny, precise and even. ‘Ethan said it’s an online challenge.’

  ‘Yes. You make a block a day over a year.’

  Liberty had heard that a lot of people had dropped out partway through because it was so technically challenging. Each day’s block was different, and some were so intricate and complicated that they took more than a day to complete, especially for people who worked and only had evenings free to sew. Clearly, Brenda had had no trouble in keeping up. ‘Has the challenge finished? Aren’t there more blocks coming in December?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s supposed to continue until the end of the year, then you have a finished top to quilt in the new year, but Ethan mentioned the show in France, so I thought I’d better get ahead. I contacted the challenge organiser and she’s let me have the remaining block patterns in advance. I’ve done them all, added the wadding and the backing, and now I’m quilting it.’

  ‘You’re not having it longarm quilted?’ Many people paid a professional with a specialist machine to do the quilting.

  Brenda shook her head. ‘They’re all fully booked until the new year, which would be too late, and anyway, I love hand-quilting. Plus, if I’m entering it for a show I want it to be all my work. I’m very excited about it. I’ve never entered one before. Are you sure this will be good enough?’

  ‘There’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever,’ said Liberty, glancing at another quilt draped over the sofa. Made of hexagons in a Grandmother’s Flower Garden pattern, it had been quilted by hand with tiny neat stitches, and the attention to detail showed it was clearly the work of a perfectionist.

  ‘Do you enter your quilts?’ asked Brenda.

  ‘Yes, and so does my boss, Evie. Sometimes we win the odd prize, although that’s not really why we enter. It’s nice to get your work seen and it challenges us too. The quilts we send to shows are usually very different from our usual commissions, more artistic, less conventional.’

  Liberty’s quilts were simple and striking, whereas Evie used slightly more traditional designs and fabrics.

  ‘Here are your drinks,’ said Ethan. He came in with a tray and put it down on the coffee-table. On it was a plate of what looked like home-baked carrot cake, and two mugs of tea.

  ‘Thanks, Ethan,’ said Brenda. ‘Now you go out and enjoy yourself.’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t sound so keen to get rid of me.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see the back of you.’ Brenda winked at Liberty. ‘I’m worried he’s never going to find someone to settle down with because he’s always staying in with me. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him I’m happy on my own.’

  So he was single, then. Liberty felt a buzz of excitement. ‘Going anywhere nice?’ she asked him.

  ‘Just to the pub,’ he said. ‘The Dog and Partridge in Willowbrook. Do you know it?’

  ‘It’s my local,’ she said. ‘It’s nice in there.’

  ‘It is.’

  Their eyes met briefly, but she looked away. She wondered who he was meeting there. A woman?

  ‘I’m just seeing the lads,’ he told his mum. ‘I won’t be late.’

  Liberty felt a spark of relief. Not a woman, then.

  ‘Stay as late as you like, love,’ said Brenda.

  When he’d gone, Brenda had a look at Liberty’s orange and black chevron quilt. Then they started to sew.

  ‘Who taught you to quilt so well, Brenda?’

  ‘I learned in America.’ Liberty looked up, surprised. Brenda went on, ‘Oh I wasn’t always housebound, you know. Once upon a time we used to travel a lot. Ethan was born in New Zealand.’

  ‘Really? He mentioned that his sister lives there.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s another story. Anyway, when we moved to America, I didn’t know anyone, not a soul, and I was lonely. One of the first people I met was a keen quilter and she invited me to join her quilting bee.’

  ‘A quilting bee? Is that a group who sew together?’

  ‘Yes. Just like we’re doing now, only there were a dozen of us. She assured me it didn’t matter that I couldn’t sew, so I went along. They saw I was keen to learn, so they showed me the basics and off I went. What started as an excuse to meet people quickly became a passion. And cotton fabric was really cheap over there, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Yes. I’d love to go to America.’

  ‘I recommend it. Just make sure you take two suitcases – that way you can fill one with fabric to bring home.’

  Liberty chuckled. ‘That’s a great idea.’

  But her smile faded as she remembered the tr
ip she and Carys had planned to travel by train around Europe. They’d been going to visit Rome, Seville, Vienna, Prague, sunny beaches in the south, mountains in the north, the unspoilt areas in the east. They’d had their plans and all the time in the world – or so they’d thought.

  Liberty kept her eyes down as she pulled her needle through the quilt.

  ‘Have you heard of the Paducah Quilt Show in Kentucky?’ asked Brenda. ‘I went once. It was fantastic! You’ve never seen so many quilts. You should go, a keen quilter like you.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? It’s expensive but worth saving up for.’

  ‘It’s not just that.’ She stopped stitching. ‘I’m afraid of flying.’

  Brenda’s blue eyes widened, but they were warm with understanding. ‘Oh dear. That’s too bad. Have you ever tried?’

  She nodded. ‘Once.’ It had been mortifying. She and Carys had gone to Spain when they were twenty-one, and Liberty had had a meltdown. She’d hyperventilated and honestly believed she was going to die. She couldn’t explain why it had happened, and no one could help. Worse still, she’d spent the rest of the holiday dreading the flight home, which had been just as bad.

  She’d vowed never to put herself through such an ordeal again.

  Brenda clicked her tongue. ‘Look at me telling you to go to America when I can’t even step outside to hang up the washing without having a panic attack.’

  ‘Ethan said it started when your husband died.’

  ‘It did. He had a heart attack. It felled me. One day he was here, the next he was gone. And then I started having these panic attacks. And now I feel terrible because Ethan had to move back in with me. It’s the last thing he needs at his age. He should be getting on with his life, not caring for his mother.’

  Liberty tied a knot in her thread and buried it in the fabric before snipping the end off. ‘Does he work in Willowbrook?’ She reached for her cotton reel to cut a new piece of thread.

  ‘No. He’s a solicitor in town. Here, have another piece of cake.’ She was smiling again, but Liberty could see the shadows in her eyes, and guessed she must spend a lot of time worrying and feeling guilty about how her illness impacted on her son’s life. Liberty admired how she tried to keep a brave face, and her heart went out to her. It must be so difficult, never being able to feel the wind in her hair or the sun on her face. Even when it was raining, Liberty loved walking in the woods. The smells and sounds of the forest, the fresh air, and the feel of the soft springy earth beneath her boots always left her happy and invigorated.

  ‘How long have you been working at the Button Hole?’

  ‘A year.’ She smiled, remembering how excited she’d been to start last Christmas. It really was her dream job: she was doing what she enjoyed most every day. ‘I love it there.’

  ‘I didn’t think the young ones sewed nowadays, but Ethan tells me your boss is young too.’

  ‘Evie’s my age, yes. I used to shop in the Button Hole and when she advertised for an assistant I jumped at the chance. I was working in a department store, but that involved selling sewing machines rather than fabric. This job is much more fun. I get to help customers choose colours and patterns, I help to make quilts for our online customers, and I run workshops, too.’

  ‘Did you learn to sew at school?’

  ‘No. My mum taught me. My earliest memories are of watching her sew, and I desperately wanted to help so when I was little she let me cut fabric and paper pieces at first. Then she taught me how to tack them, and I was sewing properly before I was eight.’

  ‘That’s very young. Your mum likes to sew by hand, then?’

  ‘She did, yes.’ Liberty paused. ‘She died twelve years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Her mum’s illness had come on very suddenly, and within a couple of months she’d become too weak, too shaky to do the fine work any more. So, in a reversal of roles, her mum had tacked hexagon pieces for Liberty. She’d used them to make cushions for the lounge. ‘Mum was a very patient teacher, she taught me so much. When I was little what really captured my imagination were the names of all the different designs: Flying Geese, Bear Paw, Log Cabin … I used to make up stories around them.’

  She remembered all the hours she and her mum had spent working on quilts together. Her mum had always encouraged her, listening to her ideas and giving her free rein to try new designs and not feel constrained by the pattern books. Liberty felt sure this was why she’d developed the confidence to design her own quilts so young. She hoped to do the same with her own children one day.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly, and when Liberty had to leave Brenda saw her to the door. ‘It’s so good of you to visit,’ she said. ‘I’m sure a young lady like you has better things to do with her time.’

  Liberty smiled. ‘I would have been sewing tonight anyway, so whether I was here or at home makes no difference to me.’ She’d come hoping to help, but was surprised by how much she’d enjoyed it. It had brought back fond memories of stitching with her mum, and she and Brenda had so much in common. Liberty knew she’d come back soon. She got into her car, feeling a swell of satisfaction because her challenge had already brought a new friend (and her good-looking son) into her life.

  However, as she started the engine, her thoughts turned to tomorrow’s challenge and the motorbike, and her smile vanished.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday, 5 December

  Liberty got up as quietly as she could. She crept out of the cottage with Charlie, trying hard not to disturb Alex and secretly hoping he might sleep in. She shut the back door softly, and set off along the usual trail through the woods.

  She’d had a restless night with vivid dreams about a monstrous motorbike speeding out of control: there’d been a deafening growl, a splintering crash, smoke and glass everywhere, the scream of tyres skidding, and a thunderous impact before she was hurled into the air. She’d woken shaking and drenched with sweat.

  Now, as she breathed in the fresh morning air, she tried to reason with herself. What was the worst that could happen? It was only a couple of miles to the Button Hole, no distance at all.

  But the image of Carys lying inert in hospital punctured her thoughts. That was what could happen.

  Her hands were clammy inside her gloves. She tried to take deep breaths but she felt sick and the humming in her head wouldn’t stop. This was not a good idea. Her challenge had been meant to nudge her a little out of her comfort zone – not propel her way beyond it and make her blood pressure rocket into outer space. Pine needles crunched underfoot as she walked, and she whistled for Charlie to come back when he scooted out of sight. He returned, wagging his tail, and she fed him a treat. ‘Good boy.’ She patted his head, made a fuss of him, then they looped around the pond and headed home.

  When she got back to the cottage she’d explain to Alex why she couldn’t go through with it. He’d probably be relieved. She’d read on the internet yesterday how dangerous riding pillion could be if the passenger was inexperienced: simply leaning the wrong way, especially on a bend, could throw the bike’s balance and end in disaster. Besides, with any luck he might still be asleep, and if she hurried she could leave for work before he stirred.

  She was disappointed to find Alex already up and dressed. He was wearing a navy sweater and jeans, but his hair was messy: glossy dark strands fell over his eyes and stuck up wildly where he’d pushed a hand through it. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, as she closed the front door. ‘What time do you need to leave?’

  Charlie pushed past her and raced over to Alex. She was surprised to see that the Frenchman didn’t snatch away his hand today, but gave the dog a quick pat on the head instead.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’ve had a rethink and I can’t do it after all.’

  ‘You can’t? But what about your challenge?’

  ‘The thing is, you haven’t got a spare helmet, have you? And it’s not safe to ride without one. In fact, I’m p
retty sure it’s illegal, so we’ll have to leave it.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She ignored his amusement and went on, filling the silence with nervous chatter: ‘I’m sorry if you got up early especially. I should have left you a note last night. It was a silly idea anyway. I mean I have no interest in or desire to—’

  ‘Woah,’ he said, raising a hand in the air.

  She blinked. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry. I have a helmet for you.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Oui.’ His lips curved into a smile and his eyes creased. ‘I went to the garage yesterday and I have everything you need.’

  ‘Guy’s garage?’

  He nodded. ‘I even have leathers for you, too. You’ll be completely safe.’

  ‘Oh.’ A heavy weight plunged to the bottom of her stomach. How did she get out of this now? And had Alex really been to the garage? She would have said it was considerate of him if he hadn’t looked so pleased with himself right now. She realised that Guy must know about the plan for her to go out on the bike, which meant the whole village would know. Which meant there was even more pressure on her to do it now, wasn’t there? ‘Well – that was very kind of you, but …’ She faltered. Damn. She’d had it all worked out with the helmet thing. She’d never expected him to be so … helpful.

  He stepped forward and studied her more closely. Then he said quietly, ‘You’re very afraid, aren’t you?’

  She opened her mouth to deny it, then changed her mind. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t be. I promise I won’t go fast. I wouldn’t put your life – or anyone else’s – at risk. And I’ve been doing this a long time. I have total control of that bike.’

  ‘Right.’ She believed him. Something in his eyes reassured her. And, besides, you couldn’t race bikes professionally without knowing what you were doing, could you?

  Unless you were a nutcase, an adrenalin junkie, a speed demon—

  She made herself take a deep breath.