A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  But she had to forget it. He was right: they had no future. He’d made that quite clear.

  She put the iron down and yanked the plug out of the socket with more force than was necessary. She had to forget it, and she would.

  With time, she was certain she’d put it out of her mind and move on.

  ‘Luc’s just changing his nappy. He won’t be long,’ said Natasha. She placed a tray on the coffee-table with steaming mugs of mulled wine and a plate of mince pies dusted with icing sugar and told Alex and Liberty to help themselves.

  ‘Can I have a miss pie too, Mummy?’ asked Lottie.

  ‘Of course you can. Why don’t you sit here with me to eat it?’ Natasha sat down in the armchair and patted her lap.

  ‘Are you going to France this Christmas?’ asked Alex.

  Natasha shook her head. ‘We’re going to have a quiet break here, just the four of us, although we might go over for the new year. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve just booked my flight,’ he said.

  Liberty’s head turned. She felt a stab of hurt that he hadn’t mentioned it to her before now.

  ‘I’m leaving on the twenty-third.’

  Tuesday. She picked a crumb of pastry off her plate. She didn’t know why she felt disappointed: she’d always known he’d leave before Christmas.

  It was because of what had happened here, in this room. That heated moment had changed things for her. It had made her want things she couldn’t have.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Natasha smiled. ‘Here he comes.’

  Luc opened the door and smiled warmly at his guests. ‘Drumroll, please,’ he said, as he approached the sofa where Liberty and Alex were sitting. He crouched so they could see the baby in his arms. ‘Liberty, Alex, meet Arthur,’ Luc said proudly.

  ‘Oh, he’s gorgeous,’ whispered Liberty, peering at the baby’s little face. ‘He’s utterly … perfect.’

  ‘Do you want to hold him, Lib?’ Natasha asked.

  She grinned. ‘Silly question.’

  Luc placed his son carefully in her arms. Arthur weighed almost nothing, and was dressed in a soft cream Babygro with a thin cotton blanket draped around him. He gazed up at Liberty with serious eyes.

  ‘He’s happy there,’ said Natasha. Little Lottie was curled up in her lap, her favourite, rather battered, doll in one arm.

  ‘Give him a minute and he’ll probably start to cry,’ quipped Liberty.

  He was so warm in her arms. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He smelt of baby lotion, and everything about him was delicate and tiny: his nose, ears, fingers that curled around hers and held on tight. Emotions rose in her, unexpected and overwhelming, making her throat squeeze.

  ‘Lib, are you okay?’ asked Natasha.

  She blinked hard, fighting tears. ‘Yes. Must be hormones or something.’ She blushed.

  ‘Liberty is feeling maternal,’ said Alex, matter-of-factly. ‘She’d like a family of her own.’

  She gasped. ‘Thanks for telling everyone!’

  ‘It’s obvious,’ he shrugged. ‘You look like you want to kidnap him.’

  Everyone laughed and her cheeks became toasty.

  Lottie jumped down from her mother’s lap and came over. ‘Libtea, you can’t kidnap Arthur,’ she said solemnly. ‘He’s Mummy’s baby and mine.’

  Liberty reached to stroke her blonde hair. ‘I know, honey. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. Alex is being silly.’

  A thought occurred and the little girl skipped over to her dad. ‘Papa, Alex knows the same song you do and he sang it to me!’

  ‘Did he? Which one?’

  She rocked her doll as she sang the opening line.

  Luc’s eyes gleamed. ‘Maybe he’s practising for when he has a family of his own.’

  Alex rolled his eyes.

  ‘He can’t,’ scoffed Lottie. ‘Only girls can have babies.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll find a girl he wants to marry.’ Luc smiled at Liberty.

  Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze and stroked Arthur’s head. His skin was so incredibly soft beneath her fingers. She hadn’t spoken to Natasha about the night of the ball – there simply hadn’t been the opportunity – but Luc had clearly drawn his own conclusions.

  Lottie turned to Alex. ‘Which girl will you have a baby with, Alex?’

  ‘Lottie,’ Natasha said smiling, ‘that’s a very personal question.’

  Lottie ignored her and dropped her doll in his lap. ‘Will it be Libtea?’

  Liberty didn’t know where to look. Her cheeks burned so hotly that they must have been the same colour as the mulled wine Natasha had served them.

  ‘I’m not going to have a baby, ma petite,’ Alex said. He propped the doll into a sitting position and straightened her arms, as if she were gripping a steering wheel. He tilted her left, then right, so she mimicked driving a car.

  Liberty tensed. She thought of what had happened on this sofa, and it hurt to hear him speak those words because she hadn’t been able to forget about it at all. If anything, now she’d had a taste, she only wanted more.

  ‘No baby at all?’ Lottie was incredulous.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lottie …’ warned Natasha. She glanced at Liberty with concern.

  Arthur began to grizzle. Liberty lifted him carefully onto her shoulder and rubbed his back.

  Beside her, Alex was perfectly calm. And when she looked at him, his gaze met hers steadily. ‘Because I like adventures,’ he said. ‘And adventurers don’t make good fathers.’

  Back at Damselfly Cottage Liberty sorted through her fabric stash, picking out half a dozen or so that went well together and would coordinate with Arthur’s nursery. (She’d decided to put Evie and Jake’s engagement quilt to one side while she made the baby quilt: cot-sized, it shouldn’t take her long.) Her fabric selection included sage green, russet brown, cream, orange and slate. One or two had a cute woodland theme and were patterned with little foxes, squirrels and pine trees. The rest were geometric or plain, and it was this simplicity that gave Liberty’s quilts their modern look. They were never fussy. For the backing she’d use one of the new fabrics that had just arrived in the Button Hole and featured the white silhouette of deer against a pastel grey background.

  She laid out the material on her cutting mat, and decided that four-inch squares would be perfect for a small cot quilt.

  As she measured and cut, she kept hearing Alex’s words in her head: I’m not going to have a baby.

  She couldn’t wait to be a mother one day. Even more so now after she’d held little Arthur in her arms and seen his trusting gaze, heard him make those gorgeous contented gurgling noises and felt him nuzzle against her neck. She’d always loved going to Carys’s house as a child: she’d liked the chaos, the noise, the energy of a big loving family. And when Natasha talked about Luc’s big family in France, Liberty was envious. Family meant everything to her.

  Which only drove home what she already knew: Alex was all wrong for her. She had to stop thinking about him and concentrate on finding her Dream Guy. The corner of the orange notebook was poking out of her handbag and caught her eye. She picked it up and thought about her challenge.

  Tomorrow was another day, the chance for another yes. She’d meet someone who was perfect for her eventually. She would.

  Thursday, 18 December

  Brenda opened the door with a wide smile. ‘I’ve almost finished it!’

  Liberty stepped inside the house. Ethan’s car wasn’t on the drive, and there was no sign of him as she followed Brenda into the lounge either. She was relieved, but had the feeling he was avoiding her and she felt bad about that. ‘The quilt for the show?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘I’m just stitching the binding, then it’ll be ready to go.’

  ‘Can I see?’

  They spread the ninety-inch square quilt over the sofa and pored over it, Liberty admiring the complexity of her friend’s needlework. Brenda bro
ught in tea and a plate of delicious cranberry and white-chocolate cookies. Then they set to work, sewing.

  ‘What’s that you’re working on, dear?’ she asked Liberty.

  ‘It’s a cot quilt for my friend Natasha’s baby, Arthur. He’s four days old,’ she said indulgently.

  Brenda peered over her glasses at her. ‘They’re cute when they’re that small.’

  ‘Cute doesn’t cut it! He’s gorgeous.’ Just the memory of holding Arthur made her heart sing.

  ‘You like babies, then?’ Brenda chuckled.

  ‘Love them.’ She couldn’t hide the longing in her voice.

  There was a pause before Brenda said, ‘Ethan told me things didn’t work out between you two. Don’t worry, he didn’t go into any details – he’d never do that – but I want you to know it doesn’t change anything. For me, at least.’

  ‘Or me, Brenda,’ she said gently. ‘And I’m still hoping you’ll be well enough to come to the shop one day and pick your own fabrics.’

  ‘Yes, well, on that subject – I’ve been seeing a very good counsellor and,’ her eyes twinkled, ‘I managed to go out into the garden the other day.’

  Liberty gasped and put her sewing down to hug her. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful! How did it feel?’

  ‘Awful. But I did it.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’

  ‘It’s down to you, young lady. Well, the counselling has helped too, but mostly you.’

  Liberty stared at her. ‘Me? How?’

  Brenda’s lips twitched. ‘You inspired me with your “saying yes” thing.’

  ‘Really?’ Her heart lifted with delight.

  Brenda nodded. ‘I thought if you can ride a motorbike and do all these terrifying things, then I should start to push myself too. You reminded me that no one else can do it for me. If I don’t keep trying, nothing will change.’ She stabbed a finger against her chest. ‘I want to overcome this, and I want to do it for Ethan’s sake. So he won’t be tied down by having to care for me any more.’

  ‘Brenda, I’m so proud of you.’ Liberty blinked hard. It was difficult to believe she’d inspired someone to do something so brave. And knowing what she did about Brenda’s illness, she recognised that stepping outside had been a much greater feat than anything in her orange notebook.

  ‘Don’t cry, dear.’

  Liberty grinned. ‘Just got something in my eye.’

  Brenda passed her a tissue. ‘Ethan was over the moon.’

  ‘I bet he was.’ She put the tissue down and met Brenda’s gaze square on. ‘He – he’s a good man. I’m really sorry things didn’t work out between us. I really wanted them to.’

  ‘Ah.’ A penny seemed to drop, and it became clear Brenda had wondered about the reason for their break-up.

  Liberty’s respect for Ethan doubled, because he really hadn’t shared any details of their relationship with his mum.

  ‘But that’s not always within our control, is it?’ said Brenda. ‘Who we have feelings for and who we don’t.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Liberty gave a dry laugh. Didn’t she know it! Her brain knew Alex was wrong for her, yet her body responded to him on another level. One that had nothing to do with her brain.

  Brenda snipped a thread. ‘There,’ she said triumphantly. ‘My quilt’s finished and ready to go.’

  Liberty smiled. ‘Well done, Brenda. They’re going to love it at the festival, I’m sure.’

  ‘I hope so, dear. It’s really given me a lift to think it will be hanging up in some beautiful French château for everyone to see. You can take it with you when you leave tonight.’

  ‘Evie’s going to post them tomorrow. Do you want to photograph it before it goes?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Brenda bit her lip. ‘Ethan usually does that for me, but he won’t be back until late.’

  Liberty looked around at the small room. ‘Why don’t I photograph it in the shop tomorrow? There’s more room and it will be at its best in daylight. Evie will help me.’

  Brenda beamed at her. ‘Good idea. Don’t forget to send me the pictures so I can post them online.’

  ‘You’re online now?’

  ‘I am. Another thing you converted me to. I’ve already made some new friends that way, and I love seeing pictures of everyone else’s quilts all over the world. Very inspiring.’

  Liberty smiled. ‘I’m glad.’ She was really happy for Brenda. It could only be a good thing to live in a world where borders didn’t matter and a love of quilting brought people together.

  Friday, 19 December

  ‘It really is amazing,’ said Evie, pausing in photographing Brenda’s quilt to examine it more closely.

  They’d hung it in the back room of the Button Hole where one wall was deliberately kept free for that purpose. Once upon a time Evie had used the track to hang the curtains she’d made before the shop had become a thriving business.

  ‘Look at these tiny triangles here,’ Evie continued. ‘They’re smaller than my thumbnail. And these T-blocks, see how intricate they are? That lady is seriously talented.’

  Liberty nodded. ‘And she has a really good eye for picking colours and patterns. Imagine what she could do if she could come here to choose the fabric herself.’

  ‘I know. But the silver lining is that she’s had the time to make this beautiful quilt.’

  Evie finished snapping pictures, then draped the quilt over the work table for a few close-up shots. Once that was done, they folded it carefully and packaged it ready to send with two of Evie’s quilts and one of Liberty’s. The shop bell tinkled a couple of times, signalling that the lunchtime lull was over and they had customers.

  Evie checked her watch. ‘I’d better take these to the post office now.’

  ‘When does the festival start?’

  ‘The twenty-seventh of December.’ She reached for her red coat.

  ‘It’s a strange time of year to run a quilt festival, don’t you think?’

  ‘Apparently it’s very popular. I suppose people have more leisure time around Christmas.’

  Liberty helped Evie tuck parcels under each arm before she picked up the two big bags. The parcels were heavy and bulky. She glanced at the queue of customers gathering at the till. ‘If you wait a little while, I could give you a hand carrying them over.’

  Evie shook her head. ‘I’d rather get it done and tick it off my list. Today’s the last post before Christmas, and the festival organisers are very strict about receiving submissions on time. A friend told me his quilt arrived late last year and the festival refused to enter it in the competition.’ She hurried towards the door. ‘Won’t be long.’

  Liberty served the string of customers buying last-minute sewing supplies and Christmas gifts. The patchwork cushion kits had been especially popular.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to making these myself,’ said a customer, buying two kits. ‘I’ll make one cushion for me and the other for a gift. It’s quite special to receive something handmade, don’t you think?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Liberty smiled. An ambulance screeched past, making everyone glance outside. ‘Would you like the cushion pads, too?’

  ‘Yes, please. Save me making another trip. I’ve travelled twenty miles to come here, you know. It’s such a treasure trove, this shop.’

  The Button Hole had become a popular destination, drawing in customers from far and wide. Liberty served the line of customers as fast as she could, but cutting fabric was a slow process and she checked her watch, wishing Evie would hurry back. There must be an enormous queue at the post office: at this time of year everyone would be posting gifts and cards.

  The shop bell rattled violently as someone threw open the door and hurtled in. Everyone in the shop turned to look.

  ‘Liberty!’ panted George. He put a pile of brown parcels down by the door.

  Liberty frowned. What was he doing with Evie’s quilts? And why did the packages look dirty and crumpled?

  ‘Evie’s had an accident!’

  The
rotary cutter fell from her hand, and memories of Carys’s car crash fired through her head. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘She slipped on a patch of ice in the high street and hurt herself. An ambulance came.’

  ‘What did she hurt? Is it serious?’

  ‘I don’t know any more than that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Does Jake know? I need to call him.’ She picked up the phone.

  George held one hand up. ‘That’s been done already. He’s gone straight to the hospital.’

  Panic gripped her. Evie was more than just her boss. If anything happened to her—

  ‘Liberty? Liberty!’

  George was standing in front of her. He held her by the shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. It was only a fall and she’s in the best possible hands.’

  ‘Right.’ She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry, her throat tight.

  ‘These parcels were on the ground where she fell. Where do you want me to put them?’

  The quilts. ‘They need posting. Today’s the last post!’ She glanced up at the clock on the wall and her heart sank.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed it,’ said George. ‘The post office closed half an hour ago.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday, 20 December

  ‘You’d have thought all those quilts I was carrying would have cushioned my fall.’ Evie looked ruefully at her sling.

  Liberty smiled. She was so relieved Evie was all right and had only a broken arm. Her boss had been released from hospital earlier and was now sitting up in bed, her long hair spilling loose around her shoulders. Liberty had called round as soon as the Button Hole had closed.

  ‘And the added bonus is I won’t have to cook Christmas dinner now.’ Evie’s dimples flashed as she smiled.

  ‘Too right,’ said Jake. He came into the bedroom carrying a tray of hot drinks for them. ‘You won’t be doing anything but rest, given what could have—’ His mouth snapped shut as if he’d said something he shouldn’t, and he darted an anxious glance at Liberty.