by Alex Brown
‘Everything OK?’ Dad asked, making her jump and almost drop her cherished crystal-embellished iPhone into the milk as he came into the kitchen.
‘Dad!’ she scolded, deftly saving her phone from an untimely demise. ‘You almost ruined it.’ She waggled the phone in his face.
‘Oops, sorry, sweetheart. Everything OK?’ Sam asked, inwardly sighing with relief, as he knew he’d be in big trouble if he was to blame for anything whatsoever happening to her phone, which seemed to be permanently welded to her right hand these days. Maybe now was a good time to have a little chat with her, to see if she was worried about anything? She seemed pretty relaxed, so that was a good start, at least.
‘Yep, and this is going to look so good on my Instagram.’ Holly showed him the picture. Sam nodded, impressed with his daughter’s artistic flair; the photo looked as if it had been taken by a professional photographer for one of those glossy, achingly trendy lifestyle books that you saw on coffee tables in swanky hotels and airport lounges. Sam recalled flicking through them one time in the British Airways lounge at Singapore Airport when his flight home had been delayed, yet again. It had been their wedding anniversary weekend, and Chrissie had been so disappointed when the elaborate meal she’d prepared to surprise him with had been ruined. With hindsight, he should have realised back then that their marriage was seriously falling apart, but he hadn’t. Neither of them had. Instead, they had adopted a politeness with each other for that weekend, a kind of distance that papered over the proverbial cracks until it had been time for him to return to the airport.
And then the awkward pattern had set in, making it so easy to perpetuate each time he had come home.
‘I’m impressed, Holly.’ Sam ran his fingers through his messy brown hair before pushing both hands into his jean pockets.
‘What’s up, Dad?’ Holly tilted her head to one side, making her honey-coloured hair fall over one side of her face.
‘Um, what do you mean?’
‘It’s just that you always do that …’ she gestured with her hands and slumped her shoulders, mimicking his stance, wondering what her dad wanted to talk to her about. It was so obvious something was up. And she wondered why he didn’t just come out with it, instead of acting weird. He was picking at one of the scones now and making her feel as if she had done something wrong.
Holly flopped into the cosy patchwork-covered armchair and pushed out a petulant bottom lip, wondering if now was a good time to ask if she could live here with him all the time. Maybe it would be for the best. Mum might lighten up if she wasn’t with her twenty-four seven. And then she might be nice to Dad too … Or if Mum was never going to take Dad back, then she could be with Gavin whenever she wanted to. Maybe Holly should just face up to it and be one of those kids from a broken home. Mum and Dad had seemed happy last night but now Dad was back here at Granny Dolly’s again – she had hoped Mum would let him stay after they had such a fun time doing the singing, and maybe she should accept that nothing was going to work. Katie Ferguson’s mum and dad split up years ago, and she is still all right. In fact, she even gets extra perks, like double pocket money, because her mum gets angry when her dad transfers money into her account, so then she gives her even more. It’s like a competition to see who can be the nicest parent.
‘Do what?’ Dad jolted into her thoughts. Holly pulled her bottom lip back in and stuck a smile on her face. He’d never agree to her living here if she was sulky. And what if he turned on her too? Like Mum had. No, she had to make an effort or she would not even be from a broken home … she would be from no home at all. Or maybe Aunty Jude would let her live with her and Lulu, and Uncle Tony and the golden retrievers … Betty, Bob and Barney. That wouldn’t be so bad. Hmm, on second thoughts, no, it really wouldn’t be the same at all.
But she couldn’t think about that now. No, she had to be nice to Dad. It wasn’t his fault Mum was so mean, she could easily have let him stay after having such a good time with him the other night. So maybe if she did live with Dad and wasn’t there all the time getting on Mum’s nerves, then she might chill out a bit. Mum might even take him back then. You know, if she really misses him. And me. Like properly misses us …
‘Earth to Holly. What’s the matter?’ Sam interrupted her thoughts.
‘Nothing,’ Holly grinned and jumped up. ‘Would you like a scone?’ She quickly got one from the plate and went to hand it to him.
‘Oh no, love. I’m stuffed. Couldn’t eat another thing,’ and he patted his stomach to punctuate the point.
‘But these are special ones. Granny Dolly found the recipe especially for diabetics. Not that you need to be a diabetic to eat them, though, as anyone can, but they are extra healthy. And low sugar. With carrots and stuff in them too.’
Sam looked at his daughter’s little face. All eager and willing to please, and he relented. It wouldn’t kill him to try one of her ‘special’ scones.
‘Oh, go on then.’ And he took the scone from her hand. As he chewed, he pondered again about asking her if she was OK, do a sense-check that she wasn’t worried about the tests, or anything else for that matter. Looking at her now, beaming with happiness and keen to hear his verdict on the scone, she looked absolutely fine. But he wasn’t totally insensitive and he knew she had a knack of putting on a brave face – like she had over claiming to have been cool with just speaking to him on Skype while he was away. And he knew things weren’t perfect for her, and that the diabetes had taken its toll on her life. And him and Chrissie having been at loggerheads for so long can’t have been any good for her either. At least that seemed to be improving a bit. ‘So, what do you think then, Dad?’ Holly prodded his arm and nodded at the remnants of the scone in his hand.
‘Mm-mmm. Not bad,’ he said, finishing the last of the scone and licking his lips. ‘You’re a great baker, Holly. You could go on that Bake Off programme, darling.’
‘Don’t be silly, Dad.’
‘Why not?’
‘I dunno,’ Holly shrugged, ‘not really my thing.’
‘So what is your thing?’
‘You know,’ she grinned, ‘writing stories. Watching Zoella – YouTube stuff. And playing the guitar. Singing too … like we all did the other night.’ Sam spotted the hopeful look on her face and instantly decided to do something about it. He’d loved messing about with Holly and Chrissie that night. He wondered if the old adage about the healing power of music was true; it certainly seemed to be in their case.
‘Hang on then. I’ll be back in a sec,’ he said.
After bounding up the stairs, two at a time, to his room, Sam made it back to the kitchen in record time, with his guitar on a strap over his shoulder. He did a quick tune-up and strummed a few chords.
‘OK, what is it going to be this time?’ he smiled.
‘Ooh, I’ve got my guitar here too – I was practising the other day with it after school.’ Holly dashed out to the hall and grabbed the nylon case, unzipped it and pulled out her lilac-coloured guitar.
‘That’s nice.’ Sam pointed to the crystal butterfly motif just below the bridge.
‘Oh, I did that myself – customised it,’ she grinned, tilting the guitar up so the butterfly twinkled underneath the kitchen light. ‘So, what shall we play?’ She pushed up her sleeves in preparation.
‘How about that song from Frozen?’ Sam suggested, knowing it was one of her favourite films. But, on seeing her pull a face, he offered up an alternative. ‘What about that one from the Moana movie then? What was that song you sang to me on Skype that time?’
‘“How Far I’ll Go”?’ Holly pondered. She used to love it. Last year. But that was like ages ago. ‘Dad, that’s so lame.’
‘Ahh, I see.’ He smiled at her fickleness … but then realised that it was just part of being a thirteen year old.
‘Why don’t we do that old country one you love?’ she suggested. Yes, this is a good idea, it will make him feel happy. He loves the Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers one. If we do it,
then he’ll remember the good times and let me stay with him so we can do more of his favourite songs together all the time. Just like we used to.
‘Which one, sweetheart?’ Sam chuckled to himself at her ‘old’ reference. Anything recorded more than a year ago was ancient as far as his daughter was concerned.
‘You know, the “Islands in the Stream” one … It starts like this …’ Holly started singing as she tried to play the opening chords, but her guitar skills weren’t really good enough to get it right.
‘Excellent choice,’ Sam joined in. He was a much better player.
‘I’m rubbish at the guitar,’ Holly stopped playing and got on with singing instead. The song wasn’t really her thing, but Dad loved it. Even Mum used to join in and sing the Dolly part to his Kenny. And she had really loved watching them happy together … enjoying themselves and giggling as they really got into it and messed around, pretending to have microphones in their hands as they strutted around on an imaginary stage. Dad had even lifted Mum up in the air one time and twirled her around the lounge, nearly bumping her head on the light shade by mistake. Before they fell over and ended up having a big cuddle on the carpet.
‘No, you’re not, love. Come on, we’ll do it together,’ he laughed, getting in to the groove now as they built up to the chorus. They had just reached the ‘no one in between’ bit when she felt her eyes stinging. She thought of Gavin getting in between her parents and spoiling it all. She managed to carry on until the next verse in a wobbly voice before tears pooled and slid down her cheeks.
Sam immediately stopped playing, placed his guitar on the kitchen counter and enveloped his daughter in an enormous hug.
‘What’s the matter, darling?’ he asked, gently resting his chin on the top of her head.
‘Nothing. It’s fine. I …’ He could feel her small shoulders trembling as she went to free herself from his embrace.
‘Well, it doesn’t look like it.’ A short silence followed. ‘Come on, let’s sit down.’ Sam sat and motioned for Holly to join him. She didn’t want a cuddle, that was clear, as she’d pulled right away from him and was busy stroking Dolly’s tabby cat, which had sidled over and was now basking on the counter in the heat from the Aga.
‘What’s getting you down? You know you can tell me, or Mum, anything,’ Sam ventured, figuring it a good place to start.
‘No I can’t. Not Mum anyway. She goes mental over the slightest little thing.’ She shrugged.
‘That’s because she stressed and a lot of that has been my fault,’ Sam said, fairly. At this Holly burst into tears all over again. Sam opened his mouth. He scratched his head. Put a hand on his daughter’s arm and was just about to try another tack – ask her about school. Chrissie. A boyfriend? Surely not? She wasn’t old enough for all that. Was she?
‘Everything is ruined. It’s never going to be good again. If the love goes .…’ Sam creased his forehead in concern. The song. Oh God. And the penny dropped. She’s petrified that it’s over between me and Chrissie. That our love has gone for good. ‘Not if Mum hates me and we aren’t all together. How is that even going to work? If Mum won’t let you come home, then I want to live with you!’ Holly couldn’t keep it in any more. Better out than in, that’s what Gran always says. I’ve tried to be sensible about it. But I’m no good at plans or being patient. Look where the last plan got me? I fell off a chair, and Mum blamed Dad for leaving me on my own – like I’m some sort of little kid. But at least Dad doesn’t think I’m just a kid. He trusts me. And talks to me like I’m a proper person. He cares what I think. I wish Mum did too.
‘Mum doesn’t hate you, sweetheart.’ Sam was shocked. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Why else is she so strict then?’
‘Because she cares, Holly. And she is trying to lighten up … she let you stay at home by yourself, didn’t she? She adores you and loves you with all her heart.’
‘Well, she has a funny way of showing it.’
‘Listen to me, Holly,’ Sam looked his daughter in the eyes. ‘Sometimes there are other reasons why people do things. Other stuff going on. It’s not always about you.’ As soon as he said it, Sam could have kicked himself for how his last sentence sounded. It had come out all wrong. He went to hug her. To try to explain, but Dolly appeared in the kitchen, nearly colliding with Holly as she pushed past her great gran and ran upstairs before slamming the bedroom door.
‘Found them!’ Dolly waved a faded old brown envelope in the air, then paused. Registered what had just happened and then added, ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘Found what?’ Sam blurted out in his bewilderment and concern for his daughter.
‘The donor cards.’ Dolly said this in an exaggerated whisper.
Your dad’s. And Linda’s!’ Dolly placed the envelope on the side. ‘I’ll go after her.’ And she turned as if to go, but Sam put a hand on her arm.
‘Err … no. Thank you. I will.’
At the door of Holly’s bedroom, Sam knocked softly and waited. No answer. He knocked again.
‘Holly, can I come in, sweetheart?’ More silence. ‘I’m sorry, that came out all wrong … of course it’s about you,’ he said, suddenly remembering what Matt had said in the car park. He vowed to read some sort of manual before talking to his teenage daughter again. No wonder Chrissie was stressed. ‘You mean the world to me and your mum.’ Sam gave her a bit more time and then slowly opened the door. This had to be sorted out.
Sam walked over to the bed where Holly was lying curled up in the foetal position, cuddling a big teddy bear. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, just like a little girl, in contrast to her thirteen years. He sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Fancy a cuddle?’
She moved her head. The affirmation was slight, but it was good enough for him to know it was a yes, so he scooped his arm around her back and gently pulled her up into a big bear hug.
‘It’s going to be OK, Holly, I promise you.’
‘But how can it be?’ She sat back against the crimson velvet headboard and pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘My birthday is going to be rubbish if you and Mum are not together …’
‘We will find a way to make it good. I love your mum very much and, well … what I meant when I said that it isn’t about you, is … that …’ He paused, wondering how much to tell her. ‘You see, there are things I’ve done that I shouldn’t have,’ he settled on.
‘Like what?’ Holly jumped in.
‘Well … not being around for starters … Not being here for Christmas. Mum was very upset about that,’ he said, dipping his head.
‘But that wasn’t your fault. And I was OK with it, so why wouldn’t she be?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that, love. Things haven’t been how they should be for me and your mum for a long time. And none of that is your fault. But the love isn’t gone, darling. I still love your mum, and I think she might still love me too.’ Silence followed. ‘Do you hear me?’ Sam reiterated, keen to make sure she understood. Holly nodded. ‘But I am going to do everything I can to make things right again. To make Mum happy again. And you. And me … so that you can have a lovely birthday, just like we always have.’
Chapter Seventeen
Jude unclipped Lulu’s lead and let her run into the little play area that Sylvia had set up in the boot room by the back door of the Blackwood Farm Estate manor house. It was a sensible option, seeing as Jude was spending more and more time here, having taken on some part-time help to run the shop while she was away.
In one corner by the radiator was a plush, plum-coloured velvet day bed for Lulu to lounge on, which she invariably did – complete with supersonic loud snores that made the kitchen staff next door chuckle as they prepared gourmet meals for the properly pampered pooch. And in the other corner was a selection of dog toys for Lulu to play with or, if that was too much exertion for her, then she had her own TV on the wall, especia
lly fitted low down at her eye level, so that she could watch an assortment of dog-friendly programmes. Her current favourite, according to Pat, one of the cleaners, was that Secret Life of Dogs series.
Not that Jude had initiated any of this. Absolutely not. It was Myles who had insisted, by saying, ‘You can’t concentrate on getting the house right with Lulu running all over the joint.’ This was shortly after Jude had been hanging a pair of exquisite silk curtains and Lulu had slipped her collar from where she had been secured with her lead tied to a banister, and clawed the corner of one. So Myles had then insisted that Sylvia should get the boot room fitted out forthwith. And they had all sighed in relief.
After popping her head around the kitchen door and waving at April from Orchard Cottage, who was delivering a crate of her award-winning ciders, which Myles had asked to sample, Jude helped herself to a cup of coffee from the machine by the giant range cooker, and pressed on the intercom for Sylvia to come and collect her. This had become her usual routine now, whenever she was spending the day at the manor house, and it suited Jude just fine. No more traipsing around the grounds looking for someone to let her in. Sometimes she came across Sam overseeing whatever delivery or construction was scheduled for that day. But it was all a bit frenetic, to be fair, with Myles mostly running around the pig pen, or hurtling all over the estate on his new quad bike, bellowing instructions to whoever was within earshot.
‘Hi Jude,’ Sylvia greeted her pleasantly as she arrived in the kitchen, followed by, ‘don’t rush, you finish up your coffee first, my dear.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Jude drained the last of the latte and gathered up her sample books, mood boards and swatches. ‘How are you today? Has his lordship been treating you well?’
‘He has,’ Sylvia laughed. ‘It’s always a pleasure when you’re scheduled to visit – it puts him in a good mood, that’s for sure. And that makes my job a whole lot easier, I have to say. I might even manage a bit of time off this afternoon. I thought I might venture in to Market Briar and have a look around the shops. In peace. Without the walkie-talkie.’ She waved it in the air for good measure.
