by Alex Brown
Jude pointed across the street towards The Spotted Pig Café & Tearoom, looking all cosy on the corner with the glow from the pretty little tea lights sparkling in the windows and the floral bunting buffeting in the breeze. On her return to Tindledale, she had been delighted to see the café still here, having fond memories of visiting after school with Chrissie to drink big mugs of hot chocolate and feast on slabs of Battenberg cake. This was back in the day, and long before Kitty took over; Kitty now lived with her daughter Teddie and boyfriend Mack in the adjoining cottage. So Jude had made a beeline across the road to introduce herself and see if the café had changed very much during her time away. She was delighted to see that it hadn’t.
Jude waved when Mack pulled up outside in his car and opened the boot to let two gorgeous dogs jump out – a beautiful, glossy black one-eyed Labrador and a lovely little cocker spaniel, the spitting image of that dog in The Lady and the Tramp film. Kitty’s daughter, Teddie, came bouncing out of the café to greet them, closely followed by Kitty, who took the dogs by their leads so that Mack could swing Teddie up into his arms for an enormous cuddle. Ahh, she smiled at the wonderful sight, a part of her musing on how nice it might be to have a family of her own.
Tindledale really was a wonderful little village, and she was proud to have grown up in such a picturesque place, but she was under no illusion that it might take the villagers a little while to warm to the idea of paying a fair price for an exquisite antique. They could be very provincial and quite unworldly at times, but more than made up for this with their warmth and generosity. She’d had a number of cards welcoming her back home and wishing her luck with her new venture – Mrs Pocket, parish council stalwart and Jude’s old headteacher at the village school years ago, had been the first to call in. Then Mrs Cherry, aka Brown Owl, from the 1st Tindledale pack that Jude had been a part of as a child, and then lovely Molly from the butcher’s a few doors along had popped in with one of her famous steak and ale pies. And Jude knew it would take time for things to really take off, but she had built up enough clients around the world to take care of the antiques side of the business in any case – she’d ship the items to them. And that’s why she had opted for soft furnishings too – cushions, curtains, door stops, blankets, throws, quilts, and some heavenly-scented candles and trinkets, so there would be something for everyone’s budget.
‘Good. And you can stick me down for a Bakewell tart and a pint of beer from the Duck and Puddle pub,’ Tony laughed. ‘None of this pink fizz for me at the party. Call it payment for the decorating.’ He placed his free arm around his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her in for a solid cuddle.
‘You’re on. But I’ll still be paying you the proper rate for all the work you’ve done, Dad. I have the money,’ Jude grinned, giving her dad a nudge in the side. ‘I’m not fifteen any more and on the scrounge.’
‘More’s the pity. Are you sure you’re going to be forty-one on your next birthday?’ Tony lifted his eyebrows. ‘Makes me feel properly old.’
‘Awww, well … at least you’ll have me here now to make your cocoa and tuck your tartan blanket in around your old weary knees, eh Dad?’ Jude laughed.
‘Oi, wotchit, cheeky! I’m not that old.’
‘Ahh, you know I’m only joking – sixty is the new forty these days,’ Jude laughed as Tony pulled a roll-up from behind his ear and popped it into the side of his mouth.
‘Come on; let’s go to that new Indian restaurant over by the village green. You can buy me a Balti with all the trimmings!’
Chapter Three
Sam devoured Dolly’s delicious cottage pie in record time. Then, after a quick catch-up over a cup of tea with her and Colin (to be polite, but not wanting to wait another minute to see Chrissie and Holly), he had jumped back in his Land Rover. With Dolly’s words of, ‘Please don’t be expecting too much,’ and, ‘It’s going to take time for you and Chrissie to sort out your differences,’ still ringing in his ears, he had driven through the village, the spring bloom much in evidence as he drove past the villagers well-tended front gardens crammed full of buttery lemon daffodils. He was carrying a big bag of presents for Holly as he apprehensively pushed open the gate of The Forstal Farmhouse, a beautiful sixteenth-century, tile-hung cottage, set on the edge of farmland, which he and Chrissie had bought over ten years ago, after saving for ages to get the deposit together.
Holly had been a toddler, all fair wispy hair and big wide smiles, when they had first moved in, living in a caravan in the garden while they renovated the whole house. They had done most of the work themselves. Sam had designed and built the kitchen units from scratch, lovely soft scrubbed pine for the perfect country farmhouse kitchen. He had plastered the walls, painted, decorated, laid the carpet and the tiles, and had even waterproofed the crumbling old cellar to turn it into a cosy family room. A den, with a TV and a big comfy sofa for watching films and football at one end of the room, and a long table for all of Chrissie’s crafting paraphernalia at the other end. The room was also fitted with shelves for her sewing machines; she liked to collect the vintage Singer ones with the brown wooden curved covers and little carrying handles. Sam had even made a special cabinet to house her rolls of wallpaper and fabrics, beads, ribbons, and all kinds of colourful knickknacks that might one day come in handy to decorate a gift, or give their Christmas tree a unique style, perhaps. Chrissie was really thoughtful and generous like that. Sam had thought this was the perfect house for the both of them, Holly too – she had her play area with the replica dolls’ house that he had made for her fifth birthday, and the wooden rocking horse for her sixth. Everything had seemed happy and perfect back then.
Sam paused, smoothed back his unruly brown hair, using the moment to get himself together. A smile. Not flashy, or cocky. No, he didn’t want Chrissie to think he didn’t care about the state of their marriage that – quite frankly – was hanging together by a single thread. He wanted her to know that he now understood the impact of focusing on his job and not on his family. He had to get it right. And, if he did, then maybe, just maybe, she would be pleased that he was back to make an effort to try to sort it all out. To put things right. He’d explain about the new job. The big changes that he was planning. That was another thing she had said during that fateful phone conversation. She’d said it would take something really big to make a difference now. And she was absolutely right. But he was back now, even if he did feel like a guest, a stranger even, as he walked up the path, glimpsing the warm, welcoming lights through the lounge window, to the front door of the house that they had created together, as a family.
So many wonderful memories were wrapped up inside this house. Sam cast his mind back to their first Christmas here. Holly had been a toddler and the three of them had been really happy. On Christmas morning, he had let Holly open every single one of her Christmas presents first thing when she woke up, the two of them running downstairs and ripping open the carefully wrapped gifts under the tree. The entire living room was deluged in piles of wrapping paper and boxes of toys, games and treats. Holly had squealed in excitement and Sam had loved the chaotic fun of it. Chrissie had come downstairs in her dressing gown, perplexed and frowning at the anarchy unravelling in front of her. She’d told Sam off for letting Holly go nuts; now she didn’t know who any of the presents were from and it wasn’t instilling in their daughter the value that the people who had bought the presents placed on them.
‘It’s Christmas Day, you can’t take anything too seriously, love. And look how much fun Holly is having.’ The sight of Holly’s face, lit up in excitement, had allowed them to laugh it off, with chuckles of ‘it’s only once a year’. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was those polar approaches to parenting that highlighted the differences between them, foretelling the cracks in their relationship.
Sam went to retrieve his key from his jeans pocket, and stopped. He wasn’t even sure why he still carried the key to The Forstal Farmhouse around with him … it wasn’t his home any mo
re, not now. Chrissie had also made that quite clear with a reticent, ‘Maybe it would be better if you stayed with Dolly the next time you come home’, a suggestion that was definitely not optional. Followed by something about not wanting to destabilise Holly, as she was used to it being just the two of them now. Sam felt a momentary flash of anger. Chrissie had always tried to drive home to him that he had needed to take his responsibilities seriously – once they’d had Holly – and wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do over the last few years; and now Chrissie wasn’t even going to let him come home? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No, Chrissie was right – he hadn’t listened when he should have. But all he wanted now was to see Holly. They were close. They always had been. He knew that Holly had missed him being there, just like he missed her, but surely he would have known if she was unhappy with him, wouldn’t she? Or if she was angry that he hadn’t been home in ages. They spoke all the time, on the phone, on FaceTime, and she’d always been her usual bouncy and happy self. But then Chrissie always did have a tendency to want to control situations. Not in a nasty way … it was just her natural coping mechanism after having experienced no control as a kid. Her childhood had been very chaotic, with her mum an alcoholic and dad seeking solace at the bookie’s until they died within a year of each other when Chrissie was in her twenties, shortly before she and Sam met.
Sam pushed his hand into his pocket again. Having the key there felt comforting, like a talisman of some kind, something to hold on to, something to give him hope that this house he had so lovingly restored for his family would be his home once more.
He pressed the bell on the centre of the black front door, and then it struck him, the door had been yellow before. A gorgeous sunshine yellow. A happy colour; that’s what Chrissie had called it when they had chosen the paint together in the hardware shop in the village. And he had loved every second of preparing and painting the front door for her … their happy home, together. And for some reason this made Sam catch his breath. He folded his arms, as if to warm his body, or was it to comfort himself? Either way, he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t dither here on the doorstop like some kind of idiot. No, he needed to get inside and sort things out.
He rang the bell.
Seconds later, although it felt like an eternity, the door opened.
‘Dad!’ Holly was standing in front of him, her face wreathed in a smile. Gone were the little girl bunches and gappy grin that he always pictured in his mind’s eye when he thought of his daughter, even though bunches hadn’t been a thing for a while now. Her shoulder-length bobbed hair had sophisticated-looking caramel and honey-blonde bits running through it, which accentuated the sparkly shimmer on her eyelids. Her gappy grin was now complemented by a brace on her teeth. Sam felt his forehead crease; the skirt, if you could call it that, was way too short. It was her usual tartan school skirt, but it barely covered her bottom. Surely that wasn’t the regulation uniform? How could she have grown up so fast? And how come he hadn’t noticed these changes during those FaceTime calls? It just went to show that nothing could beat a proper old-fashioned face-to-face conversation.
‘Hello, darling!’ Sam beamed, and Holly threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, like he used to when she was little. ‘Ooof, steady on,’ he joked, pretending to be winded as she squeezed him tight.
‘Oh Dad, you’re not that ancient.’ Holly stepped back, giving his arm a playful punch. Sam was aware of Chrissie standing aside, allowing father and daughter their moment together.
‘Hi, Sam,’ Chrissie said. Sam caught his breath as they made eye contact. She looked amazing in a clingy black top and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was a little longer and wavier than it used to be, and she had lipstick on, something she rarely wore. And she smelt gorgeous, like honey and almonds. But it wasn’t her usual perfume. Sam instinctively wanted to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist. He and Chrissie had always been affectionate and touchy-feely with each other. To hover here, with her so close but just out of reach, was almost too much for him to bear.
Chrissie held his gaze and Sam noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check too. He took a step towards her, but an almost imperceptible shake of her head stopped him in his tracks. In her eyes, Sam could see resolve, but conflict too. Damn it, how had they got to this point? When he adored her. And he was sure that she … at the very least … still cared.
‘Come on, Dad, come in. I’ve got so much to show you.’ Holly quickly sidestepped around her mum, holding Sam by the arm. ‘You’ll never believe how good I am on the guitar now. Better than you, I bet.’ She laughed, but her smile faltered a little when Chrissie spoke.
‘Dad can’t stay for too long today, Holly. Perhaps you can have tea with him on Saturday at Granny Dolly’s house. Plus, you need to go and finish your homework now … it’s getting late and you have school tomorrow,’ Chrissie said, not looking Sam in the eye.
‘But it’s only Tuesday. I want to see him now. Saturday is like nearly a whole week away.’ Holly folded her arms.
Sam could see, despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, that this wasn’t the moment to challenge Chrissie’s decision and risk starting an argument.
‘Maybe it’s best if you do as Mum says. We’ll have loads of time together just as soon as Mum and I have had a good catch-up,’ he intervened, smiling and keen to keep his cool. ‘Here, these are for you,’ he said giving her the bag of knick-knacks that he’d picked up from the airport – keyrings, a cuddly toy, bath bombs, sticker book; there were no sweets, though: for Holly they were strictly rationed.
‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Holly grinned, taking the bag and peeping inside it before turning to Chrissie. ‘Mum, can I just show Dad my room, I want him to see the blanket I knitted.’
Chrissie eyed them both warily. ‘OK, Hol, but just ten minutes, you and Dad can have a proper catch-up at the weekend. I’ll be in the kitchen, Sam, if you want a quick chat before you go.’
Ten minutes later, and Sam was sitting on the chair beside Holly’s desk. She had hurriedly told him absolutely everything that had happened in her life since they had last spoken on the phone. Plus, proudly shown him the blanket which had taken her two weeks to knit. It was a mixture of pansy colours – purple, pink, blue, yellow and white squares all sewn together.
‘This is amazing,’ Sam said, holding up the blanket and keen to show an interest in his daughter’s new hobby, but then inadvertently spoiled the compliment by adding, ‘did you knit it all by yourself?’
‘Of course I did, Dad. I’m not a baby,’ she told him, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘I learnt how to knit on YouTube. It’s really cool.’ She took the blanket from him and carefully positioned it over the duvet across the bottom of her bed.
‘I see.’ Sam nodded. ‘So it’s not all gangsters demonstrating dodgy dance moves and people telling you what stuff to buy on there, then?’
‘Oh Dad, you’re so lame sometimes,’ Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘But, it is brilliant to have you home.’
‘It’s brilliant to be home,’ he smiled and stood up. ‘But I’m going to pop down and chat to Mum now.’
‘But what about the guitar? I want to show you how good I am?’
‘I know, darling. How about we get the guitar out at Granny Dolly’s when you come over?’ Sam appeased, but thought the whole situation just felt so wrong. And none of it was fair on Holly. She was still just a kid … even if she was dressed up like Taylor Swift.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down on the bed, looking resigned, but just as he bent to give her a kiss goodbye she asked, ‘Everything is going to be all right … isn’t it, Dad?’ And in that moment, she was the little girl with the bunches. The image he always held in his head from when she was about six years old and everything was happy and good. And long before his marriage had started to crack. He hesitated before answering, unsure if Chrissie had explained anythi
ng to her.
‘It’s complicated, Holly.’
‘But you will make it right, won’t you, Dad. You’ll sort it out with Mum?’
Sam saw the heartache in his daughter’s eyes and felt a swirl of emotion. ‘I’m going to do everything I can, I promise you.’ Holly gave him a smile, reassured. And he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
Heading downstairs, Sam sneaked a glance at the master bedroom as he passed by, briefly pausing to take in the familiar soft grey walls with the original black wooden beams and shabby chic furniture that Chrissie had sourced from various country fairs, and then lovingly restored. The handmade crushed velvet curtains. A stack of books on her bedside cabinet, her intoxicating perfume punctuating the air. The neatly arranged hand-crochet-covered cushions on their enormous bed. The bed that he and his wife should be in together.
Sam found Chrissie in the kitchen, standing against the red Aga. She handed him a mug of hot black coffee. ‘Strong and sweet. The way you like it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
‘Thanks.’ As he took it, his fingers brushed hers and an electric spark shot up his arm. ‘Strong and sweet … just like you.’ He eyed her over his coffee mug, trying to be playful, but on seeing the look she gave him, a knot of doubt crept in. Did she think he was being patronising? It was hard to be sure. There was a time when he could read her like a book, but not now, it seemed … and that just compounded his feelings about this whole situation. It was almost as if they were two strangers.
‘Hmm, it’s a good job I am strong, Sam. Seeing as I’ve had to manage on my own for the last few years.’ He smarted. Chrissie had gone straight for the jugular.
After gulping down a mouthful of the coffee, he replied.
‘Look … Chris,’ he started, ‘I know that I haven’t got things right. I realise now that I should have seen that you needed me here, but you’ve always been so … capable. And self-sufficient.’
