The Atlas of Us

by Tracy Buchanan

  Some nights Claire thought she could hear the sound of sobbing coming from Holly’s room. But when Holly joined them for breakfast the next morning, she looked bright-eyed and happy, no sign of any night-time tears. So Claire wondered if she was imagining it.

  One morning, Milo left early to check on the farm. After Claire got ready, she knocked on Holly’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ Holly said.

  She pushed the door open to find Holly standing in front of the mirror, tilting her head as she examined her reflection. She took ages getting ready each morning, checking and rechecking her hair and outfit, as though her appearance meant everything to her now, a contrast to the girl who’d run around the farm in jeans and wellies. And yet she wasn’t vain or shallow. It was more like she saw her appearance as some kind of armour.

  ‘Just wanted to see what you fancy for breakfast?’ Claire asked her, hovering in the doorway.

  ‘You can come in,’ Holly said, smiling at her in the mirror.

  Claire stepped in, looking around. She hadn’t wanted to intrude so had barely come into the small room. It looked spotless, perfectly co-ordinated outfits lined up in the open wardrobe, matching shoes beneath each one. It was unsurprising considering how fastidiously tidy Holly was, even clearing up after Claire just as Milo did.

  Claire sat on Holly’s bed, smoothing down the silky material of the pink duvet cover Milo had got her. Holly turned to face her, gesturing at her blue dress. ‘Do you think a black cardigan will look better with this, or a white one?’

  ‘White,’ Claire said. ‘I like white on you.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Holly said, plucking a soft wool cardigan from her wardrobe and slipping it on.

  Claire caught sight of a clip on Holly’s bedside table – the clip she’d given her in Exmoor. She reached over, picking it up. ‘You still have this?’

  ‘Of course,’ Holly said. ‘It’s the best present I ever got. It belonged to a freedom fighter, remember? Do you know how much street cred that gives me?’ They both laughed. ‘Plus there’s the fact you gave it to me too, of course,’ Holly added. ‘That makes it extra special.’

  Claire tried to keep her emotions in check as she smoothed her thumb over the blue jewels on the clip. Did she really mean that much to Holly?

  ‘So, you enjoying yourself?’ Claire asked her.

  ‘I love it here,’ Holly said, looking out of the window towards the snowy landscape. ‘Not just because it’s so beautiful. I love being here with you and Milo too. You make me happy. You make me feel …’ She paused, her brow creasing slightly. ‘You make me feel like I belong.’

  ‘You don’t feel that way at home?’

  ‘Aunt Jen’s sweet,’ she said. ‘But, I don’t know, I always feel like a bit of an outsider.’

  Claire thought of the fact Holly hadn’t brought a friend with her. ‘You mean at sixth form?’

  Holly shrugged. ‘I guess. All people talk about is doing the right thing, you know? Teachers, Jen, even other kids now we’re doing our A levels and thinking about uni. But you and Milo, you don’t talk like that. I don’t feel cornered when I’m with you.’

  ‘Cornered?’

  ‘Like I have to make decisions about stuff right now or I’ll – I’ll ruin everything forever, you know?’ She reached for a silver bracelet from the small table in front of the window, trying to fasten it to her wrist with trembling fingers.

  ‘Here,’ Claire said, walking over and taking the bracelet, circling it around Holly’s wrist. ‘You should never feel pressurised to make the right decisions,’ she said, trying to connect the ends of the bracelet. ‘We all make mistakes and take the wrong turns in the road sometimes. But that doesn’t mean it’s a disaster. Those wrong turns have to happen so we can recognise the right ones when they come along. And when I say right, I don’t mean socially acceptable decisions or those decisions that lead to the most money or whatever. I mean the ones that are right for us as individuals.’

  ‘See, this is what I mean!’ Holly said. ‘You and Milo are the only people I know who talk like that. I feel whatever I choose to do, you’ll support me.’

  ‘Of course we will because we know you’re an intelligent girl who can make her own decisions.’ Claire kept her eyes on Holly’s bracelet, trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘Okay, I’m going to say something really cheesy now so prepare yourself for it, all right?’

  Holly matched Claire’s mock-serious look. ‘Okay, I think I’m ready.’

  ‘You must never feel cornered knowing Milo and I are in your corner. See what I did there?’

  Holly laughed. ‘And you call yourself a writer?’

  ‘The cheesiest there is, sweetie.’ Claire clipped the bracelet together. ‘There, all done.’

  ‘You’re the best, Claire,’ Holly said, her green eyes glassy.

  Claire squeezed her hand. ‘And so are you.’

  ‘What about me?’ They both looked up to see Milo standing in the doorway, his face red from the cold, his brown eyes heavy with emotion. Claire wondered how long he’d been standing there.

  ‘One thing I do know is you stink of reindeer,’ Claire said, pushing him out of the room and pointing to the bathroom as Holly laughed.

  On Christmas Eve a few days later, everyone turned up at Filipe’s house, arms laden down with presents. In Finland, Christmas is celebrated on Christmas Eve so Filipe had slung a colourful banner across the hallway with ‘Hyvää Joulua!’ scrawled across it and golden stars were draped along the walls. Sitting on every surface were jolly Santas, reindeers of course and also more traditional straw ornaments wrapped in red ribbon.

  After a dinner consisting of a huge plate of rutabaga casserole, a massive ham that exuded the most delicious scents, salmon and chunks of rye bread, Claire and Sofia washed up.

  ‘Holly seems happy enough,’ Sofia said.

  Claire peered out of the window towards where Milo, Holly and Alex were walking the dogs in the snow. ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I said seems. We don’t know what’s going on beneath the surface. And what about that mother of hers?’

  Claire smiled to herself. Typical of her sister to turn a compliment into a criticism.

  ‘Even more reason why we ought to be impressed by how well-adjusted Holly is,’ Claire said. ‘What do you think of Milo?’

  Sofia was too bloody judgemental sometimes but, despite this, her opinion mattered to Claire. With their mother tucked away in Hong Kong and other relatives spread around the UK, Sofia was the closest family she had.

  ‘I think I like him,’ Sofia said.

  Claire smiled. That was good coming from Sofia.

  ‘He clearly loves you,’ Sofia continued, ‘and Alex and I have noticed how much work he’s put into making this holiday special. It’s just …’ She paused.

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Something doesn’t feel quite right.’

  ‘Oh, Sofia! You just said you like him.’

  ‘I can’t explain it. Just … something’s off. What’s he like behind closed doors? I mean, he’s great in front of all us but …’

  Claire thought about their declaration of love for each other the night before. ‘He’s wonderful, Sofia! It’s not just an act. Sure, he has his moments like any person does, we can’t be perfect all the time. But he does these little things that make me feel special; things no other man I’ve been with has ever thought of doing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Claire told Sofia about the time he left a notepad outside her room in Serbia, and the picnic he’d made for her. ‘When I’m feeling crap about my writing, he reads his favourite passages out from articles I’ve written to make me feel better,’ she continued. ‘He does these silly little vouchers for me too, like “Private spa for two” or “Tea and scones”. He makes me breakfast in bed and—’

  ‘Okay, enough, you’re making me sick. I get it. What about security then, can he offer you that? Milo was telling Alex your visa only lasts a few months. What t
hen?’

  Claire shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Sofia paused, examining Claire’s face. ‘You don’t mind living like this, on the edge all the time?’

  ‘I love living like this. It’s invigorating.’

  Sofia frowned. ‘But what about your career? It’s kind of stalled, Claire.’

  ‘No, it hasn’t! You know I’m writing an article about the land disputes here. Plus I freelance, you’ll be able to read the article I wrote about my time in Serbia in The Sunday Times magazine in a few months. And Marie Claire’s commissioned me to write an article about animal welfare during conflicts.’ Claire smiled. ‘Sofia, this is important stuff I’m finally writing about, not just articles commissioned by magazine advertisers.’

  Her sister sighed. ‘And I’m proud of you, really I am! But it’s just the odd article here and there, not a guaranteed income. And I can’t imagine Milo earns much money from the reindeer farm.’

  ‘We have savings. Milo has money left over from the Exmoor farm sale and I have stuff left over from when I worked on the magazine. And anyway, who cares about money? We don’t need new cars and big houses like most people do. We’re fine as we are, really.’

  ‘What about children?’

  Claire sighed. Sofia was bringing her infertility up again, surprise surprise. ‘You know that’s not a possibility for me.’

  ‘I know,’ Sofia said, putting her hand on Claire’s arm. ‘I mean another round of IVF, even adoption? Isn’t it something you and Milo might consider once you’re married?’

  ‘Milo and I aren’t getting married.’

  Sofia’s smile froze. ‘Why ever not?’

  Claire hesitated a moment, remembering that dinner conversation about marriage all those years ago in Exmoor. They hadn’t discussed marriage since – why would they after just a couple of months together? But Claire knew, even in a few years, it wouldn’t happen. It was just the way it was between them. ‘Milo and I don’t need a marriage certificate to prove our love for each other,’ she said to Sofia.

  ‘Oh, Claire, really? You do realise you sound like a complete hippie! How does Milo feel about that?’

  She thought of the conversation they’d had a couple of nights before. ‘He’s fine with it.’

  ‘If it’s money stopping you trying IVF, Ed and I—’

  ‘Accept it, Sofia,’ Claire snapped. ‘I’ve resolved myself to never having children and you know what? I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.’

  Sofia’s face softened. ‘Isn’t a girl allowed to worry about her sister?’

  ‘Yes, you are allowed. But really, there’s nothing—’

  Claire suddenly felt a wet splat on her back. She turned around to see Milo, Holly and Alex standing in the kitchen’s doorway, their faces red from the cold, mischievous looks on their faces.

  ‘He did it,’ Milo said, pointing to Alex.

  Alex’s eyes widened. ‘Liar.’

  Claire scooped up a handful of suds and marched towards the three of them as they darted away from her, Sofia watching with a sombre expression in the background. As she passed the hallway mirror, she caught sight of her reflection: eyes bright, cheeks pink, a wide smile on her face.

  I am happy, she thought. Really happy.

  ‘Okay, time for presents!’ Filipe shouted out from the living room.

  They went into the living room to find steaming mugs of glögi – mulled wine – waiting for them. A beautiful fir tree sat in the corner draped with gold tinsel and stars that sparkled when the light caught them. They all sat down then handed each other gifts until there was a small pile in front of each of them.

  ‘Ready?’ Filipe said. ‘One, two, three …’

  Holly and Alex ripped the paper off their gifts as they giggled, the glass each of glögi they’d drunk turning their faces pink. Claire and Milo watched Holly open the presents they’d got her – piles of poetry books, a mobile phone and, finally, her favourite, a beautiful sheepskin coat and some bright red knitted gloves she’d seen in a nearby shop.

  Then it was time for Milo and Claire to open their presents to each other. Claire had created a frame using knotty wood from a local fir tree then placed a photo Filipe had taken of them both in Serbia in it. When Milo opened it, his face filled with emotion.

  Then he gave Claire a chunky, square-shaped present wrapped in plain gold paper with a green ribbon tied around it, a nervous smile playing on his lips. ‘I hope you like it.’

  She smiled at him then pulled the wrapping papers off to reveal a book made from fir wood. Etched onto its front and dyed in bright turquoise was a picture of the earth, the outlines of countries clear under the soft light in the room. Across the top in gold were four words. The Atlas of Us.

  Claire peered up at Milo. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Open it,’ Milo said, his face eager.

  She opened the heavy front cover, the smell of fir and ash bursting out at her. The pages were thick and colour-stained, as though they’d been thinly scraped straight from the bark of a tree. Carved into the first page were three lines:

  To my darling, my life, my world. The atlas of my heart.

  Your love, Milo

  She looked up at Milo, her heart clenching. Then she turned the next page to see a beautiful drawing of the United Kingdom and Ireland on the right, its jagged outline dominating the whole page.

  ‘I did the drawings before I came here,’ Holly said.

  ‘They’re wonderful,’ Claire said.

  Milo hooked his fingers into the paper pocket opposite the map. ‘I thought you could fill these with your notes, photos, anything you want from our travels, memories of when you and your family travelled too.’

  ‘It has a lock,’ Holly said. ‘I told Milo to put it on so he can’t peek. There’s something in the first pocket.’

  Claire pulled out a sheet of torn-out note paper with the line she’d written about Exmoor all those years ago on it. There was a drawing of a sheep beneath it now, teetering on a tightrope.

  ‘Milo told me what you said about the sheep,’ Holly said, ‘so I drew you a picture.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Claire said, stroking Holly’s face. Then she turned to Milo, staring into his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Please, stop, I’m sick with envy,’ Sofia said, leaning back in her chair and taking another slug of glögi.

  ‘Don’t you like the breadmaker Dad got you?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s a wonder.’

  They all laughed as the dogs peered up from their bones, presents from Santa Paws as Holly called him.

  Filipe bent down under the Christmas tree. ‘There’s another one,’ he said, picking up a thin rectangular present wrapped in red paper with a UK stamp and the reindeer farm’s address on it. He handed it over to Milo with a smile. ‘For you. It came in the post a couple of days ago, I thought I’d save it for today.’

  ‘Open it then!’ Holly said.

  Milo shrugged and unwrapped it to reveal a long flat box the colour of snow. He looked up at Claire, half-smiling.

  ‘It’s not from me!’ she said. ‘I swear.’

  He narrowed his eyes at her like he didn’t believe her then lifted off the lid.

  It was an old Christmas card, the corners curled and dirty with age, a reindeer on the front with bulbous brown eyes staring out at them.

  Milo frowned, recognition flickering in his eyes. Then he slowly opened it.

  To Erin, it said inside in handwriting Claire recognised instantly as Milo’s. I’m sorry we argued. Please don’t be sad. I don’t regret what happened, you know I care for you. You just have to understand why it can’t continue. Please come back for Christmas, we’re all worried. Lots of love. M x

  Claire stared at the card, eyes blinking as she tried to wrap her head around it. Regret about what? Then she looked up and realised her sister was at the perfect vantage point to read it. Milo noticed too, his brow furrowing. Sofia shot Claire a look then turned to scrutinise Milo’s
face with cold eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ Holly asked, trying to look over Milo’s shoulder. But he quickly snapped it shut, shoving it back into the box as he avoided Claire’s gaze.

  Claire tried to control her emotions, aware everyone was looking at her.

  ‘Was it laced with poison?’ Alex asked, clocking the look on their faces.

  ‘It’s a private joke,’ Milo said, forcing a smile onto his face.

  ‘Let us in on it,’ Holly said, trying to grab it.

  Milo shoved it into his pocket. ‘It’s silly, you wouldn’t understand.’

  The rest of the evening was tense, and they drove home in silence, the card and the words within it buzzing between them. As soon as Holly went to bed, Claire turned to Milo.

  ‘Did something happen between you and Erin?’ she asked quietly. He flexed his jaw, staring out of the window. Claire tucked her finger beneath his chin, making him look at her. ‘Please, Milo. I wish you wouldn’t keep things from me.’

  He hung his head, his dark fringe in his eyes. ‘We kissed. It was a long time ago.’

  She tried to control the roar of emotion burning inside. ‘When?’

  ‘I was sixteen.’

  ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Twenty-something. It was stupid.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  ‘No. I thought I did for a while, but I now know it for what it was: pure lust.’ Claire felt her stomach crawl and Milo squeezed her hand. ‘I was a teenager, remember? Hormones all over the place. My brother was in the Falklands, Erin and I grew close. She wanted to help on the farm so I showed her how to milk cows, how to shear the sheep. Then one day it just happened, we kissed. I felt disgusted with myself, especially when Dale came back after being in hospital with his injuries. So I told Erin just before Christmas it couldn’t happen again. But she didn’t want it to be over. So we argued and she ran off, going to stay with her best friend Nora for a few weeks.’ He pulled the Christmas card out of his pocket, face flinching when he looked at it. ‘That’s when I sent her this card. Dale was falling apart you see, he needed her.’