by Liz Davies
The sea heaved darkly beyond the rocks, the gleam of white on the crests of the waves only faintly visible. The sound of them breaking was primaeval and relentless, pounding the shore regardless of whether the shore wanted to be pounded or not.
Kate had felt a bit like that. The constant demands of the children were never-ending and persistent; a part of her yearned for it to stop, and another part of her was terrified that when her babies had grown and flown, and the wide-beaked begging for lifts/food/help with homework/money had finally ceased, the silence would overwhelm her. Especially if Brett was no longer in her life, which was looking like a very real possibility.
He’d like it here, she thought. Sitting in the almost-dark of a late December afternoon, the only illumination was from the odd street light on the road behind the pool. The only noise was the loud boom and suck of the waves, and the distant noise of Brixham itself, which she could just see if she craned her neck. The harbour lights were colourful and cheerful; a direct contrast to the way Kate was feeling – she’d never felt less colourful or less cheerful in her entire life.
It was lonely out here, too. The joggers seemed to have jogged back to where they’d come from and the dog-walkers had taken their pooches home.
She shivered. It was time to make a move, but she honestly couldn’t be bothered. It seemed too much like hard work to haul herself to her feet and make her way back to the village. She was cold, but not quite cold enough yet. She’d spend another minute or two here, and try to absorb some of the peace and solitude, because once she’d returned home and the subsequent mayhem awaiting her, she might well look back on this little oasis of sorrow-filled peace with nostalgia.
Oh, darn it. There was a walker out to spoil it, and he didn’t even have the decency to bring a dog with him. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he was striding along as though he had someplace he urgently needed to be, and she expected him to hurry straight past.
As he grew closer, though, a smidgeon of worry worked itself into Kate’s mind. She wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be staring at her – she had an uneasy prickle on the back of her neck which made her think he was heading directly towards her and not around the curve of the headland.
Clumsily, stiff from the cold and from sitting too long, Kate got to her feet. He was only about twenty yards away by now, and on a direct course towards her. But there was something about him that reminded her of Brett. He was the same height and build, and she couldn’t recall the number of times she’d watched her husband hunch into himself when he was cold, just like this man was doing.
She held her breath, the prickle growing into a full-blown shiver.
It was him. It was Brett. She was certain of it.
Then he stopped, took his hands out of his pockets and straightened up. ‘Kate? Is that you?’
‘Brett?’
‘Yeah...’
‘What are you doing here?’ She knew the question was a daft one as soon as she uttered it. He’d come for her. Why else would he have driven to Brixham on the eve of Christmas Eve?
‘I’ve come to take you home,’ he replied.
He was still about ten feet away and his face was in shadow. But his voice held no hint of recrimination or annoyance. He appeared to simply be stating a fact.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ she asked.
‘Ellis and the track history on your phone.’
‘The what?’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Shouldn’t we be the ones doing the tracking, not our kids tracking us?’
She heard the smile behind the words, and her tense, constricted heart eased a little.
‘How are the children?’
His shoulders moved in a kind of shrug. ‘Remorseful.’
She nodded. Remorseful was good. It was better than stroppy and argumentative. It probably wouldn’t last, though, if she knew her children.
‘I’m remorseful, too,’ Brett added, ‘if that helps you to come back home.’
There was silence for a second or two, then Kate said softly, ‘So am I.’
She heard her husband’s soft chuckle and it sent an altogether different shiver down her back. ‘I don’t think you’ve got anything to be remorseful about,’ he said.
‘Oh, but I do. I should never have gone away.’
‘It’s only been twenty-four hours,’ Brett pointed out. ‘You were hardly gone for weeks.’
‘It felt like weeks.’ It was true; each minute without her family had felt like an hour – a blessedly quiet and unpestered hour, but an hour nevertheless. She was so unused to the peace that time had stretched and warped out of all proportion.
‘Will you come back home with me, Kate?’ he asked, and she heard in his voice the fear that she’d refuse.
‘If you want me to.’
‘No, you’ve got to want to. I know you’ve not been happy recently, and I’m sorry. I want nothing more than for you to be happy, and if that means me moving out, then that’s what I’ll do.’
‘You want to move out?’ Kate’s voice broke. What was he saying?’
‘No, I most definitely don’t. I love you, Kate, and it would break my heart to be away from you and the kids, but I can’t stand to see you like this.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I don’t just love you – I adore you. I always have, since the first moment I set eyes on you, and that hasn’t changed. I’m sorry I don’t tell you often enough; I assumed you knew how I felt. But the most important thing is, how do you feel? Do you still love me?’
‘With all my heart,’ she whispered.
It was loud enough.
‘Come here,’ he said, stepping towards her and opening his arms.
He held her so tightly she thought (hoped) he’d never let her go, but after a few moments of having his nose buried in her hair and feeling the warmth and strength of him, he pulled back slightly.
‘I’m bloody freezing,’ he said. ‘Wanna get a room?’
Kate smiled. ‘I believe I already have one...’
Chapter 37
Kate woke with a start and reached across the bed, relaxing when her searching fingers encountered her husband’s naked chest. Last night hadn’t been a dream, then. The hours they’d spent making love (they’d not done that since before Ellis was born) hadn’t been a result of a fevered imagination or wishful thinking. It had been very real and very wonderful.
Crikey, she was starving. She’d forgotten how hungry a good session in bed made her feel, and she glanced at the clock, hoping they hadn’t missed breakfast, because they’d most definitely missed dinner last night.
‘Come here,’ Brett murmured, turning over and slipping his arms around her waist, drawing him into him. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’
Ooh, stuff breakfast, she decided, his lips on her neck, his hands wandering. Didn’t somebody once say you could live on love alone?
Afterwards, she decided she couldn’t. However nice it had been (nice didn’t quite cover it – breath-taking, passionate, wonderful; those were decidedly better words) Kate needed food. A full English with granary toast and lashings of lightly-salted butter should do it, plus a pot of tea and some orange juice.
‘I’m hungry,’ she announced, slipping out of bed, and she grinned at the matching hungry look in her husband’s eyes.
Then she squealed as he launched himself after her, muttering, ‘So am I. Again. What are you doing to me, woman?’
She darted into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it, giggling like a teenager. ‘For food,’ she clarified. ‘We can always come back to bed later. We don’t have to check out until eleven.’
‘Tease,’ he called. ‘Food and sex – you certainly know the way to a man’s heart.’
‘Talking about food, do you think anyone will go to the butcher to fetch the turkey. They’ll shut today at twelve.’
‘I don’t care, but I’ll text my mother if you want and tell her to pick it up.’
Kate frowned. Ah, yes, his mother. Her unkind words still rankled. She’d have to have a chat with Helen about it at some point; but not today, because today was Christmas Eve and Kate felt on top of the world, happier than she’d been for a very long time indeed. She vowed to schedule more weekends away with her husband, just the two of them, if this was the result.
‘By the way, Sam’s got chickenpox,’ Brett called, just as she was about to step into the shower, and effectively killing her strangely languid yet energised mood.
She opened the bathroom door. ‘He’s got what?’
‘Chickenpox.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me this yesterday? How is he? Is he alright? I mean, how—?’
‘He’s fine. Spotty and itchy, but otherwise OK. He was plastered in calamine lotion when I left and sending selfies to his mates.’
Kate wrung her hands. ‘I should have been there. He needed me.’
‘He had me,’ Brett said, firmly. ‘Don’t go beating yourself up about it. He’s not a baby, although he said he’s been feeling unwell for the past couple of days.’
Kate heard the unspoken “when you were there” in Brett’s voice. ‘Oh, my God, I didn’t even notice.’ She bit her lip and tried not to cry. ‘What kind of mother does that make me?’
‘A busy one, with too much on her plate. Now, are you going to get in that shower, or what?’
Kate felt like saying “or what” but she needed a wash, and she needed breakfast. After that, they’d go straight home. Or rather, she would. Brett could stay and have a mooch around Brixham if he wanted, because they both had their own cars to drive. Kate desperately wanted to check that Sam was OK, and she wouldn’t be happy until she’d seen him for herself.
Fancy Brett leaving his mother in charge of a sick child! Kate wouldn’t leave her in charge of a woodlouse.
The atmosphere was a little cooler over breakfast, Kate noticed, understanding that the deterioration in their previously ecstatic mood was solely because of her, but she couldn’t help feeling that she’d let Sam down. Therefore, there was no question of her and Brett retiring to bed for a quick romp before the journey back.
‘I’d better let everyone know we’ll be back later today,’ she said, fretfully.
‘It’s already done,’ Brett replied. ‘They can manage without us, without you, for another few hours.’
But she turned her phone on anyway and was a little disgruntled to see there weren’t any new messages or missed calls since she’d looked at it yesterday. Not even one from poorly Sam.
Maybe Brett was right? Maybe they could get along without her for a while. That’s what she’d sort of been aiming for when she’d run off to Brixham in the first place, as well as making them realise just how much she did for them.
It had certainly worked for Brett, she thought, as he drew her to him and gave her a deep, passionate kiss before they checked out of the hotel.
‘Later, Mrs Peters,’ he promised with the sexy grin she loved so much.
‘It’s a date,’ she agreed. ‘Once the kids have gone to bed and—’
‘Sod the kids. They should learn that we need alone time, too. And I’m really looking forward to some more alone time. At least twice tonight. And maybe once in the morning...?’
‘Oh, yes please!’
Chapter 38
Kate was finally feeling all those Christmassy feels. Every single one of them; from the glow caused by last night’s close encounter with her husband (and again this very wonderful Christmas Day morning), to the delight of seeing her children’s faces when they opened their presents.
When she and Brett had arrived back home yesterday within minutes of each other, Kate had been astounded to discover that not only had the turkey been fetched, prepared, stuffed, and was in the oven, cooking slowly, but the house was spotless (including the girls’ bedrooms – miracle!), and a meal had been cooked by both the nans (both of them, together, in the same room where there were knives and other lethal objects. Wow!).
Then there had been the sheepish, but totally heartfelt apologies from her children, her mother, and Helen. Even Pepe had greeted her with a lick instead of a growl, and he’d not widdled on her shoes, either. Or on anything else. Yet.
After that, Brett had dropped the bombshell that he’d applied for a job managing the golf club (not the one he frequented) and had even had a sort of telephone interview. He was quietly hopeful that something would come of it, and so was Kate after he confided in her just how bad things were in his current job. It meant less money, but that didn’t matter – the only thing that concerned Kate was Brett’s happiness.
All in all, she was delighted to be home, and she felt her family was delighted to have her back, and she was now happily peeling and chopping enough veg and potatoes to feed the whole street, with Helen working companionably alongside her.
‘My mother always used to rub the roasties in goose fat,’ Helen said.
‘I’ve heard of that. What were they like?’
‘Really crispy and the flavour was wonderful. Of course, that’s when people were more likely to have goose for Christmas lunch, rather than turkey. You didn’t mind me starting to cook it yesterday, did you? It’s such a big bird, you’d have had to get up at five this morning, like you usually do, to make sure it was done.’
‘No, I’m grateful you thought of it,’ Kate replied. The first Christmas after they were married and Helen had come to stay, her mother-in-law had told her to cook it the night before. Kate had ignored her advice, because it hadn’t sounded like advice – more like thinly-veiled criticism of Kate’s cooking methods. And she’d stuck to getting up before the cock crowed ever since; which hadn’t been a problem when the children were much younger because they’d been too excited to sleep past six a.m. anyway. Now that they were getting older, the last few years Kate had found she’d begun to resent the incredibly early start.
She’d had an early start to this particular Christmas Day too, but it hadn’t had anything to do with having to cook a turkey...
Beverley had been trying to keep her recalcitrant pooch out of mischief while the food preparation was taking place, and if that hadn’t been an ideal time for Helen to make a sly remark, Kate didn’t know what was. But Helen had continued to be remarkably well behaved (unlike Pepe who thought he should be in the kitchen where the turkey was), and her mother-in-law didn’t make any comment at all. Kate was tempted to ask who she was, and what had she done with the real Helen. It was like having a totally different woman for a mother-in-law.
Lunch will be ready at two,’ she announced, giving everyone fair notice. It was a couple of hours away yet, but Ellis wanted to pop to Riley’s house to give him his present, and Brett offered to take her. He’d offered to take Portia to her friend’s house yesterday, too, and Kate found it a great help that she didn’t have to jump in the car every five minutes to taxi one or the other of her offspring around. He’d been gone rather a long time yesterday, though, so Kate did wonder what else he’d been up to. If he’d left it that late to get her a present, then there would have been very few shops open past midday on Christmas Eve.
He clearly hadn’t left it until the last minute to buy her a gift, she saw, when he’d handed her a beautifully wrapped, small box this morning. When she’d opened it, she’d almost cried at the sight of a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings. He’d seemed equally delighted with his new putter, and said he hoped the present was an omen.
‘Portia, can you lay the table, please?’ Kate called. ‘Use the Christmas tablecloth in the dresser.’
She left her daughter to it and returned to the kitchen, but when she popped her head around the dining room door to check on progress, she was curious to see that the table was laid for eight and not seven.
‘Portia, there are only seven of us,’ she laughed. ‘Have you been on your nan’s sherry?’
‘It’s for Father Christmas,’ Portia said.
Considering the child had been adama
nt she didn’t want anything to do with Christmas (apart from the presents, of course), Kate decided to let it go. It was quite sweet of her, she thought, looking at Portia’s unusually make-up free face, and thinking how pretty she was without all that black around her eyes.
When the front door opened a few minutes later, Ellis burst into the kitchen, her face extremely pale, and Kate hoped she wasn’t coming down with chickenpox as well as Sam.
Then a not-unfamiliar smell wafted up her nose.
Surely that wasn’t... it couldn’t be...
Kate darted into the hall. ‘Ron!’ she exclaimed, in surprise, a huge grin on her face. ‘You came! How did you know where we lived?’
‘I brought him in the car,’ Brett said following behind. Her husband also looked a little pale, and Kate understood why. It wasn’t easy sitting inside the charity shop with Ron – it must have been so much worse in the close confines of the car, even with, she suspected, all the windows rolled down.
Her husband said, ‘Is it OK if Ron joins us for Christmas lunch?’
‘Of course it is!’ Kate didn’t tell Brett that she’d had already invited him, and that she’d been hoping to persuade Ron to have a bit of a clean-up first before she set him loose on the nans, or her foot-in-mouth children.
‘I said he could have a shower, and after that I’ll kit him out with some of my old clothes,’ Brett told her.
‘Brilliant idea.’
She returned to the kitchen to deal with the final stages of lunch cooking and by the time it was ready, Ron had finished his ablutions. She left Brett to introduce him to the rest of the family (although Portia and Ellis had been in on the secret) and she marvelled at the distinct lack of complaining from everyone. If she’d have suggested this as little as three days ago, she’d have been shot down in flames.
‘OK, everyone, take your seats, lunch is served,’ she announced grandly, carrying a mounded plate of carved turkey into the dining room and placing it in the centre of the table.
