Читать книгу Coming Home For Christmas: Warm, humorous and completely irresistible! - Julia Williams - Страница 12

Marianne walked down the lane, feeling gloomy. It was a crisp clear January morning, but the Christmas snows had melted, leaving patches of forlorn looking but lethal ice. The twins had just gone back to nursery after Christmas. After a hassle to get them out of the door, they had readily raced down the lane, reminding her of the way Steven, and Pippa’s boys had run the same way when she’d first met them.

Now Steven, Nathan and George were turning into strapping young teenagers, their childhoods almost a distant memory. She should hold onto these moments with the twins. They would be over in the blink of an eye. Time seemed to be moving faster than she’d like. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d first moved to Hope Christmas, newly in love with stunningly good-looking Luke Nicholas, who’d promptly broken her heart. She’d nearly fled back to London then, but the lure of the beautiful countryside had been too strong. And then of course, there’d been Gabriel …

Even now, Marianne still found it hard to believe she could have been lucky enough to find Gabriel. He too had been left heartbroken when his wife Eve, who suffered badly from depression, left him, and slowly they had built something new together. And now, seven years on, Marianne was married, with a stepson and two lovely children of her own. Life couldn’t be better. And yet, and yet …

Marianne tried to shake off her feelings of melancholy, but she felt unsettled and as if she’d lost her sense of purpose. Another year and a bit, and the twins were going to be at school. Although Gabriel wasn’t putting her under pressure, Marianne felt she should be thinking about what she was going to do next. There was plenty to do on the farm, and Gabriel could always use extra help. But while Marianne loved being a farmer’s wife, she wasn’t born to it like Pippa. And although she also loved looking after the twins, she missed work.

‘I don’t know,’ she said out loud to a passing crow, ‘should I stick at being a farmer’s wife, or is it time I went back to teaching?’ She looked across at the fields bordering her home. It was lovely being out here, and she enjoyed working outside with Gabe, particularly in lambing season, but she missed being in front of a class. Not that she’d want to go back to Hope Christmas Primary, where the current head teacher had made her feel worse than useless. But if not there, where? And how? Marianne felt unfocussed, muzzy. Maybe when the twins were older, and maybe to another school …

Besides, work wasn’t the total reason for her discontent. Not really. She sighed, as she walked up the garden path and let herself into the home where she had been so happy for the past seven years. Where she still was happy, she corrected herself. It was just that Gabriel seemed a bit distant at the moment.

When questioned about it, all she got was a curt, ‘I’m fine,’ but he had admitted to being shaken by Pippa and Dan’s divorce. ‘I still can’t believe they’ve split up,’ he told Marianne, ‘they seemed so right, so solid. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

‘Not too much I hope,’ Marianne joked, but Gabriel hadn’t responded, just taken himself off to the fields, retreating into a taciturn silence at home.

It had been like that since Christmas. Marianne tried to be supportive. This was the start of Gabriel’s busiest time of year, and he often came in late from lambing, usually too late to see the children. Which was a pity, because the only thing that seemed to cheer him up was the twins. He always came to life when they jumped on him as he walked through the door, or at the weekends when Steven was home from school. But the rest of the time, Gabriel seemed to brood. Marianne knew that brooding look of old – it was the way he’d looked when she’d first met him. Unhappy, sad, lost. Marianne had hoped never to see that look again, and she had a feeling she knew what was causing it.

Eve. Gabriel’s ex. Since that frantic phone call on Christmas Day, things had gone from bad to worse with Eve. Marianne and Gabriel had dropped everything and gone to rescue Steven, kids in tow. They had been greeted with sobbing hysterics, and while Gabe had worked his magic (born of years of practice), calmed her down and persuaded her to take her medication, it had only been a temporary fix.

A day or so later, she’d been on the phone telling Marianne that she was being spied on, and nothing Marianne could say could calm her down. And after that they’d endured a week of late night phone calls, of worsening degrees, till eventually one morning they had a call from a neighbour to say Eve was outside her house, dressed only in a nightie.

Gabriel and Marianne had dropped the twins with Pippa and rushed over straight away, to find Eve, looking lost and bewildered, sitting sobbing in her neighbour’s kitchen, her feet bleeding, where she’d cut them on the garden path.

‘We have to call an ambulance,’ Marianne said as Gabe tried unsuccessfully to coax her back home.

‘I can’t go there,’ Eve said anxiously, gripping hold of Gabe’s arm, ‘they’ll find me.’

‘Who?’ asked Gabe with patience acquired from years of experience. ‘Eve, there’s no one here but us, and we won’t hurt you.’

‘Them,’ said Eve stubbornly. ‘Can’t you hear them? They’re whispering about me all the time.’

Marianne, Gabriel and the neighbour exchanged helpless glances, and when Gabe questioned her further it transpired Eve had stopped taking her medication altogether. By now Gabe had got onto Eve’s mum, Joan.

‘She’s the worst I’ve seen her in a long time,’ Gabe said. ‘I really think she needs to go to hospital.’

In the end, on the advice of the doctor who came out, to Gabriel’s evident distress, Eve had to be sectioned for her own safety, as she clearly couldn’t be left alone. It was an upsetting business, Eve screaming that they couldn’t make her go, the doctor saying she had to. In the end after Gabriel made numerous promises that he and Steven would come and see Eve as soon as they could, she was persuaded to get into an ambulance by the kind paramedics.

‘I wish there was another way,’ Gabriel said desperately to Marianne as they followed Eve to the hospital. ‘I’m never convinced hospital helps her.’ He was really shaken up by the whole thing, clearly reminded of the time when Eve was living with him and had done similar.

‘It makes me feel so helpless,’ he said to Marianne. ‘Even now, after all this time, I want to help her, and I can’t.’

It was really sad, Marianne could see that, and she felt particularly for Steven, who was very distressed by his mum’s relapse.

‘It was really scary, Marianne,’ he confided in her. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

She was glad that he’d gone back to school, where he could be distracted from worrying about his mum. And at least now Eve was safe and being looked after.

‘She’s not your responsibility anymore,’ were the words she longed to say to Gabe, but she knew that he would always feel responsible for Eve, come what may. It was something she’d taken on when she married him, but back then Eve had been well. Marianne hadn’t factored in this, or the impact it would have on her marriage.

Normally Marianne wouldn’t have minded, but now it made her uneasy. She’d always accepted Eve for Steven’s sake, but since Eve had split up from her ex, Darren, a year ago, she’d become more and more needy. And from where Marianne was sitting, it seemed like the person she needed most was Gabriel.

‘Peekaboo!’ Cat was lying on the floor on her tummy, face to face with her granddaughter, whose nose was pressed up so close to her own, Cat was surprised she could still breathe. ‘Peekaboo’ was always guaranteed to make Lou Lou giggle, which it did now.

‘Boo! GaGa! Boo!’ Lou Lou gurgled, clapping her hands in delight. Cat loved the fact that her granddaughter was trying to say her name already. It gave her a warm glowing feeling all over. In fact, considering her inauspicious beginning, literally born in a barn to her 16-year-old single mother, Mel, Cat still couldn’t believe how happy Lou Lou made her. An unexpected blessing, despite the uproar it had caused in all their lives, especially coming so soon after Cat had lost her beloved mum, Louise, after whom Lou Lou was named. Now Lou Lou was part of the family, and it was as if she always had been. And Cat couldn’t help a sneaking feeling of gratitude that she had this second chance baby, to replace the one she’d lost around the time Mel had got herself pregnant.

‘Peekaboo,’ said Cat again, and Lou Lou giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Cat giggled too. She’d forgotten how much babies laughed, and it made her realise she didn’t laugh enough. Sometimes it felt as though the years of responsibility, looking after the children, and her mother who had developed Alzheimer’s frighteningly young, had taken their toll. Lou Lou was teaching her how to laugh spontaneously again, which was an added and unexpected bonus of being a granny.

Mind you, it was hard to remember to laugh sometimes, when you were working till late to make up for the chores lost due to time spent playing with your grandchild. Luckily Cat who had developed a somewhat unexpected career as a TV chef since coming to Hope Christmas, was in between TV series at the moment, as she seemed to be doing more than her fair share of childcare, since Mel had gone back to sixth form college to start AS Levels in the autumn. When she got the green light for the new programmes she was planning: A Shropshire Christmas, a programme devoted to local recipes and traditions from Shropshire’s past, things were going to get a bit more tricky.

‘We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, Lou Lou, won’t we?’ Cat said, tickling her granddaughter.

It wasn’t Mel’s fault – for the first few months of Lou Lou’s life, she’d been great. Accepting her loss of freedom without complaint, dropping out of school for a year to care for her daughter, allowing Cat the time to continue with her working life relatively uninterrupted. And when sixth form college was first mooted, Mel had protested, saying ‘Lou Lou’s my responsibility, Mum, I can’t hand her over to you.’

Never had Cat been prouder of her daughter, or loved her more, despite the difficulties involved in trying to support her. But there was no way that she and Noel were going to let their beloved daughter miss out on her education. So when Lou Lou was eight months old, Mel went back to college, Lou Lou went to nursery part time, and Cat found herself suddenly being far more of a hands-on granny than she’d quite intended.

The results had been worth it. Cat loved the time she was spending with Lou Lou, and Mel who was working really hard for her exams was predicted good grades. She wanted to go into journalism, and had found a course she was interested in at Birmingham so she could study and live at home. Which was wonderful, but Cat felt with some degree of certainty, that Granny was going to be called on even more often than before.

And that was fine, of course it was.

‘Don’t be so negative,’ Cat chided herself, it was just that at a time in her life when she’d hoped to have a lessening of responsibilities, she felt that she was getting bogged down in even more. And it was hard not to feel a little resentful. Was life never going to get easy?

Since Christmas, Angela, who up until now had always been very independent, seemed to need more of their help, which was worrying. It only seemed like five minutes since Cat’s own mum had been ill, and Angela had quietly stepped into the breach and been immensely supportive. Cat wasn’t ready to lose her too.

‘Banish that thought from your head, right now, Cat,’ she muttered, concentrating instead on trying to make Lou Lou laugh some more, which was much more cheering. ‘And on the bright side, your clever mummy has been earning some money,’ she added.

‘Mama, mama,’ agreed Lou Lou, giggling as Cat tickled her tummy.

Mel had managed to get herself a book deal via her anonymous blog, Mum Too Young. She’d written a quirky, funny take on life as a teenage mum, complete with cartoons, which she’d self-published. It had been a great hit, and Mel had since been taken on by a publisher. She’d retained her anonymity, ‘I just don’t want to start sixth form college with baggage,’ she’d said, ‘I want to be the same as everyone else,’ – which made Cat want to weep for her daughter. She had given up so much by having Lou Lou so young, and coped so well with it. But Cat did wonder if it was a good idea for Mel to keep her two lives secret.

The phone rang, reminding her that she was supposed to be working today as well as looking after Lou Lou. She’d been waiting for a call from her agent, Anna, re her proposed new Christmas book and series. She’d been a bit distracted with babysitting of late, and hadn’t been as assiduous about chasing it up as she’d intended.

‘Catherine, honey, how are you?’ Anna was the only person who ever called Cat, Catherine.

‘Fine,’ she said, propping the phone in one hand, while tickling Lou Lou with the other. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit tied up today, I’ve got Lou Lou.’

‘I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ said Anna, who tended to be blunter than Cat’s original agent, Jenny, who’d retired some years back, ‘but they’re not interested in the new series. They feel A Shropshire Christmas is a bit too retro.’

‘What?’ Cat was staggered. ‘But it was their idea.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Anna, ‘but you know what these TV companies are like. They want to freshen things up a bit, bring in a different cook. They’re talking about Sienna Woodall, she’s the latest thing, apparently.’

And ten years younger. The words lay unspoken between them. Cat should have seen this coming. She’d had a lot of jokey comments from the crew during her last series about fading to grey, and needing to botox, now she’d passed 45, and there had been several nasty swipes in the press about middle-aged spread – ‘A greying corpulent whale’ as one reviewer had not so kindly put it. It was true, she couldn’t shift the weight as easily as she once had, but she was hardly obese. It was so unfair. No one complained about Jamie Oliver putting on weight.

‘I’m sure something else will turn up,’ continued Anna, in a not terribly convincing manner. ‘You’re still in great demand.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Cat, with an optimism she didn’t feel. ‘I always knew it would happen one day.’

And it was true she had always known it deep down. Faces went out of fashion all the time, why had she thought she would be any different? She’d been lucky to get the gig at all, and TV was a fickle world. She was no more special than anyone else.

Pippa was baking, partly to relax, partly to supply the community café and shop in the village run by Vera and Albert Campion. Several years ago when the post office Vera had singlehandedly run was under threat, the whole of Hope Christmas had come together to save it and the shop and café was the result. Pippa baked for them most weeks but more frequently when she was under stress. Today was definitely such a day.

Dan had swiftly acted on his Christmas decision, and the first week of January had seen a letter arrive from his lawyer, which Pippa had promptly shoved in a drawer in the dresser. She had been ignoring it ever since, pleading busyness, when Dan mentioned it. So far he hadn’t been nagging, but Richard had started to – stupidly, she’d opened the drawer and he’d asked what it was.

Pippa had considered not telling him. Part of her wanted to say ‘It’s none of your business.’ But she had to recognise it was his business. Gradually, over the last few months, Richard had become a necessary part of her life. If she was to have a future with him, then divorcing Dan was the next logical step. So why was she delaying?

Richard had proved himself kind, thoughtful and supportive; understanding that Lucy in particular was struggling with the new situation and not pushing himself forward. He had been tact itself on Christmas Day, so that the day had gone off with no dramatics. Pippa owed it to Richard to make a clean break with Dan.

She kept telling herself that Dan had made his intentions perfectly clear, so she was free to move on. And, on that basis, when Richard asked where they stood, she’d promised to give it a go with him, ‘But slowly, Richard,’ she said, ‘I need time to sort myself out.’

‘You’re worth waiting for, Pippa,’ Richard had said simply, which made her want to hug him, and yet at the same time she felt terribly guilty.

For the truth was, Pippa had always secretly hoped Dan would change his mind. She fretted she might be leading Richard on. Perhaps it was too soon for a new relationship. But when was too soon? And Dan clearly didn’t want her. As she explained to Marianne, ‘I just need time to process that. It’s such a huge change in my life.’

Dan was the love of her life. Pippa had never imagined she would have another. And now here was Richard, attractive, charming Richard, whose company she enjoyed, and who liked her too. Dan was giving her an opt out and she needed to make a decision towards her future, rather than hanging onto her past, but equally she wasn’t quite ready to let Dan go (will you ever be? the voice said. It really was annoyingly persistent), or get serious with anyone else.

And Richard was nothing if not determined.

‘It’s private,’ Pippa had said, snatching the letter from him, feeling absurdly defensive.

‘Ooh, touchy,’ joked Richard, then seeing the look on her face, he stopped immediately. ‘What’s wrong?’

Instant empathy was something Richard was very good at. It was one of the reasons it had been so easy to let him into her life. His ready understanding of the situation she was in meant she didn’t feel the need to explain.

Pippa sighed and sat down, feeling a little wobbly.

‘You may as well know,’ she said, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. ‘It’s from Dan’s solicitor. He wants a divorce.’

‘Oh Pippa.’ Richard sat down too and took her hand in his. ‘I’m sorry, truly I am. But you knew this would happen one day.’

She squeezed his hand and looked out of the window, at the hills bordering the farm. She’d always sat here at this table looking at those hills with Dan. No longer. She blinked away her tears. Richard didn’t need to see them.

‘I know it seems final,’ Richard said. ‘Don’t forget, I’ve been there too. But it’s been over a year, Pippa. Perhaps it is time for a fresh start.’

Pippa knew he was right, and she knew what he was saying, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that this was what she wanted. What she really wanted was to wipe out the past two years; for Dan never to have fallen out of a tree, for him not to have suffered brain damage; for her to still be sitting here with him. Which of course wasn’t going to happen. She should take the opportunity Dan was giving her to make a clean break. She’d been immensely lucky to have hit the jackpot first time around. Some people never got that. And she had the chance of happiness again. If only she’d let it in. So why did it feel like second best?

‘You’re right,’ said Pippa. ‘I’ll sign it and post it tomorrow. I should have done it straight away.’

‘You’ll feel better when you do,’ said Richard. ‘I know I did when my divorce finally came through. Time to get the ball rolling.’

They’d talked no more about it, but Pippa had gone to bed with a heavy heart and hardly slept a wink. She’d been up early to feed the cows in the barn, and sent the kids off to school. Walking back down the frost sharpened lane, to wave Lucy’s bus off, she’d bumped into Dan, which hadn’t helped. Her heart lurched. His six foot frame towered over her, and she wanted to throw her arms around his strong lean torso. But he gave her a sad smile and she felt paralysed. Never had he seemed more desirable to her, nor more distant. She felt guilty about Richard, but she couldn’t help herself. Dan still made her heart leap.

‘I’m just sending this to your lawyer,’ the words had been on her lips, but she found she couldn’t say them. Instead she told him that the cows were fed, and he asked how Lucy had been that morning, idle meaningless chitchat, to put off the big things hovering over them. They said goodbye at the front gate, while Dan went off to milk the cows and Pippa shoved the letter back in her pocket and went home to bake out her misery.

She’d post the letter tomorrow, she thought as she battered a cake viciously. There was no rush. Tomorrow would do.