Читать книгу Coming Home For Christmas: Warm, humorous and completely irresistible! - Julia Williams - Страница 17

‘Lucy, sweetheart, be reasonable,’ Pippa was saying as she tried to get her daughter into bed, ‘you know it’s way past your bedtime.’

Lucy just glared at her and stuck her feet out from beneath the covers, the feet that Pippa had just firmly tucked in. She had gone rigid all over, and Pippa was finding it impossible to move her. Lucy was getting so big, the time was going to come when she couldn’t manage this at all. As it was, with Lucy in recalcitrant mood, Pippa felt like she could be there all night.

She knew why Lucy wasn’t playing ball of course. It was because Richard was here. Lucy made no bones about her dislike of Richard, despite his best efforts to appease her. They’d had days out, just the three of them, Richard had bought her presents. ‘He can’t just buy me, you know,’ Lucy had typed angrily on her keyboard, when Pippa had told her off for not being grateful.

She couldn’t blame her beautiful special daughter. From the terrible moment when they’d had the diagnosis that Lucy had cerebral palsy and would always be wheelchair bound, Dan had been there to support, help and care for Lucy. She was closer to him than even the boys were. What had Pippa been thinking? She’d walk in with a new man and everything would be ok? Of course Lucy was going to resent anyone who she thought was taking her beloved dad’s place. It was entirely natural for her to feel that way. Nathan and George moaned about it too, to a lesser degree, but they were better at hiding it, and with more independence than Lucy could ever hope to have, could arrange to be out when Richard was round. Lucy didn’t have that option, Pippa thought ruefully – no wonder she was kicking up.

But what was Pippa supposed to do? Not see him at all? Not bring him into the house? Or should she be a nun for the rest of her life, because Lucy couldn’t cope with another man in her dad’s place? The eternal dilemma of the newly single mum made that bit more tricky because of the complications of Lucy’s life.

That was an unworthy thought, and Pippa scotched it from her brain. It was always difficult for children whose parents split up, with Lucy the problems were compounded that’s all.

‘Please, Luce, I did let you stay up later.’

A sop to her daughter to try and soften her a bit. It hadn’t worked. Lucy was still looking at her mulishly from under the covers. It didn’t help that Lucy was also hitting puberty and very definitely hormonal. Normally a sunny child, her mood swings had become much more marked in recent months. Pippa had a feeling that the next few years were going to be very challenging. If Dan hadn’t left, she’d feel up to coping – Dan had always made dealing with Lucy’s issues seem a shared burden – but now she felt bleak facing it alone. How was she going to manage?

‘Stop being naughty,’ said Pippa as Lucy resolutely stuck her legs out of the bed, again, for the third, or fourth time. Jeez. How long was she planning to keep this up?

‘Not being naughty,’ Lucy typed on her computer sulkily.

‘Yes you are,’ said Pippa firmly. ‘You know you won’t get up in the morning if you don’t go to bed now.’

Lucy stuck her tongue out in response, but did eventually allow herself to be tucked in. She even gave Pippa a kiss good night – she was an affectionate child, and for all her posturing, she still wanted a hug at bedtime.

Pippa sighed, as she turned out the light. She hoped Lucy could come to terms with what was going on. How could she ever contemplate seriously having a future with Richard if Lucy hated him?

Pippa knew this happened to other people, yet the circumstances of her split with Dan had left her uncertain about what to do or where to go next. Richard would turn up unannounced and cook her dinner, ‘Just because,’ he’d say with a ready smile, or organise football tickets for the boys. And he never took Lucy’s strops to heart, ‘She’ll get over it, Pippa,’ he’d say, ‘don’t worry so much, it will be fine.’

Richard was good for her. He made her feel safe and comfortable and looked after. Pippa, who had spent so many years looking after other people, was enjoying that. And despite a sneaking suspicion that Lucy might after all know her better than she knew herself and be right, she wasn’t going to stop seeing Richard. At least not yet. There was no need to make it serious. A light-hearted love affair after all the serious doom and gloom of the last two years would do her good. Or so she told herself.

‘She’s settled then?’ Richard said. He was sitting in front of the TV looking at home. Pippa tried (and failed) to picture him there all the time. Too soon for that, Pippa, too soon.

Richard held out a glass of wine and she sat down next to him and snuggled up. This felt cosy and nice. She should stop analysing and just go with the flow.

‘Just about,’ said Pippa. ‘I’m sorry she’s so naughty when you’re here.’

Even before the bedtime fuss, Lucy had been in an incredibly bad mood. Deliberately tipping her plate on the floor when Richard had mildly suggested she should finish the dinner she was making a point of not eating because he was there.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Richard equably. ‘She’s had a lot to deal with in a short time and she’s asserting herself.’

‘Thanks, for being so understanding,’ said Pippa. ‘I know she doesn’t make it easy on you.’

Richard put his arm around her and pulled her tight.

‘Or on you, Pip,’ he said, kissing her. ‘You’re amazing you know that?’

It gave Pippa a warm, fuzzy feeling to be told that. Too often she felt like a catastrophic failure. It was nice to think someone thought she was amazing. Particularly someone as good looking and caring as Richard. She was doing the right thing. Lucy would come round eventually.

They settled back to watch some dross on TV, and Pippa felt herself destress. After half an hour, she was feeling much better.

That was until Richard put a spanner in the works.

‘So has there been any more news about the development opposite?’

Pippa groaned. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Marianne had already been on at her about starting up a campaign, but at the moment she wasn’t sure she had the energy. She would have preferred not to discuss it with Richard either, but he’d seen the planning notices pinned up down the lane, and his take on things was very different from hers.

‘Not really,’ said Pippa. ‘I know it’s going to be too big and out of keeping with the area and not what any of us want.’

‘Maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way round,’ said Richard. ‘Perhaps you should take advantage of it.’

‘Advantage how?’ said Pippa.

‘Why not be part of it?’ said Richard. ‘When you and Dan divorce, you’ll have to think of the farm. Why not sell some of your land? Make things easier for you both?’

‘But we don’t want to sell,’ said Pippa. ‘This farm has been in my family for three generations.’

‘Things change,’ said Richard. ‘And you’ve said yourself the farm is losing money.’

‘I know,’ said Pippa, suddenly angry that he was suggesting things that had already gone through her mind. ‘But sell it? I don’t think I could.’

Marianne took the phone call. It was Eve’s mum, Joan.

‘Hello, is Gabriel there?’ she asked. She sounded jittery and nervous.

‘Sorry, he’s not in yet,’ said Marianne.

She looked out of the window into the gloom of a February evening. Gabriel was still out – the lambing season was getting going in earnest now, and he was very busy, working all hours helping deliver the new lambs. Marianne helped out when she could, but she couldn’t help Gabe in the evenings, so Dan or Gabriel’s dad often came out to lend a hand.

The twins were tucked up in bed, Steven was away at school, even their new pet lamb, Dolly, was asleep in her basket in the corner of the kitchen. It was likely to be several hours before Gabriel came in. Marianne felt lost and lonely and not in the mood to deal with Eve’s mum who could be very difficult and demanding.

‘Ah,’ said Joan, ‘have you any idea when he’s likely to be back?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Marianne, wondering why Joan was ringing them, it wasn’t as if they were often in touch. ‘Can I help at all?’

‘It’s about Eve …’

It would be. Eve had been part of the fabric of her relationship with Gabriel since day one. Marianne had met Gabriel just after Eve had left him, and she’d seen for herself the pain she’d caused him, particularly when she’d come back to Hope Christmas and tried to win custody of Steven. And more recently, when she’d come back to live in the area, and suggested Steven go to the choir school in Middleminster. It was what Steven wanted, but it had caused Gabriel considerable heartache.

And over the last couple of months since Eve had been ill again, Marianne knew he was worrying about her. He couldn’t help himself. Gabriel had spent so many years worrying about Eve, he still felt guilty when he thought she needed him. When was it ever not about Eve? Chiding herself for being uncharitable – Eve couldn’t help being ill, despite the problems it gave them – Marianne forced herself to say, ‘How is she? Gabriel said she’s doing really well.’

Gabriel had been taking Steven to see his mother at regular intervals, and even popped in to the hospital once or twice on his own. One of the many wonderful things about Gabriel was his kindness and consideration. Marianne knew that he still cared about his ex wife and worried about her when she was ill, but his kindness and consideration could also be bloody frustrating at times. Eve had left him, and it wasn’t Gabe’s fault that she was ill now. Marianne tried not to let it get to her, but sometimes, it grated that her husband was still so involved in his ex wife’s life.

‘Yes, she is,’ said Joan. ‘And they’re thinking of letting her come home.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Marianne, still curious as to what it had to do with them. Despite her frustrations about the way Eve’s problems impacted on them, Marianne was pleased Eve was better (as Joan must be too, the last few weeks must have been a nightmare), but it wasn’t really her problem. ‘So she’ll be coming back to stay with you, I presume?’

‘Ah, she would …’ the unspoken ‘but’ hovered between them.

Here it came, the real reason Joan was ringing.

‘Unfortunately, I’ve booked a cruise,’ said Joan, ‘and it’s not possible to cancel at this late stage …’

You selfish cow, thought Marianne, her sympathy for Joan dissipating instantly. Eve was Joan’s only child. No wonder she had rejection issues.

‘… so I was wondering … the thing is, Eve has nowhere to go. So could she …’

‘… come to us?’ said Marianne. The cheek of the woman! Not prepared to take responsibility for her sick daughter (whose illness she was probably to blame for – she’d given Eve a rackety dysfunctional childhood) and yet expecting her ex son-in-law to pick up the pieces.

‘It will only be temporary till she sorts herself out,’ said Joan persuasively. ‘She’ll hardly be in your way.’

Wanting to throttle the woman, Marianne gritted her teeth. ‘I can’t promise anything, Joan,’ she said, ‘I need to talk it through with Gabriel first.’

‘If you could let me know as soon as possible?’ Joan clearly didn’t have a clue that her call was unwelcome.

‘I’ll let you know when Gabe and I have had a discussion,’ said Marianne firmly, putting the phone down with a satisfying bang. Bloody woman. How dare she? But then, Eve couldn’t be left on her own. It wasn’t her fault she had a lousy mum.

And in her heart, she knew there wasn’t really any talking to Gabriel about it. Eve would be coming to stay and that was that.

Gabriel walked in at that moment, complaining about the cold. He stopped dead when he saw the look on Marianne’s face.

‘What?’ Gabriel asked.

‘That was Joan,’ said Marianne. ‘Eve’s coming out of hospital and she has nowhere to stay.’

Gabriel sat down with a thud.

‘Bugger,’ said Gabriel. ‘Can’t she stay with her mum?’

‘Joan’s going on a cruise apparently,’ said Marianne. ‘No doubt it would cramp her style.’

‘No doubt,’ said Gabriel drily. ‘Well we can’t have her. We’ve got enough on our plate. I’ll ring Joan back and say no.’

Marianne let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She’d been so sure Gabe would say yes straight away. She felt unkind, but Gabe was right, they did have enough to deal with.

But when Gabe spoke to Joan his resolve lasted all of five minutes. Marianne could hear from Gabe’s responses how insistent she was being.

‘And there really is no one else?’ he said eventually, pulling a face at Marianne.

‘… No of course I don’t want her to relapse,’ he added, which made Marianne’s blood boil, as if Gabe were responsible for Eve’s illness.

In the end, she saw him give a helpless little shrug and say, ‘Of course she can stay here.’

He put the phone down and turned to Marianne, who was looking at him in horror. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but what else could I do?’

Cat was online researching recipes. She wondered what she was going to do now that A Shropshire Christmas wasn’t going to be filling the screens of the nation. After her latest long chat with Anna about it, they’d concluded she’d go ahead with the book any way as her publishers were still happy to be on board. In the meantime, Cat would pursue other avenues.

‘You could always try a reality TV show,’ suggested Anna.

It had been a joke when Marianne mentioned it, but to Cat’s horror, Anna was serious.

‘I’m sure Paige would love me to, but I don’t think so,’ said Cat with a snort. ‘Besides, I couldn’t leave the kids that long.’

It seemed to Cat sometimes, her kids needed her more the older they got. As well as Mel’s AS levels, which of course were a huge priority, James had GCSEs to contend with. Not that you’d know, he was so laid back about them Cat felt she had to be on top of him all the time, making sure he was getting some work done.

‘You worry too much, Mum,’ he said. ‘It will be fine.’

And it probably would be, James had such a happy-go-lucky nature, things probably would turn out well for him whatever happened. And though he had given up on his own career as a teenage TV chef, which had sprung up on the back of Cat’s TV work, he always had that to fall back on if all else failed.

Paige was another matter entirely. Her life was one long drama – even making GCSE choices was turning into a daily argument, with Noel’s mild suggestions that Textiles and Tourism weren’t perhaps the most academic subjects she could take, causing an explosion of ‘You don’t understand anything!’. True Mel had been quite explosive at that age, but Paige was taking it to a whole new level. Most of her tantrums related to her phone, to which she was addicted. She was always on snapchat and ask.fm, neither of which Cat remotely understood. Every time she got to grips with a new technology it seemed to change, and she and Noel waged a constant and wearying war of attrition against it.

Ruby, who at ten, was still reasonably straightforward, was even more techie than Paige. It exhausted Cat to be constantly telling both of them to get off their phones, only to find Ruby ten minutes later hooked up with the iPad. Honestly, technology, it was the bane of a modern parent’s life.

Who was it who’d told her when she’d moaned about dealing with the difficulties of toddlers and babies, ‘It will get worse’? They’d been right. Despite the turmoil Lou Lou had wrought upon their lives, Cat found looking after her relatively uncomplicated. She went to bed when she was put there, was asleep by seven, and didn’t answer back.

Cat found a file for a Christmas cake that she’d come across a while ago, and printed it off, before starting to type, ‘Thinking about making a Christmas cake takes a lot of forward planning. In an ideal world, you should make it in October, but those of us with lives to live have been known to squeeze it in in November …’ without much enthusiasm. She felt so much less interested in the book now it wasn’t going to be a TV series. How very shallow of her. But she enjoyed the buzz of being in front of the cameras and was going to miss it.

Don’t be daft, Cat, she scolded herself. It’s only one show.

But what if it wasn’t? What if all her TV work dried up? After all, she was in her mid forties and a woman. Time and TV weren’t on her side. She felt it herself in her daily life. Whenever she was out with Lou Lou, inevitably all the talk was about the baby, and no one noticed her, but it was more than that. She knew her teenage self would be furious by her middle aged disappointment, but she never even got wolf whistled anymore. And last time she’d been in London, a man in his thirties had politely given her his seat in a manner which had made her feel both old, ugly and decrepit.

Useless to tell herself that looks didn’t matter; she had age and wisdom on her side. Useless to know that Noel still found her sexy. A TV director no longer thought she could cut it. She was getting wrinkles, going grey, wore glasses, and had an unsightly ring of tummy fat that resolutely refused to go. She felt fat, old and frumpy. And worse than that, she felt invisible.