Driving Home for Christmas (24 page)

‘I wish I’d been as strong as you. I wish someone had offered me help,’ Anna said gently, looking away, ‘things might have been completely different.’

‘Who was the father?’

Anna laughed, a shakily drawn-on eyebrow raised. ‘You, of all people, are asking me that question? You know how irrelevant it is.’

‘Did he know?’

Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, he knew. And men kind of had a get out of jail free card with that back then, and I’m relieved. I didn’t want to spend my life with that idiot. I didn’t want him corrupting my child’s education and values just because we had a brief moment of passion.’ Anna paused. ‘A
very
brief moment of passion.’

‘Skye met Joey. The father,’ Megan added.

‘Yes, she didn’t believe it was a great loss, I gather,’ Anna chuckled.

‘It wasn’t. I’m glad she saw that. However, she seems to have found a replacement…’

‘That boy of yours, from all those years ago,’ Anna nodded.

Megan shrugged.

‘It was obvious, darling. If you didn’t have Skye, you’d have been mooning about reading Neruda and retiring to your bed with ennui. You were in love then…and it looks like you still are.’

‘I’m in lust,’ Megan smirked, ‘and he’s a wonderful man. Safe, and strong, and he’d be a good father…but…’

‘But?’

‘But I have my life. And I raise my kid my way. And I’ve done it for years without needing some knight on some stupid white unicorn to come and save me, so why screw with it now?’

‘Unicorn?’

‘Even more unlikely,’ Megan shrugged, playing with the thread of the blanket. ‘Anyway, why are we even talking about this? We should be talking about you, and all…this.’

Anna blinked. ‘Darling, do you really think the dying want to talk about death? I’d much rather talk about your sex life.’

‘Well, that makes one of us.’

‘So, where have you left it with…?’

‘Lucas,’ Megan replied. ‘Well, he offered me a diamond ring as a Christmas present, and then we got the call and he drove us here.’

‘He asked you to marry him?’

‘No…I don’t think so.’

‘Don’t you think you’d better be sure about such things?’

Megan huffed. ‘There wasn’t really much time in between trying to calm down my parents, keep Skye happy when she’s so painfully intuitive, and find our way here without me having a mental breakdown!’

Anna lay back against her pillows, unimpressed. ‘No need to be so dramatic, darling, really.’

Megan pouted like a teenager, staring at the floor, throwing her arms up in an exaggerated shrug.

‘May I offer a last little bit of advice? Not like you’ll be getting much more of it from me,’ Anna smiled wryly. ‘It has been the longest time since you remembered to just choose something for
you.
Not what’s best for me, best for Skye, how it affects your parents, your workmates…at some point in this life, love, you’ve got to choose it because it’ll make you happy. Because you feel it’s right in your gut. You did that once before, and everything turned out just fine.’ Anna gestured around them.

‘Not completely fine,’ Megan said, starting to cry, holding Anna’s hand, careful to avoid the IV.

‘Now now, darling. This is not the time for theatricals.’ Anna patted her hand. ‘Is that fella of yours here then? In the hospital?’

‘Probably keeping Skye company, yeah,’ Megan shrugged.

‘And that’s how he’s spending his Christmas Day? He gives you a ring, drives you to your dying relative’s side, looks after your daughter…and you’re not sure?’

‘Yeah it’s all great
now,
but…’ Megan growled, ‘Stop trying to turn this back on me! Don’t you have some big declarations to make on your deathbed?’

‘Ooh, look who’s suddenly happy to be crass when their love life is under scrutiny!’ Anna laughed, elbowing her. ‘Go on, love, bring them all in, find some glasses for that champagne, and let me have my final party, would you?’

Chapter Fourteen

Anna died a few days later. The one and only time she left anywhere without a dramatic exit. Megan was a little relieved, but had been operating on auto pilot all week. They were back in the house, going about their lives, surrounded by little old ladies who wanted to offer condolences and bottles of gin. Megan had tried to take down the Gatsby Christmas decorations, but Skye stopped her. Jeremy shrugged. ‘Let her have a few more days.’

Skye had withdrawn. She wasn’t really talking. She would sit in her tipi with a book but was staring into space. She would come down to dinner and eat quietly, pushing her fork around, smushing up her peas until they looked like a green field on her plate. The only time she seemed to act like Skye at all was when she got a phone call, at seven on the dot, every night, from Lucas.

Megan knew not to pick up the phone at that time, and Skye glared at her if she tried. Somehow, Megan was the bad guy in all of this. She’d left the ring in Lucas’ car, and hadn’t spoken to him since Anna passed away. He seemed to get it. Her brain was so full of funeral arrangements and bills and looking after everyone and spending all her days desperately trying to see the smallest light appear in Skye’s eyes, that she had no room for Lucas.

The phone rang, and Skye looked to Megan for approval. She still had that, at least. Megan nodded, eyes looking to the clock in the kitchen. Seven pm. She stacked the dinner plates in the dishwasher, and Jeremy appeared with a bottle of red and two wine glasses. They sat at the breakfast bar, Megan’s eyes on her daughter, sitting out on the hallway talking intently.

‘Should I be worried about her?’ she asked Jez, his grey eyes tired and sore. He shrugged.

‘She’s talking to someone. That’s what matters.’

‘She’s talking to the boy I loved for years, slept with a few times, and then have ignored pretty steadily since Christmas.’ Megan reached for her wine, ignoring Jeremy’s exasperated face as she glugged away before the wine had time to breathe.

‘Well. that’s your fault, not hers. She just made friends with a nice guy who’s trying to be there for her whilst she deals with grief for the first time in her life. Be grateful.’

Megan knew he was right. But why did she always have to be the bad guy? Why was it always
poor Lucas, Megan screwed you over again.
Maybe he should stop letting her. Maybe he should stop trying to connect with people.

Skye looked over at her in irritation, as if she knew what her mother was thinking, and stood up, taking the phone with her upstairs.

‘To Anna.’ Jeremy held up his glass, toasting her as they had every night that week.

‘To Anna,’ Megan agreed, ‘you’ve left us in a hell of a mess.’

***

December 2005

‘So, this is it. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever the Spanish say.’ Anna spread her hands wide, and Megan took in the hallway in awe. The black and white tiles could do with some cleaning, and the large spiral staircase was a little dusty, but she’d never seen anything like it. She shifted weight to her right hip, and Skye mewled a little in her arms, her tiny pink face like crumpled velvet.

‘Are you sure this is okay?’ Megan asked for the hundredth time, looking at the ceiling.

Anna smiled warmly, her darkly kohled eyes intense as she patted Megan’s hand. ‘Darling, stay as long as you want. Hell, stay forever. You’ll be saving me from an eternally boring life as part of the old biddie brigade.’

Anna didn’t walk, she swanned, her black beaded dress swaying with every movement. She gestured wildly. ‘You see the thing is, my dear, as your mother has no doubt told you, I’m a bit of a vampire.’

Megan blinked, and Anna chuckled.

‘I need youth around me to keep me young. Without you, I’ll wither away into a crochet and bingo hall existence, and that simply won’t do.’

Anna didn’t look like the type of woman who even knew what a bingo hall was.

‘Let me show you to your room, darling.’ Anna patted Megan’s shoulder. ‘Really, I want you here. I know what it’s like when you make a decision and there’s nowhere to go.’

***

Life became a strange version of normal pretty quickly. The funeral was painfully grand, with wailing old ladies fainting and getting themselves into a hysteria that Anna would have found delightful. There were white trumpet lilies with little diamantes in, everything was opulence and glamour and over the top. The priest said some pointless words, and Megan could almost hear Anna saying ‘Old codger, has no idea what he’s saying. Never trust a man who isn’t swayed by sex, darling. Who knows what his priorities are?’

Everyone came back to the house, where they served champagne on tap, and gloriously young attractive men in black tie handed out posh canapés. It was like a party where no one was allowed to have a good time.

Megan looked over at her mother, who spent most of the day looking shell-shocked. She sat in the corner, in her frumpy black dress and simple silver jewellery, and Megan searched for any instance of Anna in Heather. It was easier when they’d been seen as sisters. Sisters were so often opposite. But Heather was losing a mother for the second time in her life.

Megan looked over at her own daughter, sitting looking miserable in a black dress that looked like it had come from a halloween shop. Black taffeta flared out, with little black bobby socks with white lace edging. Megan had no idea where she’d found that, but she was not getting into a fight today. Skye seemed resistant to receiving any comfort from Megan. But that was a mother’s lot in life, to be the bad guy.

Megan stayed busy as much as she could, making tea and coffee, accepting condolences, ignoring any questions about what would happen to the house now. Towards the end of the night, as the hangers-on left, it was just her and her parents, Jez, and a couple of the more regular biddies, sitting around with a bottle of scotch, telling Anna stories. There were a lot of them, and they were as risqué and ridiculous as Megan had hoped for. She took off her shoes and curled up on the sofa, arm curled around Skye who dozed against her. She stroked her daughter’s wispy hair, and breathed deeply, sustaining herself on the energy that surrounded them. They were all vampires, really.

The doorbell rang, and she stretched, feline, placing Skye carefully against the back of the sofa. By the time she got to the front door, one of the waitstaff had already opened it. Lucas stood there, looking solid and painfully gorgeous in a black suit and white shirt, open at the collar. He shrugged, blue eyes meeting hers, looking blank and giving nothing away.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ he returned.

‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ she said twisting her hands, trying to ignore how her stomach dipped at the sight of him. She wasn’t sure if it was guilt, attraction or something more important.

‘Skye asked me. She said you needed me.’

‘I make it a point never to need anyone,’ Megan said, standing her ground. ‘When I take a chance they tend to die on me.’ She let out a half-chuckle, half-gasp.

‘People need people, Angel.’ He stepped closer, until she was looking at his throat, the gap in his shirt, the spicy smell of his cologne tantalising and dangerous.
Please, please see through me, please put your arms around me,
Megan thought, and then shook her head, irritated at her cowardly mind. It was Anna’s
funeral
, for god’s sake.

‘Not me,’ she said shakily, trying to sound like it was all a joke, ‘but my daughter is a matchmaker, obviously.’

‘Or she’s just smarter than both of us,’ he said, giving her a significant look. It was so terrifically Lucas, that tilted head, that eyebrow. The look always said
you know better than this,
or more often,
you are better than all this.
It was usually reserved for those days when she’d snuck out of the house, or got ridiculously drunk.
You’re better than this,
he’d say with his eyes,
you can’t fool me.

‘Well, you should go see her, you’re pretty much the only person she wants to talk to these days,’ Megan said, trying not to sound bitter and failing. She stared at the Christmas tree, starting to droop, and felt her chest closing up.

‘You forgot your Christmas present in the car,’ he said, and when she turned back to look at him, he was holding out that damn brown box again.

A noise escaped her throat. ‘I thought I made myself clear about that.’

‘No, Megan, you’ve never made yourself clear about anything. You say nothing, and then run away, because it’s easier than having a difficult conversation.’

‘You want to do this
now?
My Aunt is
dead
, Lucas! The person who took me, who supported me, who allowed me to be everything I am, she’s
gone.
And it is all I can do not to fall apart. But you want to talk about why I didn’t want to raise a kid with you at seventeen?’ Megan could feel herself getting more and more worked up, like a steam train. Everything was building and climbing and she couldn’t breathe for the words that were escaping. And Lucas was just standing there, with that smug smirk, daring her to say what she meant.

‘Fine, you want to do this now?’ she growled. ‘I didn’t want to raise a kid with you! I wanted to have my own life. I wanted to go to university and leave the town and live somewhere where no one knew my name or my story or anything about me. And I want to raise my kid the way I want. I wanted her to be
mine
, my
one
good thing that I could do with my life. And I’m doing that. I don’t need you to sweep in, and call me Angel and pretend that I never do a fucking thing wrong! Because I am a
mess,
Lucas! I’m a fucking fraud and every time you turn up, you see right through it.’

Lucas looked bored. ‘You done?’

‘Yes, I’m done. Keep your jewellery. Go see my daughter. She’s the only one who needs you here.’

Megan turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs, embarrassed and humiliated. She went into Anna’s room, all beautiful silk fabrics in blues and purples, screaming richness. Megan closed the door quietly, and sat on the bed, swinging her legs up. She looked at the walls, all arty black and white prints, a classy portrait of Anna when she was younger, the same cigarette holder hovering at her mouth. Her dressing table was full of powders and potions, colourful bottles like an apothecary’s lab, and Megan lay back against the pillows, breathing deeply to inhale the last familiar scent of Chanel No 5 and menthol. Within minutes, she was asleep.