The Difference a Day Makes (30 page)

Tom hangs a bag of chocolate coins on the tree, making one of the huge branches droop under its weight. ‘Can I have one now please, Mummy?’

‘Save a bag,’ I say. ‘You and Jessica can share it after your tea.’

I loved the glittering gold bags of chocolate coins as a kid. They were always my favourite decoration - a trait that I’ve passed on to my own two. Despite the fact that I’m not a huge fan of Christmas, I love the process of decorating the tree, getting the ornaments out of their boxes, dusting them off, discovering treasures that I’d forgotten about in the intervening months.This year I’m making a big effort for Yuletide. Even though money is tight, I’ve spoiled the children.They’ve been through an extraordinarily difficult time and I want to reward them for how well they’ve handled it all. A pile of gaily wrapped presents is waiting to go under the tree just as soon as we’ve finished our handiwork. There’s an X-Box for Tom, a surfeit of tasteless Bratz stuff for Jessica that she’ll adore.There are clothes, chocolates and silly stocking-fillers to make them smile.

There’s an enormous wrapped present for the both of them from Alan too, and only I know what it is. Bless him, he confided in me that he’s handmade them a wooden sledge. It’s like a work of art, with their names meticulously carved on either side. They’ve never had a sledge before and I’m sure they’ll love it. Glancing out of the French windows, I can see that the snow is still falling heavily, coating the ground with a soft blanket of white. I can’t remember when I last saw snowfall like this. I’m not sure that the children have seen it at all. It’s been years since we had anything more than a few flakes in London and it really looks magical outside. I hate to admit this, especially at this late stage, but part of me is sorely going to miss this place.

The Bainbridges have forgiven us our trespasses - or our dog’s trespasses, in particular - and Gill has kindly made us a beautiful wreath for our front door.They’ve brought presents for Tom and Jessica too which is just so kind of them. If only we were staying I’m sure that we could have become firm friends. Everything looks so truly wonderful. There’s only one thing - one person - missing from this Christmas to make it perfect.

I check my watch. We’re all going to the family service at St Mary’s tonight. Alan’s joining us, so is Guy, and they’re both going to be our guests for Christmas lunch tomorrow. It will be strange to have Christmas without William - it was the time of year he loved the most. He adored the whole thing, from dressing the tree to flaming the Christmas pudding to our traditional family walk on Boxing Day - but we’re just going to have to make the best of it. My sister Serena arrived just ahead of the snow - also laden down with presents for the children. She’s now upstairs having a hot shower and a glass of good red wine that I’ve liberated from Will’s stash to revive her.

‘We’d better be making a move,’ I say to the children. ‘We don’t want to be late.’ What I mean is that we don’t want a pew at the back near the draughty door. ‘Are we nearly finished?’

They both nod and come to stand next to me. I slip my arms around my kids and cuddle them to me. It’s at times like this when I still miss my husband the most. Gradually one ticks off the milestones - first Christmas without him, then it will soon be our wedding anniversary,Will’s birthday, my birthday, the kids’ birthdays, perhaps a holiday on our own and, eventually, somehow, we will have managed to survive for a whole year without him. The thought makes a lump come to my throat and we have to get out of here before I cry.

Ushering the children through to the kitchen, I get them to start the lengthy procedure of putting on boots and coats and hats. ‘Serena,’ I call out. ‘We need to go.’

I check on Hamish who’s currently locked in the scullery. There was no way that we would have got the tree decorated with that pest around. He’s still alive, but complaining loudly at such inhuman treatment. I give him a cursory fuss and then re-wedge the chair against the handle so that there can be no escape. He whines even more abjectly from behind the door.

The turkey, fresh from Tunliffe’s Farm courtesy of Guy, is sitting on the work surface. I cooked it today in the Aga, which I’ve finally mastered just in time to be returning to a bog standard electric number, so that we can have some warm turkey sandwiches after the Christmas service, another family tradition that was Will’s idea. Plus there was no space for the turkey to languish in the fridge until tomorrow as it’s an enormous bird and the shelves are already full and groaning with festive food. I lifted it out of the oven half an hour ago and now it’s tightly covered with tin foil. Briefly, I consider giving Hamish a bit to placate him, but decide that would only encourage him.

I boot and suit myself, ready for the elements. I’ll swear it was never this cold in London either. Serena appears, still managing to look chic in arctic-style gear. She has on Ugg boots, brown jeans and an off-white padded jacket with a hood trimmed with chocolate-coloured fur. I’ve tried to spruce myself up too and am wearing my black Joseph trousers, a red cashmere sweater and a big black coat that I hardly ever wore in Town, but which has seen much service over the last few weeks.

‘We won’t be long,’ I shout to the dog over my shoulder. ‘Try to be good, Hamish.’

Then we all step out into the falling snow and I close the door behind me.

 

 

 

G
uy strode into the churchyard. The snow was thick and deep. It looked like one of those scenes that you saw on Christmas cards, the quaint church with the orange glow from the stained-glass windows, the dark skeletal trees tipped with frosted snow, sparkling like diamonds. The snow-covered moors loomed in the background; it would be a raw night to be up there and Guy hoped that no one had an emergency that he had to go out to. The problem with dealing with the animal kingdom was that it didn’t observe festive holidays.

What an idyllic picture this was, though. It made him glad to be living in Helmshill and, at this moment, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. By the path he could see Tom, Jessica and Amy’s sister. Amy was on her knees next to Will’s grave, placing a bright red poinsettia in front of the headstone which looked incongruous in the monochrome scene. He saw her wipe a tear from her eye and she stood up to cuddle the children. The joy he’d experienced at seeing her dissipated. She was still very much another man’s wife even if that man was no longer here. It would serve him well to remember that.

He slowed his pace, giving them a minute to compose themselves and then, when he saw Amy risk a tearful smile again, he strode up behind them.

‘Is this cold enough for you?’ he asked.

She turned towards him and the warmth of her smile took his breath away. Try as he might to control his head, his heart had somehow gone seriously awry. ‘It’s fabulous,’ she said. ‘Like a winter wonderland.’

He wanted to take her hand, but daren’t, so they walked side by side into the busy church. The congregation might be a little reticent on a normal Sunday, but the high days and holidays brought out the good folk of Helmshill in force. Alan had come up from Scarsby and was already inside the church, sitting at a pew alone, and as they all slipped in beside him, the man parted with one of his rare smiles.

This just felt so right, Guy thought as he sat on the hard pew, hands clasped in front of him in an attempt to emulate prayer. After being alone for so long it was as if a ready-made family had been delivered directly to his doorstep and had lifted him from the loneliness he hadn’t even realised that he’d embraced. What could he do to keep it like this? That’s all he wanted. Amy, the kids, her sister, even Alan. He wanted them all to be his family now, and he couldn’t bear the thought that Amy didn’t share, maybe didn’t even know about, his dream.

The vicar led the service, Christmas carols were sung, the voices of the villagers ringing out bright and clear in the church. Halfway through singing ‘Silent Night’ he had to stop. The notes simply wouldn’t come. It had brought a lump to Guy’s throat and a tear to his eyes. He was getting sentimental in his old age. Amy was next to him and he glanced towards her. She had stopped singing too and tears were rolling down her face. He wondered what was going through her mind.Was she thinking about her husband? Was she wondering what might have been? Was she even having second thoughts about leaving all this behind?

Surreptitiously, he took her hand in his. Blow what the villagers would think, if any of them noticed. She needed comfort and he was the one who wanted to be there to give it to her. Amy didn’t move it away. Instead, she looked gratefully at him, soft blue eyes flooding, and that look pierced his soul.

The words
I love you
were lingering unspoken on his tongue, longing for release. Well, for now, they would have to stay there.

 

 

 

W
e walk back along the path from the church, exchanging hugs and Christmas greetings with various villagers, oblivious to the silent, steady fall of snow. There are powdery drifts against the headstones, and the poinsettia I placed with Will earlier is already heavily tipped with white.

There’s a warm glow inside me and, for the first time, I’m happy to acknowledge that I’m part of the community here now. Guy held my hand throughout the church service and I don’t know whether it was to comfort me or for some other entirely more scary reason, but it felt good, too good.

He stands in front of me now. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say and I kiss him tenderly on the cheek.‘Come about noon. Serena’s brought a couple of bottles of decent champagne. We can get legless before lunch.’

Guy laughs and I realise that it’s a sound I’m growing to love, which frightens me and thrills me in equal measures. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Alan, wrapped up in an overcoat that looks like it dates back to the war, hovers behind us. I kiss him on the cheek too, but am not sure whether he enjoys it or not. He touches his face where my lips have been and, movingly, tears spring to his eyes. Maybe it has been too long since anyone kissed him. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow too, Alan.’

He nods and strides off into the night and I can hardly bear the thought of him going back to his cottage alone on Christmas Eve. I look at Guy and feel the same way. Perhaps I should have invited them both back to the house now for warm turkey sarnies. But I guess that I should also spend some time with Serena as we haven’t had a chance to talk since she arrived.

‘Tomorrow, then,’ I say brightly.

Guy leans in and kisses me, his hands on my arms, even though we’ve already done this bit. His aim is slightly off and he brushes my mouth before he connects with my cheek. The warmth of his lips takes me by surprise and, like Alan, I almost lift my fingers to touch the spot. Our eyes lock and, for some reason, I find it hard to tear myself away.

‘I’m freezing my butt off here,’ Serena says, clapping her hands together and bringing some much-needed reality back to the moment. ‘Are we ready to rock?’

‘Coming, coming,’ I say, flustered as I break free from Guy’s embrace. ‘See you tomorrow.’ I wave over my shoulder as I walk away.

Tom and Jessica are way ahead of us already and I fall into step next to Serena.

‘Hmm,’ my sister says, regarding me quizically.‘Tender moment there.’

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Thanks for your timely intervention.’

‘Sorry. Didn’t realise until I opened my big mouth.’ She gives me a squeeze. ‘Plenty of time for a re-run.’

‘Not really,’ I say. After all, our time here at Helmshill Grange is rapidly coming to an end.

I’ve left lights on all over the house so that it would look warm and welcoming on our return. I have to say that the Grange looks lovely, very festive. The heating’s still pumping out too for all it’s worth so, for once, it will be like a sauna inside. This is one Christmas where I want to feel toasty and pampered and content.

The kids start to throw snowballs at each other, shrieking as targets are hit.

I nudge Serena. ‘Come on,’ I urge. ‘Let’s show them how this is done.’

Giggling like schoolgirls, we both grab handfuls of snow and hurl them at the kids, who scream with delight.Then they round on us and give us a good pelting. Somehow Serena turns rogue and ends up on their side and all three of them chase me back to the house, showering me with snow while I shout and run, breathlessly. It’s a long time since I have felt so carefree. I look back at the kids, my sister, Helmshill Grange. This is a wonderful moment that I’ll always cherish.

I reach the back door first and, still laughing and panting hard, push it open. Then I stop dead in my tracks. It takes a moment for the scene to register in my brain. The laughter stops in my throat and turns to a cry of,
‘Oh no!’

 

 

 

O
n the floor in the middle of the kitchen is the turkey. The tinfoil is shredded, as is the bird. Torn lumps of the meat litter the floor. Our Christmas lunch looks like it has been shaken to hell and back. I can feel my face darken and my blood boils. Hamish! Wait till I get my hands on that flaming animal. The chair wedged against the scullery door is lying toppled on its side and the door is open. That wretched dog is better than Houdini. How has he managed to get out again?

It’s clear that it is not all Hamish’s work though. His accomplice is currently lying on the kitchen table languidly licking turkey grease from between her claws and from round her mouth. Milly Molly Mandy pauses in her ablutions and gives me a disdainful look.

‘Get off that bloody table before I skin you alive,’ I shriek, just as the kids and Serena come in behind me also laughing and panting with exertion. They too pull up short.

Milly Molly Mandy thinks twice about acting cool and shoots off the table, scarpering through the living room at warp speed.