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Prologue (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
‘Daddy, you’ve been gone a while. I was worried you wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas!’
Maya’s sweet little voice rose up in the darkness, reflecting a real sense of relief, closely followed by the love and joy bubbling up inside of her.
‘I know, Princess, it’s complicated. Some journeys take longer than others. Have you been a good girl?’
‘Yes, Daddy. Well, mostly. It’s still dark outside, is it snowing?’
‘No, no snow today.’ Maya wriggled down the bed, snuggling in as Niall tugged the duvet a little higher, tucking it in around her.
‘It’s still early, baby, you need to go back to sleep now.’
‘Will you stay with me?’ Her voice was a whisper, sleep beginning to wrap itself around her once more. ‘You won’t go away?’
‘I’ll be here when you need me, Maya. Daddy’s always here.’
Niall lay down next to his daughter and within seconds her breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic pattern.
‘I’ve missed you, baby, and I’m sorry.’ His words seemed to echo around the room, even though his voice was barely audible. In his head all he could hear was the haunting strains of Maya’s favourite Christmas song by the infamous Wizzard. The words seemed to overtake his thoughts as he began to relax. When the snowman brings the snow—
Chapter 1 (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
Elana (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
Christmas is Coming
It’s not that I’m a Christmas grouch, or anything, but this back-to-back festive cheer with the first of December still a week away is beginning to grate just the teensiest bit. Admittedly, a few of the oldies do get my foot tapping, but the last thing I need until I meet this deadline is to be distracted. The clock is ticking and that awful, cold-sweat panic is beginning to set in. There are bills to be paid and having to do Christmas on a tight budget is yet another pressure.
‘Maya, can you turn that music down just a little bit, please? Mummy’s trying to work.’
‘Okay, sorreee.’ The sound of her lilting voice drifting into the study makes my heart squish up with love, tinged with that now all-too-familiar sadness. The volume reduces by a few decibels, only to be replaced by shrieks of laughter as Maya and her best friend, Amelie, continue stringing beads for the Christmas tree. The tradition she’s always known still has to be upheld. At the moment it’s all about Christmas magic, until the year that she’s ready to face the dreaded truth – that Santa isn’t real. And this could be the last one, assuming we make it to the twenty-fifth without her caving in to the rumours. Even at the tender age of six and a half, some kids are so knowing these days and want to grow up much too quickly. Others, like Maya, are content to hang onto their childhood as long as they can and choose to ignore the rumours they hear at school. I guess it’s all about that inner desire to believe it’s a time when wonderful things can truly happen, no matter how old we are.
Oh, Santa, what would I wish for? To turn back the clock, but then what would be the point? I give myself a shake, this isn’t helping at all.
Once again my concentration is shattered beyond redemption and all it took was one line from a stupid Christmas song. The oldies are the best, but not when all they serve to do is to bring back painful memories. My head tells me firmly not to go there. I refuse to get maudlin as we approach the second Christmas without Niall. He would be disappointed in me. I thought I was doing much better this time around and avoiding the slippery slope that always seems to be one step away. It’s a ride I’ve taken so many times since the funeral, but wallowing is a luxury I can’t afford. Maya not only needs me to be strong, but to be in the moment with her. We missed too many moments in those early months after Niall was taken from us. The therapist I’d been seeing helped me to understand that when a loss occurs without warning the adjustment is always going to be difficult. Niall was strong and healthy, and … amazing. So full of life. But I wasn’t there with him when he took his last breath, crushed in a tangle of torn metal wedged beneath a barrier on the motorway. My stomach does an involuntary somersault as I try to push the horror away, realising no good comes of re-living the worst moment of our lives. The investigation concluded that one of the tyres had a blowout and his efforts to avoid careering into a lorry had actually caused the car to roll. In my heart I wondered if his reactions weren’t as sharp as normal, because he was over-tired and he paid the ultimate price in his haste to hurry home to us. He’d been working long hours to keep the money coming in to pay for the renovation work on our dream cottage on the edge of the Forest of Dean. Anything we could do ourselves, to save paying someone, we did, and that meant spending evenings and weekends stripping walls, filling and painting. He kept saying it wouldn’t be forever, but it turned out that for us it was our forever.
Reaching out for the coffee mug, I take a large gulp. It’s cold, but I need the caffeine hit. The funny thing is that even now I still find myself listening for his key in the door, as if what’s happened is nothing more than a nightmare from which I’m going to awaken. Tears these days are few and far between. There are none left to shed and I’m glad about that, at least. But the last thing I need now is to be using up energy I don’t have trying to be bright and breezy for Maya if I let myself regress. We’re at that sensitive time in her life when she’s changing in so many ways. At the moment she claims with a fierce determination that she believes in Santa, but I’m not sure whether it’s more about the desire to hold onto that belief, rather than the innocent, wide-eyed acceptance of the fairytale. Losing her dad was loss enough; perhaps this is one step too far and she feels as if the life she knew is slipping away from her.
I turn back to the flashing cursor in front of me, switch screens and begin typing.
Diary Log – day 481 since Niall left us. We’re doing okay. 10 days to hit my deadline and 31 days to Christmas. When did life become all about numbers?
I glance back at the entries above, reflecting that my therapist, Catherine Treadwell, would be proud. Gone is the anger once reflected in my daily entry, but gone also is any real sense of commitment to moving on. I’m in limbo. Reality now is worrying about money first and everything else second. Niall’s life insurance policy paid off the mortgage on this place but with only one salary coming in now, I’m living from month to month. Every penny of our nest egg went towards the renovation work, but we weren’t worried when the money ran out. We thought we had time on our side to turn Bay Tree Cottage into the perfect home. Except that, even if all the work is eventually carried out, it never will be perfect now, will it? How can it be, without Niall?
***
‘Mum, can we light the log fire tonight?’ Maya looks up at me with eager eyes.
‘I think we should wait until the weekend, darling. There isn’t really time to appreciate it on a school night, is there? Besides, I’m not even sure whether there are any logs left in the store. I promise to get it sorted as soon as I can.’
It was Niall’s job, sorting the fire. He would have booked the chimney sweep in early autumn and had the logs all ready and waiting, stacked neatly against the back wall of the garage. Ironically, last year I was much more organised. I suppose it was one of my coping mechanisms during those raw, early weeks and months. Keep going; keep doing something – anything, so I didn’t have to listen to what was in my head. But I feel bad. Maya will remember that this time last year we spent every evening huddled together on the sofa in front of the fire, reading. Hour upon hour we escaped into alternative worlds inspired by some wonderful authors. Roald Dahl’s Matilda, E. B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, and Maya’s favourite, Jill Murphy’s The Worst Witch, a story of tenderness and triumph.
It was the very worst of times, but I focused on getting us through it one day at a time. My gut instinct, immediately after the accident, had been to sell the cottage, just to escape that prevailing sense that something was missing. Niall was no longer here and it would never, ever be the same again. But soon realisation dawned that Maya needed a sense of continuity; the memories trapped within these walls were a lifeline for her, although a cruelly painful reminder for me. In a way she feels her dad is still here and I can’t take that away from her.
In a strange, surreal way, last winter brought us even closer together on a level that wasn’t really about the mother-daughter relationship. It was the bond of loss and of adjustment. I enjoyed the tales we read together just as much as Maya had done, desperate to escape our stark reality. Watching TV wasn’t even an option, as I couldn’t connect with the images flickering in front of me long enough to stop my mind from taking over. But reading a book out aloud, well, it wrapped us both in a cocoon.
Before heading into the kitchen to think about our evening meal I add chimney sweep, logs and fire-lighters to my to-do list. Clearly, it’s important to Maya for her to mention it and maybe it’s something we both need at the moment. Guilt starts to creep into my head, a niggling worry that seems to be there at every turn these days. I’m conscious that what she needs is more time from me and I wish there was a magic wand I could wave to solve my money worries. Pride won’t let me take the money Mum and Dad offered and, besides, what I need is a permanent solution. Unless work picks up, either I look for a job that pays more money but still allows me to work from home, or we move to a place that’s cheaper to run. The latter option would break Maya’s heart because she isn’t ready to let go.
Everyone understands that coping with the death of a spouse is heart-breakingly tough, but the reality is so much more complicated. It’s the problems that those around you don’t even give thought to, which threaten to steal away the ground beneath your feet.
I switch screens again, noting that it’s three days since my last entry.
Diary Log – day 484. Christmas is coming. Will it be our last one here? Quality time with Maya v holding onto memories. It’s a decision I still can’t make. So for now we stay.
Chapter 2 (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
Elana (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
All Work and No Play
‘How are you doing with that deadline, Elana?’ Eve busies herself making us both a coffee as I settle myself down on the sofa.
Looking around, what I feel is a sense of calm. I love popping into Hillside View as it reminds me how wonderful it’s going to be once Bay Tree Cottage is finished. Both semi-detached cottages stand alone on an outcrop of rock, with almost surreal views across to the river, and with the Forest of Dean as a backdrop. Ironically it was the one thing that originally spoilt it for us, the fact that it wasn’t detached. Now, I’m thankful to have Eve, Rick and little Amelie, who is Maya’s best friend, on the doorstep.
Both cottages had been empty for quite a long time, owned by an eccentric local farmer, who was in his eighties and seemed oblivious to the decay as the buildings deteriorated. Hillside was already sold when we first came to view Bay Tree and the moment we drew up outside we knew this was going to be our home. We looked at it longingly for what it could be, rather than with the cold appraisal needed when taking on a project of this scale. It’s the reason we didn’t hold up our hands in horror at the amount of work that was going to be required, imagining the cosy place it would eventually be. Now what I have is a cottage that is half-renovated and no idea when, or if, I’ll ever be able to afford to get it finished.
‘It’s coming along, albeit slowly. I seem to have a client who is driving the publisher mad at the moment. He’s hardly ever around and has missed our last three Skype meetings. How on earth I’m supposed to pull together his biography, goodness knows! If this job falls through I’m in big trouble.’
Eve shoots me a sympathetic look and holds out a coffee mug.
‘Thanks. It’s my third cup already and Maya’s only been at school an hour. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?’
Eve shifts from foot to foot, her face colouring slightly as she settles herself in the armchair opposite me.
‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. The builders have now fixed the leak and given the roof a once-over. Surprisingly it’s in pretty good condition. Their boss, Matthew, says both cottages were re-roofed some time in the last eight to ten years. However, unfortunately, the chimney needs re-pointing urgently. He’s not sure it’s safe, so he’s going to arrange for scaffolding to be erected and his son, Luke, will be here next week to work on it. The bad news is that yours is in the same state.’
I put the coffee mug down on the side table and push myself further back into the sofa, trying hard to keep my face composed. More money I don’t have.
‘Look,’ Eve leans forward to touch my arm, ‘we can get him to do the work and you can pay us when you can. I know this is the last thing you need at the moment, so don’t worry about it. Let us handle it as we’re going to incur the cost of the scaffolding anyway, so it will only be the labour costs and a few materials. It’s best to get it sorted and there’s no hurry with regard to the money.’
I can see that she’s embarrassed, but with our girls playing outside whenever they can, and living in a windy position on the side of a hill, this is a health-and-safety issue. It’s not something that can be ignored, or postponed, just because I can’t afford to have it done. And I don’t accept charity, even when it’s well-meant. I try not to let a sigh escape, because I know it would quickly turn into a sob. I swallow determinedly – no point in panicking until I know what’s involved.
‘That’s so kind, Eve, and please do thank Rick, too. I’m sure I can stretch to it, though. If you can get Matthew to give me a quote that would be great and, of course, it needs to be sorted quickly.’
We exchange glances and I can see by her frown how troubled she is for me.
‘Hey, don’t worry. I’m doing okay, really.’ I give her a reassuring smile.
Eve eases herself out of the chair and walks around to sit next to me on the sofa. She places her arms around my shoulders and gives me a warm hug. This isn’t about money, or a chimney. This is about being weary; so tired of thinking that I want to switch off my brain and wishing I could spirit myself back two years in time. Golden days that I didn’t realise were so very, very precious.
‘Time heals, my lovely friend. But there will be setbacks. Sometimes you need to just let it all out, there’s no shame in that.’
It’s comforting, not least because there aren’t many people who understand the frustrations that are still a part of my daily life. My parents would be horrified to know that, because they believe this strong front I’m presenting to the world. They are proud of me because of the way I’m coping and wouldn’t know what to do if they thought for one moment I was so fragile I’m in danger of … what?
‘Thank you, Eve. It helps, you know. Just once in a while I need to drop my guard. And the chimney, just get Matthew to pop in to see me. It’s kind of him to have checked it out and I’m happy to pay half of the cost of the scaffolding.’
‘Don’t you even go there! I feel awful having to raise it and wish we could have simply told him to get on with both jobs. But he needs your permission, of course. And you can’t light the fire until he gives you the all-clear. Oh, life, eh?’
The sigh that escapes her lips is one of empathy and concern. With our girls being only six months apart in age, Niall’s death also affected Eve in a very real way. It was a reminder that you can’t take anything for granted, even the fact that there will be a tomorrow. In some ways I hope that it has brought Eve and Rick closer together, allowing them to appreciate how lucky they are to have each other.
‘Actually, I also have a problem with a leak in the spare bedroom, so maybe he could take a look at that, too. The last thing I want is to risk it getting worse over the Christmas holidays. It’s on my to-do list but until I have the draft outline of this biography done I can’t turn my attention to anything else.’
‘You never said who it was you’re writing about. Is it anyone interesting?’
‘Aiden Cruise.’
Eve rolls her eyes and laughs out loud.
‘Ha! Good luck pinning down that bad boy! Is it going to be X-rated?’
‘Well, if I don’t get at least one more lengthy Skype session in with him, all I can say is that at the moment it all seems rather tame. But then we’ve only covered his early years and rebellious teens; we didn’t get as far as his front-page, post-fame antics.’
‘Ooh, the best bit is yet to come, then. Will you get to meet him face to face?’
That’s something I’ve been wondering myself, but mainly because it’s difficult with regard to babysitting for Maya. I’m pretty confident that I can get the overview of the book finished if Aiden will honour just one more session, but when it comes to fleshing out the story I’m going to have to really pin him down. I’ll have until May next year to get the first draft to the publishers, so for the moment that’s a worry for the future.
‘To be honest, he’s so hard to contact that I think I’ll probably end up having to follow him around for a few days to get him talking. I’ve been liaising with his manager, Seth, and he’s promised me that Aiden will be there for my next call, so we can wrap up the outline. He’s sympathetic, understanding the problem I have and he suggested I see Aiden on tour some time. If I spend January doing all of the preparation and research work, I’m hoping to have a list of questions for him to focus on when we finally meet up. Fortunately, I have quite a lot of information already, but I have to sift through it and once that’s done, it will just be a case of filling in the gaps with the really personal stuff.’
‘It’s not an easy job you do, is it? Are biographies the hardest to do?’
‘Well, to be honest, I prefer straightforward editing jobs but this pays really well. It’s easier when it’s someone the public adore. Aiden’s book will be a best-seller simply because people love reading an exposé about a bad boy. But if he doesn’t open up and give me the really interesting stuff, then the publishers won’t be happy. On paper what I seem to have so far is a picture of a rock god and each person I talk to seems to be describing a very different man. It’s all very confusing. I get a fixed fee from the publisher for the job, but they’re more likely to use me again in the future if I can really get to the heart of this story. The problem is that if Aiden keeps avoiding me, then I’m never going to gain his trust and get his side of things. I’ve interviewed two members of the group, his ex-manager and a few celebrities whose paths he’s crossed over the years. What’s missing now is the detail only he can give me to bring the story alive. The other project I’m working on in between the biography is editing a set of children’s books. Although it’s the eight years and up age range, I’ve read the first one to Maya and she seemed to love it, so I can’t wait to work on the second and third books.’
Eve reaches across for her coffee and then sits back snugly into the corner of the sofa.
‘Well, when it comes to your little jaunt with Aiden, Maya is very welcome to stay with us. The girls would love having a couple of days together.’
The sad thing is that I constantly sense the awkwardness Eve feels about my situation and it has affected our friendship. As if all the good things in her life might somehow be a reminder of how awful my life has turned out to be. Rick is an investment and mortgage adviser, well-regarded and with a growing clientele. Money has never been a problem for them and they are the perfect family unit. We all got on so well because it seemed we had mirror lives and so many shared interests, not least, turning a pair of neglected cottages into comfortable homes. I don’t envy her, or the wonderful life they have, but I will admit there are moments when I catch myself wondering where we’d be now if Niall hadn’t died. Would Bay Tree Cottage be finished and we’d be looking forward to a magical Christmas?
‘Thanks, if Mum and Dad aren’t available to look after her I might take you up on that offer. I appreciate it, Eve, what you’ve done. You’re a good friend and I know I’m truly blessed. In fact, I have no idea how I would have coped without you on the doorstep. And Maya, too. Amelie has been a tremendous friend, she’s a very special little girl.’
I mean every word of it. I’ve often heard the girls chattering away and Amelie is definitely an old head on young shoulders.
‘They never go away,’ I’d heard her tell Maya once. ‘Your dad would never leave you. You just need to talk to him.’
I was watching them through a crack in the door, just to reassure myself that Maya really did want to play that day. She hadn’t been sleeping well and her little face was so pale. Eve and I were encouraging the girls to spend more time together, as my therapist had advised me to keep things as normal as possible. Normal? I nearly screamed at the top of my voice when she’d said that. ‘What’s normal?’, but then that was in the early days.
So they played and each day was a little easier than the one before. Without Eve, Rick and Amelie I don’t know how we would have got through it. It’s a debt that money can’t repay.
Chapter 3 (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
Elana (#ubbb9217e-4c3c-59dd-b31b-ca5f015a5e87)
I Need to Get My Act Together
‘Mrs James? I’m Matthew’s son, Luke Stevenson.’
The guy on my doorstep sticks out his hand in a friendly manner. The first thing that pops into my head is that, up close, he’s younger than I expected. From ground level, the few times I’ve seen him he looked older, somehow, but then he was always the height of a cottage away as he clambered over next door’s roof. I suppose roofing work does require a good level of fitness and agility. And he has that in spadefuls. His hair is dark, short around the sides and longer on top. He has a boyish look that doesn’t really go with his body, which is strong and athletic. Clearly he doesn’t bother to shave every day, but it suits him. His father, who is probably in his fifties, seems to do just about everything aside from roof work, from what I’ve seen. Guess that makes a lot of sense; why would he when he has such a fit son to do it for him?
I offer my hand and we shake, then I invite him inside. He seems a little hesitant, but I’m conscious of the heat drifting out of the open door as it’s such a chilly day. I can almost feel the oil flooding out of the tank to keep the boiler going.
He glances down at the floor, seemingly looking for a mat on which to wipe his muddy boots. At the moment the downstairs floor is still bare concrete and I’ve given up worrying about it. His eyes scan the little line of shoes and boots neatly standing to attention along one wall. He seems rather surprised, probably assuming he was going to walk into a beautifully renovated cottage, like Hillside View.
‘I didn’t mean to stop you; your neighbour mentioned you work from home. I was just wondering if you were happy with the quote my father dropped in and whether you wanted me to start work on the chimney. I’m almost done working on Hillside’s repairs, so I could start tomorrow if you like.’
Thankfully, Aiden Cruise came through with that Skype meeting yesterday and I’m now on target to get the outline submitted. This means that in ten days’ time the first payment should be hitting my bank account, just sixteen shopping days before Christmas. And, if I shop wisely, there should be enough to cover the work required on the chimney.
‘Yes, that would be fine, thank you. It’s been a worry, you know, since Eve mentioned it. The girls play outside all the time and we’ve had some really strong winds this winter. Actually, while you’re here, I have a small leak in the corner of the bedroom ceiling. I wonder if you could take a quick look in case it’s something you can remedy while you’re up on the roof.’
I had hoped that Matthew Stevenson himself would call in with the quote, but I was out on the school run yesterday and came back to find an envelope lying on the hallway floor. It’s reasonable enough, but my other little problem is a real concern, too, and I’m not sure whether Luke is the right one to ask.
‘Sure.’ He’s already bent over, tugging at the knots in his boot laces. I find myself looking down at his feet as he eases them out, staring at his socks. They’re black and one toe on his left foot is poking through a rather large hole. My gaze moves up to his face and he gives me an apologetic, and rather embarrassed, smile.
‘I’m a bit behind on the washing,’ he informs me. ‘All the good socks were dirty.’
I’m tempted to laugh and don’t know why on earth he would share that information with me, but instead I nod in acknowledgement and turn on my heels.
‘It’s this way,’ I call over my shoulder.
I lead him from the rather dusty hallway across the open-plan dining room/study and kitchen, to the staircase. Upstairs is carpeted, but downstairs I’ve merely covered the concrete as best I can with large rugs. It helps to detract from the unfinished state and we’re used to it now.
‘You’ve done a nice job on the kitchen,’ he remarks, probably thinking it’s the polite thing to say.
‘Thank you. Upstairs is virtually finished, which is why the leak is so annoying.’
We continue in silence, until we walk into the spare bedroom and he immediately lets out an ominous ‘Oh’.
‘Is it bad?’
The damp patch on the ceiling extends out about twelve inches from the corner and already the wallpaper at the top of both walls is beginning to peel away. It’s a horrible blot on an otherwise perfect, country-cottage bedroom.
‘Well, it’s not good, let’s put it that way. I’ll take a look up top and see what’s going on. Pity you didn’t get this looked at a bit sooner, to save you redecorating. It could be a guttering problem, or maybe a few slates have slipped.’
For a moment my attention wanders and I’m transported back to the weekend we’d spent wallpapering this room. I can visualise Niall up the ladder as I passed him a pasted sheet of paper folded back on itself in loops. He’d taken it from my hands, but within moments it began to slither down to the floor and as I grabbed it the paper tore. It wasn’t a good day, we’d both been tetchy and ended up having a row. We were tired and our patience was wearing thin. A day that was wasted with needless upset in the grand scheme of things because we had no idea the clock was ticking.
‘Mrs James?’
Luke’s voice brings me back into the moment and I try to shrug off the wave of sadness and regret.
