Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
I woke early the next morning and, despite the alcohol and late night, felt distinctly chipper.
As I showered and dressed, the previous night scrolled through my head: the hen party, kind Christal, Marilise.
I had turned a corner. I still loved Paulo and I always would, but I understood now that cringing away from life, from love, couldn’t bring him back, and that living my life as some sort of tribute to his memory wasn’t noble and didn’t prove anything.
It stopped me being a whole person and worried those around me.
And besides, I thought, as I turned the water off and wrapped myself in a towel, Paulo would be furious if he could see what I had done.
This made me smile and, with that smile, an image of my beloved husband came to me: not an image of him ill in bed, which was what I often saw, but an image of him laughing and carefree, the way I had always wanted to remember him.
It felt like a blessing and, when I went downstairs to the kitchen to start preparing mine and Marilise’s breakfast and switched on the radio, the song playing was ‘Sleigh Ride’, which brought back that happy night with Nick.
When Angela came in, I was dancing around, singing along.
‘Morning!’ she said, her face amused. ‘Enjoy yourself last night?’
‘Not entirely,’ I replied. ‘But things are looking up. In fact, I was wondering if it would be at all possible for me to take a little time off after Marilise’s swim today. There’s something I need to do.’
Angela agreed and I took breakfast upstairs with a light heart.
The morning passed quickly and, after our swim, I made a quick lunch, then set out in the car to drive the forty minutes to the cosy family house where Paulo had grown up from the age of five, when they moved to England from Portugal, and his parents still lived.
I had rung them that morning to check that they were free, so when I pulled up outside, they were expecting me and greeted me with the warmth and love they had shown me from the first moment we had met.
‘I love your decorations,’ I said, as I followed them through the small hallway and into the sitting room.
They had a real Christmas tree, scenting the whole room and decorated with a riot of different baubles as well as tinsel and lights, but the focus of the room was the Presépio, or nativity scene, with a crib waiting for the baby Jesus, who would be placed there when they returned from Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.
I crouched down in front of it and let the memories and emotions emerge from my heart, so much more gently now than I had been used to.
After a few moments, I cleared my throat, stood up and smiled.
Paulo’s mother, Azula, stepped towards me and gathered me into a hug.
‘We miss him, too,’ she said. ‘But the memories are happy. Now come, sit down. Bernardo will bring the coffee.’
I sank into a comfortable chair and waited while the coffee was poured and the pastries offered around.
I never could resist them, particularly the massa de filhós, a sort of flat doughnut eaten at Christmas in Portugal, and beyond delicious.
I hadn’t had one since the year before Paulo’s illness, and the sweet, rich flavour sent my senses reeling.
‘I’ve never tried to make these,’ I said. ‘But I think it’s time I learnt, if you would teach me?’
I knew that each family has its own particular way of making the massa, and it was traditional to be shown, rather than follow written instructions.
‘Claro,’ said Azula. Of course. ‘You know that you will always be my daughter. Now, tell me, what brings you here to see us?’
I breathed in slowly before speaking.
‘I wanted to tell you that I think’ – I thought of Christal and her urge to be certain – ‘that I have met someone, a man.’
I had been unsure of how they would take this news, but the last thing I had expected was the joyful smile that spread across both of their kind faces. Putting down their cups and plates, they came over and hugged and kissed me, exclaiming in delight.
‘We’re so happy for you,’ said Bernardo, wiping away a tear as he sat down again. ‘Muito feliz.’
‘It is true,’ said Azula. ‘We have worried for you these past few years, you seemed stuck. We know how you loved Paulo, how much you grieve him, but we also longed for you to move forward. Tell us about this man.’
So, I told them about Nick, about how kind he was, how he wanted to help his family and make them happy but that he had been so cruelly treated by his father that he struggled to make connections – until now.
I told them about Steve, which made them laugh, and about how things had gone wrong between Nick and me.
I explained that everything was much clearer now and that the guilt and worry had fallen from my shoulders so that I no longer had the need to atone for the past but was ready to move forward.
‘But you say that Nick has gone?’ asked Azula, offering me the plate of massa de filhós again. I took one.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But I truly believe that we can work things out. And if we can’t…
’ My heart dropped a little at this thought, but I continued.
‘If we can’t, then he will always be incredibly special to me, because he was the one who showed me how to love again.
Even if I can’t be with Nick, I will keep moving and be excited at what lies ahead. ’
Bernardo nodded.
‘You always had a wise head on those young shoulders,’ he said. ‘Nick would be foolish not to take the opportunity to be with you.’
‘You sound like Marilise,’ I said, laughing. ‘You should come over one day and meet her – she’s wonderful.’
We chatted for a little longer before I left to drive back to Lyonscroft, with a large box of the Christmas doughnuts to share with the Princes.
I felt a tremendous sense of peace, only slightly ragged at the edges with the thought: what if Nick has gone for good?
For despite my brave assertions to the contrary, I knew that I would be devastated.
That evening was one of the cosiest I had spent at Lyonscroft. After supper, Marilise suggested that we all go into the sitting room with more of the Linzer cookies that India and Sofia had made, and some mulled wine, or mulled apple juice.
‘I don’t feel like this evening should end yet,’ she said. ‘It is so nearly Christmas, and the anticipation is the most fun part, don’t you agree? I want to teach you some games we played as children, before you young people all became endlessly distracted by Marios and Minecrafts and whatnot.’
A chorus of amused disagreement met this assertion:
‘I’ve never played Minecraft in my life!’
‘A little Candy Crush with a cup of tea doesn’t mean I don’t do other things!’
‘Marilise, you spend more time on your phone than any of us!’
‘I am old,’ she said in a dignified manner. ‘And have time on my hands to surf the net. Now! Let us prepare the refreshments and adjourn.’
So, with giggling and chatter we made the drinks and put the cookies on a plate, then piled into the sitting room, where Marilise, her eyes glittering with fun, addressed us.
‘We will start,’ she said, ‘with a simple word game. Each person says a short sentence, and the next person must start their sentence with a word which rhymes with the last word of the previous sentence. Yes?’
We looked around at each other, a little bemused.
‘I get it,’ said Greg. ‘If I say, “I like eating cheese” the next person might say, “Bees are rare in winter”.’
‘Exactly,’ said Marilise. ‘Now, we try.’
The game went slowly at first, as we all tried to think of things, then picked up speed as we all grabbed at rhyming words and the sentences became more and more ridiculous. Eventually, Astrid held up her hands.
‘I’m simply wrung out!’ she announced. ‘Can’t we try something else?’
‘Very well,’ said Marilise. ‘The next game is called The Sculptor.’
In this game, a ‘sculptor’ went around everyone posing them as if they were those wooden artists’ dolls.
The aim of the game was to make such funny poses that the ‘sculptures’ laughed and were out.
Angela was the first one to try. She started by positioning India as if she were riding a horse, then moved on to me.
She was placing one hand behind my back and lifting up my knee, and I was trying not to giggle, when the door opened.
‘Looks like some good old-fashioned fun,’ said Nick.
‘Where have you been?’ said Astrid, going over to hug him. ‘We haven’t heard from you in days.’
‘Come and have a drink,’ said Greg.
Steve bounded into the room and straight over to me.
I dropped my silly pose gratefully and fussed over him, glad to have something to do.
Nick’s sudden appearance had thrown me more than I might have expected.
He sat down with us and Marilise suggested that we continue with a favourite game of hers from childhood, which involved more wordplay, this time thinking of adjectives in alphabetical order to create a story, and precluded any conversation.
Mine and Nick’s eyes met several times, and each set off an uncomfortable mix of fireworks and butterflies, which no amount of mulled wine, Linzer cookies or silly parlour games could quell.
Eventually, it was time for bed, and I offered Marilise my arm to take her up. Nick came over and leant close to me, a waft of his familiar, nutmeggy smell making me feel dizzy and confused.
‘Could we talk later?’ he muttered.
I paused. I wanted more than anything to talk to him, to spill out everything I had discovered, to see if we had a future together. But there was something else I wanted to do as well, something I had decided on when I was at Azula and Bernardo’s home, and tonight wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Can we go out soon?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to talk.’
He nodded.
‘Of course. Good night, Laura.’
I helped Marilise with her nighttime routine, then went to my own room, hoping for a peaceful night’s rest so that tomorrow I might be able to show Nick that I wasn’t going to do what so many others in his life had.
I wasn’t going to leave him, abandon him or let him down and it was time to prove it.