Chapter Thirty
When Mel gets downstairs, Freya is going around each room in turn saying goodbye to inanimate objects. “Bye, tree!” She tries to hug the Christmas tree and laughs when Finn joins in, doing a good impression of a man who has not just had an emotional conversation upstairs.
Kristen watches her daughter, standing by the doorway with Mel. “I suppose she has to make friends with trees, with no other children here.”
Mel glances at Kristen’s stomach. “Well, maybe not for long.” Kristen immediately grimaces. “Sorry,” Mel says quickly.
Kristen shakes her head. “I just—I can’t think about it. Not until…”
“Yeah,” Mel agrees, her mouth dry. Not until Susan says something.
Mel feels tearful as she leaves the cottage, and almost wants to do what Freya did, go around and say goodbye to each room in the house. The fact that she’d said no to coming in the first place seems alien to her now.
Susan looks a bit pale and drawn as she locks the front door for the final time, the Christmas tree a little sad through the window, without the lights to brighten it up.
Mel wonders if it’s the knowledge of what the new year might bring that’s making Susan look like that.
She’s been putting it off, Mel knows, maybe refusing to see reality, using Christmas as something on which to focus—and now that’s over she’s got nothing to distract herself with, nothing to hide behind.
She can’t imagine how Susan must be feeling—and doesn’t know what to do to make it better.
She wants to give her a hug, tell her it’ll all be okay.
But she can’t do that without calling attention to something wrong—and she doesn’t know if it’ll all be okay, does she?
She brushes past Susan on the way to the car and squeezes her arm as subtly as she can. It feels inadequate—even more so when Susan catches her eye, smiles sadly, and gives her a nod.
“You okay?” Finn asks as they get into the rental car—just the two of them. It’s the first time they’ve really spoken all morning.
“Yeah,” Mel says, because what else is she supposed to say?
He takes her hand, squeezes it. And she wonders if, despite what is going on with Susan, things might really work out between the two of them.
Susan has booked a table at the same pub they’d danced at—was that really only three days ago?
The fire is roaring and crackling in the corner, just like last time, and it smells comfortingly of smoke and wood and beer.
There’s no band this time—Mel supposes it’s not quite the right vibe for Boxing Day lunch.
The atmosphere is still buzzing, with music on in the background and the sound of chatter and laughter sweeping over them.
They are seated at a corner table, and the waitress produces menus for them all and a coloring book and crayons for Freya.
“I actually think I’m stuffed after breakfast,” Mark says with a sigh, rubbing his stomach for emphasis.
“Ah, suck it up,” Finn says.
They order drinks, Mel opting to stick with water even though she’s not the one driving, and when it’s time to order food she barely pays attention to what she’s choosing.
“Well, this has been the best Christmas,” Hattie says. Dylan puts an arm around her and Hattie leans in. Mel has hope that they will, in fact, see it through. “Thanks, Mum. You’re amazing, not that we needed any more proof of that, of course.”
Susan smiles. It seems forced. Is it forced? “I’m so glad you could all make it. And thank you, all, for getting stuck in.”
“Let’s do best bit, worst bit, funniest bit of the holiday,” Hattie announces. “I’ll go first. Best bit—winning the meal competition.”
Finn raises one eyebrow. “I thought we weren’t judging that?”
“Funniest bit,” Mark says, “seeing Dylan act out The Jungle Book .”
Dylan shakes his head. “Never going to live that down, am I?”
“Mel?” asks Hattie. “Best bit?”
Mel immediately thinks of Finn, of kissing him under the stars, of the way he looked at her in their room, only last night. “Do I have to pick just one? Being here with you all has been the best.” Finn puts an arm around her, pulling her close, surrounding her with his scent.
Hattie waves that away. “You’re terrible at this game. Mum?”
“Hmm?” Susan blinks at her daughter. “Oh. I’m with Mel, it has all been amazing.” She smiles around at them again. “I just need to pop to the loo. You all start, if the food arrives.”
“What about you, Freya-bean?” Mark asks. “What was your best bit?”
“Presents,” Freya says, without looking up from her coloring.
Mark nods sagely. “Presents indeed.”
Their food is brought out—fish pie for Mel. Did she really order fish pie? She can’t remember, too distracted. Everyone does, indeed, dig in, Hattie swiping Dylan’s hand away when he reaches for her chips.
Mel sees Susan come out from the bathroom before the rest of them do.
She seems to be walking slowly—or is that just her imagining things?
Mel is still watching as someone bumps into her, catches the glass they’re holding, and apologizes profusely.
She watches as Susan turns, as if to say something, only to stumble.
It happens in slow motion. The rest of them are still chatting—no one else seems to have noticed that Susan has come out the bathroom yet. But Susan is there. Susan is growing pale. Susan is falling.
The noise of the pub washes over Mel as her stomach turns. She’s on her feet before she fully realizes what is happening. She’s lurching away from the table, as if she can catch Susan before she falls.
“Mel, what are you—?” But there’s the scrape of many chair legs behind her as everyone sees what she has seen. Susan, collapsing, right there in the middle of the pub.
“Mum!” She’s not sure which one of them shouts it. The person who knocked into Susan drops their glass as they bend down to help, liquid going everywhere, the tumbler bouncing off the wooden floors. They get out of the way as Mel approaches.
“Susan?” Mel reaches for her hand, but it feels limp. She squeezes gently again. What should she do? Should she check for a pulse? But she can see the gentle rise and fall of Susan’s chest.
Think, Mel!
“Mum?” Finn is by her side, bending down too.
Questions from around them, the voices indistinguishable.
“What happened?”
“Oh my God, did she faint?”
Susan’s eyelids flutter, then, slowly, she opens her eyes. She blinks up at them, clearly confused. But she’s okay. She’s hit her head, but she’ll be okay. Mel tries to tell herself this as all the blood seems to rush to her own head.
“Mum?” Mark is on the other side now, all of them crowded around Susan as the owner of the pub rushes over, producing a glass of water, which Mark takes.
Kristen looks down to Mel in wide-eyed panic. “Mel!”
“I know,” Mel whispers.
“You know?” Finn snaps. “What do you mean, you know?”
Mel doesn’t know what to say. She can’t tell him, not like this.
“I’m okay.” Susan’s voice is weak and raspy, but it’s there. Mel lets out a relieved breath, swears she sees the rest of them do the same.
Mark helps Susan into a sitting position, and Mel hears Hattie murmur something to Dylan above them.
“Here, Mum,” Mark says, holding out the glass of water.
“I’ll get the first-aid kit,” announces the pub owner, wringing his hands as he leaves them.
Susan takes a slow sip, both hands cupping the water. Mel needs to say something. She needs to tell them.
But Kristen takes over. “She’s sick, Mark,” she murmurs. “She needs help. We need to get her to a hospital.”
“Nonsense,” Susan says, her voice raspy.
“Enough,” Kristen says. “You have cancer. You’ve passed out. You’re going to the bloody hospital.”
Silence ricochets out around them, the word throbbing in the space between them, ugly and unwanted.
Everyone looks at Kristen.
“What are you talking about?” Finn asks. He glances at his mum, waiting for her to contradict this statement, but she only closes her eyes.
“Dylan’s phoning an ambulance,” Hattie says. She’s standing above the rest of them, where they are all crouched around Susan, and her face is pale. “But, Kristen, what are you—?”
“It’s true,” Mel says, finding her voice at last.
Finn is staring at her. They’re all staring at her.
“You knew?” Finn’s voice is a whisper, but in it Mel hears the pain, the disbelief. The damnation. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“I’ll go and see if Dylan has got an ETA on the ambulance,” Hattie says, her voice high, panicked.
“Ambulance?” The pub owner is back, with a first-aid kit in one hand, a cushion in the other. “They’ll take a while to get out here. You’d be better off driving—St. Andrews is the nearest big hospital.”
Through all this, Susan says nothing. She just sits there, holding her water, looking down at her lap. She looks impossibly vulnerable, impossibly sad. And, God, Mel’s heart aches for her. This isn’t how she wanted her children to find out—Mel knows that.
“Fine,” Mark is saying. “Thank you. You hear that, Mum? Let’s go.”
“I’m fine, love,” Susan says. “Honestly, I just need a sit-down.”
“You do not just need a sit-down.” He grabs his mum’s elbow, helps her to her feet.
“We’re going. Now.” Mark says nothing to Kristen as he steers his mum outside, Kristen gathering up Freya and all their belongings from the table.
Everyone follows, apart from Dylan, who is already outside, hanging up his phone.
“They say they’ll be—” he begins.
“We’re driving,” Mark says, his voice on the verge of a snap. He unlocks his car. “Get in, Mum.” It’s a command, but his voice is a little gentler now.
“Is she okay?” Kristen asks, a little out of breath as she pulls Freya toward the car. “What can I do? Susan? What do you need? Freya, get into your booster, okay?”
Mark doesn’t look at his wife, but Susan waves a hand in Kristen’s direction, closing her eyes, tiredness seeming to seep into every part of her. “Try to calm down, love, stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Another beat of silence around their small group.
Then, from Mark, “The baby ?”
Susan winces, eyes opening. “Oh, it’s just an expression.”
“It is not just an expression.” Mark is looking at Kristen like he’s seeing her for the first time.
Kristen wets her lips, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“What baby?” Freya asks, ignoring the instruction to get into the car. “Who has a baby?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” says Mark darkly.
Finn scrapes his hand through his hair. “Jesus. Let’s just deal with one thing at a time, shall we? I’ll come in your car,” he says to Mark.
Mel swallows. “I can go with Hattie and—”
“No,” Finn snaps, cutting her off. “You can get the car back to the rental. The address is in the glove box.” And Mel knows he is shutting her out, stopping her from going with the rest of them.
Blaming her, because she knew and didn’t tell them.
Mark isn’t forbidding Kristen from coming to the hospital, but then she’s married to Mark, bound to the family—Mel is not.
“Okay,” Mel says, her voice small. She can think of nothing else to do, to say, as she watches them bundle into the car, Finn not looking at her as he gets into the backseat next to Kristen.
She says nothing as Hattie offers her a quick squeeze on the arm before getting into her car with Dylan to follow them to the hospital.
She’s still standing there as both cars leave the pub car park. She is numb, cold. And all she can do is watch as they drive away, wondering if she’s lost them forever.