Chapter Nine
After breakfast the next morning the girls decided to make snowflakes in their bedroom and were already at work on Jillian’s bed when Cat saw their activity and immediately knew this was an activity requiring more supervision.
Jillian might be fine with her sharp pair of scissors, but Olivia definitely needed something smaller and less dangerous.
“What if you made your snowflakes on the kitchen table?” Cat suggested. “That way you can tape the finished snowflakes in the windows as you go?”
Jillian sighed but only half-heartedly, and Olivia slid off the bed, gathering her pile of paper. Cat helped clean up the scraps already cut and then carried the stack of white printer paper downstairs.
The kitchen was bright with winter light, and Cat let the girls spread out as much as they wanted. “Remember, the more little cuts you make, the fancier the snowflake,” she said, stepping away from the table.
“We know,” Olivia said, already snipping away with fierce concentration. “We make these in school.”
Jillian was also back at work, having folded her paper into a tight triangle and was making careful cuts, her brow furrowed as if she were performing surgery, not a craft.
Cat turned the kettle on for a cup of tea and then picked up her notebook, flipping to a clean page. “What do we need from Bakewell?” she asked. “It’s time for another grocery shop.”
“Hot chocolate!” Olivia said immediately, not looking up from her tiny confetti storm.
“Real cocoa,” Jillian added, more seriously. “Not the cheap mix.”
“I didn’t think I bought that cheap stuff.”
“You didn’t. Miss Pettigrew did,” Jillian explained, making more snips with her scissors. “She said the cheap stuff was just as good, but that’s only because she doesn’t drink it. She only drinks tea. Loads of it.”
Cat checked her smile and made another note. Quality cocoa. “Anything else?”
“Marshmallows,” Olivia said.
“Large ones,” Jillian corrected. They both glanced at each other, then giggled.
Cat pretended to sigh. “Fine. Marshmallows.”
A moment later, Olivia held up her finished snowflake—lopsided, enthusiastic, charming.
“Look! Mine’s a star.”
Cat took it carefully, smiling. “It’s lovely. We’ll tape it to the window.”
Jillian snipped the last piece of her much more intricate design and unfolded it with a little gasp of satisfaction. “This one’s better,” she said quietly, but there was no malice in it—just her usual need for precision.
Cat admired it. “It’s beautiful, Jilly.” And it was.
Detailed. Surprising. A little unexpected just like her.
While Jillian and Olivia taped their first snowflakes to the kitchen window, Cat added eggs, milk, bread, to her list, then oranges and apples because the fruit bowl was already almost empty.
The kettle clicked off behind Cat, filling the room with warmth and steam.
“Cat, what day is it?” Olivia suddenly asked.
“Monday, December fifteenth,” Cat answered, making herself a cup of tea, thinking how much everything had improved since she arrived Wednesday.
Olivia clapped her hands. “That means ten days until Christmas! Ten days until Father Christmas arrives.”
“We have a lot to do in that case,” Cat said.
“And maybe when we’re done with snowflakes, we should see if we want any more decorations?
I don’t know if you’ve ever made them, but oranges studded with cloves smell wonderful and we could make a bowl of them for the table or add some little loops and hang small ones on the tree. ”
“What would we need to buy?” Olivia asked.
“Oranges and a packet of whole cloves, and maybe a bit of ribbon while we’re in town.”
“I love making all of our decorations,” Olivia said with a contented sigh as she started on another snowflake.
“Don’t you make decorations at home?” Cat asked.
Jillian shook her head. “Mummy doesn’t love homemade things very much. She likes things to look polished. Like a designer did it. In fact, a designer decorates her house at Christmas. We don’t.”
Cat’s lips parted but she closed her mouth before any words escaped. What the girls needed now wasn’t her opinion—the rustle of paper, the snip of scissors, the shake of glitter. Being creative together. It was happiness in itself.
*
That evening, Cat made spaghetti, the way her grandmother had always made it, and fortunately everyone ate it up without complaint.
Rhys helped himself to a second bowl of pasta and another slice of garlic bread.
He’d opened a bottle of red wine and Cat had agreed to a small glass, with the emphasis on small.
Olivia noticed. “You don’t like wine, Cat?”
“Oh, I do, but I don’t drink very much. This is lovely wine, though.”
“Mum drinks wine,” Olivia said. “But she likes the fizzy kind best.”
“Prosecco,” Jillian clarified.
“Prosecco is quite nice,” Cat agreed, not knowing what else to say and wondering if Rhys would speak up, or shift the topic away from the girls’ mother, but so far, he said nothing. “I like a glass of bubbly when out with friends.”
Olivia leaned forward, her elbows on the table edge. “Who are your friends, Cat?”
“Well, my best friend is Sarah—”
“She’s the Irish one,” Jillian interrupted, sounding a tad smug.
Cat smiled. “That’s right. You listened.”
“I pay attention to everything. Go on.”
Rhys cleared his throat in warning. Jillian gave her head a toss.
Cat hid her smile. “I had friends at the university, and then over time some of Sarah’s friends became mine.”
“What about a boyfriend?” Olivia asked. “Do you have one?”
Cat shook her head regretfully. “I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I was too busy studying.” Cat’s shoulders lifted and fell. “And I was happy with my circle of friends. We always had fun on weekends, so I was never lonely.”
Olivia frowned, her eyebrows tugging together. “But don’t you want to get married?”
Cat was suddenly very conscious that she had everyone’s attention and Rhys’s focus was just as intent as the girls. “Someday,” she flushed, unsettled and shy. “When it’s right.”
*
Rhys was gone again early the next morning, but not before making a big pot of coffee and porridge, leaving syrup and raisins on the counter with a note, Don’t let them tell you they don’t eat this. They do.
Cat smiled and poured her coffee and soon the girls were awake, yawning and stretching, as well as shivering as they came into the kitchen to get warm by the stove.
The girls didn’t protest that breakfast was porridge, but Olivia did want sliced bananas on hers, and Jillian asked for a sprinkle of cinnamon. Cat had the oatmeal with them, and they discussed their plans for the day.
“I need those groceries,” she said. “I thought we could walk into Bakewell, do our shopping, maybe stop by the bakery, and then return home. It’s chilly and damp out, but fortunately not icy.
I thought if we leave at nine, we could be back by ten thirty, so not gone too long, and it should also give you time to make your beds, brush your teeth and get your coats on. ”
“Can we just watch another movie?” Olivia asked.
“Not first thing,” Cat answered. “I promised your dad that we would go out every day for some exercise. Walking into Bakewell would certainly count as exercise, and we could pick up a treat to bring home.”
Jillian groaned. “It’s too cold to go outside. It’s winter.”
“I know, but if we walk briskly, we’ll quickly warm up.”
“But then we have to help carry the groceries home, don’t we?” Jillian answered.
“I would like your help; it makes it easier for me, but if that sounds too strenuous, Jillian, you can carry the quality cocoa. Olivia, you carry the marshmallows. And I’ll do the rest.”
Jillian wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very fair.”
“No, but I don’t want you to think I’m treating you like servants, when I’m the only servant—”
“You’re not!” Olivia interrupted, shocked. “You’re not a servant. You’re my friend. And we will carry whatever we can.” She looked at her sister. “Right, Jilly?”
“What if we wait for Dad to come home?” Jillian asked after a moment. “Then he can drive us.”
“And what would we do for exercise then?” Cat asked. “I suppose we could do some calisthenics here.”
Olivia made a face. “What are calisthenics?”
“Jumping jacks, push-ups, crunches, toe touches, lunges, things like that.”
“Oh, I can do jumping jacks,” Olivia said, sliding out of her chair. “Want to watch?”
Cat put a hand on the little girl’s arm. “Not now, not yet. You just ate a huge bowl of porridge. I don’t want to make you sick.”
“I just don’t know why we have to exercise. We’re supposed to be on holiday,” Jillian protested under her breath.
“I know, but your father doesn’t ask for many things, and in the big picture this is a very small ask.” Cat smiled encouragingly at both girls. “I’ll wash up, you get dressed, meet me at the door at nine, and we’ll make this a fast trip. Okay?”
Cat wasn’t entirely sure the girls would be downstairs on time, but to her surprise both girls were at the front door with their winter coats, caps, and mittens when Cat came downstairs, carrying her oversized school backpack she used at UCL.
Carrying groceries home would be a lot easier in a backpack than dangling bags in her hands.
As they walked down the estate road toward Bakewell, Cat asked if they’d done their shopping yet. “Have you bought anything for your mother yet?” Cat asked. “Would you like to shop for her while we’re in Bakewell?”
Olivia had skipped ahead but stopped and waited for them to catch up. “Daddy usually buys something for us to give her. But I’m not sure if he did this year since were not having Christmas together.” Olivia glanced at her big sister. “Jilly, do you think he did?”
Jillian shrugged. “If she’s not having Christmas with us, does it matter?”
“Of course it does. Mum is mum.” Olivia looked stricken. “Why are you being so mean? And why be mean to Mum? She’s doing her best.”
Jillian laughed shortly. “Do you really think so? Ever since she met Roger, she’s been awfully busy doing things with him and not us.”