Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
I aim to stay busy for the next few days, which is a very easy goal.
There is always something that needs doing around the inn.
Not just the day-to-day tasks, but things I can tell have been neglected for a little too long – an inventory down in the cellars being among them.
It was never my favourite of places, and only the fact that there was alcohol to be swiped ever tempted me down there.
This time, Sean came with me and was flirting furiously until a big fat spider landed on his shoulder and he screamed like a five-year-old – that was the end of his attempt at being macho.
Highly amusing, and sadly not caught on camera for the rest of his family to enjoy.
As well as that, I have deep cleaned the guest rooms that are empty, made the run to the cash and carry, and hand scrubbed the tiled floors in the kitchens.
I’ve also stocked the cupboards with a few more ingredients, and carried on baking.
That bit, at least, was a bit more fun. All of this is in addition to the usual routine of cooking, serving and servicing the rooms. There is literally no way my father could have done all of this alone, and I can understand why it all feels too much for him.
Working hard is one thing – but working this hard and having nothing to show for it is soul-destroying.
I wonder what Liam will do with the place if he buys it.
I wonder what my dad will do. I wonder how it will feel when I’m back in New York, hearing about it all from a distance.
It will be fine, I tell myself. I have lived apart from St Tilda and its people for decades, and I have a busy life of my own to step back into.
I have spoken to Tyler and caught up with his news, and I have chatted to my mum.
She loves Florida, but has never quite accepted that sunshine on Christmas Day is entirely correct, so she and Ethan are taking a festive trip to Vermont instead.
I have decided not to talk to her about what my dad told me, because really, I think that should be face to face.
There might be tears, and there will definitely be hugs.
I look back on the day I told her about my husband, Jason, and what had happened all those years ago, and the rush of pure love and sympathy that she drenched me in.
I guess she understood a lot better than I’d imagined.
Keeping so busy has helped me work through some of it, at least. Nothing clears the mind like getting down on your hands and knees with a bucket of soapy water.
Although none of what he told me was easy to hear, I’m glad I heard it, and there is a positive.
It was always painful to think that my own dad didn’t want me, and the way I’d begged him to let me stay back then is a vivid memory that has left its scars.
I begged, I cried, I cajoled – but his answer was always a sad and resolute ‘No.’
Even after I was living in the States, I never understood why he didn’t invite me back to the village to spend time with him, or take Ethan up on his offer to fly him over.
In my teenage angst, I assumed that he simply preferred life without me in it.
Now, at least, I have a slightly different perspective on that.
One that doesn’t start and finish with ‘It was your fault for being such a cow.’ It is amazing how much we can hurt the people we love, those wounds cutting so deep, enabled by a lack of communication.
What if he’d reached out and tried to explain?
What if I hadn’t so brutally exorcised Liam from my life after one awful encounter?
What if, as an adult, I’d insisted on coming back here and sorting it all out, with both of them?
It’s impossible to imagine any of that. I suppose I just need to be grateful for the fact that some of those wounds might now have the chance to heal.
In between my bouts of extreme activity, I have spent a bit more time with Maggie at the bakery.
She seems really worn down, and especially stressed about Christmas Day.
She’s planned a late afternoon event for people in the area as a thank you for supporting her new venture, not offering a full menu but instead providing a Baked Goods Buffet for anyone who wants to drop in.
And really, I can’t believe I haven’t heard the words ‘baked goods’ and ‘buffet’ in the one sentence before.
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, my love,’ she said, shaking her head at her own folly. ‘But now I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck and I’m not even remotely looking forward to it!’
‘I’ll help,’ I’d offered immediately. ‘I’m much better than I was, I promise – people even pay me to bake for them these days!’
‘Oh, I’m sure, sweetie, you always did have an eye for it… and thank you. Some of it’s already done, the Christmas puddings and the fruit cakes, and some I can work on and keep in the freezer. It’ll all be all right, I’m sure. I’m just feeling my age!’
‘What, twenty-one?’
‘Away with you! That and another forty-five years… I’ll look into getting some more help in the new year. You know how it is, finding staff. I haven’t seen my grandkids outside work for months, and I can’t remember the last time Mike and I went on a date night!’
I remember Maggie and her husband always doing that, and obviously when I was a teenager I thought it was A, lame and B, gross. Now I think it’s delightful to think of a couple in their sixties going out on date nights.
I made her promise to ask for my help if she needed it, and was then collared by Cara on the way past her boutique. ‘Come in!’ she said, dragging me over the threshold. ‘We could give you a make-over!’
‘No thank you,’ I replied, looking around in astonishment at all the glitter and glamour and sequins. It’s so sparkly in her shop that I feel like I need sunglasses. ‘I’m not a fancy threads kind of gal.’
‘That’s because you’ve never needed them,’ she said, ‘being one of those horrifying naturally pretty kinds of gal. Even when you were heavy into the eye liner and had crusted-up puke on your top, you somehow looked cool… I so had a wee girl crush on you.’
‘Thank you – I think. And I suspect that’s just because you had no other girls to look up to. I was the best you had, poor thing. Still, you seem to have blossomed.’
‘This is true,’ she said, glancing at herself in the full-length mirror, flicking her gorgeous red hair. ‘Now, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night for dinner, then.’
‘Will you? And how will I be in two places at once?’
She waved away my objections, and assured me that her brother Sean would do an extra shift in the bar, and her niece Lucy would handle the cooking for a few hours.
It seemed very much like a fait accompli, and yet again I was left to ponder the joys of having a family like theirs.
Yes, it was crowded, and yes, they were noisy and seemed to be fighting all the damn time – but they always looked out for each other too.
It’s sweet that they are still doing the same as adults.
Now, I am waiting outside the inn, almost dressed up.
Well, certainly more dressed up than I’ve been since I arrived.
Cara persuaded me to take a plain black dress, the most ordinary thing in the entire shop.
I felt like I was adopting the ugly puppy that nobody else wanted at the rescue centre.
It’s pretty in a Goth tea party way, with a V-neck that shows off a hint of cleavage, a thin belt around the waist and a full skirt.
If someone more put-together than me was wearing it, it could probably look stunning – but I’ve matched it with a thick pair of tights and my black ankle boots, because it’s not the weather for prancing around in heels.
I tug my coat tighter around me and turn my face to look up at the night sky.
Smoke from the inn’s chimneys is curling up into the moonlight, and the snow is falling in glittery tumbles.
It settles on my hair, and tickles against my eyelashes.
I can hear chatter and music coming from the bar, and it all feels superbly merry.
In fact, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, with less than a week to go now.
I haven’t bought gifts for anyone, because I had no idea if I’d still be here by now.
I need to carve out some time for shopping, or at the very least last-minute ordering online.
I’d already got Tyler’s present, and left it with him to open on the day – a hoodie I’d had made up with a photo of all three dogs on the front.
The designer had added crowns, and the words ‘The Three Wise Labradors’. I think he’ll love it.
I’m smiling as I think about him and the pooches, and I remind myself to hold that thought. To remind myself of what I have left behind. This has been like a vacation from my real life, but my real life is pretty darned good.
At that exact moment, Liam pulls up outside the inn in his sleek Audi SUV.
The fancy clothes and cologne come with an equally fancy car, and yet again I shake my head in disbelief.
I honestly don’t think I’ve changed that much – I look like an older version of myself, I have the same sense of humour, and I haven’t exactly done anything wildly ambitious with my life.
Liam, though? This version of him is as far removed from the one I used to know as it is possible to be.
He opens the car window, and shouts out: ‘Ready to go get hammered, teenage dirtbag?’
Well. Maybe he’s not that different after all.
I climb into the car, putting the cake tin I’m carrying on my lap, and see that the twins are in the back seat.
Alex pokes his tongue out at me, and Alice says: ‘You look very pretty, Ellie. That’s the kind of dress that Wednesday Addams would wear to a funeral. ’