Chapter 3
Henry could kick himself. What a stupid thing to have asked.
What did it matter when her husband died?
The fact that he had was bad enough. And now here they were, only days from the anniversary.
Henry hadn’t had a hugely fun time of things when he and Linda divorced, but at least she was still alive. ‘I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked.’
Peg smiled. ‘And yet it’s me who’s embarrassed you. I didn’t need to offer the exact date he died, so it’s me who should apologise. You wouldn’t feel like you do if I’d said he died in August.’
A poignant hush settled in the small space. Peg scratched her head and Henry risked a look at her. He hoped he hadn’t upset her. She was nice. She was the first person he’d spoken to in a long while who seemed to understand.
‘Sorry…’ she said, crinkling up the tinfoil from the sandwiches.
‘Forgive the pun, but death is such a conversation killer, isn’t it?
Shall we have a mince pie?’ She paused a moment.
‘It’s never an easy subject to talk about, but doing so with a perfect stranger who you’re never going to see again feels easier somehow. ’
‘I guess it does,’ agreed Henry. It certainly explained the urge he had to keep on talking.
‘Perhaps it’s because you can say all the things you want to knowing that you won’t have to face that person again.
It’s not like when you talk to family, and whatever you say is forever going to occupy a huge space between you, like the proverbial elephant in the room. ’
Peg cranked the lid off the tin which was sitting on her lap, filling the car with the most incredible smell. ‘Would you like one?’
The thought of buttery pastry was too much for Henry’s willpower and he readily helped himself.
‘How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?’ Peg asked.
‘Hard to tell. I guess much depends on what was spilled – if it can be picked up, or whether they’re currently hosing Farrow she’s of the generation who are glued to social media and brainwashed into believing all they see.
But I wish she understood that I go to spend time with them because they’re my family.
I don’t care whether the napkins match the bows on the backs of the chairs. ’
‘Bows?’ mouthed Peg, eyes widening. ‘That’s…
hardcore.’ She winced. ‘Would now be a good time to tell you that I used to be an editor for exactly the type of magazine which preaches the Christmas perfection message? It’s a myth which exerts a huge amount of pressure on people, needlessly in my opinion.
Leads to a lot of heartache, too. Especially when people have little enough money as it is and can’t afford what are laughingly referred to as “must haves”.
’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thankfully I got out of that game while I still had my sanity intact. Now I’m retired, I still write for a magazine, but only occasionally and mostly about gardening and nature. ’
‘So, I’m guessing Christmas is a very different affair in your house then?’
‘Well, for starters, there’ll just be me this year, so yes, you could say that.
My children have always loved skiing, something they shared with their dad, and as holidays together are few and far between, I insisted they go off to have some fun.
Besides, I’m not a fan of hurtling down a mountainside and having bits of me snap off, so it’s a win-win situation – it prevents them from worrying about me being on my own, while also ensuring I get to have a lovely quiet time of things.
So, tomorrow I shall go into the woods behind my house and gather armfuls of holly to decorate the house, then I’ll make some mulled wine for me and a special suet cake for the birds, before walking down the lane on Christmas Eve to enjoy the carol service at the local church.
I’m not at all religious, but the vicar doesn’t mind in the slightest. He says any place gets a bit holy if it’s left on its own to think for a while and I agree with that.
You can feel it, and that’s what I like. That, and a good sing-song.’
‘It sounds like heaven… no pun intended.’
‘It’s not for everyone, but I enjoy it.’
‘How many children do you have?’ asked Henry.
‘Two,’ replied Peg. ‘Both girls.’ She was about to elaborate when a loud shrilling filled the car.
‘Sorry,’ said Henry, taking up his phone. ‘Hold that thought a moment.’
It was Adam, again. He knew it would be.
‘Hi… yes, still here,’ he said into the phone. ‘We haven’t moved in almost two hours now. A container load of something has spilled further up the motorway.’ He glanced at Peg, smiling as he listened to his son’s reply.
‘Well it can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll get there when I arrive. And it could be worse. It could have been an accident.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll let you know what time I think I’ll be arriving just as soon as it looks like we’re on the move again.’
He wondered whether Peg could hear what his son was saying.
He hoped not. ‘I know it’s inconvenient,’ he replied to Adam’s next comment.
‘And I’m sorry. I also know Sofia’s gone to a lot of trouble, but if I’m not there by dinnertime, eat without me, don’t let anything go to waste.
’ He paused, listening. ‘I don’t mind, beans on toast will suit me…
well, then I’ll have whatever Sofia does think is suitable.
I really don’t mind, Adam.’ He picked a flake of pastry off his trouser leg and put it in his mouth.
‘Yes, I’ll ring again when we get going.
Oh, and I’m absolutely fine, by the way.
It’s no bother at all being stuck in a traffic jam which is going to double the length of my journey. ’
Henry couldn’t help himself. This was… he counted them up in his head: the fifth phone call he’d had from Adam today, none of them for any reason other than to fuss.
To convey some thought or other that Sofia had had – most of them concern that he was going to disrupt all her plans.
Not once had any thought been given to how he was faring.
Peg’s quiet yet joyful Christmas was beginning to sound more and more idyllic, and he suddenly found himself longing for his life to be different.
He was enjoying sitting in a car with a total stranger, eating cheese and beetroot sandwiches and mince pies.
Part of him would like to tell Adam all about her, but he knew full well what his son would say and he didn’t want to hear it.
So he wouldn’t be sharing any details of what he was doing right now.
The hold-up might only last a couple of hours, and if they were going to be the best few hours of his day, then Henry wanted them all for himself.
‘Listen, I’ll ring as soon as I can, okay? As soon as I have any news.’ He ended the call, a little embarrassed by his snarky comment. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said to Peg. ‘You were saying, you’ve got two children.’
‘I have. Izzy, my eldest, and Phoebe, who’s younger by just over a year.’
‘And are you close?’
‘Emotionally or geographically?’
Henry smiled. ‘Whichever.’