3
Sara
“ S o how was the big bad city?” Patrick grabbed her and kissed her as she walked through the door.
“Big and bad.” She abandoned her suitcase and kissed him back. “I think it might have corrupted me.”
“Yeah?” He lifted his mouth from hers and smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve had in a while. Care to elaborate? Or better still, give me a physical demonstration?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Mummy!” There were shrieks and then both girls came thundering out of the kitchen.
“Or maybe not,” she murmured, smiling at him before she turned to hug the girls.
First was Ava, six years old and the more boisterous of the two sisters.
“We’re making pizza!”
“You are? Then I can’t wait to join you.” She kissed Ava and held out her arm to Iris. At nine, Iris was quieter than her sister. The girls smelled of shampoo, sugar and innocence.
She held them close. Only one thing truly mattered to Sara, and that was family. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t feel grateful for it. They were her whole world. She’d never let anything come between her, Patrick and her girls.
“We’ve started making yours,” Iris said. “We thought you might be too tired to make it yourself. We hoped Granny might come.”
Iris. Always kind. Always thinking of others.
Sara kissed the top of her head and stood up. “Granny was a bit tired and she was keen to get back to her animals.”
“Come on ,” Ava said to her sister. She grabbed Iris by the hand and dragged her back to the kitchen.
Ava. Always restless. Always moving on to the next thing.
Sara felt a pang as she watched them, hand in hand. She wanted her girls to always be as close as they were now. To always be a support to each other. Sisters.
Wishing she could freeze time, she walked with Patrick to the kitchen. “Have they been good?”
“Pretty good. You know how it is. They’re excited to see you. I don’t know how we’re ever going to get them to bed on time.”
“One late night won’t hurt.” Sara slid off her shoes and grabbed an apron. It felt so good to be home. Worry about her mother still nagged at her, but here among her family she was able to push it to the back of her mind. “I don’t want tomato sauce on my best silk shirt.”
“You could always take it off.” Patrick gave her a look and she gave him her own look back.
Maybe they should have booked a babysitter for the evening and gone out.
“I took mine off. I dropped tomato on it.” Ava scattered cheese over her pizza. “I was sad, because it’s my best one.”
“It will wash.” Iris moved the pizza base closer to her sister so that less food fell on the table. “I put it to soak in the bathroom. She was crying, but I told her you’d get it clean again. You always manage to get things clean.”
Sara smiled at her. She was pleased she hadn’t booked a babysitter. Tonight was family time, and later—later, when the girls were in bed, she’d have time alone with Patrick. “You are so kind to your sister.”
“Here’s your pizza.” Patrick put it in front of her and she blinked.
“Wow. That is a lot of olives.”
“Is it too many?” Iris looked at her anxiously. “We know you love olives so I gave you my share. But maybe it’s too many.”
“It’s the perfect amount. And that’s so generous of you.” Sara duly admired the pizza. “I don’t know how you got it so exactly right.”
Iris flushed with pride and returned happily to her own pizza.
The pizzas said everything about the personalities of her girls, Sara thought.
Iris’s pizza was neat and symmetrical, divided into quarters with strips of ham, each quarter decorated with the same precision.
“Your pizza is a work of art,” she said as she admired it and Ava pushed hers forward.
“How about mine? Is mine a work of art?”
“Modern art,” Patrick said, winking at Sara.
Ava’s pizza looked as if all the ingredients had been dropped from a helicopter.
“It looks delicious.” Sara slid the pizzas into the oven and sat down at the table.
“Long week? Have a glass of our best Winterbury White.” He put the tall long-stemmed glass in front of her and Sara studied it.
“It’s a good color.”
“The taste is better.” He sat down next to her and gave her hand a squeeze. “This has been our best year at the vineyard. Incredible. For once, the weather was our friend. Thanks for your update email, by the way. Sounds as if your meeting with the buyer went well.”
“Really well. He’s knowledgeable about the low-and no-alcohol sector. Sees it as a massive growth area for them.” Sara picked up her glass. “I’m hopeful.”
Ava covered her ears. “Stop talking about work. Work is boring.”
Sara put her glass down. “You’re right. No more work.”
“And the weather can’t be your friend, Daddy, that’s silly.” Ava picked up her crayons. “You can’t do a sleepover with the weather.”
“You might if you were camping,” Iris said. “Remember that storm the night we camped out in the vineyard? We were almost blown away. Daddy had to come and rescue us.”
“I don’t remember.” Ava covered the paper with green crayon. “I’m drawing a Christmas tree.”
Iris glanced across. “That’s pretty. You need to give it some decorations.”
“When can we have our real tree?” Ava added random pink splodges to the tree.
“Not yet,” Iris said. “Or the needles fall off. But soon.”
“I love having a tree,” Ava said. “I wish we could have a Christmas tree all year.”
“Me too.” Iris leaned across and mopped up a splash of paint that had landed on the table. “Do you want to share my room on Christmas Eve?”
“At Nanna’s house?” Ava’s face lit up. “Yes!” She glanced at Sara. “Can I? Please?”
“Of course you can, if it’s all right with Iris.”
“It will be fun.”
Their enthusiasm was infectious, and Sara felt a glow of warmth and anticipation. She knew her mother found this time of year hard, and part of her did too, but she’d learned to block it out and not give it a moment of her attention. The faint shadow of sadness was easily forgotten when she was with the girls. Their excitement seeped into her, blasting out the wisps of darkness.
“We’ll get the tree soon. We’ll choose the biggest one in the forest.”
Ava clapped her hands, knocked over her drink in the process, and Iris went running for a cloth to mop up the mess.
Patrick helped her. “You were the one who said you wanted a little sister.”
Iris dropped the cloth into the pools of juice. “I didn’t realize a little sister would be so messy.”
They ate their pizza together, and by the time the girls were settled and in bed, Sara was almost ready to collapse into bed herself.
She loaded the plates into the dishwasher, cleared the kitchen and made coffee.
“Tell me that’s decaf,” Patrick said, “although nothing is likely to keep me awake tonight.”
“Have they been waking you up?”
“Ava had a couple of bad dreams. You know how she is. Active imagination. I probably did too much with them. Wound them up playing. That’s the downside of working too hard—when I’m with them I overcompensate.” He reached for the cups and she poured the coffee.
“How could we produce two children who are so different?”
“I don’t know, but I happen to think they make a perfect pair. You don’t have to be the same to be good together. Think of fish and chips. Scones and cream.”
They carried their drinks into the living room and Sara collapsed onto the sofa. “I worry about them. Iris is so sensitive, and Ava is capable of getting herself into so much trouble and she’s only six. What’s it going to be like when she’s sixteen?”
Patrick stroked her leg. “They’re going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that. No one ever knows what is round the corner.”
“Whoa—” he shifted position so that he could look at her “—what’s brought this on?”
“Nothing. It’s just that sometimes I worry that—”
“I know what you worry about, but you don’t need to. That isn’t going to happen. Is this because you were trapped in the car with your mother for hours? Did she put those thoughts in your head?”
“No.” She was quick to defend her. “Obviously she worries—”
“And she infected you with that same worry. So now I’m going to tell you not to worry. The girls are fine. They dote on each other.” He put his cup down and pulled her into his arms. “How is your mother?”
“Oh, you know—the usual.” She snuggled against his shoulder. “Putting on a brave face. She’s busy, so that’s good.”
“Did you persuade her to let us spend Christmas Day with her?”
“Yes, I think so.” She glanced up at him? “You’re sure that’s okay with you?”
“Of course. The girls will love it.”
“How about you?” She reached for her coffee. “You work with my mother. Are you sure you want to spend Christmas with her too?”
“Yes. She’s good company. And she is great to work with. Not that I see that much of her. Talking of work, that proposal that the events company put together for our summer party next year looks great.”
“You read it? Between the vineyard and the girls, I didn’t think you’d have time.”
“You were away. My nights were long and empty. I missed you. And I was interested.” He paused. “It’s amazing how fast we’re expanding. If that guy you had your meeting with puts in an order—”
“I know! Our little Cotswold winery hitting the big time.” She grinned. “Merry Christmas.”
“And did your mother meet up with Imogen?”
“No, not this time, although they are going to arrange something before Christmas.” She felt a flicker of unease. “They’re getting pretty close.”
“And that bothers you?”
“I don’t know.” She paused. “Yes, it bothers me.”
“Imogen is good at her job.”
“I know. She is good. That’s not what worries me.” Sara’s head started to throb. “You know what my mother is like. Waifs, strays, anyone in need, anyone vulnerable—human or animal—and my mother is there.”
“Which category does Imogen fit into?”
“I’m not sure. But when Imogen moved companies, my mother didn’t hesitate to move our business with her.”
“Because she’s competent and enthusiastic. Not exactly a waif or a stray, Sara. It was a sound business decision.”
She welcomed the reassurance and the logic, but still, anxiety gnawed at her insides. “You’re right, but we both know her reasons for using them are more complicated than that.”
He was silent for a moment. “In the end, this is your mother’s decision. She’s doing what she needs to do. What she feels is right.”
But what she was doing could have difficult consequences.
“I want to protect her.” And herself. She wanted to protect herself. Was that selfish?
No, it was survival.
“I know you do. But your mother is as stubborn and determined as you are, and she isn’t going to change her mind. All you can do is go along with it.”
“You’re right. There’s no point in worrying.” She snuggled closer. “The time of year doesn’t help.”
“I know.” His arms tightened. “But it’s going to be fine. We’re going to have a great Christmas.”
There was no reason why that shouldn’t be the case. So why was she feeling so uneasy?