Chapter 9
Two White Christmas Mojitos were enough for me and leaving Hattie and Joyce to enjoy their third, I’d collected my laptop and Christmas shopping from the car to make the trek to Mum’s on foot.
My mind continued to flit between getting on with my presentation and leaving it until after Christmas. But deep down, I knew if I wanted to make sure I could pay my bills, time was short and I needed a head start.
I scolded Rory for not giving me more warning.
If he had, I could have had everything I needed with me.
Like enough clothes to see me through to the new year.
Instead, I’d have to waste what now seemed precious hours going home for it the following day.
Not that there was any point complaining. It was what it was.
You’ve got plenty of time, my inner voice yet again said. January is ages away.
I ignored it. On a professional level I was too much of a perfectionist to present anything substandard and personally, I wanted to show Rory and Callum just who they were dealing with.
The estate agent in me was always on duty and as I admired my surroundings it was obvious why Settledown was popular amongst house buyers.
As well as a real community spirit, it had everything its residents could need.
A pub, a doctor’s surgery, grocers and a variety of independent retailers, and with its olde worlde charm it was spectacularly picture postcard pretty, especially at Christmastime.
On top of an abundance of glowing decorations, a majestic brightly lit Douglas fir sat like a beacon on the market square and every shop had gone all out to impress with their window displays.
That year’s theme was Hoffman’s The Nutcracker and The Mouse King, and I couldn’t help but smile at how much effort local traders had gone to.
They’d brought to life a host of clockwork castles, Princess Pirlipats and doll kingdoms. My favourites scenes were the ones with the little mice peeping out from behind perfectly wrapped and ribboned gift boxes.
Leaving civilisation and streetlamps behind, I pulled the torch from my handbag and switched it on.
Frost glistened in the moonlight, and although I knew it was a layer of rime, the hillsides looked covered in snow.
Sheep huddled together next to drystone walls, and the only sound was the to-wit-to-woo of a tawny owl in the distance.
I felt a sense of calm and solitude and for the first time that day I could properly breathe.
I didn’t know if it was the cocktails talking or the result of a terrible day, but as I walked, I found myself wondering if it was time to swap city living for country life.
I knew if both were priced right, selling my flat and investing in a little cottage would be easy enough and the more I thought about it, the more appealing it became.
I could adorn the house with roses grown in my very own garden and have a vegetable patch overflowing with produce.
In winter, I could make soup on an Aga in my farmhouse-style kitchen and sit in my very own snug, book in my lap, next to a roaring wood burner or open fire.
I’d always wanted a dog and readily pictured myself playing ball with a lolloping Labradoodle in the garden.
Admittedly, life as a singleton could be lonely at times and as I meandered along, even the prospect of finding a man to share my slower pace of life seemed appealing.
I sighed. As if that was ever going to happen.
I’d yet to meet a Henry Cavill lookalike who was intelligent and funny and who prided himself on self-awareness.
A man who, when it came to his relationships, put in the same amount of emotional and practical labour that he took out.
Someone who’d drop everything, no matter the consequences, for the people he loved and who was passionate about his career and hobbies, to the point he could make even the most boring of details sound interesting.
I let out a laugh. ‘Keep dreaming, Erin.’ In my experience, men like that didn’t exist.
I looked up at the night’s sky to see a shooting star and pausing in my step, I watched it blaze across the Milky Way. With its long tail trailing behind, it seemed to go on forever before burning out. I’d never seen anything like it and was captivated.
I shivered, which brought me back to my senses, and glancing around, as beautiful and romantic as my surroundings were, they suddenly had an eeriness to them. Unable to see or hear anything untoward, I shrugged off the feeling and carried on walking.
My right foot slipped on a patch of ice and forced to steady myself, I let out a yelp.
My heart raced thanks to the sudden shock, and I cursed Settledown’s planning department.
If they weren’t going to provide proper lighting for those residing just outside of town, the least they could’ve done was grit the roads.
I watched my every step as I continued on, at the same time questioning how much longer Mum would be able to manage getting to and from town.
Adding mobility issues to my list of concerns, I knew I’d have to address Maple Manor with her again and just as important, figure out a way to make her listen.
You can always move back home, my inner voice said.
Realising I might not have a choice come the new year, I pictured myself sharing a living space with Mum. Two strong-minded women, used to doing things in our own individual ways probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas and I fast shook my head. Not an option. We’d end up killing each other.
My calves tightened as I tackled the hill that led up to Mum’s and my breathing grew faster.
Steam escaped from my mouth and the numerous bags I carried felt heavier.
With my heart rate going into overdrive, I recalled my youth when I’d race up and down over and again without as much as breaking a sweat.
As a fifty-year-old adult it was heart-attack inducing.
I stopped to give my leg muscles a break.
While Mum and Dad had bought the semi-detached for its long distant views of Settledown and beyond, they clearly hadn’t thought about how any of us would cope with age.
The nearer I got, the more anxious I felt. I was already in Mum’s bad books over the Maple Manor brochure, and I dreaded telling her that the Christmas we’d planned was no longer happening and I’d have to work instead.
What’s the point coming for Christmas, if you’re not going to celebrate it? I heard her say. You may as well stay home.
I wouldn’t have blamed her if she sent me packing. As for the Maple Manor tour I’d arranged, the coward in me decided to keep that to myself a while longer.
I cocked my head as I approached the house.
That’s strange. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed it was in complete darkness.
Even the giant tree in the window failed to twinkle, which for Mum was a no-no.
Her Christmas light switch-on was akin to Trafalgar Square’s and throughout December and into the new year, those branches were lit twenty-four seven.
Coupled with the fact that Mum always made a point of waiting up when I stayed over, because according to her she’d never sleep until she knew I’d got back safe, it was obvious she’d gone to bed sulking.
Although it was my own fault, I realised, for not responding to her messages.
I shone my torch at the ground and spotting a couple of deliveries Mum hadn’t taken in, frowned.
After the decorative crystal and gemstone bonsai tree, goodness only knew what they contained.
I shifted the plant pot by the door to one side and grabbing Mum’s spare key, let myself in.
‘It’s only me!’ I called out, shivering as I turned on the hallway light.
I dumped my bags on the console table and retrieving Mum’s parcels, used my foot to swing the door shut behind me. Putting the deliveries to one side too, I entered the lounge where the fire looked to have died hours ago. The television was off and the cushions on Mum’s chair were plump.
On the coffee table, a pen rested on top of the Radio Times and presents sat wrapped under the Christmas tree in readiness for the big day.
I reached for the plug and switched on its lights and smiling, ran my fingers over a paper chain that wound around a couple of branches.
Made during my childhood, I couldn’t believe it had survived, let alone that Mum had kept it.
Felt tips to hand, Mum and I would spend hours creating colourful patterns on strips of paper before linking them together with PVA glue.
We’d make enough to adorn the walls, hang from the ceiling, and cover the whole tree.
Year upon year, Dad would come home from work delighted by our efforts.
I sighed. Back then things were fun and simple.
These days people co-ordinate Christmas decorations. They have themes.
Making my way through to the kitchen, I filled the kettle with water and after setting it to boil on the stove, went in search of Mum.
The stairs creaked as I made my way upstairs and reaching her room, I tapped on her door.
‘Mum, are you awake?’ Met with silence, I knew she wouldn’t really be asleep.
That she was ignoring me as punishment for ignoring her.
I took a deep breath and sighed, tempted to leave her to it, but Christmas was going to be bad enough without one of us brooding and choosing to be the better woman I entered regardless. ‘Mum, are you awake?’
I approached the bed and sat down next to her. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have disregarded you today and I’m sorry I did.’
Mum refused to make it easy for me and remained quiet.
I reached out with a reassuring hand, but instead of Mum’s arm it landed flat on the mattress. I frowned as I patted around feeling for her whereabouts, but much to my confusion, couldn’t locate her. I flicked on the light, confirming Mum’s bed was empty.