Chapter Twenty-Six
Christmas Day
Mel wakes curled against Finn’s front, both of them still naked, skin against skin.
She knows it must be early. It’s pitch-black outside and although that isn’t telling this time of year, there is no sound within the house, no light coming from under the bedroom door.
She can feel the rhythm of Finn’s deep breathing behind her, and smiles.
She is happy, she realizes. Happy to be here, with Finn, on Christmas Day.
She wants to stay next to him, maybe try to wake him up, slowly, for a repeat of last night.
But she is also dying of thirst—and there is no water anywhere in sight.
She moves out from under Finn’s arm, careful not to wake him as she hunts for her pajamas, then slips on a dressing gown.
She leaves Finn sleeping, tiptoeing downstairs.
It’s chilly, the fire from last night burned out, but she feels an echo of childhood excitement.
It’s Christmas Day morning, she’s here with some of the people she loves most in the world—and for today, at least, she has Finn.
She heads down the corridor to the kitchen, pauses just outside when she sees the light is already on. There are voices, she realizes, and she bites her lip—what if it’s Hattie and Dylan, in the middle of a conversation that she shouldn’t interrupt?
“I’m fine, Kristen. I just couldn’t sleep—that’s all.” It’s Susan’s voice.
“I still say we should have taken you to the hospital.” Kristen. What’s she doing up and over in this house so early?
A long sigh from Susan. “They’re not going to tell me anything I don’t know. And I fell over because I’m a bad ice-skater—not because I have cancer.”
Mel’s whole body goes cold. No. She mustn’t have heard right. There is a ringing in her ears as she hears Susan’s words again in her mind.
Not because I have cancer.
It can’t be true. Susan can’t have cancer—they’d know, wouldn’t they? Finn would know. He’d have told her.
She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t go in, not when they are having a private conversation. But she can’t just go back upstairs, pretend she hasn’t heard. And she wants to know if it’s true, if she’s really heard this right.
She doesn’t know what to do, feels panic clogging her throat. Then she sees Kristen heading into the kitchen area, switching the kettle on to boil. She must make some kind of noise, because Kristen turns—and sees Mel.
Kristen immediately fixes a smile to her face. “Mel! You’re up early. Do you want a…” But she trails off. And Mel knows that her expression must say it all. “You heard,” Kristen says, and her own expression twists into a grimace.
Mel nods and steps farther into the room.
Susan, sitting at the dining table, looks over to her.
She looks tired, with a slightly puffy face and gray circles under her eyes.
She hasn’t looked this tired all holiday, has she?
Or has Mel been too wrapped up in her own drama to notice that something is seriously wrong?
Oh God. It can’t be happening. It can’t be.
The three of them are quiet. Then Susan blows out a long breath, rubbing her hands over her face.
Mel swallows, her mouth dry. “Cancer?” She has to say it. She has to get it out there.
Susan drops her hands, and nods.
“But…”
“They don’t know,” Kristen whispers. “Finn, Mark, Hattie. They don’t know.”
Mel stares at Kristen. “But you?”
“I found out, the day before we came away. There was a letter from the doctor…”
“Which I was stupid enough to leave out,” Susan says wearily.
Mel looks between the two of them, hoping one of them will say something to make it better, that it’s not that serious, that Susan hasn’t been keeping this from her family the entire holiday.
“I haven’t told Mark,” Kristen says, and now her eyes are swimming with tears. And it’s that which makes it real. Kristen is crying. She is crying, because Susan has cancer.
“Why not?” Mel manages to get out, her throat almost too tight to speak.
“Because I asked her not to,” Susan says.
“And I’m going to ask that of you too, Mel.
” She gets to her feet, crosses to where Mel is standing, and takes both her hands.
“I’m so, so sorry you found out like this.
But I made a decision not to tell the family, because I don’t want to ruin Christmas.
I wanted everyone to enjoy this holiday, to have this time together.
So I’m asking you to help me with that. I’m asking if you’ll let me tell everyone in my own time, when I’m ready. ”
Susan squeezes Mel’s hands to emphasize the point. She doesn’t look ill. Does she?
“How long have you known?” Mel whispers.
“A few weeks.”
Mel nods, trying to take it in. Then she pulls Susan into a hug, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Susan does not need to see her cry. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
Susan pats her back. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
Kristen brings three mugs over to the table, and sets them down. Susan pulls away and they all sit, Mel cupping her hands around the tea for warmth. “How bad…?” She trails off, not sure if she should ask.
The way Susan hesitates sends a bolt of fear through Mel.
“I’ve got a follow-up appointment in the new year,” Susan says calmly. “I’ll know more then—and that’s when I’ll tell everyone.”
Mel goes quiet. She doesn’t know what to say.
It’s still not sinking in—that she’s been ill, this whole time.
That she’s not told everyone. Is this what the Christmas list has been about?
Has Susan wanted everyone to enjoy this Christmas as much as possible—because it might be her last?
No, stop it, Melanie. She doesn’t know that. She shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.
Kristen checks her phone for the time, biting her lip. She seems to have managed to control her emotions, her eyes a little dryer. “I’m going to have to go back next door. Freya will be up any minute. She won’t wait for sunrise on Christmas.”
“Yes, you should go back,” Susan agrees. “Give Freya a Christmas cuddle from me and come over when you’re all ready.”
But Kristen hesitates. “Susan, I—”
“Go,” Susan says firmly. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Kristen blows out a long breath, then gets to her feet. She gives Mel a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry, Mel.” As if anyone needs to apologize to her, in this scenario.
“I’m sorry too,” says Mel quietly. Because what else is there to say?
When Kristen is gone, Mel and Susan sip their teas quietly for a moment.
Then Mel takes a breath, gearing herself up.
“Susan, I’m sure Kristen has already talked about this with you, but are you sure you don’t want to tell everyone?
They…” But she stops herself. She was going to say “they have a right to know,” but that sounds harsh, doesn’t it?
And, really, it is Susan’s decision, not hers.
But Finn. Her heart lurches painfully. What will Finn do when he finds out? How will he cope? Oh God. She needs to tell him. She can’t keep this from him, can she?
Susan seems to contemplate Mel for a moment, both hands cupped around her mug.
“When the kids were little,” she says slowly, “there was this one Christmas when Andrew didn’t come home on Christmas Eve.
Mark must have been about twelve, I think.
Andrew had stayed over somewhere, effectively got stranded with car issues and couldn’t make it back in time.
He rang me about six a.m. , woke me up, genuinely panicking.
He wanted to be there, see—he knew the kids were excited—and he just hadn’t thought it through.
” She gives a low sigh. “He never thought anything through, that man.”
Mel says nothing, just watches Susan’s face as she speaks.
“Anyway, I remember thinking, well, I just have to keep it together, don’t I?
It’s not like he hadn’t let me down before, countless times, and, mostly, I’d managed to block it out.
But Christmas for some reason felt different—he’d always been there on birthdays, holidays, school plays.
The things where the kids would really notice his absence.
But I smiled, and hugged the kids, and told them nothing was wrong, all the while I had this awful feeling inside.
It’s silly, isn’t it? I knew what he was like, I knew he’d been cheating on me, but for some reason this was the thing that really got to me?
It was kind of a point of no return—the moment I realized there was no hope for us, despite the fact I stayed with him for years after. ”
“I don’t think it’s silly,” Mel says quietly.
“Well. Most people would, I think. Most of my friends wondered why I put up with it. But that’s not the point.
On the day, I pretended, and we opened the stockings without him and the kids were so excited.
I’ve got no idea what was in any of them—but I remember Mark, who was turning into a teenager, being like a kid again, one of those moments you treasure when they are growing up too fast. And when Andrew made it back—before Christmas dinner, before the kids opened their main presents, they were so happy.
I remember Hattie, running into his arms, laughing as he twirled her around.
It’s crystal clear.” She taps her temple with her forefinger.
“Andrew was in a crumpled shirt, his eyes tired, face drawn. He looked terrible, and like he might burst into tears. But he hugged Hattie and made up some excuse—that part I didn’t remember.
But we ended up having such a laugh—and I knew where he’d likely been, what he’d been doing, but the kids opened the presents we’d chosen for them together, and I could tell they were so happy for us all to be together, and it was worth it. ”
Mel’s heart is breaking a little, listening to this—imagining Susan on the verge of breaking down, trapped in a marriage and feeling unloved and let down on Christmas Day morning.
Imagining little Finn and Hattie and Mark not understanding why their dad wasn’t there, Hattie delighted when he’d turned up—compared to Hattie now, who doesn’t want to speak to him.
And here she is, this woman who has given everything for her kids, who might have made mistakes and inevitably handed down ideas of relationships to her children, but who has wanted the best for them, always.
“It was worth it,” Susan repeats firmly, “to keep them happy. And I made a promise to myself from then on that I wouldn’t let him ruin Christmas again.
I always made sure we had the best day, have always loved having my kids around and seeing them happy.
I want my family to have a last perfect Christmas together, Mel,” Susan continues.
Mel flinches at the word “last.” If Susan sees, she doesn’t comment—and she doesn’t expand.
It might not be as bad as she thinks, Mel tells herself. And then, it can’t be as bad as she thinks.
“I want them to be able to remember that, after everything.” She takes a deep breath.
“I want you to promise me, Mel. I will tell them, after my appointment. But I want you to promise that you’ll help keep my secret until then.
That you’ll let everyone—including me—enjoy this Christmas.
” She reaches across the table to take Mel’s hand.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry that I have to. But I need you to promise.”
And she can’t argue, can she? Because it is not her choice to make. So, against her better judgment, she finds herself whispering, “Okay. I promise.”