Chapter 16
As I finished telling Darya about the worst day of my life, but before I’d got to what happened after that, Will arrived, laden down with the Arty Party decorations to be stashed in the storeroom until the café was ready for them.
‘Is Ernest in the car?’ I asked, putting my coat on.
‘I left him with Jordan.’
‘Oh?’ I felt the first prickle of disquiet. ‘Are we picking him up on the way back?’
That made no sense. Will’s cottage was in the opposite direction to my house.
He looked at me. ‘Did you not check the weather? It’s worse than this morning because the half-melted snow has refrozen. The roads outside the village are sheets of ice. My street has been gritted, but there’s no way anyone’s getting up Robin’s Hill tonight.’
‘Right. Okay. I’ll ask Darya if I can stay with her,’ I said quickly.
‘That would be a terrible idea,’ Darya said, appearing with her keys, ready to lock the door after us.
‘I have a single bed, and you’ve seen the size of my sofa.
Only a child could sleep on there. Besides, I have no spare bedding.
It would be almost as bad as your caravan. Will’s house has a beautiful study.’
Will’s house also had three kids. And Will.
‘I can’t impose on you again…’
As Darya disappeared, Will shook his head, tone exasperated.
‘You’re talking about a man so starved for adult company he joined a Friends Wanted club.
I’ve spent most of the day crafting a snow elephant, snow anteater and snow proboscis worm, accompanied by non-stop questions about snow, the North Pole, icicles, igloos and a relentless interrogation about Father Christmas that almost broke me.
I’ve listened to a semi-hysterical Edith insisting she’s never going to school again while printing off forty-seven pages on home schooling, because her best friend got in a snowball fight with the boy she likes, so then someone said something and everyone thinks something else and, of course, if she had a phone none of this would have happened.
I love her, but listening to that verbal onslaught felt like auditory torture because she falls out with Taylor at least once a week.
Taylor who also doesn’t have a smartphone.
They’ll be fine by tomorrow. Jordan, on the other hand, came home with a black eye, ripped coat and the lengthy discourse of “Don’t know”, “Can’t remember” and “Mmph”. ’
He blew out a sigh, running a hand through mussed-up hair.
‘I don’t want to beg, but it would be so great not to sit alone, contemplating my fatherly failures. I even saved some pasta bake in case you haven’t eaten. I mean, if you’ve had enough of people for today, we don’t have to talk. I’ve got loads of books. Or we can find something to watch.’
‘Here.’ Darya had come back, brandishing a large tote bag. ‘Toiletries, pyjamas, underwear, clean jumper for tomorrow. Oh, and a hairbrush because…’ She waved a brisk hand at my head. ‘Enjoy your sleepover.’
Then she somehow herded us out the door and into the icy night before I’d had a chance to protest.
‘But what will people – and by people, I mostly mean your kids – think?’ I asked once we were in the car.
‘They’ll not think anything. I’m their ancient dad. An entirely non-sexual being. If anything, they’ll be relieved I have someone else to talk to, save me bothering them or noticing if they’ve not done their chores.’
‘Given what you said about Tilly…’ I said, before losing the courage to continue.
‘Yes?’ Will glanced over at me. ‘Given what I’ve said about Tilly, I’m not going to mind if you ask a personal question.’
‘I’m wondering why you are so committed to not dating?’
He released a bark of laughter. ‘I’m a widower with three kids. You just heard what my typical Friday night is like. I’m skint, perpetually knackered and my life couldn’t be more humdrum. Who’d want to date me, even if I had the time or energy?’
Me, I thought, before I could stop myself. I would want to date you.
I mean, I wouldn’t date Will for a dozen reasons, but I had to admit I wanted to.
‘I’d either have to keep my dating life completely separate from my family, which I have zero interest in, given it means I’d not be able to share the biggest and best part of me, so it’s heading nowhere right from the get-go.
Or, if I want any kind of commitment, I need to find someone prepared to love my kids.
So, what, a romantic dinner at McDonald’s, with three bickering, moody, non-stop question-asking children?
Oh, and we have to be back by seven for Bonnie’s bathtime. ’
Yes please. Mine’s a Big Mac and fries.
When we got back, Will checked Bonnie was still asleep, Edith was engrossed in a book and Jordan was practising for his piano recital, keyboard headphones in so he didn’t disturb his sisters.
Having admitted I’d already had a cheese and tomato omelette, we divvied up the pasta bake between us anyway, and then ate in the kitchen, Christmas classics playing softly in the background.
‘What do you think happened to Jordan?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. He’s not exactly one of the popular crew.
’ Will furrowed his brow. ‘Jordan has always been serious, even more so after everything he’s been through.
He refuses to go along with the crowd, or pretend to care about the trivial stuff that most sixteen-year-olds are interested in.
He’s got a couple of decent school friends who he does role-playing games with.
They’ve formed a jazz quartet, which I think is brilliant, but hasn’t exactly boosted his social status. ’
‘I can imagine.’
‘I didn’t think they were getting any serious flak. Nothing him and his friends can’t shake off, because they consider it immature. But if he got that black eye falling of his sledge or in a snowball fight, why not tell me?’
‘Can you trust him to talk to you if he needs to? I never told my parents anything, primarily because they wouldn’t have listened or given me any useful advice anyway, but one thing he must have learned over the past few years is resilience. Not letting the pettier stuff get to him.’
Will nodded. ‘Yeah. Or he’s learned not to tell his dad, because he doesn’t want me to have something else to worry about.’
‘Do you ever do anything just the two of you?’ I couldn’t help it; I was back in Fixer mode.
Will frowned. ‘Honestly? No.’
‘Okay, so when I’m making decorations with the girls, how about you and Jordan have some father and son time? Go and see a scary movie or sneak into the forest and chop down a Christmas tree. Something Bonnie and Edith can’t do.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Hmmm, then again…’ I screwed up my face. ‘I’m staying another night in your house, eating your pasta, drinking your wine, you’re looking after my dog and giving me a lift back… but no, I insist you sit and watch me and your daughters make orange peel foxes.’
‘Okay. Thank you.’ Will met my eyes with a warm gaze that showed how much he meant it. ‘Save us some decorations to hang up when we get back, though.’
‘When was the last time you went sledging?’ Will asked as we cleaned up.
That was an easy answer. ‘Never.’
He stopped, dishcloth in hand. ‘Never? Do city kids not find a park or a quiet street somewhere?’
I put the pan I’d just dried back on its hook and leant back against the countertop. ‘I’m sure most kids did. I didn’t have that kind of childhood.’
‘The kind of childhood where you take an old tray and find a hill to slide down?’ His voice was soft, those grey eyes so gentle, it made my throat ache.
‘The kind where you have space in your head for fun. Where snow is a reason to play, not panic because there’s no heating or hot water again and you simply cannot stuff yourself into the coat you’ve worn for the past three winters.
It was enough for me to stumble between school and the library so I could get another couple of hours of warmth before going home to a jam sandwich in bed. ’
Will took three strides across the kitchen and wrapped his hand around mine. ‘I think this means only one thing.’ He gave my hand a playful tug.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘That I really am the world’s biggest loser?’
‘That you need to get your boots on. We’re going sledging.’
It took me the time Will spent informing his older children that we were popping out for an hour or so for my brain to process that idea and decide, why on earth not? I was thirty-six, for the first time ever I had time to be frivolous and there was a whole lot of life to catch up on.
Will pulled the sledge while I aimed the torch as we carefully made our way down the lane towards a field near his house.
It took about ten steps for us to realise the reason people didn’t go sledging at night was because it was so cold I could feel icicles forming on my eyelashes as well as treacherous trying to navigate our way in the dark.
Once we reached the field, plodding our way up the snowy slope was even harder.
I resorted to accepting Will’s offer to slip my arm through his, even if leaning up against him made my heart imagine we were teenagers sneaking out for a secret rendezvous.
‘I’m wondering why this is supposed to be fun,’ I wheezed, my lungs protesting at the huge influx of bitter air as we finally crested the top of the hill. My feet were numb, my nose raw and I thought I might have stepped in a cowpat.
‘Look.’
Will twizzled me around, and I stopped wondering.
Bigley shimmered in all its Christmas splendour below us.
The giant tree in the square sparkled. There were houses with every brick festooned in multicoloured lights.
In one garden, a huge inflatable reindeer with a flashing red nose swayed in the wind.
Countless twinkling lights were draped along roof ridges.
A golden glow emanated from the nearest windows.
Above all this, the billions of stars that are barely visible in the city stretched out across the inky sky, putting the earthly spectacle in its place.
‘It’s magical,’ I sighed, gazing at the storybook crescent moon.
Will climbed onto the wooden sledge, holding out a hand for me to join him. Once I was settled in, my back against his padded coat, his arms reaching around me because there was absolutely no way I was holding the rope, he replied, ‘It’s pretty good. But this is magic.’
And then we were off, the wind whipping my face and stealing my breath as we whizzed and bounced at an alarming pace down the hill.
While the blur of the village was rapidly approaching, it was too dark to see more than a couple of feet in front of us and I was trusting Will to react like lightning if we came up against any obstacles.
Here I was again – not only trusting this man I barely knew, but also loving it.
‘Put your feet down!’ Will cried, yanking on one side of the rope as the slope began to level off, and between us we skidded to a stop about a metre away from a frozen ditch.
We sat there for a moment, chests heaving, adrenaline pounding, heads tilted up at the glorious sky. Then, with a burst of laughter, we clambered up, grabbed the sleigh and started back up the field.
It was after the third run, when I was perhaps less petrified and more able to absorb what I was doing, that it hit me.
By the time we stopped – teetering right on the edge of the ditch this time – my laughter had dried up.
‘Okay?’ Will adjusted his position on the sledge so he could see at least some of my face.
I automatically tried to reply that yes, of course I was.
Because this was one of the most exhilarating things I’d ever done.
It was wild and fun and I couldn’t remember feeling so free, hurtling down a field in the dark, alone except for me and the man nestled against me.
Instead, I bent my head so low it almost reached my wet knees, every inch of me crumpling into a sobbing, wretched lump of regret.
Will didn’t ask why. He simply pulled me in, held me tight – oh my goodness, those steady arms around me were like a shield holding back the years of isolation – and let me grieve for the childhood I’d never had. The sledging and snowball fights, the Christmases and carefree summers.
I got a grip on myself sooner rather than later because Will had promised Jordan he’d not be more than an hour, and our trousers were starting to freeze to the sledge. We were so stiff we had to help each other up, wobbling like a pair of drunkards.
‘You know one of the best things about sledging is coming back into the warm, changing into dry clothes and having a hot chocolate while your fingers and feet defrost,’ Will said as we hobbled back to the road.
‘Would that be one Christmas cliché too many? I don’t want to startle the kids if it makes you howl again. ’
‘Was I that loud?’ I asked, because Will made it impossible to feel humiliated.
He chuckled, which was answer enough. ‘Then again, the kids are no strangers to therapeutic crying. We might as well finish the sledging experience we started. Hot chocolate and mince pies.’
It turned out that cosying up in Will’s living room with hot chocolate made me happier than I’d been in ages. Which was a relief.