Chapter 24
HOLLY
The house I grew up in was tucked into the corner of a road within walking distance to Birchbrook’s High Street.
It was partly hidden from sight by a large oak tree that must have been hundreds of years old.
Today, a lot of the leaves had fallen so the bark allowed the cottage to peep through.
I parked outside, switched off the engine and looked at it.
It was one of those cottages that could have been plucked right off of a Christmas card.
Or used as a location for a Christmas romance where the love of your life just knocks at the door one night.
The front was painted a pretty cream, and ivy climbed over half of it, arching over the oak front door.
It was topped off with a thatched roof that cost a lot to keep in good shape and the sash windows were framed by green shutters.
I couldn’t get out of the car for a moment.
Memories played like a movie…
Me learning to ride my bike outside.
The crackling of the log fire in the lounge during the winter.
Running downstairs on Christmas morning to look for my stocking on the mantlepiece and excitedly unwrap presents under the tree.
The smell of sizzling of bacon on a Sunday morning when my mum used to make a cooked breakfast for us.
The pictures I’d drawn as a kid stuck on the fridge.
The radio my dad had on most mornings playing sounds of the seventies, which he considered the best musical era.
Sitting at the kitchen table with Paul to do our homework, eating cookies he’d brought us from the café.
I shook my head. The nostalgia was threatening to paralyse me. From both the good memories and at the edge of my thoughts, the bad ones, which were trying to creep in.
I got out of my car and walked slowly to the door, thinking about the day I left.
I had been so sure leaving was the right thing to do even though it broke my heart in two.
I hadn’t told anyone how much it had hurt to go; I’d kept it locked up tightly with so many other things: how my dad’s betrayal had made it hard for me to trust people, how the taunts and teasing at school had made me angry at my mum for not seeing what was going on, how her telling me to speak to my dad made me feel like she didn’t care he’d left…
and how much I wanted to tell Paul I thought of him as more than a friend but how scared I was that he would hurt me just like my dad had.
The worst part was how so many of those things were still true ten years later.
The front door opened as I walked up the short path, as if my mum had been watching me pull up outside. Probably she had. Not believing I’d actually show up. I took a deep breath and walked towards my childhood home.
‘You’re here,’ was all she said as she backed up to let me step over the threshold.
She held out her arms and I gave her our usual greeting hug that was stilted and over really quickly.
The smell of something garlicky hovered in the air alongside something sweet.
‘Go on into the kitchen,’ Mum added as she closed the door.
I walked through the small hall into the kitchen, passing the doorway into the lounge.
The kitchen was oak wood with blue tiles on the floor.
There was a small window above the sink that displayed the square garden out the back where another oak tree stood proudly and which, in summer, was filled with roses.
There was something cooking in the Aga and on the round distressed oak table was a frankincense and myrrh candle burning, which explained the sweet festive fragrance.
On the sideboard with the Emma Bridgewater mugs and plates was a red poinsettia plant and a framed photograph of me and my mum outside the cottage on my first day of school.
It was nice to see it was still there after all this time.
On the fridge there was just one thing now: the cutting of the article about my business from the local paper. That made me pause.
‘What shall we drink: tea, water, orange juice, Coke, or I have wine?’ Mum asked, coming in behind me and speaking quickly like she was as nervous as I was.
‘You have that article,’ I said, pointing to it. Mum had only listened when I talked about Wynter Wishes, never really saying much.
‘Oh, I forgot it was there,’ she said, ducking her head and opening the fridge so the article was hidden. ‘I was talking about your company with Female Pat and one of the local reporters was in the café so yeah…’ She coughed and rummaged in the fridge.
I was still frozen. ‘You mean you told them about my company, that’s why they wrote the article?’
She pulled out a bottle of wine and a Coke out of the fridge then stood there looking at me. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know they were there,’ she said hurriedly.
‘Why are you sorry?’ I asked with a frown, wondering why she looked even more nervous.
‘If you were unhappy they wrote about your business…’
‘No, why would I be? It was nice to see something good about myself in Birchbrook after everything that happened before I left,’ I said, slowly sitting down at the table as it sank in that my mum had been behind that article.
I hadn’t even considered it but who else would be praising me in this town?
She hadn’t said anything to me about it, though. ‘I’m just so… surprised.’
Mum sat down too and without asking again, poured us both a small glass of wine, perhaps sensing that we needed one now.
‘It was so exciting. I was so happy you had done what you wanted and started your own business. I love working for myself and I knew you would too. I was proud, Holly, and I still am.’
‘You are?’
She frowned. ‘Why do you seem so confused?’
‘I don’t know. You’ve never told me that before. I feel like when you come to the city, you don’t really like my life there. I’ve always felt like you are disappointed in me.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because I left Birchbrook,’ I replied in a rush. I wasn’t sure where this sudden honesty was coming from but being back in the cottage was making me remember everything and it was hard to keep my emotions steady.
‘I was only disappointed because I miss you, Holly. I think what you’ve done is amazing. I felt sad that you needed to leave but I only ever wanted you to be happy.’ She got up then and opened the Aga to check on the lunch as her words echoed around me.
‘Things were really shit back then for me, Mum. I had to get away,’ I said quietly.
She carried over a large dish with a delicious-looking lasagne in it. ‘I made your favourite. Well, it was your favourite growing up. Maybe it isn’t now,’ she said, biting her lip.
‘It still is,’ I assured her.
She sat back down and dished up lasagne for us both and passed me the bowl of salad, and gestured to the basket of crusty bread too. My mouth watered to see it all, just as I remembered from growing up.
‘Good.’ She smiled, pleased. ‘How are things going at the farm? I think it’s so lovely Willow wanted you to come and help her. She was lucky that you were free to work on the winter wonderland. You must be so busy in the run-up to Christmas?’
‘Well…’ I took a bite of the lasagne. It was just like she had always made it.
I had never been able to replicate it whenever I’d tried to.
‘Actually, I wasn’t as busy as I hoped I would be.
It’s been hard building the business,’ I admitted, not wanting to lie about it now we were face to face and she seemed so proud.
‘I’m hoping this winter wonderland will be good publicity for me. ’
‘Well, being your own boss isn’t easy, that’s for sure, but you’ve always been determined. And you thought I might be able to help with what Willow is doing?’
I was relieved she didn’t look at me like I was a failure.
I thought about how shocked Paul had seemed when I told him my life in the city wasn’t this amazing existence he seemed to think it was.
It was a relief to be honest with the two most important people to me in Birchbrook.
I could be honest with them like I was with Georgia.
The tension in my shoulders eased just a little bit by admitting things weren’t completely rosy.
‘She hoped to have some local businesses in the festive trail we’re creating but everyone seems to be booked up so I thought maybe you would have some ideas? ’
‘I could come along,’ Mum suggested. ‘Set up a stall with my jewellery. I mostly sell online, I haven’t done a fair for a while, but a winter wonderland sounds fun. I have a couple of friends who I think would be interested too.’
‘Really? That would be amazing.’
‘I’m sure you can get me a family rate,’ Mum said with a wink.
There was a glimpse of her old self and it made me smile. We hadn’t teased or joked with each other for a long time. ‘I can certainly try. I haven’t seen any of your new pieces for a while; do you have anything Christmassy?’
‘Of course. I have a whole holly range, actually.’ She looked down at her plate as she admitted that.
I raised an eyebrow. We had felt so distant the past few years but it seemed like she had thought about me like I had thought about her.
I looked around the kitchen, picturing a time when we’d eaten this lasagne with my dad.
He had joked that my mum’s lasagne was the reason he had married her.
I had laughed a lot at that as Mum had rolled her eyes but flushed with pleasure.
They’d smiled at each other and I remembered thinking that one day, I wanted to love someone as much as they loved each other.
What had happened to all that love?
Then I thought about what Paul had said to me outside the ice rink: that I should have shared with Mum what was going on at school, how tough things were when my dad left us. Maybe I had kept too much inside during that time. Maybe she didn’t fully understand why I had wanted to leave town so much.
‘How did you feel when Dad left?’ I asked before I could chicken out.