Chapter Twelve
The snow fell all night.
Jen managed to sleep through the sounds of the children rising, the hushing of adults and the creaks of floorboards under tiny feet, just about. She stirred, but the bed was comfy and the room cosy, with twinkle lights glowing in the fireplace, and she easily fell back into slumber.
When at last she rose, it was to find a message on her phone from an unknown number. Her heart leapt; Train Guy.
Hey, it read. It’s Anthony from the bar. Did you make it back home?
There were advantages to being trapped in Babblebrook after all.
Blearily, she made her way downstairs. The kitchen, a welcoming room with children’s drawings stuck on the fridge, festive garlands draped along the top of the cupboards and a little Christmas tree sitting on the table, was a hive of activity.
The children sat eating breakfast, Amy in her school uniform and George in a fluffy onesie, sitting in his highchair, smearing pieces of soggy toast over himself and anything within arm’s reach.
Julia leaned against the side, sipping from a giant mug, and Dan, still in pyjamas and sporting a five o’clock shadow, sat next to Amy, listening as she listed all the reasons why Father Christmas should give her the presents she wanted.
‘Coffee?’ Jen croaked, her head throbbing at the ambush of noise and busyness so early in the morning. She wasn’t used to this.
Julia nodded and poured coffee from the cafetière into a mug with a wobbly Rudolph painted on it.
Jen took it gratefully, helping herself to milk and flopping down at the table, as far away from Dan as possible.
He ignored her, remaining steadfastly focused on his daughter.
Which Jen considered rude, but was also glad of; the last thing she needed was an awkward interaction with him first thing in the morning.
Amy broke off her stream of talking and turned her attention to Jen. ‘That’s my cup,’ she said, after a brief pause. ‘I drawed it. But you actually can use it today.’
‘Thank you,’ Jen said. ‘It’s lovely, you did a great job.’
Amy had resumed her list. ‘And remember, Daddy, when I bringed you your slipper when you’d lost it and you said I was a Very Helpful Girl because you had a cold one foot, and I know Father Christmas was watching then, wasn’t he? So I think definitely I’m on the good list, probably.’
‘I remember,’ he said, smiling and ruffling her hair. ‘And I’m sure you are.’
Satisfied at last, Amy shifted focus to her bowl of Cheerios, shovelling spoonful after spoonful into her mouth, milk trickling down her chin.
Jen’s phone sat awkwardly in her PJs pocket, and she was intensely aware of it. She was desperate to reply to Anthony, to let him know that she was still in the area and keen to see him.
Well . . . Perhaps she shouldn’t let him know she was keen.
She never expected much from the men she met – a bit of fun for a few weeks, or even months; to enjoy spending time together for a while.
They would go for meals and drinks, to the cinema, to clubs and gigs, perhaps travel.
She never let them meet her family, or her friends.
Never let them get close enough to hurt her and, when she felt the first twinge of dissatisfaction from them, or the first hint that they wanted to move things to a more serious place, she would politely break things off. By text, usually.
Because she knew all too well what happened when you trusted someone with your heart, and then things didn’t work out.
At this point, she would usually be playing things pretty cool. She’d let him chase, let him feel uncertain, and that was good, because she was never certain. Never certain that he would be worth the effort, or worth the risk.
But not this time.
She’d never felt this instant connection before.
Never wanted to talk to the man she was dating about things that actually mattered, never wanted to find out who he truly was.
This time, she wanted to know more about Anthony, to find out whether he had siblings and what his favourite film was and whether he got on with his parents and what he was writing in that notebook of his, sitting in the bar, drinking whisky.
And even more terrifying than this, she wanted to share those things about herself.
Wanted to tell him that she had a sister she barely spoke to but was now trapped with, and a gorgeous niece and nephew she wished she knew better.
She wanted to tell him that she loved black-and-white films and indie music and talked to her mum every Thursday evening and that she wanted cats and the time to read all the books that piled up on every surface of her room.
She wanted him to tell her she was a free spirit, and to perhaps, just for a moment, see herself as someone who chose not to follow the rules, and not as someone who couldn’t make anything last.
And she very much wanted to reply to him, and to arrange to see him again.
Sometimes, when she watched those black-and-white films, she let herself fall for everything they promised. She’d told Ted she might be ready to put herself out there again. But the reality of doing it was scarier than she’d thought.
Because the films promised a lie. As she knew all too well from her own experience, and though she still loved the glamour and drama of them, she no longer believed in their happy endings.
Her gaze slid now to Dan, his elbow on the table as he rested his chin in his hand and yawned loudly, without bothering to cover his mouth.
Here was a case in point. What a disappointment he must be to Julia, who no doubt thought she’d found her great romance, and had ended up with a man who considered Barry Manilow ‘quite cool, actually’.
She looked at her sister, her auburn curls gleaming and her eyes warm as she smiled a little nervously at Jen. She deserved better.
‘Right,’ Julia said, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘Let’s get that face wiped, poppet, and your boots on. Time for school.’
Amy, perhaps thinking of Father Christmas’s ever-watchful presence, obediently slid from her chair and trotted off.
Jen looked out of the window. Snow was falling thick and fast. ‘Will the school be open?’ she asked doubtfully.
Happy childhood memories of when the school had been closed due to heavy snow filled her mind; they had built snowmen and igloos and then come home to thaw out with a hot chocolate. But Julia was nodding.
‘Oh, yes. Most of the staff are pretty local and they’re all very dedicated, and all the kids live in the village so, normal service.’
Julia’s words gave Jen a surge of hope, and she checked the train app on her phone. Everything still cancelled. She was stuck here for the foreseeable. At least that gave her the chance to see Anthony. If she could somehow make her way out of this godforsaken village.
‘No trains?’ Dan asked.
She shook her head. He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but she knew he was disappointed that they were lumbered with her for another day at least.
The feeling was mutual. She just wasn’t quite ungracious enough to say it.
Amy appeared in the doorway, her face damp and pink, although there was still a small crust of milk around her mouth. She had pulled on a bobble hat, a little wonkily, and a duffle coat which had the buttons done up skew-whiff.
‘I need help with my boots,’ she announced, looking expectantly around at the adults.
Jen put down her coffee. ‘Show me where they are.’
They soon had Amy in her boots and with her coat and hat straightened out. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Jen said, racing up the stairs to pull on her jeans and jumper.
The air outside was crisp and cold, the sun bright and the sky a dazzling blue, now the snow had stopped falling.
The chill stung Jen’s cheeks and lips, and she was glad of the woolly hat and gloves Julia had lent her.
Snow crunched under their feet as they joined the small throng of parents and children walking up the village street to the school.
Dan was working from home, due to the weather, and so George had stayed in the warmth with him.
Jen had always considered Babblebrook boring, and though she herself was immune to its quaint prettiness and longed to be back in the buzz of city life, she could see why others were charmed by its beauty.
The village green sat on their left, The Plough on the other side of it, and Jen couldn’t help but admire the smooth snow-covered grass, broken only by a few bird footprints.
At the pond, the ducks were gathered around a couple.
Jen recognised the man she had seen selling his wooden crafts at the Christmas market and Marnie from the café as they threw chunks of bread for them, two small dogs sitting patiently at their feet.
The cottages they passed on the other side of the road snuggled behind gardens, smoke rising gently from chimneys and filling the air with a woody tang. Jen did her best to ignore the festive lights that glinted on porches and through windows.
Amy, with one hand in Jen’s and one in Julia’s, cried, ‘Swing me!’ They did, and she squealed with laughter as they lifted her higher and higher, until the crowds around the school gate were too big.
‘Last one, poppet,’ Julia said, and they gave her an extra-big swing. Jen couldn’t help catching Julia’s eye and smiling as they basked in the sheer joy of the little girl they both loved.
‘Train Lady!’ a voice squealed, and Lottie appeared, running over to them. ‘Amy, this is my Train Lady,’ she said.
Amy frowned. ‘No, it’s not,’ she said belligerently, folding her arms. ‘It’s my Auntie Jen.’
Julia and Michelle tried to explain that Jen was in fact both Train Lady and Auntie, but the girls refused to concede, running into school still squabbling about it, having ignored the cuddles and kisses from their respective mums.
Michelle rolled her eyes. ‘Marnie’s?’ she asked.
‘Good idea.’ Julia turned to Jen. ‘Fancy joining us at the café?’ she asked, that mix of hope and fear fighting in her eyes again, the one that made Jen’s stomach squirm.
But Jen shook her head. She’d spotted Ted, in a suit and smart wool coat, smiling as he ushered the stream of children through the gates. And so she made a beeline for him, ignoring the deflated slump of Julia’s shoulders, and the questioning look Michelle gave them.