Four Christmases and a Secret

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘And never too bright,’ continues Uncle T, ‘unless it is tangerine and green.’ Definitely not tangerine.

  ‘My lovely Adrienne …’ I’m pretty sure she was his first wife, which means this might go on for quite a while, so I switch off and worry about Stanley nibbling the lilies – which are probably poisonous to dogs. He doesn’t appear to be though. I think he’s dozed off. Must make sure we remember and move him before Uncle T goes off to be cremated.

  ‘And lastly,’ there is a loud clap, which reverberates from the speakers. Stanley yelps, falls off the coffin and dives for cover at my feet. ‘For those that are still awake … I have now used up my quota of words, if I had been born of the opposite sex I would have been allotted many more so may have lasted a few more years, but alas not. So farewell my dearest friends, I love you all. And now I get the last word. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and Terence to Torquay.’ He raises an arm in salute, and I find myself returning it. Then the picture slowly fades and music filters in.

  Goosebumps race along my arms as I realise it’s Frank Sinatra and My Way.

  I clutch at Ollie as we listen to the words.

  They could have been written for Uncle Terence.

  I close my eyes, not trying to squeeze the tears away, just so that I can hear the words properly. And I can see him, in all his glory. Watch him dance with Vera, hear him chuckle as he stirs the mulled wine, feel his hand over mine as he talks about some wonderful book he’s discovered.

  The pall bearers lift the coffin. We all stand up.

  The loves of Terence’s life all seem to be hugging each other and wiping each other’s tears away. Vera is biting her lip, oblivious to the tears streaming down her face.

  Ollie looks at me, pulls a lopsided smile. ‘I think I need a stiff drink.’

  ‘At least he didn’t want you to get up there and speak.’ Terence had been quite strict about this one, he said he’d do the talking as he wasn’t feeling too emotional – but he expected eulogies at the wake after a few glasses of decent malt whisky had been knocked back.

  We stand outside in the cold winter air. ‘What did he mean about Torquay?’

  Ollie smiles. ‘Mum said all will become clear when the will is read, apparently we are joint executors.’

  ‘You and me?’ He nods. ‘Why?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue, Daisy. But Uncle T never did anything without a reason, did he?’

  Chapter 23

  3 p.m., 3 February

  ‘He said what?’ I have never been to the reading of a will before, it turns out that this one is pretty informal, and not at all like the image I had in my head. The solicitor is not old, imposing, looking over his glasses at us and striding around an impressive office reading out something we can’t understand.

  ‘Call me Trev’ is not much older than me, has a tiny office up a poky staircase in what probably used to be an impressive town house, but is now the home to sixty million legal types. Well, probably twenty-two, but you get the gist. They don’t have very impressive offices. Or toilets.

  ‘He said,’ Trev glances down at the will again, ‘please scatter my ashes in Torquay. The place where I was born and expected to spend my days.’ He looks over his glasses at us. ‘He was initially fostered in Torquay, by the Granthams, and then,’ he looks at Ollie, ‘your grandfather adopted him as a baby …’

  ‘I thought Vera was his only secret!’

  Ollie and Trev stare at me. Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

  ‘… as your grandmother was his biological mother, but he was born out of wedlock.’ Trev completes his sentence, the word ‘wedlock’ sounds curiously formal.

  I think my mouth is hanging open. It is. So, I close it. Wow, who knew there were skeletons in the Cartwright closet!

  ‘Your grandfather brought Terence up as his own, alongside your father Charles.’

  ‘What about his real dad?’

  ‘Undisclosed.’ Trev moves his finger down to the next paragraph, which is a shame as my brain is still coming to terms with the first bit. ‘The next point relates to his assets, namely the bookshop and apartment. The apartment will be passed to you, Oliver, with the proviso that Daisy be permitted to live there for one further year minimum. At the end of this period, an allotted sum of money (see below) shall be provided for her to use as a deposit on a property of her own if she so wishes.’

  I shoot a sideways look under my eyelashes at Ollie to see how he’s taking this. Having to live with me for another twelve months! Though he doesn’t have to I suppose, he could move out. I am there more than him, it’s just an extra for when he’s working locally – which actually seems to happen more and more these days.

  Ollie winks. Which makes me blush.

  ‘My bookshop should be retained, financial records and my tax returns will demonstrate it is viable and in no way a burden, until after Christmas. It is my wish that during that period, Daisy decide how to manage the business, and Oliver and Daisy continue the Christmas Eve party tradition together for one final time. After which Ollie may decide its future.’ Trev looks up. ‘There are a few more legal clauses about what to do if you can’t reach agreement, etcetera, etcetera. I do believe he’s covered every eventuality. I’ve taken the liberty of taking copies for both of you, and I’ve read out the bits he asked me to.’ He smiles and pushes the paperwork across the desk. Neither of us move. ‘If you’d like a quick look, then I can answer any questions? Otherwise get back to me any time. The only time dependant act is the er, scattering, and we’ve been instructed to sell certain shares and so forth, apply for grant of probate, complete the tax forms etcetera. All takes time, so no hurry.’ He stood up, held out his hand for us to shake, then suddenly remembers something. ‘The keys!’ He takes them from his desk and holds a bunch out for each of us.

  ‘What did you mean about Mum?’

  Without even discussing it, we head straight to the nearest pub after we come out of the solicitor’s office. It is all a bit mind boggling. It was very kind, and typical of Uncle Terence to make sure I would have a roof over my head for the next twelve months. And very generous of him to also bequeath money for a deposit on my own place, but weird that I am not allowed to have it yet. Maybe he wanted to make sure I had sorted my job out, that I could afford to pay a mortgage. Yes, that was probably it.

  But the Torquay bit was an eye-opener! It seems Terence had many hidden sides, but hopefully no more secrets. Talking of which …

  ‘I, well.’ How do I explain this one? Oh my God, my heart starts to race, doesn’t Ollie know about Terence and his mum? Uncle T didn’t tell me it was a secret. I’d kind of assumed it was family knowledge. ‘He left me a note and mentioned how much he really liked your mum.’ Really liked is okay, isn’t it? Unlike ‘adored’, ‘was infatuated with’, ‘loved to bits’.

  ‘Ah right, that’s it?’ His tone is even, so I dare to glance up at him.

  ‘Well, yes, but …’

  ‘She was his sister-in-law.’

  ‘I think he might have wished she was a bit more than that.’ Do I show him the letter? This is a bit awkward.

  He smiles. ‘Well, okay, let’s say it’s not a huge surprise. He did always treat her like a goddess, you know, the compliments, the way he held her a little bit longer than most people would when they hug.’

  ‘Ah, good. And you’re er, alright with that?’

  ‘I’ve caught him watching her from the side-lines often enough, but dad just humoured him.’

  ‘Fine.’ I feel slightly miffed, on Terence’s behalf, that his grand passion was just something to be humoured. But there again, it was an unrequited love. Charles was his brother.

  ‘I’m just a bit surprised he’s told everybody but me.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not told everybody, and maybe he just didn’t tell you because it was a bit weird? You’re his nephew! And he just wanted me to be more passionate I think, that’s why he told me.’

  Ollie chuckles, and raises an eyebrow, whi
ch leaves me all hot and bothered. ‘More passionate, eh?’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ I scrabble in my handbag and find the bit of paper. Slightly crumpled but safe. I sigh. Torn. Then make a decision and push it across the table towards him. ‘He knew he hadn’t got long, didn’t he?’

  ‘I think he must have, from what Mum’s said, he’s been ill for a while.’

  ‘It just seemed so sudden.’ I feel the choking start up again, and bat it away, swallowing hard. ‘But he wouldn’t have told me, talked to me like he did about your mum, and the funeral and everything, if he hadn’t known he would …’ I take a gulp of my drink, which goes down the wrong way and has me spluttering for different reasons. Then I look at the letter, which Ollie hasn’t touched. ‘He only told me about your mum so that I could learn from it, not because he really wanted me to know, or anything.’

  Ollie smiles. Gently. I love it when he smiles. ‘It’s fine. He trusted you, that’s nice. You’re nice.’ He touches the tip of my finger gently with his own, and I stare into his eyes and wonder if Uncle T was warning me about this. Me and Ollie. Was he telling me to throw all my energy into work, warning me off making the same mistake he had?

  Ollie has always been my friend, have I risked losing that forever? Spoiling things because he’s so frigging gorgeous I’ve not been able to resist him?

  ‘I think I have though, learned from it.’

  Ollie finally picks up the letter and reads it, his face paling as he does. It’s horrible, the colour washes away like a wave on the shore, and just as I’m about to reach out and take his hand, it comes rushing back. Stronger, an angry colour that contrasts strongly with the white of his knuckles.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding? This is crazy.’ His voice is tight, restrained. I don’t know what he expected, but it obviously wasn’t this. Maybe he just thought it was some ‘in’ joke between the two of them, a little secret – like Oliver Twist, which I’m pretty sure I should not mention.

  ‘He’s probably exaggerated, you know, to make a point.’

  ‘They were in love! For God’s sake, Daisy, wouldn’t you want to know if one of your parents was mad about somebody else?’

  ‘They weren’t in love, Ollie. That’s the point.’

  He stares at me.

  ‘He was infatuated with her, he totally loved her, but he didn’t do anything about it.’

  ‘How do you know?’ He gives a short laugh. It’s brittle. Not nice.

  ‘Because I know Terence, and so do you!’ He stares back at me. ‘And your mother didn’t love him she married your dad! Nothing happened.’

  There’s a long silence, which I want to fill. I want to babble. But for once I don’t. All I can think about is the love letter I found in the bookshop. The letter addressed to ‘V’. I’ve not thought about it at all since he died, and now I can’t not think about it. I don’t think this is the time to mention it though. And it was in the shop, he hadn’t actually sent it.

  ‘And your dad knew, I’m sure he did.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I didn’t think you and I had any secrets.’ He looks disappointed, his words are formal, stilted. I hate people being disappointed in me. I hate Ollie being disappointed especially. It’s important he’s not.

  ‘We don’t.’ I swallow hard. Is this our first tiff? It feels different than all our scraps and hard words when we were kids. It’s stomach churningly different. It’s scaring me. ‘I just thought maybe you knew, and there hasn’t been the right time to ask, not so soon … Don’t be cross with me, please.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He is.

  ‘Oh God, I don’t know what I am.’ He dips his head, puts both hands on top, his fingers digging into his scalp. I wait, hardly breathing, then he slowly looks up, the heels brushing over his eyes, until he rests. His palms cupping his chin, his gaze on me. ‘It was a bit of a shock.’ He pushes the letter back towards me. Closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath and then re-opens them. ‘I thought I knew him.’ For a moment he looks broken, before he reins it back in.

  ‘You did.’ The words creep out of me, softly. I put my hand over his. ‘You did know him, Ollie.’

  This is grief. This is the heavy cloak that today is weighing him down so that he can’t move, so that he wants to strike out rather than weep. I’ve not seen him cry yet, but I know Terence was like a father to him. I know he misses him like hell, maybe even more than I do. Tomorrow I know he’ll cast it off, not feel the frustration and sadness. Be able to forgive Terence for going. For everything. Until it swoops down again.

  At least I hope so.

  I jump and he blinks as a jarring noise interrupts us.

  5 p.m., 3 February

  ‘Oh bugger.’ Ollie looks at his pager. ‘I’m really sorry, I’m going to have to go. Looks like an emergency. Will you be okay?’ He stands up, holding my coat out for me to slip on, and I fumble about trying to get my arms in the right sleeves. His voice still has a stilted edge, but when his fingers brush against the back of my neck, a little frisson of happiness nudges away all the sombre thoughts that have been hovering inside me since we left the solicitors office.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll drop you by the apartment.’ He’s already got his own coat on and has fished his keys out of the pocket.

  ‘No, don’t worry. You go. I’ll get the bus.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘I won’t be back tonight.’

  I stand in the doorway of the pub, watch him stride off to his car. He hesitates for a moment before getting in. He looks back at me, and I’m sure he’s on the verge of saying something. Then he changes his mind, waves and is gone.

  I catch a bus.

  But it isn’t the one that will take me home, it’s one that takes me to the bookshop.

  On the door is a ‘Closed temporarily. Re-opening soon’ sign.

  There’s a weird stillness when I open the door, but it isn’t unnerving. It’s comforting, as Uncle T would have wanted.

  There’s a lingering scent of Christmas – of mulled wine, cinnamon and evergreens, and all the decorations he so lovingly put up are still there.

  But he isn’t.

  The loss is so deep down inside me that it really feels like somebody is stabbing my soul, the very essence of me, and it takes my breath away – catching me unawares. It hurts more than any hurt I’ve felt since he went.

  I somehow find my way to my favourite nook and sink down on the leather chair, out of sight of anybody passing the shop. My eyes close and I let the distant sound of cars, the smell of new books, the calm still air surround me and my racing heartbeat gradually slows, the world stops tilting crazily and the hot and cold flushes leave me be.

  I open my eyes and concentrate on the gentle tick-tock of the grandfather clock. I’ve never heard it before! I’ve always known the clock was there, but the sound has always been masked by other sounds.

  The clock is slow, a few hours out. I can’t help myself, with a smile I unlock the door – Uncle Terence would have hated it to be wrong, he liked everything ‘just so’. Everything from the buffed tips of his shoes to the angle of his bowtie. A small twinge catches me as I can’t help but picture him in his peacock finery, but it passes. It’s not the pain of a moment before, just a slight ache that comes with remembering.

  When I open the door, wondering how to alter the time, I see them straight away. The letters tied with a red ribbon in the way only somebody like Uncle Terence would do.

  My darling Daisy, it’s so wonderful to know you’re here! I hope you enjoyed my video, it was an absolute joy to make! Your father helped me, so please forgive him but he was sworn to secrecy – I also asked him to tuck this letter away for you, as I suspect you are not a stranger to my scribblings! You have wonderful parents, Daisy – take care of them. It’s very true that we never know how many more times we will see our loved ones.

  Now, I very much hope I have not shocked you w
hen I spoke of Vera (and I very much hope she shone at my funeral).

  Some things are not to be, and I learned that as I grew older – I’m not bitter. I loved my Vera’s loud laughter, she was so full of life … she knew, she knew of my infatuation, but I was too late. She said ‘I do’ before she knew I meant it, while I was dallying on the sidelines. I should have taken a risk earlier, believed in myself. It is always better to risk it all and lose, than to never have dared in the first place – and never known what might have happened. That is the worst. Not the fear of the unknown, but the sadness of knowing you failed to act. The not knowing if it could have been a different life.

  I had a lifetime of idolising the most beautiful woman in the world, and I hope you can forgive an old man for his monotony and repetition. These letters are ones I have written and never sent, for fear of causing upset. But they are yours, dear Daisy. Maybe you should burn them and release them with my ashes, let the wind decide where they rest?

  Read them, or not, at your leisure.

  Be your best ‘you’, Daisy! With warmest wishes and love. T x

  More letters! How many did he write? Did he realise I’d found the other one before he died, that I already had my suspicions?

  I run my finger over the ribbon, then very gently place the letters in my bag and gaze around at the books.

  And I think I know what I need to do.

  Uncle T helped me, inspired me, encouraged me, and was a far better mentor than Tim when I first moved jobs. It is my duty to not let him down. He might have missed his chance with Vera, but I must not miss any of my opportunities. I have to do something with my life. I have to live the life I really want.