by Karen Swan
No more favours. She’d invited him into her life for a favour; now she was releasing him with another.
He stared at her and she wished his gaze was less unsettling. ‘And what if no one in marketing knows? What if they were scattered around at whim?’
She sighed. ‘Then I’ll be all out of ideas,’ she shrugged. ‘There won’t be anything further I can do. That’ll be it. They’ll have to reach out to me again, in a more direct way.’
He stared straight back at her and she felt the silver thread tighten and vibrate again, as it did every time their eyes locked. Even when they were arguing. Even when they were hating each other. She remembered how it had felt to stand in his shadow, knowing she was about to kiss him. If he’d just not been so . . . chivalrous, she’d be over it by now. Over him. He’d have been another ship in the night and they’d be sailing to opposite continents.
He sighed, looking over at her son. ‘Jasper, do you always do what your mama tells you?’
Jasper broke off from his colouring in. ‘Yes,’ he said, so solemnly Lee almost choked on her coffee.
Sam laughed, sunlight breaking out from behind the clouds in his eyes. ‘Hmm. I’m beginning to think most people do.’
A ripple of hope kicked through her. ‘So then, you’ll do it?’
‘I’ll call on Monday and do what I can,’ he sighed. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’
‘That’s fine,’ she said earnestly. ‘One call is absolutely all I’m asking for.’
‘Yes,’ he said with an inscrutable look. ‘I know it is.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Higher, I can’t reach,’ Jasper said, straining towards the branch.
‘Oof, that’s easy for you to say,’ she scoffed, trying to lift him higher. ‘Have you been eating rocks?’ He placed the bauble on the frond and she put him back on the ground with a groan. ‘My poor arms. I’ll look like Rocky by the time this is done.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind.’ She ruffled his hair as they stepped back to look at their efforts. The tree was short but wide, like a hooped skirt, and already decked with several metres of lights. So far, they appeared to have a strong bias towards the bottom left corner.
‘I think we need more on this side,’ she said, pointing to the right. ‘And there’s a big gap in the back there. What will the neighbours think if they have to look at an empty patch of Christmas tree in the window?’
He looked up at her. ‘You’re going to have to lift me up again, mama.’
‘Or I could do the high up bits and you do the lower bits?’ she suggested.
‘No, you said I could decorate the tree. I want to do all of it.’
‘Okay, well, let me get a chair then, because my arms aren’t going to be able to do that much heavy lifting. Honestly, who knew I had a tank for a son?’
She walked across to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. ‘Do you want a hot chocolate?’ she asked as she brought back the chair and positioned it in front of the tree for him. ‘This is thirsty work.’
‘Yes please, mama. Look, I made this!’ He had found the pom-pom robin he had made last year.
‘That’s one of my favourites,’ she said, getting the milk from the fridge and pouring some into a pan. ‘Make sure that one goes towards the front where I can see it.’
‘Okay,’ he replied earnestly, putting it in the very centre.
She watched him, feeling a rush of love for this child who had changed her life so completely. It was impossible to imagine life without him, the person she’d been before she became his mother now just a ghost who moved restlessly through her bones.
She looked down at the day’s post; she had picked it up on their way back in from the park and set it down again unthinkingly, her mind still preoccupied with Sam and what it meant that he had followed them to the park and those eyes of his that said different things to his mouth . . . She flicked through the envelopes disinterestedly still, as she stirred the milk; it was just the usual clutch of junk mail, a Christmas card from her aunt living in Wiltshire, a copy of Life magazine, an electricity bill. Nothing of interest, no—
She remembered Cunningham’s words. His letter.
Still no letter.
She frowned. That call had been two days ago. He must surely have sent it before he left Amsterdam or, at the very latest, when he arrived in Turkey, a week ago? It should be here by now.
Unless . . .
A thought occurred to her. She quickly picked up her phone and found his details, which Dita had insisted on forwarding her when he’d moved here. ‘In case of an absolute, end-of-the-world emergency,’ she had insisted, when Lee had protested.
She rang the number, her fingers tapping the counter impatiently. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
‘Hello?’ Gisele’s voice was soft down the line.
‘Gisele? It’s Lee. Fitchett,’ she added.
There was a pause. ‘Hi Lee! How are you?’ Forced jollity.
‘Well, thanks. You?’
‘Oh, the heartburn has started but’ – she forced a smile into her voice – ‘that’s par for the course, right?’
‘Sure, yes. Poor you, though. It’s horrid.’
‘Yes. Did you have it?’
‘Uh, no. But I had everything else – or at least, that was how it felt.’
Gisele chuckled politely. ‘Right.’
There was a small pause, both of them exhausted on small talk already, and Lee realized she ought to have taken a breath before she’d picked up the phone, or at least rehearsed in her mind their conversation.
‘Um, anyway, look, I don’t want to bother you, I’m sure you must be up to your ears getting ready for tonight. I was just wondering if there was a letter there for me? From Cunningham?’
There was a pause. ‘A letter? . . . No, I haven’t seen one, I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment crashed through her, hope snatched away again in an instant. For a moment there, Lee had thought she was close to getting her answer, some kind of clarity on what the hell Cunningham was up to. ‘Oh . . . well, never mind.’
‘What makes you think there’s a letter here?’
‘Cunningham asked me whether I’d received it.’
‘You’ve heard from him?’ Gisele sounded shocked.
‘Yes, he rang on Thursday night.’
There was a longer pause. ‘What did he say?’ Her voice sounded tremulous.
Lee winced. Maybe this hadn’t been her most tactful moment? ‘Well, the line was so bad, I couldn’t make out anything other than that he was asking if I’d received a letter. It’s not come by post so I was wondering if he might have left it there instead, that was all.’
‘Oh. I see.’ There was a long silence. ‘No, I . . . I’m sorry but I haven’t seen any letter here.’
‘Oh well, not to worry.’ She inhaled, preparing to say thanks and ring off.
‘I . . . I haven’t heard from him since he called that first night, after he landed . . . Is he okay? Did he sound okay?’
Lee wasn’t sure how to respond; she could hear the hurt in Gisele’s voice. ‘Well . . . I mean, like I said, I could scarcely hear him. But he didn’t not sound okay.’
‘. . . Right.’
It was hardly a round reassurance. Lee felt a stab of guilt that she had heard from him when his wife had not. ‘He probably just wanted to pick my brains about something out there. I know the area quite well, so . . .’ She remembered in the nick of time that Gisele thought he was in Palmyra. ‘Big place, Palmyra.’
‘Oh.’
Lee felt ever more awkward. It would have been better to do this in person; the phone always amplified tension. ‘Well, anyway, I’m sorry to have bothered you, I should let you get on. What are you up to tonight?’
‘Um, I – I . . .’ She sighed. ‘Well, nothing, actually.’
Lee couldn’t hide her shock. Pakjesavond was the biggest festive celebration of the Dutch year. The entire population was wi
th their loved ones, feasting, celebrating, children waiting impatiently for the gift-giving to begin. Everyone she knew was with their family. It was inconceivable that Gisele wouldn’t have someone to spend it with. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed . . .’
‘I’m fine with it, really. Harry and I had planned to have a quiet one, our last one just the two of us. But of course, now he’s gone . . . And my brother’s skiing with his family and my parents have gone on the holiday of a lifetime in the South Pacific islands before they become grandparents, so . . . But it suits me to have an early night. I’m in bed by eight most nights at the moment.’
‘Oh Gisele, you can’t spend it alone. You just can’t.’
‘But I don’t mind. Really I don’t.’
‘No. It’s not right. You shouldn’t be in that big house all on your own. Come to us.’ The words were out before she could stop them; before she’d even known about them.
‘. . . What?’
Lee’s eyes widened too. Oh God, what had she done? Invited her estranged former colleague’s lonely pregnant model wife to spend the biggest evening of the year with them? She swallowed. ‘I insist.’ Why wouldn’t the words stop?
‘But—’
‘It’s not right to be alone at a time like this. It’s only Jasper and me here, so we’ve not got anything big planned, but we’ve still got more food than we can eat. You’d be helping us out, actually.’
Gisele gave a small laugh. ‘Lee, that’s just so kind but—’
‘No buts. Let me give you our address.’
‘Oh, I know it. Bloemgracht, with the dark-red door and the bay tree on the steps.’
‘Yes . . .’ Lee faltered. How did she know that?
As if reading her mind, Gisele said, ‘Harry and I used to walk past all the time. Any chance he got, he’d turn in, always looking up when we passed that house, always trying to see in through the windows even though the blinds were always down. It was a while before I realized it was yours.’
Lee didn’t know what to say. ‘Oh.’ She wondered yet again what Cunningham had told her by way of explanation for their estrangement. Had he told her the truth, as he knew it? Or had he given her a cover story? Was she the bad guy in it? The antagonist? ‘Well, that’s good you know where we are, then,’ she said weakly. ‘Shall we say six o’clock?’
Gisele cleared her throat. ‘Yes. Six would be great . . . Thanks, Lee. See you then.’
Lee hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God. What did I just do?’
‘What’s wrong mama?’
‘Oh, just your mama speaking before she thinks again,’ she muttered, wanting to kick herself. She looked across. Behind him, the tree was almost beginning to lean at an angle, such was the bottom-heavy weight of the decorations on its lower left side. She broke into a grin, shaking her head at the sight of it.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked excitedly, seeing her face.
‘It’s just perfect, my little Jazz Man. Absolutely perfect.’
‘This is the biggest one I can find!’ Jasper said, holding up the carrot and placing it at the end of his nose.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Lee exclaimed. ‘That’s got to be one of the longest I’ve ever seen. Wouldn’t you agree, Gisele?’
Gisele, curled up on the sofa, a glass of non-alcoholic wine in her hand, nodded. ‘Oh definitely.’
‘That’s longer than a witch’s finger,’ Lee added.
‘You’ve never seen a witch’s finger,’ Jasper admonished, but a tiny question mark hovered in his eyes as he looked at her.
‘You’d be amazed at the things I’ve seen and the people I’ve met,’ she said, watching as he placed the carrot against his own short fingers, trying to imagine the scale of a witch.
He went over to the open fire where one of his little clogs was set back on the hearth – as it had been for the past three weeks. She watched as he positioned the carrot carefully inside the wooden shoe. It also held a rolled-up picture he had drawn for Sinterklaas and there was a glass of cold milk to the side, which for some reason now made her think of laughing eyes from beneath snowy-white eyebrows every time she looked at it.
Some of Jasper’s friends liked to put hay for Sinterklaas’s horse in with the carrot too, and even though Lee repeatedly explained about the potential fire risks of doing that with an open fire, as opposed to a stove, Jasper looked at her disappointedly; fire risks meant nothing to a child who just wanted to feed the white horse standing on their roof.
They all looked down at the small offering that meant so much – a carrot, some milk and a drawing, in a size 11 clog. ‘Sinterklaas will like that,’ she said proudly. ‘He’s left you some pretty nice presents these past few weeks, hasn’t he?’
‘Sinterklaas came here to meet me,’ he said to Gisele. ‘He said I’m the best boy in Amsterdam.’
Gisele laughed. ‘Oh, wow! Well then, if Sinterklaas says it, it must be true!’
‘He drew me a picture. You can see it.’ And before Gisele could even reply, he had shot out of the room to get it. It had quickly become his most treasured possession since Sam’s visit.
‘He’s rather overexcited,’ Lee said with an awkward smile as the sound of his feet thudded overhead. ‘This is the first time we’ve had anyone over for Pakjesavond.’
‘It’s so kind of you to have asked me,’ Gisele said again. She had arrived laden with gifts – flowers, a bottle of champagne that she couldn’t drink, a Kerstkrans ring cake in a tin, a wrapped present for Jasper . . . it was gratitude and embarrassment intermingled into overkill; Lee could only imagine what else she might have brought if she’d had more than three hours’ notice.
Gisele was wearing a navy knitted mini-dress, black tights and those clumpy boots again, somehow managing to look waifish even with a seven-month bump. Lee was in her usual drapey-jersey trousers and a skinny gassato cashmere roll neck but she had smudged on some make-up and raced around the house in a frenzy after putting down the phone, trying to make everything look extra-festive and perfect for their one guest.
‘You really must stop thanking me. It’s nice for me to have the adult company, and Jasper gets an audience—’
He came tearing back into the room again. ‘Look!’ he panted, holding out the image of the bear Sam had drawn him.
‘Aah . . .’ Gisele’s indulgent expression changed to one of genuine amazement. ‘Oh my God, that really is good!’
‘I know,’ he beamed.
Gisele looked over at Lee, who just shrugged. ‘Hidden talents, Sinterklaas. Who knew he was such an excellent artist?’
‘I think Sinterklaas should diversify into doing murals for nurseries.’ Gisele laughed, looking over at her pointedly. ‘I don’t suppose Zwarte Piet left his number on any of his visits, did he?’
‘I could always have a look and double-check.’ Lee grinned, but she didn’t think that, with two million copies of his book sold, Sam would need to diversify into anything. ‘So are you almost all set for the baby coming?’ She took a sip of her wine again, pleased by the aromas that kept drifting over from the kitchen. Accidentally inviting Gisele over here had forced her to up her game and the results seemed to be encouragingly decent. She was determined that no ketchup was going to be used in the making or eating of this meal.
‘Yes, we’d bought all the furniture and the buggy before Harry left. And I’ve got my hospital bag ready packed; I keep it by the front door, just in case there should be some sort of emergency when I’m on my own.’
Lee frowned, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. ‘Oh, but there won’t be.’
‘I know. I just get a little jumpy sometimes, what with it being my first and no one to tell me when to panic and when not to.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘But it’s really just the nursery left to decorate. We’d been about to start choosing things when Harry upped and went, and now . . .’ She wrinkled her pretty nose. ‘Well, it doesn’t seem right, somehow, to do it without him. Every time I tell myself t
o go out and just choose a scheme, another voice tells me I should wait.’
‘I’m sure Harry wouldn’t want you not to do it, though.’ Lee sincerely doubted Harry cared about the paint colour on the woodwork or the pictures on the wall. ‘It’s such an important part of the bonding process, nesting. It gets you ready emotionally, as well as physically. You wouldn’t want the baby to come and have to deal with it then, would you?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘And if Harry’s not given a definite return date . . .’ Her voice trailed off. The less they touched on that, the better.
A flash of pain crossed Gisele’s symmetrical features. ‘You’re right. I should just choose and be done with it.’
They were hardly words of excitement. ‘Yeah.’ Lee smiled, but she felt sad for this beautiful young woman who was supposed to have it all.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, just listen to me – you’ve invited me to share in your special evening and I’m wallowing in self-pity.’ A flush of shame had spread across her cheeks, one hand pressed to her sternum.
‘Gisele, stop apologizing. I completely get it. I know exactly how tough it is being pregnant, especially having to do it alone too.’
Gisele looked over at her. ‘Was it like that for you?’ She blinked nervously, seeing how Lee’s expression froze. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Harry’s never told me what happened with you and Jasper’s father,’ she said quickly. ‘I just assumed . . . I mean, it doesn’t seem like he’s in your lives, so . . .’
Lee kept her face neutral. She had been asked this question so many times before; she knew how to deal with it, and yet her heart was hammering. She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, you’re right, he’s not in the picture. And I won’t lie, the pregnancy was tough. I was very much alone. My parents are dead and I’m an only child, so it was just me and my little Jazz Man.’ She got the words out quickly, giving answers to questions before they were asked, controlling the narrative while trying not to actually remember any of it. The pregnancy had been a fog, and the first few weeks after the birth . . . ‘But then we moved here and we got lucky with the friends we made and they became our family instead. Somehow, against the odds, it all pretty much worked out.’