by Lily Graham
I could only stare at Dr Harris. ‘None of you were meant to be there,’ I breathed. ‘But you were.’
He frowned. ‘Sorry?’ he asked, puzzled.
I didn’t believe in coincidences, I really didn’t. Not any more.
‘It wasn’t just you...’ I said, shaking my head in surprise as I explained about the paramedics who had been in the area because of a false alarm.
Dr Harris’s eyes widened. ‘That’s amazing!’ he said. ‘I heard that the highway was a disaster with New Year’s, though I never thought... hadn’t considered that. He’s so lucky that the paramedics were in the area... they were right – if they hadn’t gotten there... I’m not sure he would have made it.’ He breathed out and looked at Stuart. ‘It’s amazing!’
I nodded. Amazing was the word. I stood staring at Stuart, a lump forming in my throat. A sudden, undeniable question had begun to form. Had Mum had a hand in this after all? Had she helped? Maybe this was what she meant about not giving up hope. But why like this, why not use the postcard... the way she’d told me so many other things?
Dr Harris finished checking on Stuart, gave my arm a squeeze, and said: ‘Mrs Everton – Ivy, I think he’s doing very well. I think he’s going to pull through, I really do.’
I touched his arm and swallowed. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded and left.
Terry gave me a hug and patted Stuart’s arm. ‘Got to get back, lass. But I’ll come by tomorrow. Ya’ll let me know if there’s any news?’
I nodded. ‘I will. Thanks, Terry, for everything.’
* * *
It wasn’t a Thursday, and I’d only ever sewn one very wonky piece of a jumper together when I’d tried to help May during the flood. But I awoke to someone gently placing a quilt over me as I lay on the sofa, and opened my eyes to see six pairs of eyes looking at me. Somehow, so very silently, they had all let themselves in.
Robyn handed me a cup of tea. Abigail switched on the light, and said softly, ‘Not looking as peaky. That’s good.’
Winifred Jones winked, then held up the Henry. ‘Just going to give the place a quick once-over.’
May straightened the quilt, which I saw was a beautiful patchwork in blues, greys, and pinks. I touched it in awe.
‘We’ve been making it for yer, got some of yer mum’s old pieces in it,’ she said, pointing to a piece that looked like an old French garden. ‘Sure, but she got started on this quilt long ago. Funny, but I found it at the bottom of me sewing pile not long after yer showed up on me doorstep, was like she was waiting fer us to find it... So we’ve been finishing it for her. We thought yer should have it, ’tis only right.’
I felt a lump form, tears threatening.
‘Mine is zere,’ said Flavia, pointing to a patch of roses, and a sleeping cat, who looked just like Massimow. She winked at me. ‘Wouldn’t have found ’im if it wasn’t for you.’
May’s patch was a blue house and two women sitting in her sewing room. ‘That be me and you having a right chinwag...’ she said, then grinned.
Robyn’s were a collection of seascapes, with the sun coming through. ‘The sun always follows a storm,’ she said, holding my hand.
Winifred Jones’s surprisingly included a rattle and a pair of baby booties. She stopped the Henry and gave me a very un-Winifred-Jones-like smile.
I stared at the quilt through a haze of tears. ‘It’s so beautiful, thank you so much.’
‘And look – this little bit here,’ joked May, ‘that’s the only piece of sewing yer ever did, yer lazy lass!’ she said, pointing to what was once the wonky sleeve of a jumper, and was now gloriously transformed into a duck-egg blue garden shed, with a grey watering can out of which sprouted a mix of vegetation. Next to the watering can was a small jar and in fine, silken thread it read ‘Pak choi jelly’. ‘We figured, we’ll start by giving yer some lessons,’ she said with a wink, pointing at the little patch that represented Stuart, which made the tears finally fall, splashing onto the silken can.
Her face grew serious. ‘Life is like this, lass, a series of patches to be sure, some good, some bad. We’re here to help yer get through this one, whichever way we can.’
Then she pulled out a bottle of some fine, aged Irish whiskey. ‘Shall I pour us all a wee dram? Sure we be needing it.’
I looked up at them, these women, my unlikely friends, who had somehow, unofficially, baptised my entry into The Thursday Club, and said, ‘Go on then.’
Chapter 25
The Last Postcard
It was just a flicker.
But I felt it. Stuart’s hand against mine had moved. Heart pounding against my chest, I stared at it, willing it to do it again. I held my breath. Then so slowly, so agonisingly slowly, it moved again, till it was holding mine. I looked up and my heart stopped completely. His eyes, his beautiful coffee-coloured eyes, were looking at me.
I gasped aloud, tears gliding down my face. ‘You’re awake?’ I took a shuddering breath, repeating it: ‘You’re awake!’
He smiled, the smallest briefest smile, the slightest movement but one that changed my entire world. His face shimmered before my eyes, my vision blurred and the tears fell hot and fast, shuddering through me. A wild euphoria overtook me and I kissed every part of him that I could, bathing him in my tears and loud, joyful sobs.
I couldn’t recall happiness more pure and powerful than this, this perfect moment where we existed, together again. I kissed him on his lips – the softest, gentlest of kisses – holding on tightly to his hand. Finally, when I was able to form the words, I said in between shuddering gasps, ‘You gave me the biggest fright, Mr Everton. I didn’t know if you’d ever wake.’ .
He nodded, blinked slowly, and squeezed my hand, his dark eyes saying so much. ‘I promised you a kiss.’
I closed my eyes for a second, remembering that he had. ‘You said you’d give me a kiss I’d never forget.’
He smiled. ‘Kept my promise, did I?’ he said, his eyes gentle, teasing.
I nodded fast and my voice cracked when I answered, ‘Yes, you did.’
The room filled as doctors and nurses rushed in. Dr Harris raced in, his lab coat billowing behind him. ‘Stuart, you’re awake!’ he cried, delighted. Looking younger suddenly than I’d seen him all week. Looking more like the handsome man I’d met on the night of the party than the worried doctor I’d come to know.
Stuart nodded. ‘Hey, Doc,’ he said. ‘Sorry for falling asleep on you like that.’
Dr Harris grinned. ‘Not a problem. How do you feel?’
Stuart gave a small nod. ‘Ouch!’
We all laughed. Maggie let out a little sound and came and gave me a hug. I squeezed her back, eyes shining.
‘Ouch indeed,’ said Dr Harris, with a smile, looking at Stuart, and monitoring his vitals. ‘You’ve been through the wringer but I think you’re going to pull through this just fine.’
I closed my eyes, overcome.
Maggie touched my arm. ‘Would you like me to tell your dad, get him to call everyone – his mum and sister – for you? So you can stay...’
‘Bless you,’ I whispered. Then remembered: ‘Please ask Dad to call Terry and Tomas as well. He knows how to contact them.’
She nodded, brown eyes full of happiness for me. I gave her a quick hug. ‘You’ve been lovely, Maggie, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.’
She smiled, gave my arm a squeeze. ‘It was my pleasure, Ivy, truly.’
I smiled at her retreating back, grateful beyond words.
Dr Harris and the other staff left. ‘We’ll leave you for a while,’ he said with a wink. ‘Be back a little later to see how he’s doing.’ I smiled at him, touched.
I sat back on the bed, holding Stuart’s hand, staring into his beautiful eyes. Eyes I’d been so terrified I might never see again. Never wanting to look away.
‘Everton Ten?’ I asked with a grimace, looking at his broken leg and arm.
He shook his head. ‘Twelve, I think... we�
��ll need to add a new marker to the scale. Hit by truck.’
I shook my head, laughing despite myself. Only Stuart would make a joke like that.
He squeezed my hand, his expression turning serious. ‘Ivy...’
I looked at him and he held my arm tightly. ‘Ivy, she saved me.’
I blinked. Staring at him, the blood drained from my face. ‘Who?’ I asked, though I knew – perhaps I’d always known. ‘W-who saved you?’
‘Your mum.’
I closed my eyes, the earth falling around me. I asked only, ‘How?’
‘It was so strange. I was driving and my phone rang. I thought it was you. I looked around for it briefly, but couldn’t find it and when I looked up, I saw her standing there in the road. I hit my brakes. When I came to a stop she was gone. My phone was still ringing, yet I couldn’t find it. So I pulled up my handbrake and started searching for it. I found it behind the passenger seat. Ivy, it was her.’
I stared at him in shock as he continued, eyes dark, solemn. ‘Her number. I mean, I never thought to erase it, but here I was getting a call from a number that had been out of service for five years, just before I got hit.’
I closed my eyes. ‘You remember getting hit?’ I asked, horrified.
He shook his head. ‘No, thank God. But I was conscious when the paramedics got there and they told me what happened. The one paramedic – think he said his name was Tim?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Well, he said I was lucky – the only reason I was alive was because I was sitting there when the truck hit. The rest of the car was completely wrecked.’
I nodded. ‘One of the officers said much the same thing. In fact, she said that even if you’d jumped out of the car, it was likely to have hit you considering how fast it was going and the angle it took – you would have had to have run pretty fast to avoid it... and on ice.’
Stuart’s eyes widened. ‘The way the road curved, that makes sense.’
I breathed out, realising what Officer Turner had tried to tell me was somehow, impossibly, true. ‘The only way you could have survived was to be on the back seat.’
He nodded, squeezing my hand. ‘Then later, I spoke to her, I think.’
I blinked in shock. ‘You spoke to Mum?’
He nodded. ‘I think so... though now it feels like maybe I dreamt it. It was very real though when I saw her. She looked so beautiful. Young. A lot like you, really. It was magical – like she wasn’t wearing a dress, more like silver smoke,’ he said with a soft smile.
I squeezed his hand, unable to speak, and he continued. ‘We were standing somewhere wonderful, like a garden at night. There wasn’t this bright light... It wasn’t like what I would have thought if it was heaven... It was soft, muted, like moonlight on water or something. She stood there and handed me a postcard, like the one you found in her desk, except this one was addressed to me. When I looked up, she touched my arm and said: “I saved the last one for you. It was always meant for you.”’
My shoulders started to heave and shake, the tears running down my cheeks. I clutched Stuart’s hand to me and sobbed. I’d blamed her. I’d done the one thing she’d asked me not to do: I’d lost hope when she told me to hang on, no matter what, thinking that she’d abandoned me when I needed her, when it turned out she’d always been there. She was always there when I needed her the most – I just hoped it wasn’t too late to tell her that.
Chapter 26
Words Made of Ink
The postcard was waiting for me as I entered the room, propped up next to the Christmas card with Rudolph and his shimmering, golden-red, fairy-dust nose. There was no reason it should have been there, but it was. Somehow, after I’d crumpled it up and thrown it away, it had restored itself to its rightful place, as perfect as the day I’d found it. Except now, now it was no longer empty.
As I stood staring at it, I understood. It had never been empty, not really, because here was the last message, the one that, had she not found a way to come back, would have been the one I found. Gone were the gossamer-thin words made of moonlight and magic that filled and disappeared; in their place were other words, more precious than any made of light and stardust, for these were etched in permanent ink, made for me to keep.
* * *
Darling Ivy,
If love were enough, I’d tell St Peter to close his gates. I’d block out the stars and cover the moon with a fist. I’d find a place where time stands still, where no world would exist, except one where we could stand together arm in arm.
Except, my darling, here’s the secret you should know: where you are, so am I. No there exists, or here. No place exists where I would not come when you need me, for you will always exist in a place where my love is without end.
My dream came true the day they placed you in my arms.
My hopes found flight, so that when you fall asleep at night, my arms are your arms, my side is your side.
And now the last, the big one, the one that I need you to hold close – for it’s a manifesto, a recipe for life: be strong, be brave, be gentle, be kind; forgive easily – especially yourself; live each day with hope; begin and end each one with love, for it is this that turns life into living, and it is only love that makes it worth the living.
Love and always,
Mum
Chapter 27
Holly Everton
‘It’s time.’
Stuart looked up from the vine tomatoes he’d been fondling with rather a dreamy expression, hand spade falling from his hands to the ground with a clatter, his brown eyes huge. ‘It’s time?’
I nodded.
‘Is that because you are standing in a pool where your water just broke?’ he said with a nervous laugh, while I stood in the too-warm polytunnel that basked in the June sunshine, my belly huge.
‘It is indeed.’
‘Oh Christ!’ he said, standing up quickly. Looking like a startled woodland creature. Face white.
‘Not so fast – that leg has just healed!’ I warned.
He stopped, blinked. ‘It’s fine. All fine. Strong as an ox,’ he said, eyes dancing. And he was; it had taken months of healing, but he was almost back to his old self. The gardening helped, according to Dr Harris, who approved thoroughly. Peter had become a great friend. He even had a polytunnel of his own now, to Dr Gia’s despair. Apparently he too shared a fondness for exotic jam.
Stuart bent down, straightened the spade, and said, ‘Okay, I’m ready.’
I shook my head, amused. ‘Dad is on his way. He’ll meet us there with The Thursday Club, and Catherine, your mum and Smudge are flying down.’
He nodded. ‘The car is packed: clothes, pyjamas, food... We should have everything... Should I have a quick run through the house to make sure there’s nothing I’ve missed?’
‘Stuart, you started packing the car in February. You learned how to drive with one leg in March – causing me some grey hair in the process. You figured out how to feed a baby with one hand, practising on a watermelon that you dressed in a tea towel. You pureed most of your smallholding into baby food, though she won’t be able to eat it for months. We have everything we need and if you run anywhere on that leg until it’s properly healed I’ll break it for you,’ I threatened.
He grinned. ‘All right, Mrs Everton.’
I grinned back. ‘All right.’
‘We’re having a baby,’ he said, in awe.
I nodded, my own eyes huge. ‘Oh Christ, Stuart, we’re having a baby!’ I whispered.
Six hours later – one crushed hand, pain like no one ever warns you enough about, exhaustion to the point of tears, sweat, one vow never ever to do this madness again without drugs, followed by a single second of realisation when my baby was placed in my arms, and I knew I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat – we welcomed Holly Alice Everton into the world.
I held out my hand and she latched on, eyes closed, and I knew then what Mum had meant, as from then on my arm was her arm, my heart her hear
t.
Stuart traced her face with the tip of his finger. ‘She’s perfect. An Everton Ten, I’d say.’
I looked at him with a puzzled frown and he explained: ‘I think we need a new scale, a better one. One for happiness. One being something like you found a chocolate you forgot all about.’
Tears sprang to my eyes. ‘Ten being your whole world just got made?’ I asked.
He smiled and nodded.
I held out my hand for him, while cradling Holly in the other. An Everton Ten indeed.
Letter from Lily
Thank you so much for reading A Cornish Christmas. If you enjoyed the book it would be so wonderful if you could leave a review. Your help in spreading the word is so appreciated.
Cornwall is such a special place, swathed in such mystery; you can’t help feeling that there really is something magical about it. I just couldn’t let it go, so I’m pleased to tell you that my next book will feature beautiful Cornwall again, and with one of my favourite characters from A Cornish Christmas, the biographer Victoria Langley, Stuart’s sister ‘Smudge’. I can’t wait to tell you more about it – there’s an abandoned cottage, a mystery that goes back to the Great War, some magic and romance... You’ll find out about this and much more besides by joining my mailing list here:
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Finally you might like to read my previous novel, The Summer Escape.