Snowflakes Over Moondance Cottage

by Rosie Green

  ‘Okay now?’

  ‘You just asked me that.’

  ‘So I did.’ He looks at the broken glass on the floor. ‘It’s about more than the bonfire, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ I swallow hard. ‘It’s . . . my dad. He tried to sail to Portugal with Janice, his girlfriend. They found her body but he’s still missing, presumed dead. He . . . always made bonfires, right where you’re burning that wood. When I got here, I thought . . .’

  ‘Oh, God. I didn’t know.’ He looks appalled. ‘When did he go missing? Are they still searching?’

  I shake my head. ‘They sailed away three years ago. More than that. They found the wreckage of the boat but there’s been no sign of Dad.’

  ‘Which means you’re in limbo, not knowing,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit. Look, do you want me to take you home? You’re in no fit state to drive – especially with those knees.’

  I shake my head. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s only a mile or so along the road.’

  ‘But still . . .’ He frowns, looking so concerned for me, I want to throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest and never let go.

  But I won’t be doing any of that.

  Seb’s made it clear he’s not interested in me that way, and I’d never want to embarrass him. Or me, for that matter.

  ‘Oh, God, those shelves . . .’ He runs a hand through his hair with an anguished frown. ‘Your dad put them up, didn’t he?’

  I nod sheepishly.

  ‘No wonder you were upset. And I trashed them in more ways than one.’ He groans. ‘I’m so sorry, Jess.’

  ‘You didn’t trash them, though. You saved them for me, and I never expected you to. So thank you.’

  We smile at each other.

  ‘It was my dad who taught me glass-blowing.’ I glance around me. ‘For a man who was rubbish at DIY, he was brilliantly creative.’’

  ‘You made the Christmas baubles together, then?’

  ‘Yes. Every year since I was twelve. I haven’t had the heart to do it without him. Until now. But this year I’ve started again.’ I grin at the mess on the floor. ‘I was doing really well until today.’

  ‘Me and my bloody bonfire,’ he groans.

  I shake my head. ‘It wasn’t you. I was emotional anyway. I fell out with my sister yesterday.’

  ‘Isla? She’s – um - very different to you.’

  ‘Yes. We’re not exactly two peas in a pod.’

  ‘More of an aubergine and a carrot.’

  I laugh. ‘And I suppose I’m the boring carrot?’

  His lips curve into a wry smile. ‘Aubergines are exotic but they can be bitter. Give me a carrot any day of the week. They’ve got an incredible sweetness that’s hard to resist.’

  I glance at him, confused. There’s an intense gleam in his eyes, despite the humour in his tone, that makes me think we’re not just talking about the popular orange vegetable.

  But why did he just push me away from him? It’s all so bewildering . . .

  ‘So is it terminal, this fall out with your sister?’

  I sigh. ‘No. But she’s threatening to move in with me which I’m not sure is a great idea. Although it might get us talking again.’

  ‘It’s a bit hard not to talk if you’re living with someone.’ His smile fades and he looks at the floor. ‘It’s easier on your own, having no-one else to please. But . . . I don’t know . . . maybe you need to make the effort. For the sake of . . . other people.’

  I stare at him, puzzled. Is he saying he’s thinking of moving in with someone? He’s got something on his mind, judging by that far away look.

  ‘Yes, maybe I should just give up my solitude for a while,’ I murmur, ‘for the sake of the family.’

  He looks up. ‘Sorry?’

  I shake my head.

  He takes a breath and forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘So is Isla going back to France after this?’

  ‘I think so. She says so. I wish she’d stay and help me with Mum, though. She keeps seeing Dad everywhere she goes.’

  He nods. ‘My mum was like that when my dad died. She once ran after a man in the street because she thought he walked exactly the same way as Dad.’

  I swallow. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The doctor put her on a short course of tablets. She didn’t really want to take them, but we knew – my sister and I – that they were probably the best thing for clearing the fog in her head. And they did.’

  ‘She’s fine now?’

  He nods. ‘I think she was worried she’d get addicted to them.’

  ‘Mum’s the same. She shuts me down every time I mention the GP but she does need help.’

  ‘Keep trying. She probably already knows you’re right.’ He pauses. ‘Are you sure I can’t take you home?’

  I look at him, wanting with all my heart to say, ‘Yes, please, Seb. Take me anywhere you like!’

  But instead, I shake my head. ‘I’ll be fine. But thank you. I’ll . . . see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Actually, you won’t. I’m taking Mum to do her Christmas shopping. With my sister.’ He laughs fondly. ‘Knowing Mum, it’ll be a whole day job while she decides what presents will suit everyone perfectly and insists on a proper, sit-down lunch in a posh restaurant. Her treat.’

  ‘Aw, she sounds lovely.’

  ‘She is. And she’s great company. It’s always the same restaurant.’ He grins. ‘It’s become a bit of a family tradition since we lost Dad. I think I’d miss it if we didn’t do it.’

  I smile. ‘Families, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Complicated.’

  He doesn’t reply. He just looks away, lost to me for a moment, that same bleak look in his eyes that I’ve seen before. Something must have happened in his past to make him sad. I wish I knew what it was but I can hardly ask. Maybe he’s been through a nasty divorce. A man like Seb doesn’t get to the age he is without having had relationships . . .

  I glance down at my bloodied tracksuit bottoms. ‘I’d better go. Get these things off.’

  We leave the studio together and I lock up.

  ‘Enjoy your day with your mum,’ I call as he lingers by the fire.

  He turns and gives me a lovely, warm, heart-stopping smile. ‘Thanks. And you take it easy.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve got two hundred baubles to make by Christmas.’

  ‘Two hundred and five,’ he jokes.

  ‘I think it was more like ten I trashed. But I promise I won’t stamp on any more.’

  Grinning, he gives me a thumbs-up, and I head for the car, walking gingerly so as not to aggravate the wounds on my knees. I desperately need a hot soak in the bath and an early night. The soak might be a bit tricky with my knees in such a mess, although I guess they could stay above the water level if I was careful.

  In the end, I’m so tired, I decide to forget the hassle of a bath. I just remove my tracksuit bottoms, put plasters on my knees and crash into bed, hoping I can sleep.

  And luckily, as soon as my head touches the pillow, I do just that . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I wake in the early hours - and immediately, thoughts of Seb tumble into my head.

  His gentle hands bathing my knees. Watching him as he bowed his head to the task, and wanting to run my hands through his hair. My heart soaring when he pulled me close, my lips yearning for his, and the devastation I felt when he very deliberately put a distance between us.

  My heart twists, recalling how dismayed he was when he realised it was Dad who’d put up my wonky shelves. I could tell he was genuinely gutted that his innocent remarks had caused me grief. I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness. Seb is a hundred times the man I thought he was when I first met him. It just goes to show that you shouldn’t judge someone until you really know them. Life’s challenges affect us all, turning us from time to time into darker versions of ourselves. And it’s clear Seb is wrestling with challenges of his own.

&n
bsp; In just a few weeks from now, he will have finished work on Moondance Cottage and what then? Panic flutters in my chest. He lives twenty miles away. I’m hardly likely to bump into him in the village. I’ll probably never see him again.

  Lying there in the dark, a feeling of hopelessness surges through me.

  I swore I’d keep my heart safe. But Seb has walked right in with his magnetic presence, heart-stopping smile and dry humour, and stolen it away . . .

  Turning over, I bash the pillow and hug it to me. I’m going to have to make an effort to stay out of his way, and that will be so hard. Even now, I’m longing to see him again.

  Burying my face in the pillow, I let out a muffled groan of frustration.

  Christmas was always going to be a challenge this year. But now, thanks to being heart-broken over Seb, it’s going to be a hundred times worse . . .

  *****

  When I wake in daylight, my firm resolution to give Seb a wide berth appears to have vanished along with the night.

  Despite the fact that I know it’s useless, my stupid heart is beating faster as I nip in the shower, my mind running through the contents of my wardrobe. Seb said he’d be putting in a few hours at Moondance Cottage first thing before going off to meet his mum and sister. Not that my getting ready this morning at the speed of light has anything at all to do with that fact. No, of course not. I just need to get there quickly to make as many baubles as I can today . . .

  I’m kidding myself, of course.

  The truth is, the thought of going over to the studio today without the possibility of seeing him - even just a glimpse from afar - casts a gloomy shadow over the day, despite the winter sunshine that’s glinting beyond the window. Thinking of him and his sister taking their mum Christmas shopping gives me a warm glow inside. It sounds as if he’s close to his mum and that makes him even more loveable in my eyes.

  I’m so deep in thought, flitting around the bedroom, I almost trip over the box I took away from Moondance Cottage the other day. The crate containing odd bits of stuff from the drawers and cupboards. I’d just shoved it under the bed, meaning to look through it later, but then I forgot. I decide I’ll look through it tonight, when I get back.

  Seb must have got to the cottage very early because as I drive up, he’s already leaving. I park in the road as he pulls out of the driveway. We both wind down our windows and he calls, ‘How are the knees?’

  ‘They’re okay, thanks. The scabs should be impressive.’

  He grins. ‘So you’re feeling better?’

  ‘Much.’

  ‘No bauble stamping today, then?’

  ‘None.’ I shake my head with a smile, thinking he looks utterly gorgeous in the cornflower blue shirt he’s wearing. He must have got changed at the cottage.

  ‘That’s a relief.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I . . . had a thought about the bonfire.’

  ‘Oh?’ I wait for him to elaborate.

  He shakes his head. ‘It can keep. You need to get on and so do I. But I’ll see you later?’

  A warm glow wraps itself around me. ‘Yes. I’ll be there.’ My whole body is zinging with joy as I watch him drive way.

  So much for giving him a wide berth. I really am utterly hopeless.

  I work steadily all morning, pausing only for a sandwich and a coffee at one-ish. Then I start painting initials onto some blue glass baubles. It’s such a delicate task. First, I have to make sure the glass is perfectly clean. Then I use a stencil to carefully apply a special base coat that contains a binder which sticks to the glass. When that’s dry, the stencil is used again to paint on the letter.

  It’s painstaking work but the effect is worth it. And by mid-afternoon, I sit back on my stool with a sigh, stretching out the cricks in my neck, to gaze with satisfaction at the rail of completed baubles, all hanging up to dry.

  Nipping back from the kitchen with a mug of tea and a couple of shortbread biscuits, I’m already planning what I’ll do after my short tea break. I sink into Dad’s chair, thinking of Jonathan’s pleased face when I deliver the new baubles on Friday –

  ‘Hello!’

  A voice at the door makes me jump.

  I leap to my feet, just as it opens, revealing a little girl who looks about six. She’s wearing a beautiful red coat, buttoned up, and black patent leather shoes, and her shiny dark hair is caught up in bunches. She’s clutching a doll with golden hair.

  ‘Oh! Hello, there.’

  She smiles shyly up at me, revealing two missing front teeth. ‘What are you doing? Is this a garden shed like my grandma’s?’

  ‘Erm, yes, it is. Well, kind of. It’s where I make my Christmas tree decorations. See?’ I point to the baubles hanging on the drying rail.

  ‘Ooh, they’re shiny.’

  ‘They are, aren’t they? What’s your name?’

  ‘Bella.’

  I smile. ‘What a lovely name. I’m Jess. Who are you with, Bella?’ I glance anxiously out of the studio, hoping to see an adult, but there’s no-one there.

  ‘Mummy. She’s trying to park the car but she’s not very good. She nearly bashed into Daddy and he’s not very pleased.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Where are they? Your mummy and daddy?’

  ‘Out there.’ She points to the road.

  I quickly pull on my jacket. ‘We’d better go and find them, then, or they’ll be worried.’

  ‘Okay. Daddy said I shouldn’t talk to strangers. But you’re nice.’

  ‘Well, thank you. Your daddy’s right, though. You do have to be careful.’

  ‘I hate it when Mummy shouts,’ she says in a confidential way, and I wonder if the mummy in question has managed to park the car yet. ‘Does your mummy shout at you?’

  I laugh. ‘Sometimes she does, yes. Especially when I’m trying to get her to do something she doesn’t want to do.’

  She gazes solemnly at me. ‘Daddy had fireworks but I had to stay at home. Do you like fireworks?’

  ‘Oh, I do. What a shame you missed bonfire night. Was your daddy too busy?’

  ‘No. But Mummy was. She had to go to work. Can you fix things, Jess? My doll’s hairband keeps falling off and Mummy didn’t have time to put it back on.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Shall I have a look?’

  She hands me the doll and as I’m helping her to snap it back in place, I hear the garden gate creak, and when I look up, Seb appears.

  He must have passed Bella’s mum and dad on the way in, and I smile at him, about to explain.

  ‘There, that’s better,’ says Bella, patting her doll’s hairband with satisfaction. Then she looks up and sees Seb.

  ‘Daddy!’ she shrieks. Dropping the doll on the grass, she races over to him. As I look on, open-mouthed, he holds out his arms - bending to her level and beaming all over his face - and Bella jumps right into them. He swings her around as she shrieks some more with sheer delight.

  My heart is thumping madly.

  Daddy?

  Seb has a daughter?

  Bella is taking his hand now and chattering away, telling him all about the ‘nice lady’ who was making balls for the Christmas tree in the shed. She points over to where I’m standing, feeling like a spare part. Seb grins and they walk over.

  ‘Thank you for taking care of her,’ he says, looking happier and more relaxed holding his daughter’s hand than I’ve ever seen him. ‘She ran away from the scene of the accident.’ He grins wryly. ‘Wise girl.’

  ‘Ah, right.’ So it was Seb’s van that Bella’s mum managed to bump.

  My insides are turning somersaults at all of this. It’s a shock finding out that Seb has this life that he’s never mentioned. And even more shocking knowing that any minute now, I’m going to meet Mrs Seb.

  The thought is turning my knees to total jelly and all I want to do is run to the car and get the hell out of here. Except I’d probably fly straight past Mrs Seb, which would look very odd indeed.

  Perhaps if I just slunk back to the studio, I could hide there and p
retend that all of this was just a bad dream . . .

  But it’s too late for that. Because a tall, slim woman in a navy jump suit, heels and a long camel coat is walking through the gate. She has glossy brown hair like Bella’s, except hers is combed back in a groomed ponytail, and she’s wearing the most stylish sunglasses I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Mummy, her hairband’s fixed now.’ Bella waves her doll excitedly. ‘This nice lady helped me do it.’

  ‘What are you doing in here, Bella?’ the woman demands. ‘You know you’re not supposed to go off by yourself. Tell her, Seb.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy.’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Seb reaches for his daughter and wraps his arm around her, and the little girl lays her head against his side. ‘But your mummy’s right. You shouldn’t go anywhere without telling us.’

  ‘Mummy’ lifts her Jackie-O sunglasses and looks across the lawn at me. ‘Are you the gardener?’ she asks, peering at me as if I’m a pile of something nasty left by the neighbour’s dog.

  ‘No, Aleksandra, she’s not the gardener,’ laughs Seb. ‘Jess happens to own this house.’

  ‘Oh.’ She pouts and folds her arms. ‘Well, she looks like a gardener in that outfit. I think I saw something like it in a camping shop window.’

  Colour rushes into my cheeks. I stand there in my comfy, warm leggings and padded jacket feeling like a badly-dressed scarecrow and unable to think of a reply.

  ‘Jess is a talented glass-blower,’ says Seb pleasantly. ‘There’s not much need for designer labels when you’re concentrating on creating a work of art.’

  My blush deepens as I glance gratefully at Seb. I’m about to be self-deprecating and say my baubles are hardly works of art. But catching the look of annoyance on Aleksandra’s face, I stay silent.

  ‘Come on, Bella. We need to go,’ she snaps. ‘Seb? Are you coming?’

  ‘I’ve got some work to finish off in the house first.’ He turns to Bella. ‘Hug?’ He holds out his arms and she runs into his embrace. ‘See you tomorrow night,’ he says, kissing the top of her head.

  ‘Will we do the fireworks, Daddy?’

  ‘We might, sweetheart.’

  ‘Bella!’ Aleksandra whisks through the gate and Bella runs to catch up with her, waving and calling, ‘Bye, Jess!’ as she goes. ‘Bye, Daddy. Thank you for the box for my . . . jewels,’ she says, stumbling over the word and pronouncing it ‘duals.’