Snowflakes Over Moondance Cottage

by Rosie Green

  It’s six-thirty-four.

  Creeping through to the kitchen so as not to wake Isla, I make a cup of tea and take it back to the sofa, where I get back under the duvet and sip thoughtfully. I’ll need to do more glass-blowing today, which means I’ll have to leave Isla here to fend for herself. I smile wryly. She’ll have to get used to not having room service at her fingertips – because I’m not going to be filling the gap and waiting on her hand and foot! Last night was a one-off because she’d just arrived. If I don’t toughen up, she’ll be expecting me to do everything . . .

  Catching sight of the box of belongings I rescued from under my bed the night before, I set the cup down and get up, bringing the odd mix of items over and setting it down beside the sofa. Then I start going through the contents.

  It seems to be mostly greetings cards, boxes of notepaper and Christmas wrap.

  I find a large ‘Good Luck’ card that’s been sent to Mum. To Patricia. There are about thirty different signatures inside it, and I decide it’s from when she left the graphics company she worked at in London, which must be twelve years ago now. The staff have all signed it, wishing her luck for the future.

  I stare at the assorted handwriting, reading all the little messages from Mum’s co-workers, turning the card this way and that to decipher them all. She’ll want to keep this, I’m sure. Memories of a happy time.

  Something catches my eye and I look again.

  Someone called Janice has signed it. Of course there must be millions of Janices in the world – but what intrigues me is that the signature seems familiar.

  Peering closer confirms it.

  It’s definitely our Janice. I’ve had birthday and Christmas cards from her in the past, and that loopy way she wrote her ‘Js’ is very distinctive. And so is the little heart she always topped the ‘i’ with.

  I sit back, stunned.

  Mum and Janice knew each other all those years ago?

  Why did I never know this? I always assumed Mum only got to know of Janice when Isla and I did - after Dad started seeing her.

  But this card suggests differently.

  I think about it in the shower, trying to remember any conversation with Mum or Janice where they’d mentioned they used to work together at the graphics company.

  But I draw a blank.

  Did Dad know Janice and Mum once worked at the same company? If he did, he never mentioned it to me. Was he keeping it a secret? But what possible reason could there be for such secrecy?

  My heart squeezes. I’d thought Dad and I had no secrets.

  And then Isla is knocking on the door, demanding to know when I’ll be finished because she’s bursting for the loo, so I get out of the shower.

  ‘Isla?’ I call through the locked door. ‘Did you know that Mum and Janice worked together at the graphics company in London?’

  There’s a brief silence. Then: ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve found a card to Mum from her workmates, signed by Janice. I just thought it was odd, that’s all, that we never knew. Well, I never knew, anyway.’

  I wrap myself in a towel and emerge from the bathroom. Isla has disappeared so I fetch the card and take it into the kitchen where she’s boiling the kettle.

  She peers intently at Janice’s signature. At last, she looks up.

  ‘Well?’ I urge. ‘Weird, isn’t it?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It can’t be that Janice.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just know. That’s definitely not her hand-writing.’

  I look at her doubtfully, but she hands me the card and smiles. ‘Right, my turn for the shower. Have you got any conditioner? I ran out yesterday.’

  ‘Just use what’s in there.’

  I stare after her thoughtfully. Then I go to my room and rummage through the drawer where I keep my old birthday cards, and at last I find one from Janice. Opening it, my heart lurches, looking at the way she’s signed her name.

  Isla’s wrong. That signature is exactly the same as the one on the card to Mum. So they did work together.

  I don’t know why it should niggle me so much. But for some reason, it does . . .

  *****

  Living with Isla isn’t getting any easier. Every time I fill the fridge, I come home to find it’s been raided. And the flat is becoming more of a tip by the day.

  But at least I have the studio to escape to. Glass-blowing is the sort of work that needs total concentration, which means all my worries about Mum and Isla and Dad, and my growing feelings for Seb, tend to fade into the background when I’m busy.

  We’re into December now and the demand for baubles is increasing all the time, which is fine by me. It’s proving to be very profitable work – so much so that I’ll be able to finish paying back the loan from Mum in a week or two.

  I haven’t seen Seb today, but I’ve smartened up my act just in case. I’m wearing skin-tight jeans and a rosy pink top that seems to draw compliments whenever I wear it.

  At around midday, there’s a knock on the door and Seb appears. ‘Sorry to disturb you. I was making coffee and I thought you might like one.’

  ‘Oh.’ Heart thumping, I set down the pliers and go to the door. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s a bit too full,’ he says, with one of his lazy smiles. He holds it so that I can take the handle, but when I go to grab it, I knock the mug slightly, and some of the coffee slops onto his hand.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry.’ Heat creeps into my neck and, as our fingers touch while I’m taking the mug, the blush suffuses my entire face. I turn away on the pretext of setting the mug down on the bench, trying to get my breathing under control.

  ‘You’ve obviously been really busy, getting your Christmas orders out,’ he says, leaning against the door jamb and folding his arms. ‘I’ve missed you popping into the kitchen for goodies.’

  ‘Yes, I have been really busy. Thank you – for the coffee.’ I manage a smile. ‘It was – um – so lovely to meet Bella the other day. And Aleksandra, of course. Do you . . . do you all live together?’ I ask, feigning innocence, knowing full well he’s already mentioned that he lives alone.

  ‘No.’ His expression darkens almost imperceptibly. ‘Not at the moment. Bella lives with her mum.’

  Not at the moment?

  So that must mean it’s just a temporary state of affairs. He must be hoping that at some point in the future, the little family will all be together again.

  ‘You must really miss the family set-up.’

  ‘I do. And I don’t,’ he says brusquely and somewhat confusingly. ‘Aleksandra and I were good together for a while. But then . . . well, our different goals in life meant we were never going to see eye to eye all the time. But I’m determined that Bella won’t be a casualty of our messed-up relationship.’ His eyes gleam with intensity. ‘I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure she feels happy and secure.’

  I nod, smiling sadly at him. Seb is a man who means what he says. And anyone who’s seen him with Bella would surely never doubt that he’d go to the ends of the earth for his daughter.

  ‘It’s a shame she missed Bonfire Night.’

  He grins. ‘She told you that? I was disappointed myself, actually. I’d got the fireworks and everything.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He sighs. ‘I’d already organised to have her stay at mine for the fireworks, but at the last minute, Alex decided she wanted to take Bella to an organised display with some of the other mums and kids.’ He shrugs. ‘It sounded like fun for Bella, so of course I agreed.’

  ‘But they didn’t go?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Alex ended up having to work late so she got a babysitter in and Bella missed out altogether.’

  ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Yes,’ murmurs Seb, with a weary flick of his eyes to the sky.

  ‘You could have fireworks even if it isn’t Bonfire Night,’ I suggest. ‘I’m sure Bella would love it just as much.’


  He grins. ‘You’re right. I never thought of that. I could take her to the park.’ He shrugs. ‘No garden, living in a top floor flat.’

  ‘Of course.’ I frown, thinking. ‘You . . . could have a bonfire here. If you like.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not?’ I’m trying to stay nonchalant, but my mouth has gone dry as a bone, hoping he’ll say yes.

  He shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ he says, and I know he’s thinking of my embarrassing outburst the other day, when I blew up at him for lighting that fire in the garden.

  ‘I honestly wouldn’t mind at all.’ I smile at him, finding to my surprise that it’s actually true.

  ‘Well . . . okay.’ He nods. ‘As long as you promise to join us.’

  My heart leaps. ‘You don’t have to invite me, you know, just because it’s my garden. You could - ’

  ‘Jess.’ He stops me. ‘I’d very much like it if you were there. And I know Bella would, too.’ He smiles down at his feet. ‘She told me she thought you were a very nice lady.’

  A feeling of warmth, like a cosy blanket on a freezing cold day, wraps itself around me. ‘In that case, I’d love to join you.’

  ‘Good.’ His face relaxes. ‘Tomorrow night? About six?’

  ‘Great.’

  He grins. ‘We’ll only be about a month late for Bonfire Night.’

  I laugh, a feeling of happy excitement racing through me. ‘What’s a month between friends?’

  ‘Exactly. I’ll bring the fireworks. We could . . .’ He swallows and looks down, shuffling his feet. Then his blue eyes find mine once more. ‘We could honour your dad at the same time. I know how you both loved bonfires.’

  Tears mist my eyes but I’m smiling. ‘Thank you. I love that idea. Dad always liked ginger parkin on Bonfire Night. It was his favourite thing from childhood. I’ll make some specially. And some marshmallow cake for Bella. Does she like marshmallows?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She’ll be well chuffed with that.’

  ‘Great! Well, that’s a . . .’ I break off with an awkward little cough. ‘I – um - look forward to it.’

  There’s a mischievous look on his face when he smiles, which makes me think he guessed what I’d been about to say: Well, that’s a date, then.

  When he’s gone, I sink with a groan into Dad’s chair, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. My heart is turning somersaults like it’s practising for the Olympics.

  Oh, God, what have I just agreed to?

  An evening in the company of the gorgeous Seb and his impossibly cute daughter, that’s what!

  My body tingles with excitement, even as my mind is sternly reminding me that nothing good can come of it. I know I’m treading a dangerous path, because being with Seb tomorrow night will do nothing to quench my feelings for him - or the desire that’s unfurling inside me with every day that passes. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  I close my eyes with a sigh.

  When it comes to Seb, I just haven’t the strength to say no . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I get back late to Wagon Wheel wrappers strewn over the living room floor.

  But for once, I’m not even bothered. I guess that’s the Seb effect.

  It’s after nine and I’m hungry.

  In the kitchen, there’s evidence of a big fry up, with greasy pans clogging the sink. Removing them, I run some hot soapy water and plunge them in to soak. It’s so obvious Isla is used to having a cleaner. She hasn’t the first clue about how to keep a place clean and tidy.

  I’d planned to whip up some scrambled eggs on toast but the egg carton is lying empty on the bench. It’ll have to be beans, then. That good old stand-by.

  ‘I thought you were never coming back.’

  I turn and Isla is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a tracksuit that’s vaguely familiar and her hair is screwed up haphazardly on top of her head, looking as if it hasn’t been washed for days.

  ‘I got carried away.’ I shrug. ‘I always do when I’m in the studio.’

  She nods. ‘That’s like me when I’m baking for the shop. I forget about meal-times and everything, I’m so focused on the job in hand.’ She gives a little wistful sigh, as if she longs to be back there.

  I glance at the remains of the fry-up. ‘No chance of you forgetting meal-times at the moment!’

  ‘Hey! What are you suggesting? That I’m getting fat?’ She glares at me and rubs her stomach, which I notice does look a little more rounded than usual. Wagon wheels.

  ‘No, of course not. It’s nice for you to spend some time away from the business, just relaxing. And having the time to eat. That’s all I meant.’

  She grunts. ‘Anyway, I was looking through that box in the living room and there were some very interesting things in there.’

  I glance at her, realising she has her hands behind her back.

  ‘What things? I thought it was just old birthday cards and stuff.’

  With an odd light in her eyes, she produces two identical items, one in each hand. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Jess?’

  I step closer. She’s holding out a pair of baby’s bootees made from soft white wool. They look hand-knitted, with tiny lengths of pale pink ribbon threaded through the tops.

  I stare at them, mystified. ‘These were in the box?’

  She nods. ‘In a paper bag. They’re not yours, then?’

  ‘No, of course they’re not mine.’

  She snorts. ‘Ah yes, I was forgetting. You’ve sworn off sex for the decade. So who the hell do they belong to, then?’

  ‘Where’s the bag?’ She fetches it and I turn it over in my hands. It’s old and creased. Looking inside, I find a receipt and drawing it out, I can tell immediately that it’s not recent. It’s an old-style receipt from the village store, and there’s a date. ‘October 9th 2006.’

  ‘Do you think they’re Mum’s?’ Isla’s voice is full of disbelief.

  We stare at each other. My head is reeling.

  At last, I shake my head. ‘They can’t be hers. She must have knitted them for a friend or the daughter of a friend and then forgotten to give them to her.’

  ‘Or the woman had a miscarriage.’

  I nod. ‘Yes, that’s probably it.’ I look down at them with a smile. ‘They are gorgeous, though, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. They almost make me feel broody.’ She snorts. ‘Not!’

  The way she says it, with such an edge of bitterness, makes me look up in surprise. But she’s already stomped out.

  I return the bootees to the paper bag, wondering if things with Jamie are quite as good as Isla is making out. Although, overhearing her on the phone to him the other night, they seem as loved-up as ever.

  I whisk around, tidying up Isla’s mess, and finally sit down in front of the TV with my beans on toast soon after ten. Now that I’m on my own, I find my mind shifting instantly to Seb and Bella. And our own private December Bonfire Night. I feel a little spark of thrilled anticipation igniting within me. But I know I mustn’t get excited about it. The evening is for Bella and Seb, to make up for her missing the November 5th celebrations. No matter what he told me, I know Seb only asked me along because it’s my garden and he’s thoughtful like that.

  It’s still a party, though. Of sorts. So it would be perfectly legitimate to think about what I should wear tomorrow night . . .

  *****

  The following afternoon, I make sure I’m home early from the studio so I can have a shower and get ready, and be back at Moondance Cottage by six.

  It seems weird having a bonfire party in December but as long as it makes Bella happy, that’s fine with me. I only hope Aleksandra doesn’t decide to change Seb’s plans at the last minute, like she did last time.

  When I arrive and park next to Seb’s van, it’s dark and I can see the glow of the bonfire over the tall garden gate. As I get out of the car and go to the boot for my bag of goodies, a burst of laughter from Bella drifts over on the still ni
ght air. The smoky scent fills me with nostalgia.

  I shiver. There’s definitely a hint of snow in the air tonight. How perfect would it be if it started falling? Locking the car, the bag over my arm, I walk through the gate and my heart squeezes at the sight before me.

  Seb is hunkered down, his arm around Bella and they’re both just staring into the leaping flames of the bonfire. Watching them together makes me feel quite emotional, and I almost don’t want to disturb the beautiful little tableau. Perhaps I should just leave them to their own private celebration . . . creep away before they see me.

  But then Bella starts dancing up and down, and begging for the fireworks, and Seb straightens up and they both catch sight of me, hesitating by the gate.

  ‘Daddy, Jess is here!’

  Bella runs over and takes my hand, pulling me over to the bonfire. ‘Isn’t it ‘mazing? My daddy said we had to wait for you before we can have fireworks.’

  I smile down at her then meet Seb’s sheepish grin over her head.

  ‘You can do the fireworks now, Daddy. Jess is here!’

  ‘She is indeed,’ he murmurs, his voice a delicious rumble that seems to penetrate my whole body. We lock eyes for a beat longer, and my heart does a forward roll in my chest.

  ‘Daddy says the bangs won’t be too loud. I like the bangs sometimes, but sometimes I like fireworks that are more quiet.’

  I nod. ‘I like the quiet ones as well, Bella. Especially Catherine Wheels.’

  ‘Ooh, yes. Cafrin wheels go round and round and round like this.’ She circles her arms vigorously in the air and manages to biff Seb in the stomach.

  ‘Oof.’ Seb doubles over, totally hamming it up, and Bella starts giggling.

  ‘I didn’t really hurt you, Daddy,’ she says after more clowning around, looking up at him a little anxiously. ‘You’re just ‘tending.’

  Seb grabs her and lifts her off her feet, planting a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I am indeed just pretending. Now, do you think Jess knows the rules?’

  ‘You mean the rule that says we must eat marshmallow cake on Bonfire Night?’ I say with a look of wide-eyed innocence.

  Bella’s eyes light up. ‘Marshmallow cake. Ooh, marshmallows are my favourite. I like them better than . . . better than . . . Daddy!’