by Rosie Green
‘That’s true. But there’s no furniture. It’s all in storage.’
‘So we bring selected bits out of storage. Seb has a van. How hard can it be?’
‘What about Mum and Dad, though? They’re being excruciatingly polite to each other and it’s obvious neither of them can relax.’
‘So maybe they need a bit of the old Christmas spirit to loosen them up! They’re going to have to spend the festive season together, whether they want to or not, so it might as well be in Moondance Cottage.’
I sigh. ‘You’re right. We could always get them relaxed on mulled wine.’
Isla chuckles. ‘And Dad’s old Santa suit must be in storage. I’m sure that would warm Mum up!’
‘Oh God, no, Isla.’
‘I was only joking. So what do you think? Do we make-over Moondance Cottage for Christmas?’
‘I think we should,’ I whisper, rapidly warming to the idea. ‘We could even get some lovely new beds from Ikea and stay over on Christmas Eve. It would take some hard work between now and then. The twenty-fourth is only three days away. But we could probably do it.’
‘With everyone hands on deck, I know we could. And just think how much money we’d be saving, not having to pay hotel bills.’
I murmur my agreement. To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking of the practical, financial angle in all of this. I was just feeling so happy and excited at the idea of us all being together again in Moondance Cottage.
For Christmas.
CHAPTER FORTY
Next morning, we gather in the café for brunch – Isla, Mum, Dad and me. There’s a sense that this is a celebration, although we’re all exhausted and slightly subdued after the incredible events of the day before.
‘Shall we have champagne?’ asks Isla, studying the menu. ‘Or Buck’s Fizz? What do you think, Dad?’
Dad smiles, his eyes alighting on each of us in turn. ‘Now, I do remember Buck’s Fizz. Champagne and orange juice, right?’
‘Correct, Dad.’ I beam at him. ‘We always used to have it on Christmas morning. Do you remember? With smoked salmon and scrambled eggs.’
He nods. ‘I remember that.’
Mum, who’s been sitting rather quietly up to now, says, ‘You always used to say Buck’s Fizz was a waste of good champagne, Max.’
Dad smiles at her. ‘Did I? I don’t remember that.’
Mum sniffs. ‘Well, it’s up to you to decide. You’re the guest of honour, after all.’
‘Perhaps we should just go for the real thing?’ I suggest. ‘Order champagne and have a proper toast to Dad?’
Isla frowns. ‘I’m not sure. Do we all want to be plastered by lunchtime?’
‘We wouldn’t need to drink it all.’ I shrug. ‘Just enough for a toast.’
Isla looks aghast. ‘What? You think I’m going to leave some champagne in the bottle? You must be joking.’
I shake my head, smiling. ‘Tight as ever.’
‘No, I’m not.’ Her face is indignant. ‘I’m just being practical. We’re going out for dinner tonight with Maggie and Reg, so I’m just thinking maybe we should leave the proper boozing until then?’
‘Well, I for one wouldn’t mind a little champagne,’ says Mum. ‘Although obviously it’s up to the guest of honour here.’
Dad smiles. ‘Do you know what? It’s a bit of a cliché, but I really don’t care what we drink, just as long as I’m drinking it here with you lot.’ He picks up the menu. ‘I’d be happy with a . . .’ He breaks off with a frown. ‘A caramel macchiato? That sounds interesting. What on earth is it?’
‘Haven’t a clue,’ I admit.
‘It’s espresso and hot milk with vanilla-flavoured syrup and a drizzle of caramel,’ explains Isla.
Dad nods. ‘I’ll have one of those.’
‘Why they have to make all these different varieties I really don’t know,’ says Mum, shaking her head. ‘What’s wrong with good old-fashioned coffee with milk, anyway?’
Dad smiles at her. ‘Is that what you’re having, then, Patricia?’
‘No! Why should I slum it if you’re all having fancy drinks? I’ll have a caramel macchi-thingy as well, please.’
I glance at Mum, puzzled. After seeming to be over the moon about Dad’s return yesterday, she’s been a bit snippy with him this morning.
Isla catches the eye of Rosie, the owner of the café, and she comes over with her pen and pad. When she sees it’s us, her eyes open wide with shock. ‘Oh, my goodness. Mr Rigby. I saw the story in the paper yesterday morning. Can I say how amazing it is to see you?’
Dad smiles and thanks her warmly, but I’m not sure he recognises her.
Rosie’s eyes flit around the table. ‘How are you feeling? All of you? I can’t imagine what it must be like, having him back after all this time.’
I smile at her. ‘It is pretty incredible, Rosie.’
‘Well, this is on the house, no doubt about it.’
Dad starts to protest, but she shakes her head, silencing him. ‘No, please, it’s just so good to hear of a happy ending. And at Christmas, too! I absolutely insist.’
She takes our order and walks away, still shaking her head.
‘Fame at last,’ murmurs Dad, and my heart lurches at his tired little smile.
During the hour that we’re there, a string of customers come through the doors, and all of them, apparently, have read the newspaper article. News has flown around the village and everyone – even people I’ve never met before – seem to recognise Dad from the photos and want to come and express their joy and amazement that he’s returned safely after such a terrible ordeal. Our old neighbour, Mrs Bevan, rushes in (after being tipped off by a friend that we’re in here with Dad) and she stares at Dad, barely able to speak at first.
‘Mrs Bevan,’ says Dad, his eyes lighting up in recognition, and my heart twists. He gets to his feet to give her a hug and she grasps onto him, crying and laughing at the same time. ‘It’s a miracle. A proper, real life miracle,’ she keeps repeating. ‘I kept saying to my Ron that it would take nothing short of a miracle – and here you are!’
I glance at Dad’s plate of bacon and eggs that’s now stone cold. It’s lovely that everyone wants to share in our joy but maybe we should have had breakfast at home. Dad is starting to look really tired.
‘Shall we go?’ I murmur, when Mrs Bevan finally leaves, after making us promise to call in for a Christmas drink on Boxing Day, as she’s having a little party.
We all agree and make a hasty exit, crunching back through the snow to my flat.
‘Looks like you’ll be the star of the night at Mrs Bevan’s party,’ murmurs Isla, linking her arm through Dad’s.
‘You don’t need to go if you don’t want to, Dad,’ I tell him anxiously, linking his other arm.
He smiles at us both. ‘How about we see how it goes?’
Back at the flat, Dad excuses himself and goes to lie on my bed. I take him in a cup of tea and he sits up to drink it, and I fetch a throw to spread over him.
He reaches for my hand. ‘You know, you don’t need to wrap me in cotton wool, Jess,’ he says gently. ‘I’m fine, and now that I’ve found you and Isla, and I’m starting to remember more and more, I have a feeling I’m going to get stronger every day.’ He shrugs. ‘I don’t need champagne. All I need is my family around me.’ He grins. ‘And perhaps the occasional caramel macchiato.’
Tears spring to my eyes. ‘I know, Dad. And we’re here for you, Isla and I. But I don’t care what you say, we’re allowed to wrap you up in cotton wool because we’re your daughters and we love you . . . and we still can’t quite believe that you’re back.’ I sit down on the bed. ‘Isla keeps getting me to pinch her arm. She must be quite black and blue by now.’
He laughs and draws me into a hug. ‘I love you, Jess.’
‘I love you, too, Dad.’ A tear leaks out, and my voice is muffled because my nose is pressed against his jumper. It smells of the bacon we never had a chance to eat. ‘You must
be hungry. What would you like? Smoked salmon and scrambled eggs? I could pop out to the shop?’
‘No fuss, Jess. Just a nice slice of toast and butter will be perfect. You know, coming back from the dead is quite exciting. I’m appreciating the little things much more now.’
I laugh, springing off the bed. ‘One slice of toast and butter coming up!’
‘Thank you. Let’s face it, with Christmas here, we’ll soon have enough food in to sink a ship, I’d imagine.’
I nod, my heart soaring at the thought of celebrating the season with him there. ‘Let’s hope so!’
*****
The following day, I take Dad into The Treasure Box to see Jonathan, and the two greet each other like the long-lost friends that they are, and it warms my heart to see it.
Jonathan is beaming from ear to ear as he hugs Dad and slaps him on the back, and both men’s eyes glisten suspiciously. I’m pleased that Jonathan doesn’t immediately start asking Dad questions, like a lot of people are tending to do.
It’s only natural for them to want to know about his experience, but Dad needs time to put all the pieces together himself first, before he can make proper sense of it.
‘You should be so proud of your daughter for carrying on this fine village tradition,’ beams Jonathan, glancing at the Christmas tree. ‘I’ve kept asking for more baubles and she hasn’t let me down. Not once. And the whole lot have sold. Well, this is the last box.’ He presents it to Dad, who looks confused.
He takes off the lid and looks inside. It’s a box of the cobalt blue baubles, my favourites. ‘Jess?’ Dad looks up at me. Then he looks at the tree. ‘You made these? All of them?’
‘I sure did,’ I tell him happily, taking one of the baubles out of the box and holding it up to the light. ‘What do you think? Are they worthy of a place on Jonathan’s tree?’
I’m actually a little anxious because they look okay to me but Dad’s the artist.
He looks stunned. ‘Jess, that’s so beautiful.’ He takes the bauble and holds it in his palm, then he rolls it gently in both hands and holds it up so the light catches it. ‘I couldn’t make one better myself.’
My heart expands with happiness.
‘I didn’t tell Dad what I’ve been doing,’ I explain to Jonathan. ‘I wanted to surprise him in here.’
‘Well, you’ve done that, all right, Jess,’ says Dad with a big smile. ‘I think I need to see the studio, don’t you? Find my way around it again. Because we’ll be making these little fellas together next Christmas.’
I can only nod.
I’m just too happy to speak . . .
*****
As soon as we leave The Treasure Box, Dad asks to see the studio. So I phone Isla to tell her what we’re doing, and I drive Dad over to Moondance Cottage.
I know Seb won’t be here today. He and Aleksandra are taking Bella to the pantomime this afternoon and apparently, she’s really excited because during the performance, they bring a real live horse on stage. I think she’s hoping for poop.
I spoke to Seb late last night for well over an hour, neither of us wanting to put the phone down first. Aleksandra is jetting off to her first big modelling assignment in early January, and she has bookings throughout the year in exotic, far-flung locations. So Seb is making sure they spend a lot of time together as a family this Christmas - for Bella’s sake and for Aleksandra’s. He’s hoping to be able to join us at Moondance Cottage on Christmas Eve, though, and I can hardly wait to see him.
Isla’s not at the cottage, either. She and Dad stayed at the hotel last night, and Isla texted me just now to say she’s hired a van for the day and she’s going out to buy beds with Mum.
I texted her back: Won’t you need some help getting the stuff on the van?
And she replied: Jonathan’s coming with us to help. (Stop it, Jess. We’re just friends.)
Isla has taken it upon herself to organise the entire Christmas make-over of Moondance Cottage. When I said I wanted to help, she smiled and said, ‘Jess, you’ve been an absolute star since I’ve been back, putting up with my moods and my mess. Let me do this one thing for you, eh?’
I shrugged. ‘Brilliant. Thank you.’
She grinned. ‘Besides, I’m the one with the flair for design, not you.’ And she rushed off to order bedding and some free-standing heaters on line.
In the studio, Dad spends time looking at the equipment, picking up the blow-torch and, I guess, reacquainting himself with the medium of glass, the craft that he so loved.
‘Shall we have a go?’ he asks at last.
‘Now?’ I grin at his eagerness.
‘No time like the present. Unless . . . do you need to help Isla?’
‘No, she won’t let me. She says she wants the reveal this evening to be a complete surprise.’
‘You’ll have to refresh my memory,’ says Dad.
‘Of course. Right, well, the most important thing, while the kiln is operating, is to ventilate the studio. You need to make sure the air vent system is turned on?
‘That’s this?’ he says, pointing to the switch.
I smile. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ I joke, and he smiles.
‘I keep saying this. But it’s all coming back. Very slowly, mind you - and half the time, I still feel like my brains are made of candyfloss.’
I swallow nervously. There’s one subject none of us have broached with him yet.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember Janice?’
He bows his head and is silent for a moment. At last, he looks up. ‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’
I nod and he sighs. ‘I thought so.’
‘How . . . how do you know?’
‘I’ve been having flashes of memory. Of being on the boat with Janice. At first, nothing was clear. But gradually, more things are coming back to me.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I almost wish I could have remained in ignorance.’
‘What do you mean, Dad?’
‘Well, there are things that . . . I regret. Deeply. I hate myself for what happened with your mum. She was in such a fragile state.’
‘I know she had a miscarriage,’ I say softly. ‘When we were in Austria.’
He nods. ‘And then she got home to the news that I’d been unfaithful.’ He shakes his head. ‘I barely even remember that night. We’d had so much to drink. And then suddenly Isla was there, in the room, and Janice was in my bed.’ He looks so sad, I want to hug him and tell him to stop. But I sense it wouldn’t be welcome. He wants to talk about it.
‘I kept telling your mum that it meant nothing. Because it didn’t. I . . . this sounds awful, but we were so drunk, Janice and I, that I couldn’t even remember if we . . .’ He shrugs. ‘But your mum was in such a dark place, after the baby, that she couldn’t forgive me. We tried to go on, but her depression lingered and the arguments escalated. And then she decided she couldn’t go on living with me. Not with the knowledge that I’d betrayed her.’
‘It must have been so hard to leave, though,’ I murmur.
He nods, looking grief-stricken at the memory. ‘Nothing I could say would change her mind, but I could tell it broke her heart to leave you and Isla. And it was all my fault. I hated myself so much for what had happened.’
‘It wasn’t just you, though. What about Janice? I think she manipulated you. I think she deliberately set out to steal you away from Mum.’
He sighs. ‘Before being on that boat with her, I’d have said you were wrong. But now . . . well, now I know differently.’
‘So she did engineer it all? When did you first meet Janice? Did you know that she and Mum worked at the graphics company together all those years ago?’
He nods. ‘I first met Janice at the company’s Christmas night out. She was really friendly and welcoming. I didn’t know anyone, so I was happy to chat to her. Mum even persuaded me to get up and dance with her. She’d just split up with her boyfriend at the time, Eddie, and her friend, Marion Merr
y, who also worked there, was keen to get her out socialising.’
‘How soon after that first meeting did Janice turn up at your door?’
He frowns. ‘I met her in the December . . . it was the February, when you and your mum were away ski-ing. She just turned up late one night, looking the worse for wear, and saying she had nowhere to go and Eddie had attacked her. Of course I took her in. She was in a terrible state. At the time, she said she didn’t know your mum was away and I believed her. Why wouldn’t I? But now . . .’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘I think she knew exactly what she was doing.’
‘Do you believe she was attacked.’
He shakes his head. ‘I met Eddie. I knew people who knew him well and they all said he was a great bloke and they couldn’t understand him being violent to Janice. So there was always a doubt in my mind, but not enough to investigate further.’ He sighs. ‘To be honest, I think I was too deeply in the relationship to risk it going wrong. I had this great new life. A lovely partner. Sailing every weekend. There was too much to lose. So I put my trust in her, even though I had my doubts in other ways.’
‘Doubts?’ I ask gently. ‘What about?’
‘Well, she seemed all sunny and friendly when I first knew her. But it wasn’t long before I realised she had a dark side. Her moods were very up and down. She was great fun and the best company most of the time. But her dark moods were pretty scary. She got violent with me at times.’
I stare at him, shocked.
He shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t her fault. I don’t even think she knew what she was doing when she got into one of her dark moods. Janice was a very troubled soul.’
‘But you stayed with her?’ I’m struggling to understand why he would stick around in such circumstances.
‘Two months after the night she arrived at our door, she phoned me and told me she was pregnant, and naturally, I believed her. I had no reason not to at that stage.’
‘So you got together properly?’
‘No. I said I’d look after her and the baby, but I had no intention of leaving your mum. None at all. But then your mum left me and by that time, Janice had suffered a miscarriage. At least, I thought so at the time.’