Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane

by Ellen Berry

  Ivan always launched himself into new hobbies and interests, almost to the point of obsession – which would involve buying all the equipment, materials and accessories. Lucy coughed as she picked her way through the evidence of Ivan’s long-forgotten passions. There were tennis rackets and a defunct rowing machine. She gashed her shin against the sharp corner of a saxophone case.

  ‘All this stuff,’ she muttered irritably, relieved to find boxes of fabric remnants now. Once a keen crafter, often making her own clothes during her student days, these days she rarely had the time. She pulled out reams of fabric, hoping for inspiration to strike. Marnie could be an elf, Lucy decided, as she unearthed a length of bright green material. Further delving revealed an ancient light brown onesie, which had belonged to Marnie and could possibly be fashioned into a reindeer outfit for Sam. Lucy transported her finds to the box room where her sewing machine was set up.

  By the time she set off to pick up the children from school, she had managed to knock up a basic elf’s tunic and cut reindeer antlers from sturdy cardboard, which she had covered in felt and stitched to the onesie hood. Pretty impressive, she decided, considering it had all been thrown together at the last minute.

  ‘How come dads never have to involve themselves with this kind of stuff?’ Lucy asked with a wry smile at the school gate. There was murmured agreement amongst the mums that men seemed adept at swerving the issue.

  ‘You mean, Ivan wasn’t beavering away on the sewing machine last night?’ teased Carys, to whom Lucy had grown especially close.

  ‘He wasn’t here,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘He’ll just get to admire their costumes later – when it’s all over.’

  ‘Is this his last day at work?’ Carys asked, and Lucy nodded. ‘Bet you can’t wait.’

  ‘I’m counting the hours,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a pretty long haul without him …’ Lucy caught herself, and felt guilty for even admitting this. There were still five days to go before Christmas and Ivan had agreed to forget about work until after New Year. It meant almost three weeks together as a family. Carys was a single mum to Amber and Noah – Marnie and Sam’s new best friends – and rarely got a break. Even when her husband had still been in the picture he had barely lifted a finger, apparently. It had been Glen who had nagged for a dog until Carys had crumbled. Of course, they all loved Bramble, their bouncy springer spaniel. But Glen had never once walked him – Bramble immediately became ‘Carys’s dog’ – and all Glen had done was moan about the hair, the mud brought in on paws, the vet’s bills.

  More shockingly still, he had never once set foot in the children’s school, figuring that ‘We don’t need two of us to go to a parents’ meeting.’ Thank God Ivan wasn’t like that. When he was around, he wanted to do stuff with his children. Holed up in the shed, he and the kids had already constructed a rather wonky-looking wooden farm, an easel for Marnie and almost completed a birdhouse. The kids loved nothing more than time spent with their dad over spirit levels and pots of paint. Lucy hardly ever ventured into the shed. It was their domain, and she was happy to leave it that way.

  The school doors opened and the children surged out. ‘See you at the party,’ Carys said as her own kids ran towards her. ‘Hope they like their costumes!’

  ‘They’ll have no choice,’ Lucy said with a laugh as Marnie and Sam appeared in the playground. As they set off for home, she described the outfits she’d made. Naturally, the children insisted on pulling them on the minute they were back.

  ‘I love it, Mum!’ Marnie enthused, posing for a picture as Lucy whipped out her phone.

  ‘Can we go to the party now?’ Sam demanded, clattering about the kitchen in the onesie.

  ‘It doesn’t start till half-six,’ Lucy said. ‘You need dinner first.’

  ‘But I’m not hungry,’ he retorted, ‘and there’ll be cakes and sweets at the party. Noah said—’

  ‘You can’t just have sweets and cakes, love.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cause all your teeth’ll fall out,’ Marnie retorted, slipping into the wise older sister role she so enjoyed.

  ‘Don’t care,’ Sam huffed.

  ‘Yeah, who needs teeth?’ Lucy agreed with a smile. ‘We could just gum our food—’

  ‘Will Daddy see our costumes?’ Sam wanted to know as she put on a pan of pasta.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy replied, ‘when you come home. If he’s back in time, he might even come out and join us on the parade.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ Sam yelled, antlers bobbing.

  She looked at her children, aware that it wasn’t just the party and parade they were delighted about. It was the fact that Ivan would soon be home. Never mind Lucy’s costume-making skills. As far as Marnie and Sam were concerned, nothing could compete with seeing Daddy on a Friday night.

  Pesto pasta was shovelled down hastily, and Lucy managed to unearth some queasily coloured lime green face paint to complete Marnie’s incarnation as an elf. By the time they set off, the village was already milling with children dressed up and making their way to the party. There were Santas and snow queens and a plum pudding on legs, all hurrying along in the fine rain. As they entered the village hall, Lucy looked around in amazement at a sparkling scene of Christmas trees, model polar bears and stacks of presents. The entire building had been turned into a grotto. Festive music filled the hall as a strident woman wearing tartan trousers and a Christmas jumper – whom Lucy recognised as the school’s deputy head – called the excitable children to heel. Clearly in charge of the games, she soon had some kind of dance competition on the go as Lucy found Carys at the trestle table.

  ‘This is pretty impressive,’ she said, helping herself to a mince pie. ‘Is there always this much food?’

  Carys nodded. The table was crammed with plates of cakes and cookies and dishes of foil-wrapped sweets. ‘Some people around here have the whole home baking thing wrapped up. It’s kind of competitive. No one says so, of course, but there’s something shameful about being the one who brought the unwanted ginger cake and brandy snaps.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t realise—’

  ‘It’ll have been noted,’ Carys teased her, ‘but you’ll be excused, seeing as you’re new.’

  ‘Am I still new?’

  Carys smiled. ‘We’re still new and we’ve been here for five years. What I mean is, the real villagers are the ones who were born here and you and me will never be one of those.’

  Lucy knew what she meant. Ivan had made a similar point: that they would always be ‘newcomers’, and that villages tended to have their own traditions and rituals that were run by a select few. Well, fine, Lucy thought now, glimpsing Marnie and Sam grabbing cupcakes with their new friends in tow. Occasions like this brought the whole village together. As the party ended, and the children headed outside, she felt lucky to be a part of things here.

  Despite the steady rain, the parade was a riotous affair as the children had been handed bells to ring as they made their way through the village. Carys had rushed home to fetch Bramble, who now led the procession in his festive red and white fur-trimmed coat. People waved from their windows above the shops. Several shops had opened late and set out tables laden with yet more mince pies and cups of mulled wine ready for the taking. Lucy took a paper cup of wine with thanks and looked around for Ivan. No sign of him yet – but she hadn’t really expected him to come out and join them. He’d be waiting at home, she decided, as she sipped the warm, spicy drink. Hopefully he’d have brought back a decent bottle of red for them to share by the fireside once the children were in bed.

  It was almost nine when they finally said their goodbyes and started to make their way home. Spirits were still high, despite the rain. Marnie and Sam clutched the bags of sweets they’d been given at the party as they ran ahead down the wet garden path.

  Marnie was first to reach their front door. She rattled the handle impatiently. ‘Mum, it’s locked!’

  ‘Is it?’ Lucy
frowned, quickening her pace. ‘That’s funny. I thought Dad’d be home by now.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Sam asked, pulling on a wilted antler.

  ‘He’s probably just delayed,’ she replied as she let them into the house. ‘Maybe something happened at work. Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon.’

  ‘I want Dad,’ Sam huffed, ill-tempered now as he stomped into the hallway. He unzipped the onesie, stepped out of it and kicked it aside on the floor.

  ‘So do I,’ muttered Marnie, pushing her damp honey-blonde hair from her face. ‘Why’s he late?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I’ll try his phone.’ The children plunged their hands into their bags of sweets as Lucy made the call. ‘Not too many now, Sam,’ she warned as her husband’s voicemail message began: Hey, it’s Ivan. Sorry, can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you …

  She glanced at Sam as he stuffed a handful of jelly snakes into his mouth. No point in trying to limit sweet consumption now, she decided. She wasn’t up to a big debate on the matter, and it was a special occasion after all. Instead, she turned her attention to lighting the log fire in the living room in the hope that it would catch quickly, and cosy up the house. Surely Ivan wouldn’t be too long now … Pushing away a niggle of concern, she herded the children upstairs for their baths, with the promise of hot chocolate once they were tucked up in bed.

  Normally, that would have done the trick. Sam adored his bedtime stories, and even at eight, Marnie still regarded them as a treat when she was in the mood for being read to.

  ‘Mum, Marnie took some of my sweets,’ Sam complained, swinging on his bedroom door handle.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ his sister retorted.

  ‘Yeah, you did! You held my bag for me in the parade. You stole some.’ He ran at her with a half-hearted kick.

  ‘Ow!’ Marnie screamed, unnecessarily.

  ‘Sam, stop that,’ Lucy exclaimed.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’ His dark eyes radiated annoyance.

  ‘C’mon now, you two. You’ve just had far too many sweets tonight. This is why I try to get you to eat celery.’

  ‘I hate celery!’ Sam announced. Lucy’s feeble attempt at a joke had clearly misfired.

  ‘Stop shouting, Sam. I’m not going to try and force celery on you now.’

  ‘I hate it more than anything!’

  ‘Yes, we get the message,’ Lucy muttered, rubbing at her temples, sensing the start of a headache.

  Marnie sighed heavily. ‘When can we get a dog, Mummy?’

  Lucy looked at her, figuring that the green face paint would take some shifting in the bath. ‘We’ve been through this hundreds of times before, love—’

  ‘You said we could have one when we moved to the country,’ she added with a frown.

  ‘I didn’t say definitely. I said we’d consider it.’

  ‘We’re in the country now,’ Sam announced, perking up instantly. ‘Can we get one please, Mummy?’

  ‘Life’s a bit busy just now,’ Lucy said firmly, although in truth, she would have welcomed a dog into their family. It was Ivan who kept insisting that they had enough on their plate.

  ‘Bath’s ready, Sam,’ she said now, to swerve them off the subject. ‘You’re first in tonight.’

  ‘He’s always first,’ Marnie bleated in the doorway. ‘I don’t want to go in cold water.’

  ‘It won’t be cold. We’ll put more hot in—’

  ‘He pees in it,’ she moaned, and Lucy wondered yet again where Ivan had got to. She was more than ready for him to take over tonight. The children were much more compliant for him – willing, helpful, eager to please, the way they were with Rikke too; basically anyone who wasn’t their mother. Mums always seemed to get the raw deal.

  ‘I don’t pee in the bath,’ Sam muttered.

  ‘You pooed in it once,’ Marnie crowed from the landing, which was true – but he’d only been two, and there was no need to bring it up now.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he growled.

  ‘You did! You pooed!’

  ‘Josh isn’t allowed to say poo,’ Sam added, referring to a boy in his class.

  ‘What does he say, then?’ Lucy asked as she folded towels in the bathroom.

  ‘Chocolate sausage.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ she spluttered, at which Marnie guffawed in the doorway. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lucy handed him a towel as he clambered out of the bath. ‘He has to say, “I need a chocolate sausage, Mummy.” And he has to put up his hand, even at home!’

  The children were giggling now, fuelled by copious quantities of refined sugar, and God knows what kinds of chemical compounds went into those neon-bright jelly snakes. While Lucy was grateful they weren’t bickering, she was now clearly visualising the glass of red she would be enjoying soon, whether or not Ivan brought a special bottle home with him. They always had a few in stock, and Friday nights certainly warranted a treat.

  Knowing they would be eating later than normal – due to the party and parade – Lucy had planned a quick meal of fresh tuna steaks, seared with olives and peppers. Their weekend evenings were lovely, and she treasured them. They rarely went out, preferring instead to cosy up at home – sometimes sitting out in the garden on warm summer’s nights, and in the colder months cuddling up on the sofa by the fire. She checked the time again – it was nine-forty – and willed Ivan to hurry home.

  Sam had sloped off to choose a story now, and Marnie was splashing idly in the bath. ‘Can you try and wash off that face paint please?’ Lucy said.

  ‘It is off,’ Marnie said, which was clearly untrue. There was some gentle wiping with a flannel – ‘Ow!’ she screamed, as if she were being attacked with nettles – and finally, bath time was over and the finishing post was in sight.

  Lucy usually tried to make their bedtime stories exciting, with her children snuggled on either side of her, tucked up in Sam’s bed. However, she might as well have been reading the boiler instruction booklet for all the feeling she was putting into it.

  It was her husband Lucy was thinking about on this cold, wet December night. She yearned for him to hurry home and be with her, and to know that everything was all right.

  Chapter Seven

  James Halsall was relieved to see the Christmas lights of Burley Bridge glinting in the distance. It had rained steadily the whole drive from Liverpool, and now he just wanted to pull up at his dad’s and be reassured that everything was okay.

  He had pleasant memories of long-ago summers in the village, spent stealing redcurrants from Rosemary Cottage’s garden. However, a lot of James’s childhood hadn’t been fun, and he’d been relieved to leave the place for good the minute he’d found a means of escape. These days, he only came to visit his father who still lived here in a clapped-out farmhouse a mile out of the village. Despite the fact that they were hardly close, James had still seen him regularly – dutifully – over the years.

  Until a few months ago there had been a sort of system in place. The unspoken agreement was that he and his older brother, Rod, would alternate visits, passing their father back and forth like a parcel that could potentially blow up in their faces at any moment. Then Rod had moved in with their dad – temporarily, he was keen to stress – and the last time James had visited, everything had seemed fine.

  At least, fine-ish. Although hardly domesticated, Rod seemed to have things reasonably under control. But the phone call that morning had alerted James to the fact that everything was far from fine after all.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ Reena had said, ‘but I’m really worried about your dad, James. Is Rod meant to be around at the moment?’

  ‘Um, yes, as far as I know. Why, what’s happened?’ James had asked, immediately alarmed. Reena lived in the village but had a holiday cottage close to his father’s place that she rented out. She had never called him before, and he didn’t know her too well. James hadn’t even known she had his number.

  ‘I
went up to the cottage this morning to say goodbye to my guests,’ Reena explained, ‘and they told me there’d been a bit of an altercation last night. Your dad had been at the door, trying to barge his way in—’

  ‘Into your holiday house?’ James exclaimed. ‘But why? What did he want?’

  ‘He … he was convinced it was his place,’ she said apologetically. ‘That he lived there, and they shouldn’t have been there at all. He was quite, um, insistent. He used some terrible language …’

  ‘I’m so sorry …’ James was aware of a sinking sensation in his chest.

  ‘But finally,’ she continued, ‘they persuaded him that he’d made a mistake, and he wandered away. I wish they’d let me know last night. They just assumed it was some local eccentric, but by their description – the big beard, the gold earring – it was pretty obvious it was Kenny.’

  ‘Did he seem drunk, do you know?’

  ‘No – just confused, I think.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Reena,’ James said, rubbing at his cropped dark hair. ‘I really appreciate you calling.’

  ‘I had to look you up online. You took some finding!’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m glad you have my number now. Please don’t worry. I’ll try and get hold of Rod and find out what’s going on.’

  Perhaps it was just as well his father resembled a latter-day pirate, he’d thought bleakly as he called his brother’s mobile; it made him distinctive. But Rod’s number just rang out. Time after time, James tried it, but no joy.

  At forty-four, Rod was three years older than James, and the golden boy as far as their father was concerned. When they were younger, James had wondered if it had simply been an age thing; Rod had done everything first, and had the gift of the gab and a knack of charming everyone. Whilst not wildly academic, he had talked his way into working in ‘investments’ – James had never quite grasped what this entailed – and made a mint, apparently, which had clearly impressed their father. Weirdly, for someone who had possessed the same pair of slippers since about 1973, Kenny Halsall took a keen interest in money.