A Merry Little Christmas

by Julia Williams

  ‘Maybe she was,’ said Marianne. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Cat. ‘I’ll get over it. And it’s not like I’m not busy enough with the other four. I’ll be so glad when Mel’s GCSEs are over.’

  ‘How’s it going with Mel?’ asked Marianne who, looking at the twins getting happily wet, couldn’t imagine either of them ever being old enough to exhibit any sign of teenage angst.

  ‘She appears to be working for her exams, which is something,’ said Cat, ‘but she’s very secretive. I just can’t get through to her.’

  ‘What about the boyfriend?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Cat, ‘she never discusses him. I don’t even officially know he exists. I’ve no idea what she’s getting up to. It’s a real worry.’

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ said Marianne. ‘It’s probably just a phase and she’ll grow out of it.’

  ‘I do hope so,’ said Cat with feeling. ‘It’s been a very very long phase.’

  ‘Let’s go out for the day.’ Pippa had decided it was time to be more proactive. She and Dan had spent far too much time indoors since his accident. Plus Dan had told her what Marianne had said to him about having small goals, so she tried to help him by making plans each day, even if it was only getting him to walk around the living room without his crutches. His mobility was getting so much better. The shock of what had happened was beginning to wear off, but she was worried that Dan might be sliding into depression. She felt it was important she tried to get him reconnected with the outside world.

  Dan was grumpy about it.

  ‘I can’t even walk up the lane,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you haven’t tried,’ said Pippa. ‘Come on, what was it you were saying after Marianne came the other week? You were going to aim at little victories?’

  Dan had the grace to look a little shamefaced.

  ‘Sorry, you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Pippa. ‘Because I was thinking a blow on the top of the hills and a pub lunch at the Springer Arms would do us both good. I’ll drive. Go on. The kids are at school and once you’re fit again, you’ll have to work. When was the last time you took me out to lunch?’

  That elicited a small smile.

  ‘Better,’ said Pippa. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

  It took longer than she thought it would to get out of the door. Dan needed the loo, it was fiddly getting his coat and shoes on, and even with crutches, his walking was still painfully slow.

  Getting in the car was also a struggle. Their Land Rover was high, and she didn’t have the strength to push Dan up into it. Luckily Gabe turned up at an opportune moment, and with a lot of heaving, a ‘Come on, you lazy sod, put your back into it’ and an undignified push in the back, they managed.

  Luckily that lightened the mood, as Dan saw the funny side.

  ‘I hope you treat your pregnant ewes with more respect,’ he said as Gabriel helped Pippa manoeuvre him into position properly.

  ‘At least they don’t moan so much,’ quipped Gabe, and Pippa was relieved that Gabe’s gentle teasing had helped put Dan into a better frame of mind.

  And then they were away. Finally driving on the main road out of Hope Christmas, for the first time since the accident.

  The sun was out, so Pippa wound down the windows, turned up the music and for a few moments, as they drove past sun-drenched fields of cows and sheep and wound their way to the top of the hills, she could almost forget anything was wrong.

  ‘Penny for ’em?’ Dan looked across at her, as she belted out the words of It’s Raining Men as loud as she

  could.

  ‘Thinking that this is just like old times,’ she said, ‘before the kids came along.’

  ‘I need to find a patch of heather to have my wicked way with you,’ grinned Dan, as they reached the top of the hill.

  Pippa was touched. Dan’s memories had been sporadic since the accident. But he remembered that; a tender moment early in their courtship, when they’d played hooky from their respective farm duties and spent a happy Sunday on the hillside, using the heather as cover for their frolics. Afterwards they’d gone to the pub, and held hands, and she’d known then that he was worth hanging on to. It had been a blissful day, and the fact that Dan still remembered it too gave her hope.

  ‘Shall I pull over?’ quipped Pippa, but then Dan’s face darkened.

  ‘That was then; this is now.’

  They sat in silence for the remainder of the journey, and when they got to the pub, Dan stiffly slid out of the Land Rover, eschewing her offers of help. He limped slowly and painfully on his crutches to the pub entrance, and Pippa followed him, full of heartache. How could she help him, when he blanked her out?

  In silence they chose a table outside, where the sun shone down and they could watch the birds wheeling high in the sky, and look over towards the Welsh hills in the distance. It should have been idyllic.

  ‘It will be better, Dan,’ said Pippa, leaning over and taking his hand, ‘I do believe that. Look how much progress you’ve made already.’

  Dan flinched at the contact, and she turned away, hurt, but then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ She looked up to see tears in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Pippa, ‘it’s not your fault. It’s just sodding, awful, bad luck.’

  ‘But look at me,’ said Dan, ‘I’m a bloody wreck. I’m useless to you and the kids.’

  ‘This won’t last forever,’ said Pippa, holding his hands firmly in hers. She hated seeing him like this. It made her want to hold him tight and protect him forever. ‘Come on, the physio’s pleased with your progress, and so should you be. You listen to me, Dan Holliday, you just stop feeling sorry for yourself. We will get through this, just like we do everything. Together, do you hear? Little victories, remember?’

  ‘Oh Pippa,’ said Dan, leaning over to stroke her cheek, ‘what did I do to deserve you?’

  Pippa blinked away her tears, and grinned as hard as she could. Dan needed her to be strong, not pathetically weak.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pippa, ‘but as long as you don’t forget it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Dan, looking at her with such gratitude in his eyes she wanted to hug him again. ‘I promise you I won’t.’

  The sun climbed higher in an azure blue sky, there was the constant sound of bleating sheep, and she could make out the distant hum of the traffic. Life didn’t get any better than this at the moment, and for once, Pippa felt herself hope for a better future.

  Marianne had put the twins to bed and was pottering around in the kitchen, feeling slightly anxious. It was getting late, and Gabe wasn’t yet in. True, in the summer the nature of his work precluded early homecomings, but he was breaking his back all hours to help Dan and Pippa out. He wasn’t alone of course. Pippa’s dad Jim, Gabe’s dad and uncle were all on hand, but Gabe was the one on-site all the time. And he was younger and knew the ropes. Plus he was incredibly conscientious, so would always go the extra mile.

  Marianne had known all this when she married him of course, and she knew why he was helping out now. But whereas before she’d have been out there with him, since the twins’ arrival she couldn’t. Steven regarded her with affection, of course he did, but he was an eleven-year-old boy. If he wasn’t out on the fields with Gabe, he was upstairs on his Xbox, and was hardly great company. Marianne couldn’t help it, she felt lonely. All she wanted of an evening, once the children were in bed, was the opportunity to snuggle up to Gabe with a glass of wine. Was that so much to ask?

  She felt slightly guilty for feeling it, but she was starting to feel resentful. It was no one’s fault, and she knew in similar circumstances Pippa and Dan would help her out too, but she couldn’t help it. The bottom line was, without Dan’s accident, Marianne would be seeing more of Gabe. She wanted her husband, and that’s what she wasn’t getting at the moment.

  Marianne sat down to a solitary dinner in front of the TV. Steven came down at nine to say good night, and
the twins woke once for milk, before settling back down again. Marianne was just thinking about going to bed, when Gabriel walked in. Trying to muster a sympathetic, you must have had a rotten day kind of smile, she said, ‘Oh poor you. You must be starving. There’s a curry in the oven.’

  ‘Oh,’ Gabriel looked conscience stricken.

  ‘Oh what?’

  ‘I’ve already eaten.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I went back to Dan and Pippa’s to give them a progress report, and Pippa gave me supper. Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘No, Gabe, you did not,’ said Marianne between gritted teeth.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Gabriel. ‘I stopped to have a beer, and Pippa had cooked lasagne …’

  ‘And it didn’t occur to you to pick up the phone to let me know?’ snapped Marianne. She hadn’t meant to snap, but she was tired and fed up of being alone.

  ‘I forgot,’ said Gabriel looking sheepish.

  ‘Well thanks for nothing, Gabriel,’ said Marianne. She’d heard the apology, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to accept it.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Gabriel. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m knackered. I don’t need this right now.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Marianne, staring at him in dismay. ‘I just need you. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘So do Pippa and Dan,’ said Gabriel. ‘I thought that you, of all people would understand that. I’m done in. I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Gabe–’ began Marianne, but he’d stormed off up to bed, leaving her alone over a glass of wine, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pippa pushed her way into the village store, feeling happier than she had for a long time. She’d been baking for England over the last few days, and for the first time in ages had time to bring cakes to the café. It felt good to be doing something normal for a change. Dan seemed to have cheered up since their lunch date, and day by day they could both see the progress he was making. He was beginning to take a more constructive interest in the farm and the previous evening had insisted on Gabe getting more help.

  ‘You can’t expect to carry on the way you have been,’ he said. ‘You’ve been fantastic, but you need a break too.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ snorted Gabe. ‘There’s so much to do.’

  ‘Dan’s right,’ Pippa had said. ‘Go on, you and Marianne can’t have been out for months. Take a day off, and we’ll get cover, so you two can spend some time together.’

  Gabe had looked pleased at the prospect, and Pippa had been glad she’d suggested it. They’d had so much support from him and Marianne over the last couple of months and she didn’t want to take them for granted.

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ Vera said as she walked in. ‘A new supply of cakes. We’ve been missing yours. The lady we brought in to cover isn’t a patch on you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pippa. ‘I’ve really enjoyed having the time to do them. The last few months have been manic to say the least.’

  ‘How are things?’ Vera asked sympathetically.

  ‘Getting better,’ said Pippa. ‘Progress is slow, which is frustrating for Dan, but we’re getting there.’

  The door opened, and Marianne came in pushing the twins in their double buggy. She looked exhausted.

  ‘Bad night?’ said Pippa sympathetically.

  ‘Let’s just say I didn’t get a lot of sleep,’ Marianne’s response was uncharacteristically terse.

  ‘Oh you poor thing,’ said Pippa. ‘Are they teething?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ said Marianne. She looked pale and tired and a little bit sad.

  ‘Marianne, is everything okay?’ said Pippa. It was definitely not like Marianne to be this abrupt.

  ‘Yes, fine. Why wouldn’t it be?’ retorted Marianne. ‘Sorry, I can’t stand here chatting. I’ve just come in for nappies, and then I’ve got to go home and play the farmer’s wife. You know what it’s like. Always so much to do.’

  ‘Marianne–’ began Pippa, but stopped. Oh lord, perhaps this was her and Dan’s fault, Gabriel had been round their house a lot of late. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Marianne. ‘Make sure my husband gets home on time, once in a while.’ She sighed.

  ‘Marianne, I’m so sorry about last night,’ said Pippa slightly flustered, it suddenly dawning on her why Marianne was cross. ‘Gabriel said he’d told you he’d be late.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t,’ said Marianne abruptly but then she softened. ‘Look, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but Gabriel’s worn out helping you out. And I hardly see anything of him at the moment. Forgive me, I’m being grumpy about it.’

  ‘Oh Marianne, I’m really sorry,’ said Pippa. ‘You’re the last person I want to upset.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Marianne with a tired grin. ‘I’m just tired and fed up. I’ll get over it.’

  ‘Well, at least let me buy you a coffee and muffin to make up,’ said Pippa.

  ‘Now that is a great idea,’ said Marianne, ‘housework can wait.’

  Cat was sitting at home going through the final proofs of her Christmas book, wincing at little errors which it was now too late to put right, when the phone rang. It was Susan Challoner, the matron from her mum’s nursing home.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry to trouble you,’ she said, ‘but your mother has had a little fall. I don’t want to worry you but she’s on her way to A&E.’

  Cat’s heart plummeted.

  ‘How? Why? What happened?’ she said.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Susan admitted. ‘One of the staff found her on the floor. It’s possible she had a TIA.’

  ‘Sorry, what does that mean?’ Cat felt she should know, but somehow she didn’t.

  ‘It may be that she’s had a slight stroke,’ Susan said. ‘It’s very common in her age group.’

  Cat went into a tailspin. Things had been stable with Mum for such a long time, she’d almost started to kid herself that the situation wouldn’t deteriorate further. But now it had. She checked her watch. Only midday. She rang Noel, who wasn’t picking up his voicemail, to ask if he could get Ruby from school. The others made their way home on the bus. She’d text them later when she knew more. There was no point worrying them unnecessarily, particularly Paige, who had a tendency for melodrama.

  Twenty minutes later, Cat found herself in the smart new A&E at her local hospital. She queued patiently at reception, while the ward clerks booked in patients with broken toes, arms, and mysterious gut pains. It seemed to take forever before she was seen to.

  ‘Hello, may I help?’ The receptionist barely looked at her.

  ‘It’s my mother,’ said Cat, her voice coming out in a high-pitched squeak, ‘I think she’s been admitted.’

  ‘And her name?’

  ‘Louise Carpenter,’ said Cat.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said the woman, ‘just go through that door on the left, and they’ll tell you where she is.’

  Cat wandered through into the main area of A&E. Contrary to expectations fuelled by years of watching ER and Casualty, the staff all seemed unhurried and calm, and if anything, almost bored. She thought about the last time she’d been here, admitted as a patient, terrified and in pain. She shuddered at the memory. But this wasn’t about her. She needed to find out how Mum was.

  Cat approached the desk, as always in these places, feeling intimidated and out of her depth. Something about medical officialdom did that to her, which was quite ridiculous when you thought about it. They were only people after all. Eventually a nurse looked up from behind a big shiny new desk and pointed her in the direction of bed seven. The curtains were drawn around the bed, and Cat gingerly popped her head in.

  Louise was sitting up in bed with a big bruise on her forehead, looking pale and bewildered, while a doctor with an east European accent was shouting, as if to a simpleton, ‘Mrs Carpenter, can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ said Cat, ‘did
n’t anyone tell you she has Alzheimer’s? She probably doesn’t understand what you are saying.’

  ‘Ah, no,’ said the doctor, looking somewhat relieved, ‘and you are?’

  ‘Her daughter,’ said Cat, going over to Louise and holding her hand. ‘It’s okay, Mum, it’s me, Cat.’

  ‘Cat?’ Louise looked bewildered. ‘Where am I? What happened?’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum, you’ve had a little fall,’ said Cat. She tied up the hospital gown that someone had carelessly thrown over her mother’s shoulders, to give Louise some more dignity, and went through Mum’s medical history with the doctor before they were left alone, for what seemed like forever.

  Eventually a young nurse came over to check Louise’s blood pressure and temperature. She thoughtfully organised a bed pan for Louise, which impressed Cat, as her previous requests for one had fallen on deaf ears. The nurse was kind and efficient and seemed instinctively to understand how to handle Louise. Cat could have hugged her.

  ‘My granny had Alzheimer’s,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘It’s a rotten disease isn’t it?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Cat, ‘it certainly is.’

  For the next two hours, Cat sat holding Louise’s hand as she rambled in and out of consciousness, and intermittently remembered she was in pain. Staff meandered about the place, patients were admitted, sat around and were either discharged or moved on to a ward, but to Cat it felt for all the world like they’d been forgotten. She only popped out briefly to update Noel and speak to the children, who luckily hadn’t picked up on the potential seriousness of the situation. Mel, for once in a helpful mood, had offered to make tea.

  As the afternoon wore on the place was filling up, and the evening shift took over. Eventually Cat went over to the desk and said, ‘Excuse me, do you know what’s happening with Louise Carpenter? Only the doctor said he was going to come back with some results?’

  ‘Louise Carpenter?’ The nurse looked blank, and then at her notes. ‘Oh, she’s still here?’ Then accusingly at Cat, ‘We’re going to need that bed soon.’