Sydney was quite enjoying it. It gave her purpose. It gave her a routine. But mostly it gave her something to do during the long hours of the lonely nights. Even if she was still torturing herself with what might have happened between her and Nathan.
I wanted him to kiss me and I made that perfectly clear!
She’d hardly fought it, had she? Standing there all still, eyes closed, awaiting his kiss like some stupid girl in a fairytale. He must have thought she was a right sap. Perhaps that was what had put him off...
Disturbed from her reverie by the sound of her doorbell, she glanced at the clock—it was nearly eight in the morning—and went to answer the door.
It didn’t cross her mind that she’d been up all night, hadn’t combed her hair or washed her face, or that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and smelt slightly of antiseptic and donkey at the same time.
She opened the door to see Nathan and Anna standing there. ‘Er... Hi... Sorry, had we arranged to meet?’ She felt confused by their being there. And so early, too.
‘We were out getting breakfast,’ Nathan explained. ‘Anna wanted croissants and jam. We didn’t have any and...’ He blinked, squirming slightly. ‘I thought you might like to share some with us.’
He raised a brown paper bag that was starting to show grease spots and she suddenly realised how hungry she was.
Her mouth watered and her stomach ached for the food and nourishment. Warm, buttery croissants sounded delicious!
Even though she still felt embarrassed after yesterday, the lure of the food overpowered the feeling.
‘Sure. Come on in.’ She stepped back, biting her lip as they passed, wondering if she was making a huge mistake in accepting. Hadn’t this man humiliated her just yesterday? Unintentionally, perhaps, but still... And today she was letting him in to her house? She had no idea where her boundaries were with them any more.
Following the scent of food to her kitchen, she washed her hands and got out some plates, then butter from the fridge.
‘I don’t have any jam...’
‘We do!’ Anna chirruped. ‘Blackberry, apricot and strawberry!’ She put a small bag holding the jars onto the kitchen counter.
Sydney nodded. ‘Wow! You do come prepared, don’t you? There can’t be many people wandering around with a full condiments selection.’
Nathan grinned. ‘We weren’t sure which one you liked, so...’
He was trying to say sorry. She could see that. The croissants, the jam, the sudden breakfast—these were all part of his white flag. His olive branch. His truce. She would be cruel to reject it. Especially as it was going to be so nice. When had she last had a breakfast like this?
‘I like apricot, so thank you for getting it for me.’
She smiled and mussed Anna’s hair, and then indicated they should all sit at the table. Sydney filled the kettle, and poured some juice for Anna, and then they all settled down to eat.
Her home was filled with laughter, flaky pastries and the wonderful sound of happiness. It was as if her kitchen had been waiting for this family to fill it, and suddenly it no longer seemed the cold empty room she knew, but a room full of life and purpose and identity.
For an hour she forgot her grief. She let down her barriers and her walls and allowed them in. Despite her uncertainty, they were good for her. Anna was wonderfully bright and cheerful and giggly. And those differences between her and Olivia were growing starker by the minute. Anna liked looking at flowers, but had no interest in growing them. She knew what she wanted to be when she was grown up. She liked building things and being hands-on. She was such a sweet little girl, and so endearing, and Nathan...
They just got on well together. It was easy for them all.
Sydney was licking the last of the croissant crumbs from her fingers when Nathan said, ‘How come you don’t have any Christmas decorations?’
His question was like a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over her. It was a reality check. It pulled her back to her actual life and not the temporarily happy one she’d been enjoying.
‘I don’t do Christmas.’
He held her gaze, trying to see beyond her words. Trying to learn her reasons.
Anna looked at her in shock. ‘Don’t you believe in Santa Claus?’
Sydney smiled at her. If only it were that simple. ‘Of course I do. Santa is a very good reason to enjoy Christmas.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Anna, why don’t you go and take a look at what’s in the blue cat carrier in my lounge? Be gentle, though.’
Anna gasped and ran into the other room, and Sydney turned back to face Nathan. She sucked in a breath to speak but nothing came out. Thankfully he didn’t judge or say anything. He just waited for her to speak. And suddenly she could.
‘Olivia died just before Christmas. It seems wrong to celebrate it.’
He swallowed. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She did...but after the way he’d been with her yesterday... Did she want to share the innermost pain in her heart with a man who could blow so hot and cold? What would be the point in telling him if he wasn’t going to stick around? If he wasn’t going to be the kind of person she needed in her life? Because she was beginning to think that maybe there could be someone. One day. Maybe.
Could the person be Nathan?
She didn’t want to feel vulnerable again, or helpless. But sitting in her home night after night, alone, was making her feel more vulnerable than she’d ever realised. Yet still she wasn’t sure whether to tell him everything.
He stared at her intently, focusing on her eyes, her lips, then on her eyes again. What was he trying to see? What was he trying to decide?
He soon let her know, by confiding something of his own.
‘I have MS—multiple sclerosis. To be exact, I have relapsing remitting multiple sclerosis. I have attacks of symptoms that come on suddenly and then go away again.’
She leaned forward, concerned. Intrigued. Was this what had been wrong with him the other day? When he’d been all dizzy at the veterinary surgery? And that time at the accident site?
‘MS...?’
‘I was diagnosed the week before Anna was born. It was a huge shock—nothing compared to losing a child, but it had tremendous repercussions. Not only my life, but Anna’s too. Anna’s mother walked out on us both during a time in which I was already reeling. Only a couple of weeks after we’d had Anna, Gwyneth left us...but it doesn’t stop us from celebrating Anna’s birthday each year. She gets presents, a cake, a party, balloons. You should enjoy Christmas. You should celebrate. There aren’t many times in our lives where we can really enjoy ourselves, but Christmas is one of them.’
Sydney stood up and began to clear away the breakfast things. She’d heard what he’d said, but his story hardly touched hers. ‘That’s completely different.’
He got up and followed her into the kitchen, grabbed her arm. ‘No, it isn’t.’
She yanked her arm free. ‘Yes, it is! My child died. Your girlfriend walked out. There’s a big difference.’
‘Sydney—’
‘Do you think I can enjoy being reminded every year that my daughter is dead? Every time Christmas begins—and it seems to get earlier every year—everywhere I look people are putting up decorations and trees and lights, buying presents for each other, and they’re all in a happy mood. All I can see is my daughter, lying in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of her, and myself being told that I need to say goodbye! Do you have any idea of how that feels? To know that everybody else is happy because it’s that time of year again?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I couldn’t possibly know.’
‘No.’ She bit back her tears and slumped against the kitchen units, lost in memories of that hospital once again. Feeling the old, familiar pain and grief. ‘I became the saddest I coul
d ever be at this time of year—when everyone else is at their happiest. I can’t sleep. It’s hard for me. I could never celebrate.’
Nathan stood in front of her and took one of her hands in his, looking down at their interlocked fingers. ‘Perhaps you need to stop focusing on the day that she died and instead start focusing on all the days that she lived...’
His words stunned her. A swell of anger like a giant wave washed over her and she had to reach out to steady herself. It was that powerful.
How dared he tell her how she ought to grieve? How she ought to remember her daughter! He had no idea of how she felt and here he was—another doctor—telling her what she needed to do, handing out advice.
She inhaled a deep breath through her nose, feeling her shoulders rise up and her chin jut out in defiance as she stared at him, feeling her fury seethe out from her every pore.
‘Get out.’
‘Sydney—’
He tried to reach for her arm, but seeing his hand stretched out towards her, without her permission, made her feel even more fury and she batted him away.
‘You don’t get to tell me how to deal with my grief. You don’t get to tell me how I should be thinking. You don’t get to tell me anything!’
She stormed away from him—out of her kitchen, down the hallway, towards her front door, which she wrenched open. Then she stood there, arms folded, as tears began to break and her bottom lip began to wobble with the force of her anger and upset.
She felt as if she could tackle anything with the strength of feeling she had inside her right now. Wrestle a lion? Bring it on. Take down a giant? Bring it on. Chuck someone out of her home? Bring. It. On!
Nathan followed her, apology written all over his features. ‘Look, Syd, I’m sorry. I—’
She held up a finger, ignoring the fact that it was shaking and trembling with her rage. ‘Don’t. Don’t you dare. I don’t want to hear any of it. Not from you. You with your “drink warm milk” advice and your “why not try grief counselling?” and your “focus on the days she lived” advice. You couldn’t possibly understand what I am going through! You couldn’t even kiss me, Dr Nathan Jones, so you don’t get to tell me how to live.’
He stared back at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed hard. Then he sighed and called out for his daughter. ‘Anna? We need to go.’
They both heard Anna make a protest at having to leave. She was obviously having far too much fun with the orphaned kittens.
But she showed up in the doorway and looked at both her father and Sydney. ‘Are we leaving?’
‘’Fraid so.’ Nathan nodded and gave her a rueful smile. ‘We need to head back now. Sydney’s got things to do.’
‘Not fair, Daddy! I want to stay with the kittens. Sydney, can I stay for a little bit—pleeeeeease?’ She added a sickly sweet smile and clutched her hands before her like she was begging for a chance of life before a judge.
Nathan steered her out through the front door. ‘Another time, honey.’ As he moved out of the door he turned briefly to Sydney. ‘I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
She closed the door, and as it slammed, as she shut out the sight of Nathan and Anna walking away down her front path, she sank to the floor and put her head in her hands and sobbed. Huge, gulping sobs. Sobs that caused her to hiccup. Sobs that took ages to fade away, leaving her crouched in the hallway just breathing in a silence broken only by the ticking clock.
Finally she was able to get to her feet, and listlessly she headed back to the kitchen to clear away the breakfast things.
* * *
Sydney had felt numb for a few hours. It was a strange feeling. Having got that angry, that upset, it was as if she’d used up a year’s worth of emotions all in a few minutes, and now her body and her mind had become completely exhausted, unable to feel anything.
Now she sat in her empty home, looking at the pictures of her daughter, and felt...nothing. No sadness. No joy. She couldn’t even bring herself to try and remember the days on which they’d been taken, and when she tried to remember the sound of her daughter’s chuckles she couldn’t conjure it up.
It was like being frozen. Or as if she could move, breathe, live, exist, but the rest of the world was seen through a filter somehow. It was as if her memories were gone—as if her feelings had been taken away and in their place a giant nothingness remained.
She didn’t like it. It made her feel even more isolated than she had been before. Lonely. She didn’t even have her daughter’s memories to accompany her in the silence.
She wasn’t ready to forget her daughter. To lose her. She needed to remind herself again. To reconnect.
Sydney looked up. Olivia’s things were in the attic. Her clothes. Her toys. Her books. Everything. She hadn’t been able to go up in the loft for years because of them, but perhaps she needed to at this moment.
So, despite the tiredness and the lethargy taking over every limb, muscle and bone, she headed up the stairs and opened up the attic, sliding down the metal ladder and taking a deep breath before she headed up the steps.
There was a stillness in the attic. As if she’d entered a sacred, holy space. But instead of vaulted ceilings with regal columns and priceless holy relics gleaming in soft sunlight there was loft insulation, piles of boxes and a single bulb that was lit by pulling a hanging chain.
She let out a long, slow breath as some of her numbness began to dissipate, and in its place she felt a nervous anxiety begin to build.
Was she right to be doing this? She hadn’t looked through these things for so long!
Am I strong enough? What if it’s too much?
But then there was another voice in her head. A logical voice.
It’s only clothes. Books. Toys. Nothing here can hurt you.
Doubt told her that something might. But she edged towards the first box, labelled ‘Costumes’, and began to unfold the top, not realising that she was biting into her bottom lip until she felt a small pain.
The contents of the box were topped with taffeta. A dress of some sort. Sydney lifted it out to look at it, to try and force a memory. And this time it came.
Olivia had wanted a ‘princess dress’ for a party. They’d gone shopping into Norton town centre together, her daughter holding on to her hand as she’d skipped alongside her. They’d gone from shop to shop, looking for the perfect dress, and she’d spotted this one. With a beautiful purple velvet bodice and reams upon reams of lilac taffeta billowing out from the waist.
Olivia had looked perfect in it! Twirling in front of the mirror, this way and that, swishing the skirt, making it go this way, then that way around her legs.
‘Look, Mummy! It’s so pretty! Can I have it?’
Sydney smiled as she pulled out outfit after outfit. A mermaid tail, another princess dress, this time in pink, a Halloween costume festooned with layers and layers of black and orange netting. Sydney hesitated as she dipped into the box and pulled out a onesie made of brown fur. It had a long tail, and ears on the hood. Sydney pressed it to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes as tears leaked from the corners of them.
Olivia had loved this onesie. She’d used to sleep in it. She’d been wearing it when... The memory came bursting to the fore.
The morning I found you.
She smiled bravely as she inhaled the scent of the onesie once again. It had been washed, but she was convinced it still had her daughter’s scent.
An image of that awful morning filled her head. The day before Olivia had said she had a headache. She hadn’t wanted to go to school. But Sydney had had a long day of surgeries, and Alastair had had work, so they’d needed their daughter to go in.
At the end of the day, when Sydney had gone to pick her up, Olivia had seemed in a very low mood—not her normal self. When they�
�d got home she’d said she was tired and that her head still hurt, so Sydney had given her some medicine and a drink and told her she could go to bed. She’d kept checking on her, but her daughter had been sleeping, so she’d just put it down to some virus.
When Alastair had got home he’d been celebrating a success at work, and that night they’d gone to bed and made love. The next morning Alastair had left early. Sydney had called for Olivia to come down for breakfast but she hadn’t answered. So she’d gone up to get her and instantly known something was wrong. The second she’d walked into her daughter’s bedroom.
She’d not been able to wake her. She’d called her name, shaken her shoulders—nothing. Olivia had been hot, and Sydney had gone to unzip the onesie, and that was when she’d seen the rash and called 999.
Sydney laid the onesie down. This was the last thing that Olivia had worn. It was too sad to focus on. Too painful.
She dug further into the box and pulled out a pirate costume.
Now, this has a happier memory!
There’d been a World Book Day and all the school’s children had been asked to come in as one of their favourite characters. At the time Olivia had been into pirate stories, but none of the characters had been girl pirates, so she’d decided that she would be a pirate anyway. Sydney had rolled up a pair of blue jeans to Olivia’s calves, bought a red and white striped tee shirt and a tricorne hat, and used an eye patch that they’d been gifted in an old party bag.
Olivia had spent all day answering every question Sydney had asked her with, ‘Arr!’ and, ‘Aye, Captain!’
Sydney laughed at the memory, her heart swelling with warmth and feeling once again. Seeing her daughter happy in her mind’s eye, hearing that chuckle, seeing her smile, feeling her—
She stopped.
Oh... Could Nathan be right? That I need to focus on the days she lived?
No. No, he couldn’t be right. He hadn’t experienced grief like this—he didn’t know what he was talking about.
But I do feel good when I remember the good times...
Christmas with the Single Dad Page 12