‘Winnie’s fine, thank heavens. Ashna bumped into a lady in the pub she’d made a scarf for. Said she’d dash back to the house and grab it and, of course, when she did, she heard you shouting. She rushed upstairs and just grabbed Winnie, ran to the pub to get Max and he legged it back to the house. Max’s medical training came in pretty useful – he knew exactly what to do – and he called an ambulance and the police. There was no sign of Luna, but the police have tracked her down now.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Being interviewed at the police station, but they’re getting a mental health team involved as well.’
‘Is she okay?’ Serena asked and Will raised his eyes to heaven, marvelling at her ability to think of others, even now. ‘I know we’ll never be able to have a relationship again. But I don’t wish her any harm, Will. She’s my sister, after all.’
‘She’ll be looked after,’ Will told her, hugging her to him. ‘She’ll be okay. And, more importantly, she won’t be coming near us or Winter again. The police have assured me of that.’
A nurse popped her head around the door. ‘Doctor says you can leave tomorrow afternoon,’ she smiled. ‘You’ll be able to get back to your baby then.’
‘Who’s looking after her?’ Serena asked Will.
‘Ashna,’ Will said. ‘Max and Pete were her bodyguards last night while Ashna and I stayed with you, but she went back this morning to help them out. They weren’t that keen on the nappy-changing! I’ll take over tonight and by tomorrow this whole episode will all be over and you’ll be home for Winter. She’s missing you.’
The following evening, Serena and Will arrived home just in time to give Winter her bath and enjoy a cosy bedtime story, before putting her to bed. The doorbell rang so Will headed downstairs while Serena sang Winter’s ritual bedtime song; it was a lullaby her mother had sung to her – it had been forgotten for years, but had come to her out of the blue one evening.
Go to sleep, my sweetheart,
You’re a little dear,
You’re the sweetest darling
Mummy’s ever been near.
Have a lovely sweet dream,
All the whole night through.
And in the morning you will see that
Mummy still loves you.
Serena kissed Winter’s forehead, inhaling her gorgeous baby smell, and crept out of the nursery. She headed downstairs and, hearing conversation in the hallway, wondered who the visitor might be. She saw the back of a man, tall and white-haired.
‘Hello!’ she said.
‘Ah, there you are!’ bellowed the Colonel. He was standing next to the log burner with Will. ‘Will was just telling me about the dramas you’ve been having. Sounds like you’ve been in the wars. Looks like it too. How are you, my dear?’
‘Bit of a headache,’ Serena admitted. ‘But much, much better now I’m home again. Would you like a drink?’
The Colonel looked as though he’d like one very much, but he shook his head ruefully. ‘Can’t stop long, I’m afraid. Jake’s waiting for me out in the Land Rover. Was just explaining to Will. I’ve done that research you wanted me to do. I’ve got some papers for you. Turns out there were at least two families who had healthy babies that grew up in the Vicarage. One in the 1920s and another in the late ’50s. Seems the story about the curse was just a local myth after all,’ he said, his eyes twinkling behind his wonky spectacles. He handed an A4-sized envelope to Serena. ‘Now, I’d best be off!’ he said, with a wave. ‘See you anon!’
After thanking the Colonel and seeing him on his way, Serena, clutching the papers, looked at Will. She raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m not going to say anything,’ grinned Will. ‘I am definitely, definitely not going to say I told you so.’
Serena laughed and thumped him on the arm.
41.
22ND DECEMBER 2015
It was the day before various out-of-town guests were due to arrive for the christening, with a view to staying on over the Christmas period. Serena and Ashna were planning to make up all the beds later in the morning and fill each room with fresh towels, flowers and brand-new squares of soap. But it was still only ten o’clock and Serena found herself unexpectedly alone in the kitchen. Winter was having her morning nap, Will and Pete were collecting the Christmas tree and Ashna was wrapping presents in her room.
The post had just arrived. A bundle of Christmas cards. Serena made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table to read them at leisure. She put her reading glasses on and sifted through them, then almost dropped the lot as she came across an envelope in her sister’s distinctive hand. She put the cards to one side and slit open the envelope with a paper knife. There was a wad of pages within. She unfolded them. She took a deep breath and began to read.
‘Dear Serena,’ the letter began. ‘It’s almost Christmas and I’m about to “enjoy” a carol service being held at the mental health unit (a.k.a. loony bin!). I truly hope I’m not expected to sing: you know what my voice is like. I never could hold a note! There are at least two men in here who think they’re Jesus so I’m wondering whether they think Christmas Day is their birthday and will each expect a cake generously decorated with candles. I shall soon find out.
I’m being too flippant and familiar, aren’t I? Such behaviour tends to indicate a distinct lack of remorse. I’m learning all these subtleties in my therapy sessions. The psychotherapist is called Sean and he reminds me of Uncle Clive: flyaway white hair that he tries to sweep over an enormous bald patch in the hope no one will notice the polished egg beneath (tricky in windy weather!). He wears a “zany” bow tie and has a paunch on which he rests his effeminate hands. He’s okay though. Talks a lot of sense, actually. He suggested I write to you to explain. So here I go . . .
I didn’t ever set out to steal Winter. Ever since I did the dirty on you with Freddie, I’ve tried to be a better person. Ironically, offering to be your surrogate was part of my “be nicer” campaign. It was at the twelve-week scan that I felt the first flutterings of maternal instinct. I tried not to look at the screen, but just before the sonographer turned it off I snuck a glance. I saw a little baby there, clear as day. I ignored the instinct for as long as I could. But when I started to feel the baby dancing around in my tummy, there was no denying it. I’d started to fall in love.
I couldn’t tell you. Of course I couldn’t. But I began to realise I would never be able to hand the baby over to you. I felt terrible as I made my plans to run away. I knew what I was doing would be torture for you, and an even worse betrayal than the last one. But I told myself that you, at least, had Will. Without the baby, I had no one. I reached the peak of self-disgust on the day of the twenty-week scan. First I lied and told you the baby was a boy so I’d be harder to track down, and then we went shopping and you were so happy and excited, dashing in and out of stores buying masses of pale blue toys and outfits. I hated myself. And yet . . .
I left. I wasn’t going to leave until I was nearer to the due date, but after our shopping trip I knew I couldn’t stick around and watch your growing anticipation any longer. I had it all worked out: I’d been saving money for a while and I’d managed to locate and rent a little bothy in the wilds of Scotland. I’d had everything I’d need for the birth and the baby’s needs delivered in advance, so we wouldn’t need to see another soul.
I’ll spare you the gory details about the birth, but we managed. I know now I put the baby at risk doing it with just a local farmer’s wife to help me and – above all else – I’m sorry for that.
Those weeks with a newborn were very special but, I must admit, also pretty tough. I felt lonely more than anything. Well, lonely and guilty. Whenever I looked into Winter’s blue eyes, I saw Will. They were like a reproach. We only set foot outside the bothy once after she was born, to register her birth, and it was so stressful I swore I wouldn’t leave the place again.
I couldn’t stand the loneliness in the end. I contacted Seb. He came to stay – I told him a fib ab
out escaping a violent boyfriend – and we restarted a relationship. It was lovely, but I knew it all had a sell-by date. I felt, as time passed, that the walls were closing in on me. That’s when I started to self-harm again. A release, I suppose.
I think you know everything that happened after that. I went crazy when Mum and Seb took Winter. I spent the first few days sedated in the Scottish madhouse. Then, one day, I didn’t take the medication. I escaped and hitched lifts all the way to Sussex. As you know, I wasn’t in a good state. I would have done anything right then to get Winter back. I hurt you, physically, on top of all the mental anguish I’d caused. I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible sister: I always have been.
I know we’ll never have a relationship again and that, in trying to keep Winter, I’ve robbed myself of the chance of even being a doting auntie. I’m alone now and I’m fairly sure I’ll stay that way. I’m getting treatment though, and I’m starting to address this ruthlessness that seems to run through me like the writing in a stick of rock. Perhaps one day I’ll be cured.
I’m not sure yet whether I’m going to be prosecuted but I know you told the police you don’t want to press charges, which just goes to show what a generous person you are.
I expect nothing of you at all. Of course I don’t. No forgiveness. No further contact. I ask of you only one thing. Please tell Winter I love her. And that I always will.
Your mad and sorry sister,
Luna xxx’
Serena put the letter down on the table, tears streaming down her face. Luna would never be a part of her life again, but she was so grateful for the letter. It gave her closure. She went over to the dresser and rummaged around in the cupboard, at last finding what she was searching for: a framed photograph of Luna that had never seen the light of day since they’d been living at the Vicarage in Cattlebridge.
She heard a cry on the baby monitor. Winter was awake. She hurried upstairs.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said, finding Winter playing with her bunny in the cot. Serena opened the blind, then picked the baby up and carried her over to the mantelpiece where she carefully positioned the framed photograph. A momentary ray of sunshine glinted on the glass.
‘Auntie Luna,’ she said to Winter, and the baby reached a hand towards the photo. She looked at it and smiled.
42.
23RD DECEMBER 2015
T he day before the christening was a frenzy of excitement. Stephanie and Brian arrived, laden with luggage and an abundance of gifts for Winter. Then Bernie Pemberton and his new wife, Betty, needed picking up from the station, having taken the train all the way from South Devon.
Bernie was a newly retired vicar and a very old friend of Will’s father – the very person who’d inspired Will to become a vicar himself. So when Will’s own parents told him that sadly they wouldn’t be able to make the christening due to his father’s poor health, Will and Serena had decided to invite Bernie and Betty in loco parentis. Happily, Bernie’s younger daughter, Rosamunde, who’d been due to spend Christmas with Bernie and Betty, had agreed to join the party in East Sussex.
It was particularly accommodating of Rosamunde, as she was heavily pregnant with her first child and her boyfriend was spending a few days with his family before joining the rest of the group in Sussex on Christmas Eve. This meant that Rosamunde had driven all the way on her own, with a dog in the back of the car. He instantly made himself at home by the log burner in the hall with Max’s dogs, Basil and Manuel, and Paddington decided to treat him with the same disdain she felt towards the Labradors. The dog sighed with resignation. He was used to such treatment from cats.
Serena’s friend Lisa and her family had arrived in the village as well, with plans to visit Lisa’s family after the christening, although they were staying with Alice and Rob at the Georgian house for a couple of nights (Alice having just moved back in). Both Lisa and Alice were going to be godmothers, as well as Ashna.
Having settled her own house guests in their rooms to recover from their journeys, Serena set about transforming the dining room with Ashna’s help – it was the only place with a large enough table to seat so many guests for dinner. They polished the table, hung fairy lights over picture frames, pulled Ashna’s floral curtains against the dark evening and lit thick, cream church candles, which flickered cosily.
Winter had been bathed and snuggled up in her cot and then, after a number of guests had made their own use of the now constant supply of hot water, everyone congregated in the little-used drawing room for pre-dinner drinks, each of them looking and smelling delicious.
‘Well, don’t you all look gimsy,’ Mrs Pipe told them unsmilingly, after delivering the drinks. She left the room.
‘She means smart,’ Serena translated. She was becoming quite a dab hand at old Sussex provincialisms.
The drawing-room fire was crackling away and an enormous Christmas tree, decorated haphazardly by the household the evening before, had been installed in the corner, its lights twinkling.
A festive dinner ensued, with Mrs Pipe helping to serve and clear the plates. An enormous ham served with new potatoes and asparagus, followed by a lemon cheesecake: Will’s speciality. As well as the guests who’d travelled from afar, all of the Vicarage residents were in attendance, including Max, who stayed there most of the time now. The main course finished, he cleared his throat and asked for a moment. Everyone stopped chatting and looked at him.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ he said, ‘but I just wanted to tell you. We’re so excited. Ashna and I are engaged. I proposed to her this morning! Down at the beach in Camber.’
There were gasps of delight and details were provided, Max explaining that the first practical step to be taken would be a divorce for him, as he was still technically married to the vile Lara.
‘That could take a little while, so I’m going to move in with Max after Christmas and we’ll slowly start making plans,’ Ashna told them all, looking flushed and happy. She held out her hand so her engagement ring could be admired.
Once all the excitement and chatter over this news had died down, Serena turned back to Rosamunde.
‘So, only two weeks to go until the due date,’ Serena said. Rosamunde had beautiful long red hair and an enormous bump, and looked utterly radiant in the glow of candlelight. She seemed peaceful and content.
‘It’s crept up on me all of a sudden,’ Rosamunde replied. ‘I’ve brought my hospital bag with me, just in case!’ She had joked then, although a few hours later, in the grips of labour pains, she was no longer laughing.
At two o’clock in the morning, Rosamunde knocked on the door of the master bedroom.
‘Come in!’ called Serena, switching on the dim little bedside light. Will was asleep, but when Serena saw Rosamunde at the door she gave him a dig in the ribs and he sat up blearily. ‘Is everything okay?’ asked Serena.
‘I think I’m in labour,’ Rosamunde gasped. ‘I know they say you should relax at home rather than going into hospital too soon, but my contractions seem to be quite strong and regular so I think I’d rather get there. I’m sorry to wake you, but I don’t know how to get to the hospital.’
‘I’ll take you,’ said Will, immediately hopping out of bed. ‘I only had one glass of wine with dinner – most unlike me! Don’t worry – it’ll only take twenty minutes at this time of night.’
Serena wrapped herself in a dressing gown and, while Will got dressed, she helped Rosamunde back to the guest bedroom she was occupying.
‘Rosamunde, I’m so excited for you!’ she whispered. ‘But what about your boyfriend?’
‘He’s on his way.’ Rosamunde gripped Serena’s arm, in the throes of a contraction. ‘It’s a long drive, but hopefully he’ll make it.’
Rosamunde had managed to dress in leggings and a diaphanous tunic top and she now started to hurl items she’d unpacked for her stay into her hospital bag. She stopped for a moment and her face contorted with agony again. She bent over the bed. Serena moved towards her.
‘Shall I rub your back?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Rosamunde whispered. After a short time, her face and body relaxed again. She turned towards Serena.
‘Serena, I’m terrified,’ she said, rubbing her belly. ‘What if I can’t do it? Or something goes wrong? I’m an ancient mother: I’m forty-five! Maybe I’m too old to do this . . .’
‘Age has got nothing to do with it,’ Serena told her, gripping her hand. ‘You look miles younger. It’s just a question of attitude, like anything in life. You’ll manage. Of course you will. And once you get to the hospital, you’ll be in the best hands. My friend Alice’s husband might even deliver the baby. He’s an obstetrician. You’ll be able to have some pain relief as well, once you get there. That’ll help. Now, have you got everything?’
‘I think so. Serena, would you be able to let my dad and Betty know I’ve gone to the hospital when you see them in the morning? I don’t want to wake them now.’
‘Of course!’
Will arrived in the doorway. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yep. Hang on!’ Rosamunde groaned through another contraction. As soon as it stopped, Will seized his chance.
‘Quick, let’s get you in the car now before the next one. Bye, Serena! See you later. I’ll keep you posted!’ He hurried out, one arm around Rosamunde, the other grasping the hospital bag and pregnancy notes.
Serena followed them, on her way back to her room, and it occurred to her that Will was finally getting to enjoy that exciting rite of passage of taking a heavily pregnant woman to hospital for the birth of a child. She felt a little wistful for a moment.
At the top of the stairs, Rosamunde stopped and turned her head. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Serena. ‘You’ve made me feel so much better.’
Serena blew her a kiss. ‘Good luck!’ she called out and as they left, she said a little prayer.
Home for Winter Page 19