by Alex Brown
His father, Rob, had been a brilliant bloke, whom Sam had thought the world of, the best dad ever, but it still broke Sam’s heart that he had been taken too soon. Sam had been just a boy, younger than Holly was now, when his dad had died, and he had never really come to terms with losing him. He wished his dad was still around, so that he could turn to him now. Rob had always seemed to know the right thing to say.
And Rob had always been there. Sam certainly had no memory of his dad ever going away, not for a weekend, or even to a football match followed by a night in the pub with his mates; he wasn’t that type of bloke. Family first – that had been one of his mottos. So unlike his mother, Linda, who would give Cruella De Vil a run for her money. Yes, Sam’s dad had been the type of man who had done everything he could for his family. Wasn’t that what Sam had been trying to do: be the provider, the man who looked after his family? Just like Rob had.
And the look in Chrissie’s eyes when they got the news sitting there in the doctor’s office at the hospital. Blame. Written all over her face. She didn’t say anything, of course, but that was what she must have been feeling. She had still been unable to make eye contact with him when the doctor had sat back in his chair, made a steeple with his fingers and observed that, ‘An earlier diagnosis would have been advantageous.’
Sam knew, knew deep down, that he should have considered it a possibility earlier. He should have realised what was wrong as soon as Holly got ill – the tummy aches, the headaches, the getting up in the night to go to the loo, and then her being too tired to go to school the next day, being thirsty all the time. Until Holly experienced her first hypo, he had passed off her getting up in the night as messing around, assuming she was angling for a day off school to hang out down by the river in Violet Wood, just like he had done at her age. If he had been more vigilant, then maybe Chrissie wouldn’t have felt so let down.
If Sam had been on the ball, had involved himself more in Holly’s care, in the day-to-day minutiae of their family life, instead of burying his head in the sand and thinking mostly about himself and his work, then maybe he would have spotted it. Not maybe – yes, he would have spotted it. But he didn’t. He hadn’t been there when he should have been; hadn’t seen the warning signs, so that was his fault too.
‘Want to talk about it?’ Dolly asked gently, sinking down into the chair opposite him. Sam took a deep breath, sighed it out and stared into his tea as he pushed a big wedge of jammy sponge into his mouth. ‘Better out than in,’ she coaxed, in direct contrast to the sponge cake, which was very much better in than out, Sam mused miserably as he savoured the comforting sweetness. ‘Come on, let it all out, love – why didn’t you come back before now, you know … to sort things out?’
Sam put the mug and plate on the side before pushing a hand through his hair. ‘I wish I could explain it, Gran. But after Holly was diagnosed, I just felt like I was in the way. Chrissie seemed to have it all under control. I felt useless, a bit like a spare part, getting in the way and making it all worse, when it was all my … well, you know I’ve always been rubbish at that sort of thing.’
Dolly reached out a pale, age-weathered hand to him, her diamond engagement ring above her gold wedding band still glinting proudly as the early evening sun bounced off the kitchen table. ‘You must let go of this guilt, Sam. I know it’s still eating away at you. Life deals out these horrible things sometimes, but no one’s to blame. We just have to get on with it, and that’s that.’
‘That’s what I was trying to do, Gran, get on with it … keep working, keep going.’
‘Keep going? Or burying your head in the sand?’ Dolly topped his tea up from the big knitted-cosy-covered teapot, letting the question sink in.
Sam picked up the plate, took another bite of the cake and looked up at Dolly’s lined but still beautiful face. Dolly, who had been more of a proper mum to him than his own mother, Linda, ever had.
When his dad had died, Dolly had been stoic, forging ahead with the funeral arrangements for her only son, Rob. She had even looked after Sam and Patrick, full time, in the days following, when their mum, Linda, had taken herself off on a holiday to Spain, supposedly ‘to deal with it on her own’, or so she had said at the time. But how come Sam had found a pile of photographs in a shoebox some years later, of her sunbathing, smiling and sipping cocktails with a big group of people he didn’t even recognise?
Linda … the mother who’d barely batted an eyelid when he’d got into trouble at school for bunking off, who would rather sit at her kidney-shaped dressing table applying lipstick than make sure he and Patrick had breakfast before they went to school. Once their dad was gone, there had never been much food in the house and the last time Sam had pinched a bun from the baker’s basket outside the shop in the High Street, he’d very nearly been caught. If his brother Patrick hadn’t distracted the woman who worked in the bakery shop then he would have ended up at the police house on the far side of village green for sure.
After that, Sam had invariably bunked off school, figuring it was far easier than trying to concentrate with an aching, empty stomach … counting the hours until he could pass by his gran’s on the way home for his tea. A cheese doorstep sandwich, a big slice of chocolate or fruitcake and a packet of Smith’s crisps in front of his favourite television programme, Crackerjack. He and Pat would put off going home for as long as possible, knowing that their tea at Dolly’s was likely to be all they would get until after school the following day. He suspected that Dolly knew this too as she would often pack a sausage roll or two in their satchels – he was also vaguely aware of arguments on the phone after he and Pat had gone to bed and his mother’s raised voice exhorting Dolly to mind her own business. But now it was all muddled up in a miserable jumble of sad memories of his childhood years.
Meeting Chrissie was the first time he remembered being really happy since his father had died. And when they’d had Holly, he had a burning wish to make sure she would never feel the same as he had as a child: to have to go without meals, or to miss out on a full education because no one cared. Patrick had built a new life for himself as far away from his mother as he could get, in Australia. Too far for Linda, who had hardly ever been back to Tindledale since taking herself off to live in London. But what about Holly? She was going without now. Going without two parents pulling together.
‘Any chance of something stronger, Gran?’ Sam lifted his empty mug as he tried to process all his thoughts. Dolly gave him a look.
‘Come on now, Sam. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Tea was good enough for your dad at dinnertime and it will be good enough for you.’ Sam gave her a mock salute.
‘You’re the boss.’
Dolly batted him gently.
‘Now stop mucking about!’ she pretended to admonish. ‘And think about what you’re going to do to make things right with you and Chrissie? Marriage is a marvellous thing, but you need to work at it. Put the effort in,’ she added, glancing at her own engagement and wedding rings.
‘And I fully intend to do just that. I’m going to be here, Gran,’ he said with resolve. ‘I’m going to really be here for Chrissie and Holly. And I’m going to try and work it out myself, so I don’t mess it up again – if they’ll give me another chance.’
Dolly took the now empty mug from his hands before standing behind him and putting her arms around his back to hold him in a hug. Silence followed and Sam had to swallow hard a few times to stop his emotions from bubbling up and swirling his eyes with tears.
‘It will be OK,’ Dolly eventually said, very softly. ‘You’re home, for starters. That has to make things easier,’ she told him, echoing Jude’s sentiment from earlier. ‘You didn’t have a hope of talking to Chrissie properly from the other side of the world. It’s just not the same, son. A woman wants the closeness. To see your face in front of her in the room. Not on a screen, or just to hear your voice down a phone line.’
‘You know, Chrissie still won’t see me properly, just the two of us.’
Sam shook his head. ‘And I know she and Holly aren’t getting on. It’s such a mess.’
‘But you have to give her time. Remember what I said about not expecting too much too quickly. This situation between the two of you didn’t happen overnight, and it’s not going to be fixed overnight either. For what it’s worth, I know Chrissie does still love you.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Sam asked. ‘You’d tell me if she was seeing someone else, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why on earth would you say that?’ Dolly frowned.
‘I dunno. It’s just the other night when I saw her … well, she looked really great, dressed up and with perfume on. And the effort wasn’t intended for me. She kept looking at her watch and couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She was expecting someone. Someone she didn’t want me to see, I reckon.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Why daft? I didn’t imagine it.’
‘Well, you know how people talk in the village. Not to be mean, I should add.’ Dolly patted her hair. ‘But we all tend to know everyone’s business, and I’m sure someone would have mentioned something to me. None of that matters anyway; you know that old adage, if something is worth fighting for …’ She inhaled sharply before letting a long breath of wisdom out as she moved her head from side to side. ‘You must stop feeling sorry for yourself and take action. Arrange a date with Chrissie properly. Have a look at what went wrong, and work out what you need to do – both of you; you’re in this together and you both need to be honest. And, in the meantime, Holly has a family who all love her and we’ll make sure she is OK while you two sort things out.’ Dolly smiled. ‘Your dad always used to say, “A father carries photos where his money used to be.” Family is what counts, Sam.’
Sam smiled, this had always been her way. Pragmatic with a no-nonsense approach.
They were interrupted by the old-fashioned bell jangling in the front porch.
‘You sit there, Gran, I know who this is.’ Sam bounded out to the doorway like an excited puppy and a few seconds later Holly was in the kitchen with an enormous grin on her face.
‘Hello sweetheart, this is a nice surprise.’ Dolly stood up and pulled her in for a big cuddle.
Sam was overjoyed to see his daughter and wrapped his arms around both Holly and his gran into a group hug. Holly yelped that she couldn’t breathe and as Sam pulled away he instinctively smoothed a hand over the top of her head as he always had.
‘Oh Dad, watch out,’ she laughed, checking her hair with her hands, ‘it took me ages to get it straight.’
‘Don’t be daft. Your hair is lovely just the way it’s meant to be,’ Sam said, then instantly wished he hadn’t when he saw the look on his daughter’s face. He coughed to clear his throat and changed the subject. ‘Fancy a drink?’ he motioned for her to sit down.
‘Yes please, Dad.’
‘Orange juice?’ he asked, without really thinking.
‘Um, no!’ Holly pulled a face at him. ‘Unless you want my levels to rocket through the roof. Dad, what are you like?’ she laughed.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Sam smarted, instantly remembering the early mistakes he had made, when he had inadvertently bought her a can of Coke at the May Fair once, without realising it wasn’t sugar-free. Chrissie had intervened just in time by swiping it from him as he handed it to their eleven-year-old daughter, whose face had lit up like a Christmas tree. Holly had still been getting to grips with managing her diabetes, and accepting that she couldn’t have the treats that she had been used to, so ended up crying and shouting at Chrissie for being mean and ‘ruining her whole day.’ Chrissie had got irritated with him for not concentrating properly, and the incident had put them all in a bad mood that afternoon. He realised now that it must have been hard for Chrissie … she was only trying to do her best by Holly. No wonder she had walked off in a huff when he had suggested she lighten up. Dolly was right … he had to look at what went wrong and work out how to fix it. He turned to Holly. ‘Milk or water, what would you prefer, love?’
‘Daaad, I’m not a five year old,’ Holly huffed, slipping her patent pink satchel off her shoulder and down onto the tiled floor. ‘I do know how to choose a drink all by myself.’
‘Your dad just cares, that’s all,’ Dolly appeased, giving Sam a sympathetic smile.
‘Sorry, Dad,’ Holly said, grinning sweetly, and then, ‘I’ll just have water, please.’
‘No worries, sweetheart. So, how are you? And how is Mum?’ Sam asked, and then quickly added, ‘Did she have a nice evening out after I came to see you?’
‘Mmm-hmm,’ Holly responded noncommittally, avoiding eye contact as she took the glass of water from Dolly. ‘Mum is good. She asked me to bring you these.’ Holly knelt down to her satchel and pulled out a lovely, gift-wrapped box covered in navy tissue with a red ribbon wrapped around.
‘Wow,’ Sam took the box, puzzled at this seeming change of heart. Chrissie sending gifts? What had brought this on? Sam felt confused, but tried to keep an open mind as he undid the ribbon and then unwrapped the tissue paper. ‘Very nice,’ he said, on seeing the logo on the box.
‘That’s right, salted caramel truffles, she went all the way to Market Briar to buy them specially,’ Holly said, nervously not drawing breath and wishing she’d bought that primer in Boots when she’d been there earlier – the one that is supposed to stop your face from going all red and blotchy.
‘Did she really?’ Sam’s heart lifted a little as this was quite a big olive branch. Expensive truffles were more Chrissie’s kind of thing than his. Not that he was complaining. He liked chocolate, but a bog-standard bar of Dairy Milk would have been just as welcome.
‘Yes, that’s right, Dad.’ Holly grinned, her heart swelling now as she got into the swing of things, figuring her fibs were for a good cause, after all. ‘She must have remembered when you bought them for her on Valentine’s Day that time,’ she eyed him, hoping he’d get it, ‘do you remember?’ He nodded. ‘So romantic,’ she added for good measure.
Sam smiled. Maybe Dolly was right, and there wasn’t another man. Maybe Chrissie was just meeting a friend after all, and actually did want to sort things out. And she had every right to be angry and disappointed with him after the way things had unravelled over the last year.
‘And she said that she’s really sorry for being so horrible to you.’ Holly drank some more of the water, before wiping her lips on the back of her hand. In for a penny, in for pound … that’s what Granny Dolly would say if she knew what I was trying to do right now. And she grinned some more, marvelling at how well her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan was going. The wish was going to come true. At this rate Mum and Dad would be back together in no time at all!
‘Here.’ Dolly handed her a piece of kitchen roll and then turned to Sam. ‘Well, that’s very thoughtful. How about you drop Holly back home later and then you can thank Chrissie in person?’
‘Good idea,’ Sam nodded, suddenly feeling better than he had in ages.
Chapter Seven
On the Blackwood Farm Estate, Jude was fuming. After all the commotion outside, the officious Sylvia had insisted that she take off her muddy boots and leave them by the back door of the main house. And Lulu had been confined to a utility room where she could still be heard growling and yelping from somewhere over the other side of the house. Sam had gone home to make sure he was back in time to have tea with Holly, so Jude was on her own.
‘Myles, this is Jude Darling,’ Sylvia said as she ushered Jude into an enormous wood-panelled drawing room. ‘I didn’t have her name on my list, so if you could let me know next time,’ she added, rather pointedly Jude thought, before turning on her heel to leave (yes, she had been allowed to keep her brogues on, Jude noted).
Jude looked around. If Myles King was in this room, then he must be hiding, as she couldn’t see him. Sylvia must have made a mistake. Jude wasn’t sure what to do. Should she go after her? Or wait here? She knew what she’d love to do, a
nd that would be to go and release Lulu from her makeshift prison cell, and then get the hell out of here. Fast.
The place was spooky; she had seen all the empty rooms on the way here as Sylvia had marched her through the corridors from the utility room. And there were weird, creaky noises, as if ghosts were hiding just out of sight. Despite the warm day outside, Jude shivered. It unnerved her. The Blackwood Farm Estate manor house felt neglected, as if the life force had been sucked out of it and it had been left to go to ruin. It really was a great shame, as she remembered coming here in the past, and the house had been truly glorious, with such beautiful furniture and exquisite paintings, and with nice, cosy, homely touches such as silky throws on the backs of the sofas. Fresh, fragrant pink lilies in giant vases had graced the many occasional tables dotted around.
This had been when Marigold and Lord Lucan had lived here. They used to have the May Fair, summer weddings and charity parties in the gardens for the villagers, and when Jude and Chrissie had been in the 1st Tindledale Brownies, and then Girl Guides, all those years ago, they had come to many of the events. Chrissie had dared Jude one time to sneak inside the house to use the toilet, instead of the Portaloos that had been set up to save everyone from having to traipse all the way over from the marquees, across the vast grounds to the house. Jude, never one to turn down the chance of a dare, had relished the challenge and sneaked in through a side door that the caterers were using, to give herself an impromptu private tour. She had even taken an old newspaper from a box beside one of the fireplaces as proof, to show Chrissie that she had actually been inside the main drawing room and not just a toilet near the service entrance. The very same room that she was now in, standing in a pair of holey old My Little Pony socks that Holly had chosen for her as a birthday present several years ago. Jude had loved them, and worn them to death, but they were hardly suitable attire in which to meet a potential customer, hence her frustration at having to take off her boots. She glanced down and saw her big toe peeping out of one of the holes, and cringed. Oh well, nothing I can do about the socks now. And after the effort I’ve made to be here, Myles King will just have to take me as he finds me!