by Kate Lattey
Eleanor nods slowly. “Okay then. Well, good.” She seems totally flummoxed by our actions, but if she knew Alec a little better, she wouldn’t be. The desire to work runs through his veins, and he’s actually incapable of sitting around and doing nothing. I’m not quite that dedicated, but I’m not going to stand and watch him work, so I suppose he’s a good influence on me that way.
I hear hooves on the hard packed ground, and turn to see Carly walk past, leading a beautiful dapple grey mare to the mounting block. Without looking at us, she pulls the stirrups down and heaves herself on board, then rides over to the arena, her back ramrod straight and her feet all the way home in the stirrups.
“Nice horse.”
I hadn’t realised that Eleanor was still there. “Isn’t she? Going to be something quite special, that one. Carly’s bringing her on for the Show Hunters. It’s about time she had a real quality project, and Effie has the looks and the jump to go all the way to National level. Bruce found her for us, and he rates her very highly.”
I nod, thinking to myself that Carly has about as much chance of producing this mare to the top as I do of winning the Olympics, but I keep my mouth shut and focus on the task at hand. As Eleanor walks off in pursuit of her niece, I can’t help wondering what my life would be like if was in Carly’s position. I’m not exactly dying to spend more time around Eleanor, but the thought of having facilities like this to use, horses like that to ride and someone backing me to the hilt is very appealing. And as annoying as Eleanor is, it’d probably be completely different if she was on your side. Imagine having someone like that to buy you top quality horses and get you lessons with Olympic trainers. Surely it’d be worth getting a bit of grief from time to time, I muse as I continue mucking out.
“Finally!”
Alec’s voice startles me out of my daydream of riding at the Youth Olympics, and I turn to see Tabby driving towards us in their rickety old horse truck. Alec is next to me now and tapping pointedly at his watch, but his mum just pulls the middle finger at him in unsympathetic response.
We drive home in the dusky evening light, eating piping hot fish and chips out of the paper and regaling Tabby with stories about camp, and my dream of being Carly ebbs away. She might have everything that money can buy, but she doesn’t look like she has much fun - and she doesn’t have friends like these.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I don’t realise how tired I am until I get home. I drag my bags through the front door, dump them on the kitchen floor and flop dramatically onto the couch.
“How was your camp?” Dad asks, flicking the television news onto mute and looking at me.
“Fine. Could’ve been better, could’ve been worse.” I’m about to elaborate when I notice something far more interesting, and sit up quickly. “Presents!”
I’ve been buying Christmas presents and sticking them under the tree ever since I put it up, but until now there hasn’t been any contribution from Dad. I get to my feet and quickly go to investigate.
“Presents, presents, presents!”
Dad laughs at me as I drop to sit in front of the small pile, and pick up the top one. “To Chewy. Seriously? You got the dog a present?” I start feeling it carefully through the paper, trying to work out what’s inside. “Hmm. Doggy treats?”
Chewy’s tail thumps the floor but he’s too lazy to get up and help me look. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control,” I tell him. “Ooh, this one’s for me!”
It’s in a box, so it’s hard to know what it is, and I shake it gingerly. Dad is standing in the doorway, watching me with a bemused expression. I shake the box harder, and he frowns at me.
“How many pieces do you want that in?”
I grin at him and set the box down, then pick up the next one, which has been wrapped in shiny paper but tied with a fancy ribbon.
“What’s this one? Oh,” I stop when I read Nina’s name on the label, and I slowly put it back and stare at it awkwardly, wondering what Dad bought her, and how much he spent.
There’s an awkward pause, then Dad clears his throat. “So there’s this thing on at the school hall.” I look at him curiously and he shrugs. “The school kids always put on a play on Christmas Eve. One about Jesus being born, you know, with shepherds and wise men and all that.”
“A Nativity,” I tell him.
“That’s the one. It’s a fundraiser and it’s festive, so I thought you might want to go.”
“Stop the presses. The Grinch wants to go to a Christmas play?” I say in mock astonishment, staring at the dog, who whines back at me.
“It’s a community thing, everyone goes,” Dad explains, reddening slightly. “Good will and all that.”
“‘Tis the season,” I agree with a smile. “Count me in.”
Dad’s right about one thing – everyone goes to the Nativity. The school hall is crowded, with standing room only at the back. The kids are earnest and manage to remember most of their lines, although the pet lambs that someone obviously brought along for ambience bleat so loudly that they drown out the performances anyway. But it’s all done with the best of intentions, and it’s a fairly entertaining way to spend the evening. And at the end, when the animals have been taken outside and order has been restored, a girl dressed as an angel steps up and sings a beautiful rendition of Silent Night. The haunting notes linger in the warm space, and I look around slowly as she sings, taking in the increasingly familiar faces surrounding me. I am finally starting to feel as though I belong here. Dad shifts his weight, trying to clear his throat surreptitiously, and I move slightly closer to him, feeling the brush of his homespun jersey against my arm. Even he seems to be enjoying himself, and from the corner of my eye I see him tilt his head slightly to look down at me. I close my eyes, letting the song’s lyrics wash over me, taking comfort in his solid presence by my side.
Afterwards, we file out and walk down to the beach in groups. It’s a gorgeous evening without a breath of wind, and as we step onto the sand, we are handed lit tapered candles. Everyone stands around talking, forming naturally into groups, and Dad gets snatched away by Jim Delaney, who is still muttering angrily about tourists overrunning the place. I wander towards the water, carefully shading my candle’s flame with a cupped hand, feeling its heat against my palm. I reach the water’s edge and kick my jandals off, then walk slowly into the sea, letting the warm waves lap around my ankles.
The stars are just starting to come out, specks of brightness in the dark blue sky. The last of the sun’s light is disappearing over the horizon, casting a faint pinkish glow along the edge of the ocean. Someone strums a guitar, and the people behind me start singing The First Noel. I stare at the candle in my hand and think about Mum, and silent tears start sliding down my cheeks.
After a few moments, I hear footsteps approaching behind me, and I quickly swipe at my tears with the back of my hand. I don’t want Dad to see me so upset, because no matter how much he tries to empathise with me, I know that he doesn’t really understand. He loved Mum once, but that was a long time ago, and if he’d really loved her, he would never have left her, or let her leave him. He wouldn’t have left her to die alone. Wouldn’t have left me to deal with it, and only taken me in when nobody else wanted to. I reel slightly in the onslaught of my own emotions, surprised by thoughts I never realised I had. I take a deep breath to compose myself before turning to see Alec approaching, his candle softly lighting his face.
Relief washes over me. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” I admit.
“You kidding? I never miss it.” He’s grinning as he approaches, then sees the tears on my face. “You okay?” He hesitates. “I can leave you alone, if you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Stay.”
Alec walks barefoot into the water and stands next to me, our shoulders almost touching.
“It’s a beautiful night.”
“Sure is,” he agrees. “And they reckon Christmas Day is gearing up to be a real scorcher.”
&n
bsp; I laugh, and he turns his head and looks at me. “What?”
“It still seems so weird to me, having Christmas in the summer.”
“Oh right. I forgot.” He thinks for a moment. “What’s it like, then? Christmas in winter?”
“Normal.”
He laughs and pushes me with his shoulder. “Seriously,” he insists, but I shake my head.
“For me, it’s normal. It’s cold, it rains and then the roads get icy and dangerous, and the ponies are fuzzy and you sit inside by the fire sipping hot cocoa or mulled wine and eating mince pies and a big roast dinner. If you’re lucky it snows, and everything looks magical and exciting. And when you sing Christmas carols outside, you have to wear scarves and hats and mittens because it’s absolutely freezing…what’s so funny?”
“Mittens? Really?” he grins wickedly.
“What’s wrong with wearing mittens?”
He shakes his head slowly, still grinning. “Nothing, if you’re five.”
“My mum used to buy me mittens.”
I look away to avoid the apology on his face, staring out across the water instead and trying not to think about her. I try to clear my head, pushing her aside as I have done so many times before, because the memories are still too painful to face, but tonight it just won’t work. I have to let her back in. As I stare down at the candle in my hand, its flame flickering and dancing in the evening air, the memories start to flood over me of all the Christmases we had together. I sniff, unable to hold back the tears any longer, and Alec reaches out and takes my hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Just being there is enough. The water laps at my ankles as the moon shifts from behind a cloud, casting a silvery glow across the beach.
“I miss her.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t know, not really, but I appreciate the sentiment. His warm hand is still clasped through mine, and I give his calloused fingers a soft squeeze.
“I wish you could’ve met her. She would’ve liked you.”
He tenses up slightly. “You think so?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”
“Well…” His voice trails off, as though he’s holding something back, and I turn to look at him.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just… Well, you said she didn’t get on with your dad because they were too different.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So what does that make me?”
I pull a face at him. “You’re nothing like my dad.”
“Rather be like your dad than mine.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice now.
“You’re nothing like your dad either,” I tell him, meaning every word.
“Try not to be.”
“Is he here tonight?” I ask, a shiver of apprehension running through me, but Alec shakes his head.
“Hell no. He’d rather sit in a vat of acid than socialise with people. Mum, on the other hand, is in her element.”
“How on earth did they end up together?” I ask curiously. I’ve wondered about that many times but never really had the nerve to ask, but Alec just shrugs.
“Who knows?”
The singing on the beach reaches a crescendo, and I turn to look over my shoulder at them, standing in a wide circle around a crackling fire. As I turn, my candle’s flame wavers violently then goes out, sending a thin plume of smoke spiralling through the night air.
“Damn.”
Alec doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and relights my candle with his. It catches immediately and flickers back into life.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We turn and start walking back up the beach as the carollers begin singing Jingle Bells, and I shake my head as the lyrics drift across the sand towards us.
“What?”
“All these years of celebrating Christmas in the summer and you’re still singing songs about dashing through the snow.”
Alec grins at me. “Laughing all the way.”
* * *
Christmas Day dawns bright and early, with sunshine blazing through my bedroom window and birds singing their hearts out in the trees around our little cabin. I lie in bed for a while and stare at the ceiling, talking to Mum in my head. Wishing her a Merry Christmas, wishing she was here to spend it with us, then trying and failing to imagine her in this house. Unwillingly, my thoughts are pulled towards Alec’s comments on the beach, and I start wondering how my parents had ever got together in the first place. Mum was a wonderful person, but she wouldn’t have fitted in here. She always liked things to be neat and orderly, and she believed in a certain social order. She would consider Clearwater Bay to be the middle of nowhere, the absolute pits, much as I had when I’d arrived. Before I’d fallen in love with the place and come to view it as my home. She would’ve too, if she’d come here, I decide. How could she not?
I sit up and pull back the curtains, admiring the view across the rolling hills that stretch down to the bright blue ocean. As much as I miss Mum, I’m glad to be here. I like the person that I’ve become. I feel stronger, more resilient, more myself than I have before. Maybe that’s because of everything I’ve lost, all the adjustments I’ve had to make. Or maybe it’s just part of growing up.
I sigh, and push my bedroom window open wider, letting the morning air flow into the room. Downstairs, I hear Dad’s bedroom door open, and his footsteps cross the kitchen floor. There are no secrets in this house, especially with all the creaky floorboards that make it impossible to sneak around. When I first came here, my dad was like a stranger to me, and I resented him for having left us. Now I can understand why he felt that he had to come back. He told me once that he’d felt too crowded in England, that there were too many people and he needed more space. I’d written him off as antisocial when he said that, but he’s not. Not like Liam Harrison, and I’m suddenly very glad that I’m not living with Alec’s father with his violent temper and unpredictable mood swings. Dad’s not perfect – he’s rubbish at communicating and he can’t cook worth a damn – but I’m lucky to have him, and I’m starting to appreciate that we have more in common than I used to think. I take one long, last look at the photo of me and Mum that sits next to my bed, then get to my feet and go downstairs.
“Present time!”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Dad grins as he stirs his coffee, and I give Chewy a hug before settling in front of the tree and preparing to attack the present pile.
Minutes later I’m swooning happily over the new bridle that Dad bought for Finn (apparently with Alec’s guidance) as Dad makes approving noises over the gift voucher I uninspiringly bought him from the local hardware store.
“Is this some kind of unsubtle hint?” he teases me, then laughs as I shrug, unwilling to admit outright that I honestly have no idea what he likes or would have wanted. “Thanks. I’ll put it to good use.”
There’s a moment when I think he’s going to hug me, but it passes, and I open Chewy’s present for him as Dad goes into the kitchen to boil the kettle.
“So what’ve you got planned for the rest of the day?” he asks me.
“Well I think Finn wants to try out her new bridle,” I tell him. “I told Alec I’d come down and we’d go for a ride to the beach, and they’ve offered to have me for lunch.”
“Sounds like fun,” Dad says. “It’s a beautiful day for it.”
“Gorgeous,” I agree, tossing one last treat to Chewy as I get to my feet and start towards the stairs to my room.
“Will you be home in time for dinner?”
I hesitate. “Will it be beans on toast?”
He gives me a blank look. “What else?”
I have to laugh. It will be our first Christmas dinner together – it doesn’t really matter what we eat, just that we’re together for the occasion.
“Go on then,” I tell him. “Promise I’ll be home by four.”
Finn dances across the sand, eager to g
allop, tugging impatiently at the reins. I glance back at Alec and Pip who are following me down onto the beach. Alec’s reins are loose on Lucky’s neck, his stirrups short and shoulders slightly hunched, the same way he always sits in the saddle. Pip sits taller, her stirrups longer and legs wrapped around Trixie’s round sides. She holds her reins in one hand and rests the other on Trixie’s rump as she talks to Alec.
“You guys ready?” I ask them, struggling to hold Finn as she crabs sideways and tosses her pretty head.
“We’ll catch up,” Alec replies, waving a hand lazily in my direction, and I take that as the signal to start. I soften my hands on the reins and lean forward, urging Finn on with my legs. She needs no encouragement, and her muscles bunch under her as she leaps into a gallop. I crouch over her neck and enjoy the thrill of her speed.
It’s a beautiful day, and as Finn sprints across the sand, I get a momentary flashback to the beaches of my childhood. In my mind I revisit the pebbly shore of Brighton, the crowded sands of Torquay, the wilder, windswept beaches of Norfolk. None of them had ever had this brilliant sunshine, this glorious expanse, this freedom of movement. And none of them had Finn.
I pull her up slowly, looking over my shoulder to see Alec and Pip galloping along behind me, and I rub Finn’s glowing neck as I bring her back to a trot.
“You know what?” I ask my pony as I direct her into the waves. “This is shaping up to be a pretty good Christmas.”
When we get back to the farm Tabby has lunch on the table, and it’s a huge spread.
“Save some room for dinner,” I tell Alec as he piles his plate high with barbequed meat and potato salad.
He shakes his head. “Dinner’s just what we don’t manage to eat for lunch.”
“Oh.” I spoon some pasta salad onto my plate. “Dad wants me home for dinner, he’s promising a hefty meal of beans on toast.”
Pip snorts. “You’d better fill up now then,” she advises, dumping a second helping of pasta salad onto my plate.