by Cathy Lake
‘Two years ago, when I went home after the Christmas show, I found myself out of milk. The village shop was, obviously, shut, but I wanted a coffee badly. I couldn’t bear to drink it without milk, so I wracked my brain . . .’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Where could I get milk that late at night?’
‘Where?’ one of the children asked from Daphne’s side, her soft lisp sending a hush through the room.
‘From the old village hall, my dear.’ Marcellus held up his hands. ‘It was foolish of me, don’t I know it now, and I have thought of it every day since. But I had the key to the hall, so I made my way over there and let myself in. I found a bottle of milk in the fridge, then I saw a box of eggs. I was hungry too, I realised, and on the gas hob was a clean frying pan. I thought . . . fool that I am, see . . . that I would make my food there, then go on home and no one would be any the wiser.’ He shook his head. ‘I washed up and intended to replace the eggs and milk the next day, but, see, I must have left the gas on – those old knobs were difficult to turn – and, well, we all know what happened next.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘I am so dreadfully sorry. It was an accident, but even so, I have lived with that.’
‘No!’ A voice came from the periphery of the circle. It was Martin Rolands. He’d arrived just before the power cut to tell Clare that Jenny would be staying home because of the weather, but must have stayed on after the lights went out. ‘You can’t blame yourself, Marcellus.’ He crouched at the edge of the circle and rested his hands on his knees. ‘If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. That night, I was in the dressing room dropping some costumes off – ones for the twins for the show – and the main light wouldn’t switch on. There was a problem with the wiring, if you remember. Anyway, there was an old lamp in there that had been used as a prop, and I plugged that in to see what I was doing. When I got home, I realised I’d left it on. It must have blown the circuits or something, or perhaps even sparked the gas.’
This pattern of confessions went on for ten minutes, with various villagers confessing to having been at the old village hall that night after the show and it seemed that at least eight local people thought the fire had been their fault. Finally, Elaine raised her hands.
‘Please . . . all of you, don’t blame yourselves. I am categorically certain that none of you are to blame.’
‘Mum?’ Clare sat upright. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, Clare, darling. Why do you think I have been so glum?’ Her mum got up and paced the outside of the circle, her hands clasped in front of her as if she was about to deliver a dramatic monologue on stage. ‘It was my fault . . .’ She sighed, then placed the back of a hand to her brow. ‘It was just after the anniversary of my dear husband’s passing and I was incredibly sad and missing him dreadfully. I’d had a few drinks after the show, and I sat on the stage and lit some candles. Just like this.’ She gestured at the stage. ‘It was so pretty, and it made me feel closer to my husband because he’d spent so many hours at the hall too. That night, I was also missing my daughter and grandson terribly. I wondered, as we sometimes do when something suddenly hits us, what had happened over the years to create such a distance between us and if we would ever be close. I needed the loo, so I left the hall for just a few minutes and when I returned the stage curtains were ablaze!’
Gasps shot around the hall like bullets being fired from a gun.
‘I know!’ Elaine held up her hands. ‘And I am so very, very sorry. I burnt down the old hall and I should be punished for it. I ran to the phone box and made a call, disguising my voice as best I could, then I ran off into the night. I couldn’t face watching the blaze or risk being caught.’ She held her hands out as if to have them placed in handcuffs.
Clare pressed a hand to her chest as sadness and confusion choked her. After all this time, her mum had admitted to missing her and Kyle, to wondering why they were distant, not just physically but emotionally. For years, Clare had wondered if her mum even cared, but she did, she had, and she had suffered because of it.
Suddenly, someone laughed and then that laughter spread around the room like a circle of dominoes being knocked down, filling the hall.
‘Why is that so funny?’ Elaine had adopted her teacher voice and it cut through the laughter, dimming it to a gentle chuckling. ‘I am to blame. I should be punished – although I have punished myself ever since that night.’
‘Mum!’ Clare stood up and went to her mum, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Please don’t. I’m so sorry you’ve been suffering.’
‘Elaine, lovely lady,’ Marcellus stood up too. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Indeed, it is not.’ Iolo walked around the circle until he got to Elaine, then he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘I have listened to the many confessions here this evening and I’m fairly certain that the old village hall burning down was a combination of things. It was a terrible shame, but the verdict at the time was that the fire was accidental, caused by faulty electrics and a gas leak – and, goodness only knows, it could have been far worse. The important thing is that no one was hurt. And now, look at how we have progressed. Here we are, in our lovely new hall, with good food, drink and company. We cannot change the past, but we can appreciate the present and do our best to ensure that the future is filled with smiles and good times.’
‘I have an idea.’ Sam stood up. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I could go and get the generator from the surgery. We could use it here for the show.’
Clare looked at her mum and they both smiled, then shook their heads.
‘Sam, we couldn’t possibly allow that.’ Clare’s mum placed a hand over her heart. ‘It’s incredibly kind of you, but what if you need it there? If there was an emergency this evening or tomorrow and you had no power, how would you and Miranda manage? No, we may not have electricity, but we can still perform some of our acts.’
‘Yes, we can.’ Clare nodded. ‘How do you feel about singing for us?’ She directed the question at Daphne and the teacher looked around the hall at her pupils, who nodded enthusiastically.
‘Let’s get the Christmas show started, then.’ Clare went to the stage and moved the candles so they wouldn’t be a risk to the children, then they climbed the steps to the stage with Daphne and she arranged them into two lines before descending the steps and opening the lid of the piano. Her mum hugged her then went to join the children.
Clare thought, as she looked at her mum standing there on stage, with the golden glow of the candlelight on her face and her shadow flickering on the wall behind her, that she looked like a Christmas angel. And if she squinted just a bit, she could picture her dad up there too, his arm around her mum, his face lit up with love and pride.
There was a cough from in front of the stage and Sam raised a hand. ‘Just wondering . . . I’m a bit rusty, but I could join in, if that’s all right? I’m not as good as my sister, but I can carry a tune.’
‘Wonderful!’ Daphne said, and Sam hopped up onto the stage, standing exactly where Clare had pictured her dad.
The rest of the people in the hall gathered together near the piano, and Clare was conscious of Kyle at her side. As the opening notes of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ filled the air, emotion flooded though her and her vision blurred.
She blinked hard, then glanced at the window and goosebumps rose on her skin. She was with her loved ones, at the heart of the village community, celebrating the start of Christmas and outside the snow was falling softly, turning Little Bramble into a picturesque winter wonderland. What could be more perfect than this?
Sometimes, she mused, plans went awry, things didn’t work out as you expected them to, but it didn’t mean that everything was over. In fact, sometimes, it was just the beginning.
Chapter 28
‘Right, that’s all locked up then.’ Marcellus pocketed the keys to the hall. ‘Goodnight to you, Clare, and to you, Sam.’
‘Goodnight, Marcellus.’ Cla
re kissed his cheek and he chuckled.
‘Thank you, sweet one.’ He pressed his hand to his cheek, grinned, then made his way gingerly down the steps and off through the snow.
‘I guess it’s goodnight to you too, Sam.’ Clare smiled at him. ‘Thank you for helping to make what could have been a disaster into a wonderful evening.’
The power had gone on and off a few more times as they’d sung, but then it had come on again, just in time for everyone to leave. Kyle and Elaine had left twenty minutes ago and everyone else had gone an hour ago, but she’d wanted to stay to clean up. And, if she was completely honest, to make the evening last as long as possible. It had been a triumph, an achievement, evidence of what could happen when people pulled together as a community. It was a shame that lots of people hadn’t made it, but it was the start of something, and as they’d tidied up, her mum had said that it would be lovely if they had something to look forward to in the summer, possibly a summer fete. It seemed like a good idea and one that Clare would love to be involved with.
Sam stepped closer to her and lifted his hand, then gently brushed her cheek. Something inside her unfurled gently, as if there had been a tightly coiled rope in her belly and now it was relaxing. Her knees weakened and she was surprised by the longing that flooded her whole body. Could one person want another so much?
‘You had a snowflake there.’ He held her gaze and she felt as if he could read her thoughts, see into her heart. It was scary, but also liberating, to feel that someone could truly see her, know her and still want her. ‘And thank you, Clare. You made it wonderful. You are truly wonderful.’
He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, his expression changing. There was longing and unsated desire in his eyes, and her heart sped up. He was holding her so tightly, tighter than she’d ever been held by a man. Her body was aflame, and everything tingled from the roots of her hair to the tips of her fingers.
Sam lowered his head to hers and their lips met. His kisses were soft at first, then firmer, growing harder with urgency, and she moaned as he kissed her the way she’d always wanted to be kissed. Everything around them faded away; the cold, the snow, the twinkling lights, the village hall, the muffled silence of the wintery night.
When Sam finally pulled back and looked at her, she felt sure that her face must be glowing, her eyes shooting hearts in his direction. This was what she’d read about, heard others talk about, and what all those books and songs were about.
This . . .
She knew that she could lose herself in this man, that she could become one with him and devote herself to a relationship with him. She could move back to Little Bramble permanently and see Sam every day, perhaps move in with him and love him and take care of him as she knew he would take care of her.
She could do all of this!
But . . .
That would mean surrendering her heart and her life to another man as she had done with Jason, giving up her newfound freedom, her fragile sense of self that was developing as she came to know who she was and what she wanted. She wasn’t quite there yet and didn’t know how long it would take, or exactly what it would take for her to know the woman she was meant to be. She had lived, but she had so much more she wanted to do, to experience, to enjoy. If she gave herself to Sam, which she felt sure that committing to falling in love with him would lead to, then surely, she would be relinquishing herself once more?
How could she live for herself if she was living for another person?
‘Clare?’ Sam’s eyes widened as he gazed at her and a tiny line appeared between his brows. ‘What is it? Are you OK?’
‘I . . .’ She slipped out of his embrace. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Clare . . .’ He reached for her again, but she went to the steps and descended, gripping the handrail tightly. ‘Please don’t go. Come home with me.’
He jumped the steps and landed next to her, his face unreadable as the snow fell faster. It covered his hat, his coat, his feet and Clare thought that if they didn’t move soon, they’d be frozen there, locked in that moment, ice people outside the village hall like the sculptures she had commissioned.
‘Clare . . . I love you.’
She shuddered as if ice had pierced through her ribcage, sharp and cold, severing her heart from her head.
‘You love me?’ she whispered. ‘Oh Sam.’
‘I can’t help myself. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Clare.’
She opened her mouth, tried to reply, closed it again and looked around as if searching for an appropriate response. This kind, funny, caring man loved her – and she was standing there flapping her arms as if she would fly away.
‘I’m so sorry, Sam. I just – just I can’t do this right now.’ She shook her head, raised her hand to touch him, but lowered it again. If she held him now, she would never let go and that thought terrified her. ‘I have to go.’
She turned and started stomping her way through the snowdrifts, feeling ridiculous with her exaggerated movements, but the snow was so deep now that she had to lift each leg, then stamp it down before she could move forwards.
‘Clare!’ His voice broke and she knew, in that moment, that she was the worst person in the world. ‘Let me at least see you safely home.’
She waved a hand, not turning around, because she couldn’t bear to see the pain on his face and she knew, deep in her heart, that she loved him too.
Sam watched Clare trudging through the snow and he wanted to follow her, but she didn’t want him. She’d said as much; she couldn’t do this. He had been foolish, had opened his heart to her, told her everything and she had rejected him.
The pain in his chest was raw. Every breath felt as though he’d inhaled copious amounts of smoke and burnt his lungs and when he exhaled, he coughed raggedly. He felt damaged, as if he would never escape the crushing weight of this rejection.
Everything had been going so well and he had let his guard slip. No, he had chosen to open up, to share himself with Clare and to confess to Alyssa the things he had held inside for so long. It had been a relief to get those things out in the open. Clare had been so kind, so supportive and so understanding and he admired her for that.
But he also loved her. How could he not love her when she was such a remarkable woman? He’d read somewhere once that, to truly love someone, you have to make yourself vulnerable; it was the only way to love someone openly and without hesitation.
He took a deep breath, watching as he released it into the night air, a puffy cloud that dispersed as snowflakes took its place. Everything around him sparkled as if diamond dust had been sprinkled over Little Bramble. It was magical. Festive. Perfect.
This village was special. This moment was special. What had grown between him and Clare was special. That could not be denied.
So why was his heart breaking?
Sam shook himself. He would not be sad that he had opened his heart to love. It had been a long time coming and falling for Clare had brought him so much joy. He would never regret that.
Now, though, he would head home and cuddle Scout. He would let the pain in and feel it because he’d pushed everything away for so long and he knew how it could eat away at him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
So, even though he was devastated, he had learnt lessons that would stay with him for the rest of his days. He had given himself to love and it was, even in its darker moments, glorious to feel with such intensity.
He tucked his hands into his pockets and walked towards the green, doing the same funny walk that Clare had done because the drifts were so deep.
Nothing in life was easy, but there was always another way to view a situation. Clare had said that she couldn’t do this now. Perhaps that meant that there was hope; perhaps one day she would be able to love him as he did her.
Sam was going to cling to that hope. It was all he could do.
Clare virtually fell through the front door of her mum’s cottag
e along with a pile of snow. She was cold and wet, her coat and jeans heavy with water, and her bones ached from exhaustion after her walk back from the village hall. But all of that was nothing in comparison to how dreadful she felt for leaving Sam behind like that.
There was no way that Sam would ever deserve such treatment and no way that she could ever forgive herself for hurting him. It would be another thing she had to carry around every day, like a necklace of guilt and failure.
She sank to her knees and buried her face in her gloved hands. This had to be the worst she had ever felt. As tears mingled with the melting snowflakes on her cheeks, a cold nose pushed through her hands and a long tongue licked from her chin to her hat.
She lowered her hands and met Goliath’s big blue eyes.
‘Hello, boy.’ She sniffed, but the tears kept falling, turning the dog into a blurry silver blob.
He licked her face again, then gave a low whine, as if sad to see her upset.
She flung her arms around his big neck and sobbed into his fur. They stayed that way until she’d cried herself out, then she pulled a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘The best kind of friend has four paws and a wet nose, right, Goliath?’
She kissed his nose, then stood up, kicked some of the snow back outside and closed the door. When she’d removed her wellies, socks, coat and jeans, she carried her rucksack with her dress and other bits through to the kitchen and placed them on a chair. She’d empty the bag tomorrow and sort everything out; she was just too tired right now.
Goliath was right behind her, watching her as if he was afraid to take his eyes off her. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her chest, glad that it fell to mid-thigh, then made a mug of tea. Padding back through to the lounge with Goliath she saw that the downstairs of the cottage was empty. From upstairs she could hear the sound of a tap running, so either her mum or Kyle was in the bathroom.
Sinking onto the sofa, she pulled one of the soft blankets over her and patted the seat next to her. Goliath jumped up and placed his head on her lap. Such unconditional love made tears well up in her eyes again and she stroked his soft head, knowing that she would miss him if she did decide to leave the village or if she moved out of the cottage. The thought that he wouldn’t understand where she’d gone started her off crying again, so she swallowed hard and tried to empty her mind.