“I’d love to see the cards.”
“Be my guest, there are boxes of them: cards, letters, postcards. Wear a warm jumper, though, it’s freezing up there.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, rolling the patterned papers using the ceramic rolling pins and tucking the gifts inside, before securing the ends with lengths of thick velvet ribbon.
“So, business is good?” Fred asked after a time.
“It is…”
Fred could hear the waver in her mother’s voice.
“We’ve still got the big stores, so that’s good, and the market is busy, as you’ve seen. But the online orders have been a bit slow this year…the last couple of years actually.”
“Do you want me to look at the website? See if the settings need tweaking?”
“You can do, I haven’t had the time to update things in a while. I was late getting this year’s designs on as well, which probably didn’t help.”
They worked quietly side by side for a time. It was soothing, the gentle repetition of rolling and tying the crackers, before laying them in the boxes. Fred had forgotten how mindful this work could be.
The little lights festooned in the garden trees and shrubs shivered as the north wind blew through branches and boughs, so that the garden appeared to be alive withfireflies. It was nice here with her mum, just being. They hadn’t done this in a long while and Fred wondered, not for the first time, how much of her disdain for it had been perpetuated by her own comments being collated, sifted and then drip-fed back to her by Tim as a means of keeping her in line. A throwaway line she’d uttered once in conversation would find its way back to her, twisted and with a sting attached. “My mistake, I thought you wanted more than the kind of surface-level attachments favored by your mother.” “Try not to showcase your provincial roots tonight, Fredricka.” “Your family rolls Christmas Crackers for a living, they’re not exactly splitting the atom up there in Pine Bluff.” It was a subtle form of control—but control, nonetheless—and for her own sanity she had found it easier to tell herself that she’d never fitted in at home anyway, rather than admit that the person who was supposed to love her was showing signs of coercive behavior.
“Penny for them,” said Bella.
Fred wanted to tell her, but she didn’t know where to begin, so instead she said, “I saw Liam this afternoon.”
Her mum fumbled trying a bow, but swiftly recovered and said, “Oh, that’s nice, he’s been waiting to catch up with you.”
“I wasn’t sure how he would be, but he seems okay. I know it’s been a while now but…”
“Grief is never straightforward.” Bella finished the thought for her.
“Yes.”
“I think he’s reached a place where he can remember what they had, without it cutting to the quick. They had a good marriage; they were lucky.”
Fred stepped back from the bench and stretched her limbs, turning her head from side to side to get rid of the knots in her neck. “I’m going to make a cup of chamomile tea; would you like one?”
“Please.”
She tucked the cracker she’d finished into its box and crossed the room to make the tea.
“I’d like to see him meet someone else,” Fred said, idly. “He’s only in his mid-fifties, and he does have of touch of George Clooney about him. I don’t think he’d have any trouble finding a girlfriend.”
Bella dropped the scissors with a clatter.
“Are you all right?” Fred asked.
“Yes, love. Just tired. I’ll finish up this box and call it a night.”
While Fred waited for the tea to brew, she flicked to the Hallow-Hart Crackers Instagram page. “Mum, the last post on Insta was the twenty-third of September.”
“Are you sure? I could have sworn I put something up a few weeks ago.”
Fred tsked. “Social media is important for keeping the business in people’s minds. Ideally, you need to be adding content every few days. Do you post stories?”
“Ummm…sometimes?”
“Reels?”
