Peg tipped her head to one side. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ said Henry, disgusted with himself. ‘It was stupid…or perhaps not stupid, but ill-timed, certainly. I was daft enough to give my opinion, one thing led to another and becoming thoroughly fed up with the way I was being treated, I delivered a few home truths and then left.’
‘Ah…’ Peg took a mince pie from the tin. ‘It does sound as if you’ve had a trying morning.’
Peg’s face wore such a gentle expression that Henry was suddenly overcome with shame. Barging in on her Christmaswasn’t at all fair, and to lumber her with his problems was inexcusable.
‘I’m sorry, this really isn’t something I should be bringing to your door.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I should get back.’
‘Do youwantto get back?’ Peg was looking at him so earnestly that it made him stop for a moment to think. He’d said the words, but he hadn’t meant them. He’d only voiced them because his conscience was shouting abuse at him, calling him all manner of names – cowardly, insensitive, selfish…there was quite a list. But actually, what he wanted to dowasbe cowardly, insensitive and selfish. He didn’t think he could bear to return to his son’s house and sit through a dinner which would be awkward in the extreme.
Peg was watching him. ‘I think you already know that you need to speak to Adam, and Sofia, but perhaps when emotions aren’t running so high and expectations of the day are not so great. I think you also know that, if you stay here with me, which you are very welcome to do, then you’ll also have to deal with the consequences of missing the family dinner. I’m afraid neither of those things are ones I can help you with.’ She smiled. ‘So I think we ought to agree that, if you stay, there’s to be no more talk about what’s happened. Give yourself a break from it and you might find you’re better equipped to deal with it later.’
‘I know you’re a very organised person, but are you always this wise too?’
Peg shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s wisdom. Just that I know whatI’mlike, and I’ve learned over time that my brain works best when I don’t attack it head-on. If I leave it alone and do something other than quiz it, I find that it gets on and does its own thing in the background. If I later enquire gently if it’s come to any conclusions, I invariably find it has.’ She swallowed the rest of her coffee. ‘Now, I was planning to eat around three, does that suit you?’
‘Oh…’ Henry hadn’t even considered what staying might mean.
‘It’s Christmas Day, Henry. A dinner of some sort is traditional and I have to eat too.’ A gentle smile played around her lips.
‘Three sounds perfect.’
‘Excellent, you can help me peel the potatoes. But first, I think a trip to the wood is in order. I wasn’t going to bother dressing the table when it was just me eating, but seeing as there are now two of us, it would be nice, don’t you think?’ She paused, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘Come on, or time will run away with us. It’s muddy in the woods though, so help yourself to wellies. There are some old ones there which should fit you. Grab those secateurs too, please, the ones on the hook.’
Peg pulled off her pink sheepskin slippers, revealing equally pink thick socks, which poked out from underneath the hem of her dress. The informality of such an unselfconscious action made him smile. Until he took off his own shoes, he had no idea of either the state of his socks or their colour, but he didn’t care. Peg wouldn’t care either, and it reinforced his decision to stay. For now, he was exactly where he wanted to be.
Moments later, having followed Peg through a gate at the bottom of her garden, Henry found himself in thick woodland, hushed and still.
‘You told me about this place when we were stuck in the traffic jam,’ he said. ‘And I remember thinking how wonderful it sounded. When you said it was behind your house, I didn’t realise it was quite so close.’
‘I’m incredibly lucky to have it,’ replied Peg. ‘And although the garden’s lovely, there’s something special about this place. It is absolutely the perfect spot to think and to breathe…just being here makes a difference to how I feel.’
Henry could understand that. He was already feeling the benefit of the cold, clean air in his lungs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been for a walk and— He stopped, because that wasn’t true; he could remember it exactly. His last ever walk with Meg, after so many years of walking side by side, twice a day, sometimes more. And it was as if she had sensed that something was coming to an end that day, too, only running a few steps ahead before circling back to him, pushing her nose into his hand and nudging his pockets in case any treats had found their way there. He could still feel the soft curls on the top of her head, damp from the rain, and the silky length of her ears. And then the next day she was gone. Just as Linda was. And he’d wondered who would miss him more.
‘So tell me about Adam,’ said Peg. ‘Is he your only child?’
Henry looked up, roused from his reverie, and nodded. ‘We’d wanted a large family, three or four at least, but that was back in the days when assumptions about our future were easily made. You never think, do you, that the reality will be so much harder to attain?’
‘You couldn’t have any more?’
‘We didn’t know, but Adam was such a gift that Linda and I decided we wouldn’t push our luck again by asking for more, and so we stopped trying.’
He’d forgotten that. All the years of heartache. Of waiting, and praying and hoping, for weeks, sometimes longer than at others. But then came the pain of grief, always the pain, sharp and searing, followed by the need to comfort, to quell the feelings of hopelessness, of anger and desolation at something which came so easily to others, yet continued to evade them.
‘There were three other babies before Adam,’ he continued. ‘But none of them lived long enough to be born.’
Peg looked horrified, colour flooding her face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘That was stupid of me, asking like that.’
Henry shook his head. ‘It was a long time ago. And once Adam arrived, those early years became a part of our lives we had no need to revisit. You never forget them – our two other boys and a girl – but Adam was so full of life that gradually our feelings about him helped to heal our feelings about them.’ He smiled. ‘And he was a very curious child, so our days and nights were full. We were happy then, I think.’
‘And close? I would imagine you would be.’ She held a branch out of his way so that he could follow her.
‘We were. For a very long time. We did everything together…’ He frowned. ‘It seems such a long time ago now.’
Peg stopped, surveying a holly tree burgeoning with berries. ‘And then all of a sudden they’re grown up, and having lives of their own, without you.’
Henry passed her the secateurs. ‘Linda and I weren’t ready for that. I think that was our problem. Once Adam was grown up he didn’t need us any more and our lives went from being full to being unfulfilled. We should have prepared ourselves for it, but we didn’t.’
