Peg smiled. ‘And yet it’smewho’s embarrassedyou. I didn’t need to offer the exact date he died, so it’s me who should apologise. You wouldn’t feel like you do if I’d said he died in August.’
A poignant hush settled in the small space. Peg scratched her head and Henry risked a look at her. He hoped he hadn’t upset her. She was nice. She was the first person he’d spoken to in a long while who seemed to understand.
‘Sorry…’ she said, crinkling up the tinfoil from the sandwiches. ‘Forgive the pun, but death is such a conversation killer, isn’t it? Shall we have a mince pie?’ She paused a moment. ‘It’s never an easy subject to talk about, but doing so with a perfect stranger who you’re never going to see again feels easier somehow.’
‘I guess it does,’ agreed Henry. It certainly explained the urge he had to keep on talking. ‘Perhaps it’s because you can say all the things you want to knowing that you won’t have to face that person again. It’s not like when you talk to family, and whatever you say is forever going to occupy a huge space between you, like the proverbial elephant in the room.’
Peg cranked the lid off the tin which was sitting on her lap, filling the car with the most incredible smell. ‘Would you like one?’
The thought of buttery pastry was too much for Henry’s willpower and he readily helped himself.
‘How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?’ Peg asked.
‘Hard to tell. I guess much depends on what was spilled – if it can be picked up, or whether they’re currently hosing Farrow & Ball’s Breakfast Room Green off the motorway.’
Peg laughed, a deepish chuckle. ‘Let’s hope it’s the first option. Although maybe now is a good time to mention that even if we manage to eat all the mince pies, I have a stash of sausage rolls in the boot too. Plus, a ginger and date cake, some cheese biscuits, a yule log and a Christmas cake.’
‘That’s taking being prepared to the extreme.’
‘I’ve spent the last couple of days baking for my aunt. She’s in her early eighties and although she’s very fit, an arthritic hip means she can’t stand for any length of time. It’s put an end to her days of cake making, sadly, so when I visit I make all her favourites and while I’m at it, an extra batch for me.’
Henry nodded, thinking. ‘So…just out of interest, how long do we have to stay here before we move on to the sausage rolls?’
‘I can get them now, if you like.’
‘No…honestly.’ Henry held out an arm to stop her from getting out of the car. ‘I was just kidding.’ He peered at the tin of mince pies. ‘Although theseareincredibly good.’
Peg indicated that he should take another. ‘My daughter has been known to eat five of these in one sitting, so I’ve made rather more than I can eat on my own. I’m glad you’re taking them off my hands.’
‘Nowyou’rejust being polite,’ said Henry. ‘But thank you for attempting to make me feel less greedy than I am.’ He bit into the pie, showering his lap with flakes of pastry and icing sugar.
‘So, tell me about your Christmas,’ said Peg. ‘About your son and Sofia with an “f” and no “ph”. What’s it like?’
‘Drawn-out, overly complicated and like something out ofHomes and Gardens.’
Peg suppressed a snort of amusement. ‘Go on…’
‘I’m serious. I arrive today so I can acclimatise, because Christmas is like a military operation – a four-day affair which starts tomorrow with a posh lunch at the golf club, then a special breakfast on Christmas Eve and a party in the evening, and finishes about 9p.m. on Boxing Day after a lavish brunch with a few special friends and a trip to the theatre to seeThe Nutcracker. There’s so much food, and ritual…themed decorations and enforced activity.’
Peg’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wow…and you do that every year?’
‘Uh-huh…with a few extra embellishments here and there.’
‘Just wait until they have kids, that’ll put an end to it.’
‘Oh, I don’t think it will. Sofia will have them thoroughly trained, like the Von Trapp children inThe Sound of Music…’ He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. ‘I’m being cruel,’ he added. ‘Which isn’t fair. Sofia’s heart’s in the right place and she works incredibly hard to make sure everything is perfect, but I think she’s labouring under a false expectation of what that is. It’s not really her fault either; she’s of the generation who are glued to social media and brainwashed into believing all they see. But I wish she understood that I go to spend time with thembecause they’re my family. I don’t care whether the napkins match the bows on the backs of the chairs.’
‘Bows?’ mouthed Peg, eyes widening. ‘That’s…hardcore.’ She winced. ‘Would now be a good time to tell you that I used to be an editor for exactly the type of magazine which preaches the Christmas perfection message? It’s a myth which exerts a huge amount of pressure on people, needlessly in my opinion. Leads to a lot of heartache, too. Especially when people have little enough money as it is and can’t afford what are laughingly referred to as “must haves”.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thankfully I got out of that game while I still had my sanity intact. Now I’m retired, I still write for a magazine, but only occasionally and mostly about gardening and nature.’
‘So, I’m guessing Christmas is a very different affair in your house then?’
‘Well, for starters, there’ll just be me this year, so yes, you could say that. My children have always loved skiing, something they shared with their dad, and as holidays together are few and far between, I insisted they go off to have some fun. Besides, I’m not a fan of hurtling down a mountainside and having bits of me snap off, so it’s a win-win situation – it prevents them from worrying about me being on my own, while also ensuring I get to have a lovely quiet time of things. So, tomorrow I shall go into the woods behind my house and gather armfuls of holly to decorate the house, then I’ll make some mulled wine for me and a special suet cake for the birds, before walking down the lane on Christmas Eve to enjoy the carol service at the local church. I’m not at all religious, but the vicar doesn’t mind in the slightest. He says any place gets a bit holy if it’s left on its own to think for a while and I agree with that. You can feel it, and that’s what I like. That, and a good sing-song.’
‘It sounds like heaven…no pun intended.’
‘It’s not for everyone, but I enjoy it.’
‘How many children do you have?’ asked Henry.
