‘Two,’ replied Peg. ‘Both girls.’ She was about to elaborate when a loud shrilling filled the car.
‘Sorry,’ said Henry, taking up his phone. ‘Hold that thought a moment.’
It was Adam, again. He knew it would be.
‘Hi…yes, still here,’ he said into the phone. ‘We haven’t moved in almost two hours now. A container load of something has spilled further up the motorway.’ He glanced at Peg, smiling as he listened to his son’s reply.
‘Well it can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll get there when I arrive. And it could be worse. It could have been an accident.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll let you know what time I think I’ll be arriving just as soon as it looks like we’re on the move again.’
He wondered whether Peg could hear what his son was saying. He hoped not. ‘I know it’s inconvenient,’ he replied to Adam’s next comment. ‘And I’m sorry. I also know Sofia’s gone to a lot of trouble, but if I’m not there by dinnertime, eat without me, don’t let anything go to waste.’ He paused, listening. ‘I don’t mind, beans on toast will suit me…well, then I’ll have whatever Sofiadoesthink is suitable. I really don’t mind, Adam.’ He picked a flake of pastry off his trouser leg and put it in his mouth. ‘Yes, I’ll ring again when we get going. Oh, and I’m absolutely fine, by the way. It’s no bother at all being stuck in a traffic jam which is going to double the length of my journey.’
Henry couldn’t help himself. This was…he counted them up in his head: the fifth phone call he’d had from Adam today, none of them for any reason other than to fuss. To convey some thought or other that Sofia had had – most of them concern that he was going to disrupt all her plans. Not once had any thought been given to how he was faring. Peg’s quiet yet joyful Christmas was beginning to sound more and more idyllic, and he suddenly found himself longing for his life to be different. He was enjoyingsitting in a car with a total stranger, eating cheese and beetroot sandwiches and mince pies. Part of him would like to tell Adam all about her, but he knew full well what his son would say and he didn’t want to hear it. So he wouldn’t be sharing any details of what he was doing right now. The hold-up might only last a couple of hours, and if they were going to be the best few hours of his day, then Henry wanted them all for himself.
‘Listen, I’ll ring as soon as I can, okay? As soon as I have any news.’ He ended the call, a little embarrassed by his snarky comment. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said to Peg. ‘You were saying, you’ve got two children.’
‘I have. Izzy, my eldest, and Phoebe, who’s younger by just over a year.’
‘And are you close?’
‘Emotionally or geographically?’
Henry smiled. ‘Whichever.’
‘Well, geographically Izzy is the furthest away from me now, but it’s varied over the years. University took them both away from home first, then their jobs did, but they’re more settled now, though neither of them has a partner. They’d hate to admit it, but they’re too much like me – far too independent for their own good. We are close though, emotionally speaking, and I think losing their dad has brought us even closer. I also think it’s the first time they’ve begun to think about me in terms of my age, and I’m not sure I like that.’
‘You’re worried about becoming a burden?’
She smirked. ‘Maybe not just yet. I think, well, hope I’ve got a fair few years left in me before I get to being that but, ultimately, yes. My mother used to say she didn’t want to be a burden and I invariably told her not to be silly. Now I understand just how she felt because, whichever way you want to look at it, I guess my children always thought their dad would be around and thatwe would be there to look after one another. Now that onus has fallen on them.’
‘One which I’m sure they’re happy to take on. I might be making assumptions here but it doesn’t sound as if you visit your aunt every year out of duty – you do it because you want to.’
Peg nodded. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Mim over the years. My dad isn’t around and my mum died in my early twenties so for a long time, Mim was all I had.’
‘There you go then. And I’m sure your children feel the same way.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Peg lightly. ‘But Julian’s death changed the dynamics within the family, and I don’t think any of us realised that would be something we’d have to navigate. Grief, yes, but…You must feel it too, in your situation?’
Henry licked his lip, chasing away a last crumb of pastry. ‘I have wondered in the past whether the reason Sofia tries so hard is because I’m on my own, because Adam’s mum isn’t around now and she feels she has to make up for that in some way.’
‘We’re back to that elusive perfect family Christmas again, aren’t we?’ Peg smiled. ‘But I think you’re right. Have you ever tried explaining that to her?’
‘Not in so many words…She’s not someone I find it easy to talk to, and I don’t think we could have that kind of conversation.’ He took a deep breath, conscious not to let it out in one sighing rush. ‘And I’m worried that if I do, I’ll ruin Christmas, and my son will never speak to me again.’ He stopped, fingering the edge of his scarf. ‘Sorry, I’m being dramatic.’
‘I don’t think you are. These are the things which worry us, aren’t they? And Christmas has become a time of such expectation, it heightens those feelings.’
‘It must be especially hard for you at this time of year.’
‘The first anniversary certainly was. My girls went skiing because being at home was too much for them. They wanted me to go along, but conversely I didn’t want to be anywherebutat home. I knew it would be hard, but I felt as if I’d be abandoning Julian if I went anywhere else. So that’s what we did. And it was fine. I mean, that first year we just got through it as best we could but, since then, it has got easier.
She gave a small smile. ‘I actually love Christmas. And I lovemyChristmas. There’s peace in solitude, in being alone, and I found out to my cost very early on that wishing for things to be different doesn’t make them so. So you reconcile yourself to your present. You invite Grief in because she’s a part of your life now and isn’t going anywhere, so you might as well make her welcome. Besides, she’s a little like me – she’s mellowed a bit with age, and although she sometimes lies in wait for me around a corner, jumping out at me when I least expect it, for the most part we get on well. We even have a laugh together sometimes, thinking about the past.’
Henry thought about Linda. About all the complicated thoughts he still held towards her. ‘I think that’s wonderful.’
Peg smirked. ‘Oh, I’ve had my fair share of down days, too. Days which were filled with anger – anger at a world I wanted to burn to the ground for having the audacity to exist,carrying onwhen I couldn’t begin to imagine how that was possible – anger at Julian for dying and leaving me on my own, which wasn’t at all what we’d agreed – and anger at whatever entity it was that I’d been praying to, who rudely told me I couldn’t have what I wanted. I railed at the injustice of it all. The unfairness. But after a time even that dissipated, and I realised that even though Julian had died, it simply wasn’t my time. I was alive and I had better get on and live. We never know what’s around the corner, do we?’ She pointed out of the window. ‘Or what’s up ahead…Is it snowing?’
Henry peered up at the sky. ‘No, it can’t be. The sun’s coming out again, look.’ But even as he spoke tiny specks of white began to mill about, like petals drifting on a breeze. ‘It’s okay though, it’s fairy-tale snow. Not the great big clumpy stuff which settles in minutes and makes travelling a nightmare. We’ll be fine…’ He broke off to indicate the line of cars ahead of them. ‘And hopefully this lot will clear soon.’ Henry smiled, although he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted it to. He hadn’t talked to Peg for nearly long enough yet, plus, by the time he arrived at his son’s house, the damage would already have been done. His late arrival would no doubt set the mood for the entirety of the Christmas festivities, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d get to see his son, he’d consider turning around and going back home…provided they ever got moving, of course.
‘Have you got much further to go?’ he asked.
