To Colin’s fantastic extension pole!
To Edie for a glowing performance review before Christmas!
To me for calling up Ingrid, my old manager at the museum, just as she’d found out that one of our old colleagues was leaving!
To Vince for finishing his book!
To bought Christmas puddings!
To Colin for making the jump to go part-time at school as he actually enjoyed the hamstring recovery period, hanging out with Vince and going on gentle walks with the dog!
‘Time for a better life balance,’ he announces, draining his glass. ‘Since Angie left me I’ve been obsessed with my job. But the kids are little sods. They’ll be the death of me.’
‘I’m sure you’re a very good teacher,’ Vince assures him, tipsily.
On and on we go, toasting Gail’s terrible chickpea moussaka for ‘flushing out’ Vince’s digestive tract, and my mother for calling the landline, which he reckons was good for his nervous system and reflexes.
It’s a different sort of Christmas. But weirdly, it’s also one of the best.
As Edie is installed in the spare room, I sleep with Vince. I mean that in the actualsleepsense; merely sharing a bed. ‘I could kip on the sofa,’ he offered, but after his accident I wouldn’t hear of it. And Edie would have found it weird, discovering either of us cocooned in a sleeping bag in the living room. It would hardly have announced, ‘Look how well we’re functioning as a family!’ As it is, we climb into our respective sides and lie there, aware of the closeness of each other.
Occasionally, when we talk late into the night, I think he’s going to kiss me. Touch me, even. All those things I yearned for, before I left, so I’d know he still loved me. But he holds back and I’m glad because I don’t know how I’d respond. If it would all come surging back: those feelings I had for him, when we could barely keep our hands off each other.
As it is, it’s not just the two of us here anyway. Jarvis is here every night, snoring throatily between us, at the foot end of the bed.
Then one night, at some point in the early hours, I realise Vince’s hand has folded loosely around mine. I don’t take mine away. Gradually, I just drift back to sleep, feeling warm and safe and believing that, somehow, everything will be okay.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
On Boxing Day my brother George arrives with Mum, his wife Malena and their two little girls, Lois and Sophia. It’s relaxed and fun, the only tricky moment being when I take Mum aside in the kitchen and tell her that Vince and I had had a break, and that I’ve actually been in Scotland and I’m not sure what’s going to happen now.
‘I knew something was going on,’ she exclaims. ‘You walked out on him? Don’t you realise how much he loves you and how lucky you are?’
Of course, any man who doesn’t smash a hole in the living room wall is a hero. ‘I’m not getting into his now,’ I tell her firmly.
‘At least you’re back now,’ she mutters.
I press a large glass of wine into her hands and exchange a knowing glance with my brother, who’s appeared in the kitchen and delves into the fridge for drinks for the girls. Then I reach for my phone and pull up a photo. ‘Recognise this, Mum?’
Reluctantly, she takes it from me and peers at it. It takes her a moment to figure it out. Then: ‘Is that the honesty stall near the campsite? Where we bought eggs and jam?’
‘Yes! It’s just the same, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like it. Amazing! Here, George, come and see this!’
‘I have already,’ he says lightly.
Mum blinks at it, seeming quite choked up now. ‘Funny, isn’t it, to think that that little part of the world hasn’t changed at all in all those years?’
I nod. ‘Yes, it is. D’you remember that bookshop on the station platform?’
‘Oh, yes. Of course I do. You nagged to go there all the time. Is it still there?’
‘Not where it was,’ I reply, ‘but it’s still in the town, yes. I worked there for a little while.’
She stares at me. ‘You worked in a bookshop?’
‘Yes, just to help out...’ But she’s already plonked my phone on the table and turned towards the kitchen door.
