Page 13 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Sarah would call soon, surely. She’d need her help, of that Chrissie was certain.

* * *

Forty-eight hours later and Chrissie still hadn’t had any contact from Sarah. She was churning thoughts over and over about what might be going on, whether Sarah was going to make it back in time for the wedding on New Year’s Eve. Was it that she’d had a fight with Rhys and just not told Chrissie?

She hadn’t always got so stressed or wanted to fix everything, but becoming a widow had changed things exponentially. Ever since Anthony died, she’d hated the unpredictability of life, detested not knowing what came next, and so she always did her best to ensure that she wasn’t caught unawares. She knew it had made her overprotective with Sarah, but her daughter was her whole world and Chrissie never wanted her to experience the kind of hurt she’d felt when she lost her dad ever again.

She couldn’t just leave it like this. Not knowing what was going on with Sarah was driving her crazy. Maybe she’d send a text rather than calling – that way she could make sure she wrote the right thing rather than risk saying something wrong. A text message was less confronting, less interfering than a phone call.

She texted. She merely said she hoped that Sarah was enjoying visiting her grandparents and that she was here if she needed to talk.

‘Let’s see what she says, shall we, Tessa?’ She stroked the dog who had positioned herself snugly next to Chrissie on the sofa. The house was quiet apart from the pitter-patter of rain on the windowpanes.

Her phone pinged almost immediately.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ came the reply. Chrissie looked at it for longer than she needed for just two words to seep in.

She left her phone on the table in the hallway while she went into the kitchen – out of sight, out of mind, perhaps?

She didn’t want to make cottage pie for one, so she took out a single portion of the big lasagne she’d made at the weekend and frozen in little containers. Dinner for one, Christmas for one, life for one. That was how it felt right now.

‘Yes, I know I still have you.’ She reached down to stroke Tessa who had followed her and sat at her feet as if she sensed the loneliness and wanted to remind Chrissie that she was here.

The lasagne was good, but she couldn’t stop thinking how awful it was that Sarah didn’t feel she could share whatever was troubling her. They’d always been close. And there was something going on, there had to be, because taking off to Switzerland with the wedding so close was totally out of character for her daughter.

After she’d eaten and cleared up, she went over to the sideboard and took out her wedding album. She flipped through the memories of her own big day slowly, savouring the pictures of her and Anthony, the casual ones taken at the venue; the photographer had captured them the best when they didn’t even know anyone was watching.

Anthony and Chrissie had married quickly after they met, inside of a year. Chrissie had known without a doubt that it was right. But that day had also marked the end of her close relationship with her sister, Meg, and as a consequence, Meg wasn’t in any of the pictures. She’d been at the church but after she stood up during the exchange of vows and said ‘I object’ in a voice that echoed and bounced off the cold stone walls, adding that Chrissie shouldn’t do it, she shouldn’t become the wife of someone who would never put down roots, she’d left to the shock of not only Chrissie but every single guest. It had been a devastating moment, upsetting, embarrassing. Anthony had taken hold of both Chrissie’s hands, looked into her eyes, and with the silent question of whether she was okay, she’d nodded and they’d carried on. If he hadn’t done that, she might well have collapsed on the floor in floods of tears. But he had, and when they kissed as newly announced husband and wife, she knew even more that she’d made the right choice.

That day, Meg had taken their happy occasion and ruined it with her outburst. Chrissie couldn’t stop thinking about the words, no matter how many times she told herself not to.

After the ceremony Meg had been around, but Chrissie had refused to let her sister be in any of the photographs. She hadn’t even wanted her at the reception, but she’d snuck in and tried to talk to Chrissie. Chrissie had ordered her to leave, and she’d looked like she was about to go before she made even more of a scene. But she hadn’t even managed that and after what happened next Chrissie was even more adamant that she had nothing left to say to her sister.

Meg had expected Chrissie to be willing to hear her out when she and Anthony returned from their honeymoon, then again every time she sent one of her letters, but Chrissie couldn’t forgive her. Their parents had tried to engineer a time for the girls to meet on neutral territory and Chrissie had almost given in because she loved her mum and dad and could see how much this was hurting them, but it soon became clear that Meg was only sorry she’d said those things at the wedding. She still believed the marriage was a mistake. And that was unforgiveable in Chrissie’s eyes.

The resentment had grown the more time marched on, even more so after Anthony’s funeral and what Meg did there.

But what Chrissie would never admit was that over the years she missed Meg more and more. She missed the way they’d been as young girls, skipping hand in hand along the beach whenever their parents took them down to Devon to their favourite spot. She longed for the late nights when they’d stay up talking. She even yearned for those crazy chocolate experiments of Meg’s that hadn’t always been edible. They’d had so much laughter and love between them until it had all gone wrong.

She put the wedding album back in its drawer when there was a knock at the door.

‘Hey.’ She smiled at Nolan. Whenever she saw him, her troubles always felt that little bit smaller. ‘Isn’t your daughter arriving today?’

‘She’s here.’

Chrissie stood back and let him inside, out of the cold. ‘You haven’t fallen out already, have you?’

‘No, but she’s unimpressed that I don’t have a hairdryer. Well, actually she’s unimpressed that she forgot hers. Any chance I could borrow one? I’ve ordered one to be delivered tomorrow.’

‘Of course. I’ll go get it for you.’ But her phone went before she reached the stairs. ‘I need to get that. Hairdryer is on my bed – go on up.’ These terraced houses all had the same layout, so he wouldn’t need directions to the main bedroom.

She reached for her phone, hoping that it was Sarah.

It wasn’t. It was a wrong number.

She slumped down on the bottom stair before she realised Nolan was trying to come downstairs with the hairdryer. Rather than pass her, he sat down.

‘You okay?’ It wasn’t the widest of spaces on the single stair and their bodies were almost touching.