Page 16 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

When they arrived in Winterbruck she emerged from the station, but instead of going over to the taxi rank she found herself walking closer to the main street. Dusk was almost upon them. Lights in shop doorways and Christmas decorations around windows and the edges of awnings added to the seasonal joy, and it was difficult to feel anything other than happy in the moment. It was the same feeling she got when she went to see the London Christmas lights, a sense of familiarity, of belonging. It felt at odds with how she usually felt when she came to the Swiss Alps. She was always happy to be here but this time it felt strangely like coming home. And it was the first time that had happened. Perhaps it was her emotional state that had triggered it.

She got in a taxi and the driver, with perfect English, understood her request to slow when they went past the chocolate shop that had started her whole dream career.

‘Are you wanting gifts?’ He drew up next to the shop.

‘Oh no, I’m sorry, I just wanted to take a quick look.’

He didn’t seem bothered – a London cabbie might have been with her sentimental request – and he even talked more about the shop. With a thick accent he explained, ‘That shop has been there since I was a boy.’ He chuckled. ‘A very long time ago.’

‘You should try the sour cherry-infused dark chocolate, if they still have it.’

Her remark induced a full belly laugh and he patted his tummy. ‘They still have it. Don’t you worry.’

They passed someone dressed as Father Christmas – she was sure they called him Samichlaus here in Switzerland – ringing a bell and collecting money by the looks of things. A group of kids huddled together as they looked at a roadside nativity. The hotel at the end of the street that ran right through the town looked warm and inviting, and soon they were onto the quieter roads. They passed more housing rather than shops and within a few minutes they pulled up at the chalet.

The driver left her to it and as she picked up her luggage, she immediately noticed her mum’s wreath on the front door. Just like in the picture she’d emailed. It had an ice-blue theme this year and, as usual, it was beautiful. A wreath was something Meg missed having living in a flat. She could put one on her door, of course, but not many people would get to see it and it would feel a bit redundant in the stark hallway lighting rather than outside in the dark and the cold.

The front door to the chalet flew open – naturally, her parents rarely let guests arrive without a welcoming committee – and she felt tears well in her eyes at the sight of her dad with his open arms. She dropped her luggage and ran the rest of the way down the nicely cleared path.

‘Welcome home, my Meg.’ He hugged her tightly. He always said those words as if it was an apology for all the years she’d never felt like they really had a permanent one. And she never corrected him. She’d held a lot of teenage anger and sadness that had shaped her life. But at the end of the day, she knew he’d always done his best.

‘I’ll get them,’ she said before he could grab the luggage, and once she was inside her mum appeared, arms open much like her dad’s had been. It felt so good to be here. So good it was almost a shock. It was always nice, but this time was different. She was different. Things in her world had been upended.

‘Grumps… Grumps,’ came a voice from up the stairs.

She frowned. ‘Who’s that?’

Her parents looked at one another.

And then it dawned. There was only one person who called her dad by that name.

Sarah. The niece she barely knew.

Which meant that Chrissie might well be the next person to come down the stairs. Suddenly this felt a whole lot worse than losing her job. Losing her sister had been the worst thing that ever happened to her, and a confrontation right now would have the power to absolutely break her.

8

SARAH

Sarah had known Auntie Meg was coming, but when she went downstairs with her dressing gown tied around her torso, her wet hair wrapped in a turban, it was pretty clear that Meg hadn’t expected her niece to be here. Her grandparents, as well-meaning and kind-hearted as they were, had managed to set them all up for a fall now because Sarah had no idea how her mum would react when she knew her sister was here too.

Chrissie never talked about Meg. Her name only tended to come up when they were with Grumps and Nanna. The sisters weren’t in touch despite living in the same country. Sarah had always thought that when she was older her mum would tell her why they were estranged. But she never had. And after a while she’d given up asking.

Sarah had come back upstairs with the phone charger Grumps found for her, put her phone on charge, and plugged in her travel hairdryer.

As she was finishing off drying her dark hair which was silky smooth thanks to the conditioning treatment she’d put in, her phone pinged. It was Rhys again. She tried to read his message with her head sideways as the heat blasted some more, but when she zoned in on the words, she put down the hairdryer.

Your mum called me.

She sat on the edge of her bed to read the rest of the message.

I think she’s worried about you. She thought we might have had a fight.

Her mum was worrying everyone and Sarah hated it. All she’d wanted was to get her head straight, know that she was doing the right thing getting married. But knowing her fiancé and her mother were talking, she wasn’t sure whether that made her feel guilty or furious. Why couldn’t her mum let her sort this out herself? She’d said she would be back after Christmas and she would be. She just wasn’t sure whether she would be coming back ready for a wedding or not.

She’d had breakfast with Rhys the morning she left England. ‘Don’t they have decorators in Switzerland?’ he’d asked jokingly as they ate. He’d wanted to drive her to the airport, but she’d insisted it was easier for her to get a taxi, and he wouldn’t have to worry about taking time off work when he was so busy.

‘They do, but Grumps recommended me. He trusts me.’