Page 29 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

‘Every day.’ She insisted she take possession of the shovel to carry on doing the clearing.

‘His eyes always lit up when he talked about you,’ said Jonathan.

The shovel stopped moving for a moment and she turned to face him.

‘When he asked about my wooden sledge, he was desperate to deliver something just as special for his little girl. He told me he had no talent for making things, but over a beer or two I told him I was a carpenter by trade and that I would be glad to help.’ He paused, almost unsure of himself. ‘I didn’t really know your mum or you, but my parents adored Astrid and Earl. I knew you were a good family, and I also knew I could knock out a sledge in no time. I didn’t want to see a young girl trying to sledge on top of something that didn’t work, or worse, that would fall apart. I think it comes from my memory of having a plastic sledge as a boy and having it split on the first day, leaving me well and truly out of the best sledge races. Your dad was a very good right-hand man making that wooden sledge for you, and he watched like he was trying to learn something.’

‘He was clever.’

‘Just not great with hands, eh…’

Sarah relished this. Talking about her dad with someone new. Learning little snippets she could treasure forever.

‘Your dad actually seemed like he could be good at making things. He listened, he did everything as instructed, and he didn’t mess up any of the sanding, the screwing parts together, the staining.’

‘Perhaps he would’ve made more things if he’d ever got to retire.’ A sadness came over her. He’d been in his early forties when he died, no age at all.

‘I think you’re right.’

Her spirits lifted. ‘Maybe some of my brush skills come from my dad.’

‘I heard you were in the painting and decorating business. You like it?’

‘I do. I don’t think I was ever cut out to be behind a desk.’

He took hold of the shovel when she hit a harder-packed section near the side. It must have built up from some of the snow that had been shovelled away previously but had tumbled back onto the path and frozen. She supposed there was only so much clearing you could do.

‘I wasn’t cut out for office work either,’ he said, ‘I was always happier using my hands and making things. And now I’ve retired, I still do it, but everything I make is for the chalet, or for friends, or just for fun.’

She took back the shovel again. She’d been determined to repay him the favour and here he was doing the hard part.

‘Why don’t I sweep the lighter bits of snow and put down some grit?’ he suggested. ‘You keep doing the rest of the pavement and your folks’ place, and I’ll go get what I need.’ He took the mugs and disappeared for a moment, but was quickly back.

Between them they had both paths and the pavement out front of both properties cleared, swept and gritted in no time.

Jonathan looked up at the sky. ‘It’s not supposed to snow again until later tonight. With any luck it won’t need another clearing until tomorrow morning.’

‘Thanks for helping Grumps and Nanna out.’

‘It doesn’t take much to do their path and out front when I’m doing my own. And they’ve helped me enough times. After both my folks had passed your nanna was convinced I couldn’t fend for myself whenever I was here. She brought me dinner round more times than I could count. And snacks. And bread. And cakes.’ He was laughing.

‘She does like to bake.’

‘And Meg makes chocolate. Creativity obviously runs in the family.’

‘Her chocolates are the best.’ She’d had a few over the years when visits coincided with a parcel from Meg to Grumps and Nanna. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you – Nanna said there’s porridge if you’re interested.’

‘Tell Astrid thanks, but I won’t today. I’m a bit busy. Maybe tomorrow,’ he said as he walked away with a wave.

Jonathan would never know how much this morning had meant to her. Hearing about her dad brought him back in a way, if only for a moment. And she’d treasured every second.

12

CHRISSIE

Chrissie’s last day at the surgery before she finished up until after the New Year flew by. It was as busy as usual. Carollers visited and brought along some Christmas joy, and there was another batch of mince pies to be shared around. Chrissie had almost wanted to stay at work, to insist that she work right through Christmas and let everyone else go and be with their families. She didn’t even have Sarah this year, and at forty-eight years old she felt like a little kid lost in a shopping centre, everyone rushing past and knowing where they were going, and her rooted to the spot, hoping that sooner or later someone would notice her.

She drove home. Fat raindrops fell and some of them seemed to be making an effort to turn into snow, but the tarmac on the roads was only wet. None of the houses had that magical coating that must be all over Winterbruck by now.