Page 33 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Chrissie couldn’t wait to leave Meg that weekend, but she was sorry to leave Anthony. She told her parents all about him when she got home. They were a lot more positive than her sister had been. They wanted to meet this chap, that’s what her dad said, but when he suggested he and her mum go over to surprise Meg and meet Chrissie’s new beau, Chrissie had to tell the truth about her sister and the way she was living. Her dad had been ready to fly to London that night and bring Meg home, but her mum had pointed out that Meg wouldn’t listen, that it might even stir things up all the more. It turned out that Meg managed to do that all by herself when seven months later Chrissie and Anthony got married.

Anthony had always said the door was open to Meg if she came forward and apologised for what had happened at the wedding, but Chrissie was too angry for that to ever happen. And when Sarah came along, she never wanted her sister involved with her daughter. She wanted to protect Sarah from the hurt she’d felt herself.

Chrissie had only felt ready to give her sister a chance on the day of Anthony’s funeral. It was the first time she’d seen Meg in years, and she’d felt a sudden desperate longing to reconnect and find the closeness they’d once had. At the wake when she couldn’t see Meg inside the house, Chrissie had gone outside to find her sister. She was going to suggest they put the past behind them and try to find a way forwards, and she found her, all right. She was in a car with Heath, Anthony’s good friend and the best man at their wedding. Meg was on his lap in the passenger seat, and Chrissie didn’t need to get any closer to know what they were doing. When Meg eventually came inside the house she’d tried to talk to Chrissie. On her breath was alcohol and cigarettes, and the hiccup gave away that she’d had more than a calming nip of whisky. Chrissie was angry, upset, devastated. Hooking up outside the house where a wake was taking place was disrespectful, it was cruel, and so was staggering around inside the house because you’d had a skinful.

That had been it for Chrissie. From that moment, she’d accepted that Meg was never going to change.

Chrissie put a stop to any conversation about her sister if her parents tried to raise the subject, and she stumbled on as best she could as a single parent. Everything became about what was best for Sarah. Chrissie read whatever she could about single parenting, and parenting when your child had lost a parent. She joined a group for single mothers with teenagers. She took on the job of protecting Sarah from any more hurt as seriously as if she were studying for a diploma rather than for what it really was: being with like-minded people who understood what you were going through. Chrissie tried to be perfect. She tried to never let Sarah want for anything. She never wanted her daughter to suffer again.

At the house now she was officially on leave, Chrissie was curled up on the sofa, staring at the lights on the Christmas tree. The only sound that interrupted the eerie quiet of her home was Tessa’s gentle snores beside her.

And she’d never felt so alone.

13

MEG

With only a week to go until Christmas, Meg woke up to the sound of laughter coming from outside.

She went over to the window and looked down to see Sarah with Jonathan. Rather than clearing the paths, they were having a snowball fight. Jonathan almost lost his footing trying to dodge Sarah’s snowball, and it was good to see Sarah giving as good as she got. The way she threw snowballs reminded Meg of Chrissie, who’d had the sort of throw that somehow had more power than you’d think and never seemed to miss. They both used trees for cover, ducking to escape a good aim, and even more amusing was the way they stopped as people passed by to wave and say hello.

Meg had spent more time with Sarah in the last few days than she’d spent with her niece since the day she was born. She’d thought she’d come here and feel miserable as she faced the fact she’d lost her dream job and had yet another failure to chalk up against her name, but instead she was having a good time. She’d missed out on so much – twenty years of having her niece in her life, almost three decades without her sister, and her heart yearned to claw that time back. But she couldn’t. Not ever.

Yesterday, Meg had been looking in her mum’s wardrobe for a spare jumper as hers were all in the wash, and she’d found an old shoebox filled with the letters and postcards she’d sent when she first moved to London. She’d covered her mouth as she cried as quietly as she could when she read some of the lies she’d told her family, and herself – that everything was fantastic, that she’d been having the time of her life. She’d been lost, that was the truth of it. She’d thought she wanted to let loose, be wild, but she’d had a lucky escape from that flat and those people in the end.

She carried on watching Sarah and Jonathan. What would it have been like to see Sarah grow up? The last time she’d seen her she’d been dressed in a black velvet dress and polished shoes, a girl, not a woman, grieving for her dad and clinging to her mother’s side.

That day had been too much. She’d gone to the funeral in the vain hope she might be able to help somehow. But Chrissie refused to even look at her. At the wake Chrissie still didn’t look her way, so Meg had gone outside to get away from it all. Heath, Anthony’s best man, had found her and kept her company for a while. He’d handed her a cigarette, a habit he’d taken up since he left the RAF and tried to adjust to a different life, and although she wasn’t a smoker she’d taken the offering. She listened to him talk about his best friend, how Anthony wasn’t far off retiring from the RAF so he could be at home with Chrissie and Sarah, and that had made things feel a whole lot worse. When Heath began to cry, Meg had put an arm around him. She’d kissed his cheek to make him feel better. That kiss had turned into more, and before she knew it, they’d gone to his car and sought comfort in each other.

She’d felt terrible afterwards. What sort of person had sex in a car outside the house where a wake was underway?

Heath had passed her his hip flask before he went back inside, and she’d knocked back its entire contents to numb the pain that her sister, even after all these years, still didn’t want to know her. She’d changed, but Chrissie was never going to accept it. Not ever.

Meg went for a shower as the snowball fight outside came to a close, and by the time she was dressed, she heard voices drifting up the stairs. Her heart skipped a beat when she realised Jonathan was inside their chalet. He must’ve taken up the offer of breakfast today.

Over pancakes, Meg couldn’t help but sneak looks in Jonathan’s direction. She hoped she wasn’t being too obvious, although maybe she was giving it away, judging by the sneaky look Sarah gave her.

Most of the talk centred on Jonathan’s talents as a carpenter, which Meg could well imagine with those strong hands of his.

‘He made the coffee table,’ Astrid told Meg and Sarah, indicating the table that sat in the centre of the lounge.

‘I’d forgotten that,’ said Meg. It meant more now she knew the man responsible for it. ‘Wasn’t there some sort of disagreement about whether it should be varnished and whether the knots in the wood should be got rid of?’

Jonathan nodded. ‘Your mum wanted it perfect. Your dad thought imperfect was the way to go.’

‘Natural,’ Earl corrected. ‘Not imperfect.’

‘He got his way.’ Astrid laughed.

Sarah asked Jonathan, ‘Did you make the little stool in the laundry?’

His brow furrowed. ‘I don’t know, did I?’

‘Yes, he made that,’ her dad confirmed. ‘You’re a very talented young man.’

‘Talented perhaps, although I would never make such a bold claim. And young – not so much.’

‘You look like you’re around my age, fifty,’ Meg queried.