Page 13 of The Christmas Star

My right foot slipped on a patch of ice and forced to steady myself, I let out a yelp. My heart raced thanks to the sudden shock, and I cursed Settledown’s planning department. If they weren’t going to provide proper lighting for those residing just outside of town, the least they could’ve done was grit the roads.

I watched my every step as I continued on, at the same time questioning how much longer Mum would be able to manage getting to and from town. Adding mobility issues to my list of concerns, I knew I’d have to address Maple Manor with her again and just as important, figure out a way to make her listen.

You can always move back home, my inner voice said.

Realising I might not have a choice come the new year, I pictured myself sharing a living space with Mum. Two strong-minded women, used to doing things in our own individual ways probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas and I fast shook my head. Not an option. We’d end up killing each other.

My calves tightened as I tackled the hill that led up to Mum’s and my breathing grew faster. Steam escaped from my mouth and the numerous bags I carried felt heavier. With my heart rate going into overdrive, I recalled my youth when I’d race up and down over and again without as much as breaking a sweat. As a fifty-year-old adult it was heart-attack inducing. I stopped to give my leg muscles a break. While Mum and Dad had bought the semi-detached for its long distant views of Settledown and beyond, they clearly hadn’t thought about how any of us would cope with age.

The nearer I got, the more anxious I felt. I was already in Mum’s bad books over the Maple Manor brochure, and I dreaded telling her that the Christmas we’d planned was no longer happening and I’d have to work instead.

What’s the point coming for Christmas, if you’re not going to celebrate it? I heard her say. You may as well stay home.

I wouldn’t have blamed her if she sent me packing. As for the Maple Manor tour I’d arranged, the coward in me decided to keep that to myself a while longer.

I cocked my head as I approached the house. That’s strange. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed it was in complete darkness. Even the giant tree in the window failed to twinkle, which for Mum was a no-no. Her Christmas light switch-on was akin to Trafalgar Square’s and throughout December and into the new year, those branches were lit twenty-four seven. Coupled with the fact that Mum always made a point of waiting up when I stayed over, because according to her she’d never sleep until she knew I’d got back safe, it was obvious she’d gone to bed sulking. Although it was my own fault, I realised, for not responding to her messages.

I shone my torch at the ground and spotting a couple of deliveries Mum hadn’t taken in, frowned. After the decorative crystal and gemstone bonsai tree, goodness only knew what they contained. I shifted the plant pot by the door to one side and grabbing Mum’s spare key, let myself in. ‘It’s only me!’ I called out, shivering as I turned on the hallway light.

I dumped my bags on the console table and retrieving Mum’s parcels, used my foot to swing the door shut behind me. Putting the deliveries to one side too, I entered the lounge where the fire looked to have died hours ago. The television was off and the cushions on Mum’s chair were plump.

On the coffee table, a pen rested on top of the Radio Times and presents sat wrapped under the Christmas tree in readiness for the big day. I reached for the plug and switched on its lights and smiling, ran my fingers over a paper chain that wound around a couple of branches. Made during my childhood, I couldn’t believe it had survived, let alone that Mum had kept it.

Felt tips to hand, Mum and I would spend hours creating colourful patterns on strips of paper before linking them together with PVA glue. We’d make enough to adorn the walls, hang from the ceiling, and cover the whole tree. Year upon year, Dad would come home from work delighted by our efforts. I sighed. Back then things were fun and simple. These days people co-ordinate Christmas decorations. They have themes.

Making my way through to the kitchen, I filled the kettle with water and after setting it to boil on the stove, went in search of Mum.

The stairs creaked as I made my way upstairs and reaching her room, I tapped on her door. ‘Mum, are you awake?’ Met with silence, I knew she wouldn’t really be asleep. That she was ignoring me as punishment for ignoring her. I took a deep breath and sighed, tempted to leave her to it, but Christmas was going to be bad enough without one of us brooding and choosing to be the better woman I entered regardless. ‘Mum, are you awake?’

I approached the bed and sat down next to her. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have disregarded you today and I’m sorry I did.’

Mum refused to make it easy for me and remained quiet.

I reached out with a reassuring hand, but instead of Mum’s arm it landed flat on the mattress. I frowned as I patted around feeling for her whereabouts, but much to my confusion, couldn’t locate her. I flicked on the light, confirming Mum’s bed was empty.

CHAPTER 10

Mum kept her pyjamas under her pillow and lifting it up, I saw they were still there. Her dressing gown was still hung on the back of the door, so she hadn’t yet got into her nightclothes. I sat there bewildered. Mum wouldn’t have gone out. She never went out.

‘Shit!’ Suddenly panicked, images of Mum slipping as she got out of the shower flashed through my head and I raced out to the bathroom. With no body sprawled on the floor, I whipped open the shower curtain to see she wasn’t there either.

Realising she could be injured elsewhere, I rushed back out onto the landing and checked the whole upstairs, but as I hastened from one bedroom to another there was no sign of her.

I ran downstairs to the dining room and aside of there being no Mum, everything seemed as it should. From her collection of blue and white on the hardwood dresser, to the holly themed runner spanning the table, to the poinsettia in the window, nothing appeared out of place.

I narrowed my eyes. Were things a little too perfect? Whether it was a forgotten placemat or used glass, come evening time there was usually something to signal the room had been used.

Even more fear rose in my chest. ‘The garden!’

I grabbed my torch off the console table in the hall and rushing into the kitchen, flung open the back door. ‘Mum, are you out here?’ I shone the torch from left to right, but Dad’s bench was empty and there was no trail of footsteps on the frost covered lawn. Venturing further, I searched the bushes and borders and with only one place left to look I ran over to Dad’s tool shed, but it was padlocked shut. My heart sank and I flashed the torch around the garden again. ‘Mum, whatever lesson you’re trying to teach me, this isn’t funny.’

The kettle shrilled, breaking through the silence and I quickly headed back inside. Steam billowed from its spout and as I lifted it off the heat the house fell quiet again. My mind raced as I scanned the room for a note Mum might have left. Seeing nothing, I put one hand on my hip and the other on my forehead as I wondered what to do next.

‘My phone!’ Berating myself for ignoring Mum’s messages, I went back into the hall and retrieved my mobile from my bag. Hoping to find a text or voice note that told me where she’d gone, my heart pounded as I scrolled through that day’s communications. My mobile had been pinging all afternoon, so I expected to see Mum’s name over and again. But it wasn’t there.

‘Kelly. Tricia. Melissa. Rory. Rory. Rory.’ Confused, I let my hands drop. Mum hadn’t been in touch since Betty White’s victory pose. I quickly thumbed back to her previous messages to see if I’d missed any mention of her going out, but there was nothing. I dialled Mum’s number and put my phone to my ear.

‘The person you have called–’ an automated voice said.