Page 70
“I feel I have to be upbeat for the girls.”
“That’s one way to go. Or you can admit that you’re sad not to see your parents, but that life doesn’t always go according to plan. Also, that you can’t control everything.”
If only she’d realised that herself years ago.
If only someone had sat down and had this conversation with her.
Would it have made a difference? She wasn’t sure. Sometimes, when emotions were heightened, it was hard to distinguish what felt right from what was right. And the circumstances were different, too, which complicated everything.
Brooke pushed the tissue into her pocket and reached for her coffee again. “Now I know why the Careless Witch books are full of wisdom.”
Mabel glanced at the book Brooke had been reading. “The Careless Witch Makes a Friend.”
“You probably think I’m mad,” Brooke said. “You have hundreds of books in this room, and I pick this one. But it’s comforting, and it can be read on so many levels. To a very young child it’s about a witch and her broom and it’s fun, but to older children and adults, it has so many layers. It’s about confidence, and about it being okay to make mistakes and get things wrong. When I was young, it made me feel better about myself. The books helped, and they’re helping Elsie, too.” She took a sip of coffee and then nestled the mug in her lap. “She was having some issues with her friendship group at school—eight-year-old girls aren’t as easy as you might think. Reading those books made her realise she has power. People say, ‘It’s just a book,’ but a book can be everything, can’t it?”
Mabel couldn’t remember when she’d last felt inclined to hug someone, but she reached out and squeezed Brooke’s hand briefly.
“I’m sorry that you’re not going to make it to your parents’ in time for Christmas Day because I can see how stressful and disappointing that must be, but if you had to take shelter somewhere then I’m glad it was here.”
“Really?” Brooke finished her coffee and put the mug down. “Because I feel guilty about that, too. If I hadn’t insisted on travelling then this would never have happened and we wouldn’t have had to impose on you. I feel terrible that you’re now hosting Christmas for a bunch of strangers. You were probably looking forward to a peaceful time.”
“No.” Mabel stared out the window at the swirling snow, acknowledging what she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge before. “I wasn’t looking forward to it. I never do. It’s a difficult time of year, but I’ve learned to deal with it because I have no choice.”
“You must miss Walter.” Brooke’s voice was soft. “How long ago did he die?”
“Eight years ago. We’d been together since we were sixteen. He was the one who encouraged me when I first started writing. When the rejections came, he believed in me. He never once thought I should stop trying.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. And I’m surprised you had rejections because you’re so talented. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without the Careless Witch books. Have you always lived here?”
“No. We used to live in Boston. When the books became a success, we had to move. I had readers turning up on my doorstep. It was unsettling.”
“I can imagine. So you found a place hidden away in the mountains.” Brooke looked out the window, at the tips of trees occasionally visible through the snow. “It’s beautiful. Did it take you ages to find it?”
“It was Walter who found it. We were looking for a place to escape to. The publicity was becoming a problem.” Mabel saw no reason to lie. “We needed a place that would allow us privacy. We drove around the area and fell in love with this place and the house. It’s hard to imagine it at the moment when the snow is coming down so thickly you can barely see the forest, but it really is idyllic. Walter loved the outdoors, and the moment he saw this house, with the forest behind, he wanted this to be our home.”
“I grew up fairly close to here, but I never noticed this house.”
“It’s hidden away. When we came to visit, Walter started by looking at the land. I expected us to look at the house but no, he wanted to explore the forest first. There’s a stream at the end of our land and then the forest seems to stretch forever. It’s interwoven with trails, and lakes and valleys—maples and mountains, Walter used to say. He fell in love with the landscape, but I fell in love with the house. It seemed welcoming and perfect for our needs. And it’s far enough away from the main road to avoid all but the most determined travellers.”
“Like us,” Brooke said wryly. “Although, to be fair, we were just lost.”
“And I think we were a little lost, too, but we made a life here, and it was mostly a happy life.”
It was Brooke’s turn to reach across and take her hand. “It must be hard, living here without him in the place you built together. You have no other family?”
How was she going to answer that?
She took so long thinking about it that Brooke withdrew her hand awkwardly.
“It was rude of me to ask,” she said. “Ignore me. I—”
“I have a daughter, Chrissie.” She blurted the words out. “And a granddaughter the same age as Elsie. Her name is Sylvie.”
“They can’t make it here for Christmas?”
This was the point where she could lie, or at least tell a vague version of the truth. She could say they live a distance from me, or she could say they have other commitments this Christmas, and both of those statements would be correct, but not the true explanation.
“We’re not in touch anymore. We’re estranged.” Shame drenched her, as it did every time she said or even thought the word. Generally, she didn’t tell people because on the few occasions she had, she’d seen judgement in their eyes. She’d seen them wondering. What could be so bad that a mother would allow herself to be estranged from her own daughter? What sort of a person was she? On her worst days she might have answered a terrible person, although Walter would have scolded her for being hard on herself.
