With Love at Christmas Page 12

  He wags his tail in agreement. So I open the back door and let him run out into the garden. The dog heads straight for his favourite bush and waters it. I lean on the door frame and stare out into the garden. Buster snuffles through the snow to his next favourite spot. Then my head snaps up. Did I just see someone hurrying across the bottom of the garden in the darkness?

  ‘Rick,’ I whisper. ‘I just thought I saw someone in the garden.’

  My husband comes to join me at the door. ‘Where?’

  ‘Down there. At the bottom. By the tree.’

  ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Near your shed.’

  ‘My shed?’ Now he sounds worried. ‘It might have been a fox.’

  ‘It was about six foot tall. Bloody big fox.’

  ‘I’ll get my shoes on,’ Rick says, and disappears into the hall.

  Moments later, he returns all kitted up in his shoes and coat. ‘Where’s the torch?’

  ‘Here.’ I lift it from the drawer and switch it on, but it’s as dead as a doornail. ‘No battery.’

  ‘Typical.’

  ‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No. Stay here. I’ll take this in case I need to hit someone on the head with it.’

  Rick goes out into the garden with his dead torch, muttering away to himself. Any burglar will have been long gone by now.

  I can just make him out as he plods along the path, Buster scampering in his wake. The light of the shed snaps on and, seconds later, off again. Rick comes marching back.

  ‘I can see some footprints,’ he pants. His breath is visible in the cold air. ‘It’s possible that someone was sniffing around out there, but the shed is still locked up and there’s nothing gone from inside. Maybe you disturbed them.’

  ‘We should get some security lights put up. Number six was burgled last year.’

  ‘I’ll get a couple from B&Q. I said I’d take Frank anyway, so that he can choose a Christmas light for Samuel.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’ I touch Rick’s arm. ‘Do you think our work for the day is finally done?’

  ‘I bloody hope so.’ He locks the back door, checking it twice. ‘I’m not sure George Clooney has to put up with all this crap in his life.’

  ‘I expect not.’

  ‘Lucky bastard,’ Rick says.

  Hand in hand, we climb the stairs. ‘I put something very saucy in my weekend case,’ I tell him in a whisper.

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘It will have to wait now. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Perhaps we can sneak a night alone over Christmas.’

  ‘Hmm. I must admit, I can’t wait till my head hits the pillow.’ He squeezes my fingers. ‘I will hold you to that, though.’

  Bone-weary, I open the bedroom door and switch on the light.

  There’s a cry and a voice says, ‘What the fuck?’

  Rick and I freeze in the doorway.

  In our bed, our son sits up and shades his eyes.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ Tom says. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you two would be out for the night.’

  ‘No,’ Rick says tightly, as if he’s the one about to suffer a cardiac arrest. ‘We’re back. And, if possible, your mother and I would like our bed vacated.’

  ‘There was nowhere else to go,’ Tom complains. ‘Grandad’s on the futon.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your bed?’

  Next to him, a girl sits up and hugs the duvet to her. ‘Hello.’

  Now it’s Rick’s turn to say, ‘What the fuck?’

  Tom tries to flatten down his hair. ‘This is . . . er . . . er . . . ’

  ‘Kelly,’ the girl supplies. She tries to straighten her hair too. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘We thought we’d be more . . . comfortable . . . in here,’ our son reasons. ‘Didn’t we . . . er . . . er . . . ’

  ‘Kelly,’ the girl supplies again.

  ‘I want you out,’ Rick splutters. ‘You and Kelly. In five minutes.’

  ‘Where are we supposed to go?’ Tom complains.

  ‘To a hotel.’

  ‘Aw, man! Now? There’s only a couple of hours of the night left.’

  I don’t point out to Tom that he rarely rises before midday.

  ‘The single bed in the spare room is free, and one of you can kip down on the sofa,’ Tom suggests. ‘It won’t kill you.’

  Unlike our son, I recognise that look on Rick’s face and take a firm grip of his arm before he launches himself into our bedroom and kills Tom.

  ‘You take the bed. I’ll take the sofa, Rick,’ I say. ‘It’ll be fine for one night.’ What little there is of it left. Plus, I don’t think I’ll ever want to sleep in my own bed again, now that I know what Tom’s been doing in it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As always, Monday morning comes round too quickly. I don’t know why the weekends always seem to go so fast and, as Christmas approaches, they whizz by even quicker. I’ve been so busy at home that I wonder how I would have coped if we had made it to Bruges.

  Plus all this hot-bedding is exhausting. With all that’s been going on, I don’t feel as if I’ve had a decent night’s sleep for a week. Dad is going home today – he assures me that he’s feeling happy enough to do that. If he’s vacating the futon, then Tom could go back into the dining room – alone – and Jaden could have the spare room again. From tonight, assuming that we have no more unexpected visitors, Rick and I can stake permanent claim to our double divan once more. Bliss!

  I hand Dad his toast. ‘All right, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, love. Champion.’ My dad is one of those old-school gentlemen who never complains about anything. To me, he looks smaller and less robust since Samuel has gone, but he seems to be coping well, considering. I kiss his forehead and, in return, Dad smiles up at me. For some reason, it makes me want to cry.

  Quickly, I turn away and say, ‘What would you like for breakfast today, Merak?’

  ‘May I please have some toast, Juliet?’

  ‘Of course.’ I slip some more bread into the toaster.

  Merak has taken to coming in a bit earlier each morning, in time to have something to eat before he and Rick set out to work. I’m so pleased, as I was a bit worried that he wasn’t eating properly. He’s as thin as a rake, even though he’s over six foot tall. You know what lads are like when they live on their own. If Tom was in Merak’s situation, I’d like to think someone’s mum would look after him. But, of course, Tom isn’t in Merak’s situation. Our dear son is still fast asleep in bed. Thankfully not our bed. I hand over Merak’s toast. ‘Jam’s out on the table. Help yourself.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I move my beautiful, red poinsettia from the table, so that it’s not waving in Merak’s face. Chloe brought it home for me yesterday in a rare moment of thoughtfulness, along with an apology for making us miss our longed-for trip to Bruges. It’s just lovely, and not simply because it shows that Chloe can think of someone other than herself when she has a mind to.

  I take Mum her breakfast in bed as a treat. All she likes is a small glass of orange juice, a slice of brown bread and a banana. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

  ‘Fine,’ she says.

  ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘On and off.’

  My mother sleeps like the dead; she just doesn’t like to admit it. I help her to sit up and plump the pillows behind her. Then I slip on her bed jacket so she’s nice and cosy. She’s looking perkier this morning. Thank goodness. ‘I’m off to work now,’ I tell her. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’

  ‘I think I might pop into the library today,’ she says. ‘I haven’t got any books.’

  There are half a dozen on her bedside cabinet.

  ‘I don’t work at the library any more, Mum. I’m in the estate agents’ office now. Westcroft’s. In the High Street.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’ve lots of books here. Have you read them all?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ sh
e says. Mum frowns at them as if she’s never seen them before.

  ‘We’ll go through them together when I get home. It might jog your memory.’

  ‘All right, dear.’

  So I leave her sitting like the Queen in her bed jacket with a tray on her lap.

  Back in the kitchen and Rick comes in from the garden. Wiping his feet on the mat, he rubs his hands together. ‘Brrr. It’s parky outside there today. Glad we’re working inside, Merak.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agrees. ‘It is very cold.’

  ‘Couldn’t see anything clearly,’ Rick nods towards his shed. ‘There might have been a track up to the shed, but Buster could be responsible for that. It’s been snowing heavily for the last half-hour, so any footprints that were made overnight would have gone now, anyway.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ I’m pretty sure that I saw someone coming out of Rick’s shed again last night, but when he went to check, as before, everything was in order. Perhaps all the stress of the last few days is making me hallucinate.

  ‘Weird thing is,’ Rick says, ‘the inside of my shed looks even tidier.’ He shrugs at life’s strange mysteries.

  ‘Has someone broken into your shed?’ Dad asks.

  ‘I don’t think so, but it looks like someone’s been mooching about in the garden. Juliet thought she saw someone out there on Friday night, and again last night.’

  ‘There’s a lot of it about,’ Dad says. ‘You need to get a bigger padlock. Maybe that CCTV.’

  ‘There’s nothing in there worth pinching, unless someone wants a ten-year-old Flymo.’ Then, ‘Bloody hell, Juliet. Do we have to listen to Christmas songs morning, noon and night? It’s two weeks away yet.’

  ‘Yes, we do.’ I smile at him and turn the radio up a notch. ‘Frosty The Snowman’ fills the kitchen. My husband sighs in resignation. One day I’m determined I’ll make him a fan of Christmas. ‘More toast, Merak?’

  ‘Thank you very much, Juliet.’

  I slip him another slice.

  ‘Get that down you, lad. We’ve got a lot on today. I’ll go and load up the van.’

  ‘I will be very quick.’ Merak bolts down his tea and starts to get up.

  ‘You take your time.’ I lay a hand on Merak’s shoulder and ease him back into his seat. ‘You know what Rick’s like. He’ll be faffing about for ten minutes yet. Do you want anything else to eat?’

  ‘No, thank you. This is very good.’

  ‘I’ve made you both sandwiches today. Cheese OK?’ Merak nods. ‘You are very kind to me.’

  ‘It’s what anyone would do.’

  ‘I do not think so,’ Merak says. ‘I think that many people would not do it at all.’

  ‘Well, it sets you up for the day. I can’t have you going out there hungry.’ I take up my bag and throw my phone in. ‘I’ll see you all later. Dad, do you want a lift home?’

  ‘No thanks, love. I’ll take your mum a cup of tea in a minute, then I’ll sort her out when she’s finished her breakfast.’

  ‘To be honest, I’d be happier if you’d stay all day.’ Otherwise my mum will be at the mercy of Chloe and Tom. ‘Have you got anything to get home for?’

  ‘Not really, love.’

  ‘Stay another day.’

  ‘I could help Rita to write her Christmas cards. But I’ll go home tonight. You’ve got enough on.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’ I just can’t face Dad going home to an empty house by himself. ‘The bed’s small, but you could have the spare room. Or we could bump Tom off the futon again.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  I slip my arm round him. ‘It’s no trouble having my lovely dad here. Just stay. We’ll sort out who goes where later.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ he says.

  Of course I’m sure. He’ll rattle around in that house without Samuel, and it physically hurts me to think of it. Is it selfish of me to want to keep him here for good? I wonder what Rick would think of that? Maybe I’ll broach it with him later.

  Still, it’s time to get to work, or our tortured sleeping arrangements will be the least of my worries. ‘Bye, Merak,’ I say. ‘See you later. You can always join us for dinner.’

  ‘I am working in bar again tonight.’

  ‘Another time, then.’

  With that, I swing out of the door. Still in the driveway, Rick is fiddling about in the back of his van.

  ‘I’m off now,’ I tell him.

  ‘Right.’ He doesn’t look up.

  ‘I think I’m going to walk in again rather than take the car.’ There’s a lot of snow about, and now that I’m not having to run Dad home, it would be safer to go on foot and it would be nice to get some exercise. Buster’s walks have been severely truncated due to the weather, which means that I’m going to struggle to keep my weight down over Christmas.

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Busy day ahead?’

  ‘Yes.’ He seems distracted.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Love you too,’ Rick says.

  But I can tell that he’s just repeated what I said.

  ‘I can’t wait for Christmas,’ I add. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Rick says. ‘Can’t wait.’

  And now I know without a shadow of a doubt that he hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They’d finished the job in Great Linford. Unfortunately for Rick, the customer hadn’t yet paid up, even though the customer had said that they were really pleased with the job. Often, these days, it was the folks in the poshest houses who seemed to be most strapped for cash, and with Christmas coming everyone had a million different demands on the same amount of money. Rick was no exception to that.

  Merak drove the van and sang along, tunelessly, with Shakin’ Stevens and ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’. Juliet was clearly indoctrinating the lad, and Rick realised that he was fighting a losing battle.

  He thought he’d like to give Merak a bit of a bonus this year. A small token of thanks for all his hard work, but he didn’t know if it was going to be possible. Cash flow was still tight. But then he thought of Lisa and little Izzy – they were the ones who knew what it was like to have nothing.

  He’d thought about the girl a lot over the weekend. Perhaps that wasn’t right. She’d texted him a couple of times too and, each time, her messages seemed to highlight her loneliness. Stupidly, he’d lied to Juliet when she’d asked who the text was from. In his defence, it was about four in the morning, and he hadn’t been able to think quickly enough to explain why a teenager would be texting him at that hour. Evading the answer had seemed a lot easier when Juliet had so much else on her plate. Would his wife really understand why he felt so drawn to this vulnerable and lonely slip of a girl? He wasn’t sure he entirely understood it himself. The truth was, he felt so sorry for Lisa, stuck out there in that damp house, all alone with only a small child for company.

  The job they had on this morning was only a small one. Some tiling in a utility room over in Tattenhoe. Merak could do it with his eyes closed. He didn’t really need Rick around. In fact, he’d probably be in the way. And Tattenhoe wasn’t that far from where Lisa lived. Fifteen, twenty minutes. No more.

  Before he could think what he was saying, Rick said, ‘I might just drop you off this morning. I’ve got a few things to do. Can you manage?’

  ‘Of course,’ Merak said.

  ‘I’ll come back before lunch.’

  His apprentice shrugged his acceptance.

  Half an hour later, and he’d settled Merak in to the job.

  Rick had shown the lad what to do and Merak, as always, had wasted no time getting stuck in.

  Five minutes later, when he pulled up outside the big Morrisons supermarket at Westcroft, it was as if Rick was on autopilot. He went inside and, without really thinking about it, filled a basket with some shopping basics. What would
Juliet buy for the week? She was the one who always did the shopping, usually going on a Thursday after work. It was a thankless task. Rick hated it, and out of choice hadn’t been near a supermarket for years. It made him think how much Juliet did for them all without complaint.

  He threw some fruit into the basket. Nothing fancy – just apples, a bag of satsumas. Everyone liked those at Christmas, didn’t they? Some veg, too. But what? Carrots. Even he would suffer carrots, and veg wasn’t high on his list of favourite things to eat. Rick put in some cheese, crackers, some chicken breasts, a big carton of milk and a wholemeal loaf. He had no idea what he was buying and why, but it was something he felt compelled to do.

  When he’d finished filling the basket with practical things, he threw in one of those fancy tins of extra-chocolatey biscuits that they only did at this time of year. Wouldn’t hurt to have a few treats.

  He queued up behind women with trolleys piled high with seasonal goodies. Rick looked down at his basket, and thought that it made his offering look measly. Too late now: he needed to get away from those bloody Christmas songs, and fast. There was no way he could face doing all that again with a trolley. Rick had no idea how Juliet did it every week. Perhaps he should man up and offer to do it for her every now and again.

  Back in the van, he headed out of Milton Keynes. In the city, the main roads were pretty clear now, but farther out into the country and there was snow everywhere, and just narrow tracks of tarmac were visible in the undulating roads. The snow was banked high on the verges, and swept like sand dunes over the hedges. The sun sat low and brooding in the sky, barely visible through the milky veil of cloud. Against the whiteness, the spidery trees looked like they were tipped with crystal.

  Soon enough he was dropping down the big hill into Cublington Parslow and pulling up outside Lisa’s shabbylooking house. Maybe he should have called her before he just turned up here. But one of the texts she’d sent him at the weekend had invited him to drop in at any time. It wasn’t like him to roll up unannounced, though, and he wondered for the umpteenth time what was propelling him to act like this. Perhaps he should just text her now, even though he was sitting outside her place. He patted himself down, but he couldn’t find his phone. Bugger. He must have left it back at the job with Merak. She’d just have to turn him away if it was inconvenient.