Coming Home For Christmas
JULIA WILLIAMS

Copyright

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

Copyright © Julia Williams 2014

Cover illustration © Adrian Valencia 2014

Cover design © Debbie Clement 2014

Julia Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9781847563583

Ebook Edition © September 2014 ISBN: 9780007464494

Version: 2016-02-17

Dedication

To Ann Moffatt, my wonderful mother. With love.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Christmas Day

Part One: It’s Been Too Long

My Broken Brain

20 Years Ago

This Year: January

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

My Broken Brain

February

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

My Broken Brain

March

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

My Broken Brain

Part Two: It’s going to take some time

15 years ago

April

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

My Broken Brain

May

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

My Broken Brain

June

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

My Broken Brain

Part Three: A thousand memories

Nine Years Ago

July

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

My Broken Brain

August

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

My Broken Brain

September

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My Broken Brain

Part Four: Got my feet on holy ground

Last Year

October

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

My Broken Brain

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

My broken brain

December

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

My Broken Brain

Epilogue

About the Author

By the same Author

About the Publisher

Prologue

Cat Tinsall was standing by the window, stirring the Christmas pudding, looking out as dark clouds rolled over the hills, threatening a cold and rainy night. The kids would be in from school soon, and her granddaughter Lou Lou was upstairs having a nap. She was glad to be in her cosy warm kitchen, with a cup of tea, and her husband, Noel, who was working from home today, sitting at the table on his laptop.

‘Bugger!’ Noel was angrily staring at his computer screen as if by some miracle it could tell him some happier news.

‘Problem?’ Cat asked.

‘Not sure,’ said Noel. ‘But it looks like we’ve been gazumped again on some land to the north of Shrewsbury Ralph and I have been looking at. We were planning to build affordable starter homes, but this firm, LK Holdings, seems to have got in there first. That’s the second time in the last few months. They’re acquiring a hell of a lot of land in the area. We’ll have to look for somewhere else. Damn. That was such a good spot, and so needed.’

Cat smiled fondly at her husband, his fair hair might be greying now, but his eyes were the same dazzling blue, and thanks to a strict gym regime, Noel was still as attractive to her as the day they met. And bless him, he was always saying the same about her, though her figure wasn’t quite as trim as it once was, and her own fair hair was going to need some help from the hairdresser soon.

She wandered over, still mixing her pudding, to see what had fired him up now. Noel was at his most passionate when talking about sustainable development, a subject he cared about deeply. And so much happier here in the picturesque village of Hope Christmas, working for Ralph Nicholas, a local landowner who ran a small family business, than when he’d worked for a big engineering firm in London and felt all his principles being compromised on a daily basis. One of the many good things about making a home, here, was the new lease of life Noel had gained from the move.

‘Never mind,’ she reassured him, ‘I’m sure you’ll find something else.’

‘It’s not just that,’ said Noel, looking pensive. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that LK Holdings are sniffing around Hope Christmas. They’re big in the leisure business, and want to build a luxury development here.’

‘Really?’ said Cat surprised. Hope Christmas was the kind of place that supported upmarket B&Bs, rather than big hotels: the last of which had long been sold for a nursing home.

‘Really,’ said Noel. ‘There are one or two large bits of land on the market at the moment. I’d say they’re ripe for the picking. I believe Blackstock Farm has been for sale for several months. I know it’s been empty for a while.’

‘Isn’t that the one opposite Marianne and Gabriel?’ said Cat. Marianne was one of her best friends in Hope Christmas, and partly the reason they’d come here. She’d entered a magazine competition that Cat had run to find the perfect Nativity, when she was still a magazine editor in London. Cat had ended up not just finding that, but when she came up to meet Marianne, she’d also found the perfect place to bring her growing family, and hadn’t had a day’s regret since. ‘They can’t build there, it would be a travesty.’

‘Wouldn’t it just?’ said Noel. ‘I think I’d better contact Ralph. He’s already gone away for Christmas, but he’ll want to know about this.’

Cat stared out at the darkening sky, towards the hills of the town she loved. She hoped that Noel was wrong. Hope Christmas was perfect the way it was: small enough to have a really strong community, big enough that you weren’t living in anyone else’s pockets. The last thing it needed was a major development, and she and Noel would do anything to protect the place they loved so much.

A chill wind blew down the valley, as Marianne North struggled up the lane from the village with the double buggy. Her three-year-old twins, Harry and Daisy, were perfectly capable of walking, but they were jacking up today, and it seemed easier to push them. As a few icy raindrops started to fall from a dark, angry sky, she was glad she’d wrapped them up warm. Pausing to tighten her coat against the wind and tucking her dark curls under her hat, Marianne swore crossly at a big dark car driving too fast past her, spraying a cold and dirty puddle up her legs. Thoughtless idiot. Couldn’t be a local, no one drove up here that fast. She wondered where the car was going; once you got past Pippa and Dan’s farm at the end of the road, there was nowhere else to go. She only understood when she saw the car stop and pull in on the right verge, by the gate of Blackstock Farm, which had stood empty for months. A woman Marianne vaguely recognised as a local estate agent leapt out of the passenger door, and fumbled with a key at the gate. Aah, that explained it. Dark car driver must be a potential buyer. She hoped whoever it was showed more sensitivities to the locals, if they did decide to buy.

By the time she reached the gate, there was no one in sight. Just a badly parked shiny black BMW which had churned up the mud going into the farm. In the distance, she could see two figures – a man and a woman it looked like – wandering down towards the woods. She shivered. The rain was starting to come down in sheets, now. She didn’t envy them. It was cold and wet out, and it was a bit of a schlep to the woods.

‘Come on, kids, let’s get you home,’ she said. She cast one last look back at the fields. She wondered who was planning to buy Blackstock Farm, and if they would be keeping it as farmland. There had been a lot of developers sniffing around Hope Christmas of late, and even talk of building on the lower slopes of the hills Marianne loved so much. Whoever was looking around Blackstock Farm, clearly wasn’t a farmer. She shivered again. For some reason, she had a bad feeling about this …

Pippa Holliday walked slowly up to the back field, where she knew that Dan was working on repairing some fencing that had blown down in recent storms, rehearsing what she was going to say. A sharp shrill wind was blowing down the valley, and she felt cold to the bone, despite the layers of warm clothing – stupidly she hadn’t worn her hat, and her ginger curls were damp and wild. ‘Hi Dan.’ She ran over in her head what she might say. ‘You know Christmas Day was supposed to be about us …’ – no that wasn’t right, it wasn’t about them anymore, it was about the kids … ‘Dan, would you mind awfully,’ – god no, she sounded like something out of a seventies sitcom. Best come clean. ‘Dan, I have a problem …’

She found him sitting down on a log, taking a break, with a flask of tea beside him, staring down the valley, into the fields below. It was a gloomy dark day, with storm clouds rolling over the hills in the distance, making them look threatening and hostile.

He looked startled to see her, as if he’d been thinking about something else entirely.

‘Hi,’ he said, running his fingers through his dark hair, his blue eyes brooding and sad – as they seemed to have been ever since the catastrophic accident nearly two years ago, when Dan had fallen from a tree and suffered a terrible head injury which had changed their lives forever. Dan wasn’t the same person anymore, and though much better than he’d been, still suffered from blind rages and occasional depression. Pippa had thought she could live with that, Dan hadn’t wanted her to and moved out.

Pippa felt absurdly awkward. A year on from their separation, and it still felt no easier. This was ridiculous, he was the father of her children and she was going in a new direction with someone else – it was time she got over Dan.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Dan, there’s something I need to run by you, about Christmas …’

‘Fire away,’ said Dan, still staring intently towards the fields below.

‘It’s about Richard,’ Pippa said. She was always loath to bring up her new partner’s name in front of Dan, but she had no choice, so, hesitatingly, she told him how Richard’s plans had changed and he had nowhere to go, ‘… so I know it’s not ideal, but would it be ok if he was there on Christmas Day?’

‘Sorry, what?’ Dan looked up at her, as if really noticing for the first time she was there. ‘What do you think they’re doing out on Blackstock Farm?’

He hadn’t been listening at all. Pippa looked where he was pointing. She could see two small figures trudging back from the woods below them, up towards the farmhouse, which had been empty for some months. She could make out a car parked in the farmyard.

‘Do you think someone’s buying at last?’ she said, all thoughts about Richard temporarily forgotten. She, Dan and Gabriel whose farms all bordered their neighbour’s, had been fretting about what would happen to Blackstock Farm for several months. If a farmer didn’t buy, there was plenty of room for development which could have a huge impact on all of them.

‘Could be,’ said Dan. ‘I’ve been watching them for about half an hour. They’ve looked over the whole site really thoroughly.’

‘You never know,’ said Pippa brightly, ‘maybe it’s being bought by a farmer.’

‘You know Old Joe let it go to rack and ruin,’ said Dan. ‘I doubt anyone in their right mind would touch it as a farm. There’s too much to do.’

The rain was starting to come down in sheets now. It was too cold and wet to be up here. Pippa watched as the two figures made their way back up the field. They didn’t look like farmers.

‘We’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose,’ she said, trying to stay cheerful, but her heart wasn’t in it. Something rotten was coming to Hope Christmas. She could feel it in her bones.

‘The farmhouse itself needs a lot of work,’ Jenny Ingles was explaining to her client, as she opened the gate to Blackstock Farm. He was a rather good-looking city type, with fair hair and a charming smile. He clearly wasn’t used to the country though, and was inappropriately dressed in a thin suit, a barely warm winter coat, and smart shiny shoes, which were likely to skitter all over the icy courtyard. Unlike Jenny, who had tucked her red hair into a warm woolly hat, and was muffled in a puffer jacket, scarf, long skirt, woolly tights and fur-lined boots.

Her potential customer didn’t seem all that interested in the farm, focussing on something apparently more vital on his iPhone. ‘And as you can see,’ Jenny continued, ‘there are lots of outbuildings, and plenty of space and a great view of the woods and hillside, part of which belong to the farm. Let me show you inside, it’s freezing out here.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I’m more interested in the land. But I suppose the main building can stay. It might make a decent welcome lodge,’ said her companion, finally looking up from his phone. Really, so very rude, Jenny thought. She wondered why he’d come. He hardly looked the farming type, but no one had shown an interest in Blackstock Farm in months, and she could do with a sale before Christmas. She and her boyfriend, Tom, were planning a skiing trip over the festive season; a bonus would come in handy. ‘Can we walk down to the woods from here?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Jenny, grateful that she’d had the sense to dress up warmly, ‘but are you sure? It’s likely to be cold and muddy.’

Dark storm clouds were rolling over the hills and the temperature felt like it had dropped a couple of degrees. A few streaks of sharp cold rain fell, making Jenny shiver.

Flashing a devastatingly winning smile, her client said, ‘I’ll manage. I’m sure it will be fine.’

Jenny led him to a gate in the furthest corner of the yard. It was a good ten minutes’ hike down to the top part of the woods, and despite her boots, her feet were like blocks of ice when they got there, and her skirt was soaked through at the bottom where it had trailed in the wet grass. Keen as she was for this sale, as the rain started to fall in earnest, Jenny cursed her enthusiastic companion (who apparently didn’t notice the cold) for dragging her down here. On a sunny day in June it would have been lovely …

‘This is perfect,’ he was saying. ‘We could do so much with this.’

‘Oh?’ she asked. She’d assumed he was a townie looking for an escape to the country, but now she was intrigued. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t reveal that,’ he said, ‘but I can tell you that my company will be very very interested, indeed. This is just what we’ve been waiting for.’

He smiled that dazzling smile at her again, and she felt herself go weak at the knees. If she didn’t have a boyfriend …

‘Right, I think I’ve seen all I need to see,’ her client, and, she hoped, now prospective buyer, said, ‘thank you so much for your time and trouble.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said, and hoping she wasn’t being too pushy added, ‘I take it you feel you’ll be able to move forward with this, maybe before Christmas?’

‘We’ll have to see,’ another flash of that winning smile. ‘I have a few calls to make first.’

As they walked back towards the farmhouse, Jenny wondered what his company was planning. This was a lovely part of the world, and she could see the attraction of living on a farm like this. Perhaps they’d be putting starter homes up here. Hell, if she and Tom had the money …

Jenny showed her client round the farmhouse briefly but could tell he wasn’t really interested. Maybe she’d got it wrong; maybe he wasn’t going to bite. She didn’t usually get it wrong.

But then, he said those magic words: ‘I think my boss will be very interested to hear about this property and land. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’

Result. That Christmas bonus was looking much more likely. Jenny thanked him and agreed to call him early the following week. As she walked through the icy winter rain to the car, Jenny was delighted to hear him on the phone, presumably to his boss, saying, ‘Felix? Luke Nicholas here, I think we’ve found our location.’

Christmas Day

‘Are we ever going to have lunch?’ Cat’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Paige, prised herself away from her brand new iPhone for five minutes and came wandering into the kitchen looking hungry, as if she hadn’t been fed in months.

‘Sorry, darling,’ said Cat, Santa hat slipping, boiling hot and uncharacteristically fraught in her gleaming stainless steel kitchen; normally her favourite place in the house. But today, as she fiddled with the knobs on the cooker, she felt like hitting something. Preferably the cooker. Brand new, when they’d moved in just over seven years ago, it hadn’t stood the test of time. ‘It’s this sodding oven. It’s playing up again.’

It was the one spanner in the works, in what had been so far a perfect Christmas morning. Having teenagers in the house meant that no one got up too early, apart from her beautiful one-year-old granddaughter Lou Lou. Luckily her eldest daughter, Mel, had done the decent thing and got up with the baby. Later, they’d sat around opening presents, enjoying watching Lou Lou surrounded by boxes, revelling in ripping wrapping paper to shreds and clapping her hands in delight. Having prepared the vegetables the day before, Cat had been quite relaxed about the turkey, until she’d realised the oven wasn’t working.

‘I knew we should have got a new one before Christmas,’ said Noel, laughing at her, as he came in the kitchen bringing her the glass of Prosecco he’d promised several hours earlier.

‘Shut up, know it all,’ said Cat, throwing a tea towel at him with an affectionate grin, ‘you said nothing of the sort. Anyway, Paige, despite the cooker having a tantrum, it is nearly ready. So can you tell your brother and sisters, and ask Mel to make sure Lou Lou is settled.’

Paige, whose hair seemed to have changed colour overnight for the second time in as many weeks, vanished like greased lightning now that food was in the offing, and she could be heard shouting, ‘Everyone, it’s nearly time to eat, at last!’ It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been eating chocolate all morning.

‘Right, ready to carve?’ she asked Noel, putting her oven gloves on and opening the oven door. The turkey dish was very heavy, and also extremely hot. Oven gloves were also on her must buy list, she realised ruefully; these were wearing through.

‘Can I do anything to help?’ Angela, her mother-in-law wandered in at that moment, with impeccable timing, always making sure she did something to put Cat’s teeth slightly on edge. She meant well, but it was hard sometimes not to feel like she was criticising Cat’s every move.

‘No, we’re fine, thanks, Angela,’ said Cat, just as she lifted the turkey dish out, and then dropped it slightly, realising there was a hole in her glove and she’d burnt her finger. ‘Oh sod!’ she added as the dish slipped out of her hands and fell on the open oven door and turkey fat accidentally spilt on the floor. Gingerly she picked up the turkey dish, and put it on top of the oven, shut the oven door, and went to fetch a cloth, only to find Angela delightedly rushing forward, at last finding an opportunity to be helpful.

‘Careful!’ shouted Cat, too late as her mother-in-law slipped on the turkey fat and slid gracefully across the grey flagstone floor, landing with a rather undignified thump on her backside. Cat stood transfixed in horror, not sure quite what to do, till Noel broke her stupor as he raced to his mum’s side.

‘Mum, are you ok?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, don’t fuss so,’ said Angela, but she was clearly shaken and was breathing very hard and in a rather laboured way.

‘Slowly does it,’ said Cat, helping her mother-in-law sit up, and fetching her a glass of water. ‘Get your breath back, before you try and stand up.’

She shot Noel an anxious glance and he grimaced back at her. Angela was generally fit and healthy, but she’d gone down with a hell of a thump.

They waited about ten minutes, till Angela was breathing more comfortably, but try as they might, they couldn’t get her up.

‘It’s my hip,’ she kept saying, ‘it’s rather painful.’

She was looking very pale and shaking slightly. What if she’d broken it? Cat felt her anxiety levels rising,

‘Do you think we should ring an ambulance?’ Cat asked, looking at Noel worriedly.

‘You can’t, not on Christmas Day,’ said Angela, in a very determined manner. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Well you can’t stay down there,’ Cat pointed out.

In the event, after another ten minutes, Noel and Cat were able to help Angela up onto one of the kitchen chairs. By now the children had all come in, agog to know what was happening.

‘Granny’s had a bit of a fall, I think it’s probably best if we take her to hospital just to get things checked. It might take hours for an ambulance to come out today. Angela, do you think you could manage to get to the car? We’ll take you to casualty.’

‘I don’t want to ruin things,’ said Angela, but she looked faint and not very well, and was clearly very far from being fine. ‘What about Christmas lunch?’

Lucky she hadn’t had that glass of Prosecco yet, Cat thought with a pang, but Christmas lunch was going to have to go on hold. ‘It can wait. Sorry, guys, you’ll have to have sandwiches for now,’ said Cat. ‘Mel, can you take charge till we’re back?’

‘Sure,’ said Mel, who was bouncing Lou Lou up and down in her arms.

Paige pulled a face. ‘Does she have to be in charge?’ she said, ‘Mel’s so bossy,’ but Cat silenced her with a look.

Then together with Noel and their son James, they walked slowly out of the kitchen, down the oak beamed hallway, and out of the house, awkwardly manoeuvring Angela along the snowy path and into the family car.

It was a twenty minute drive to the hospital, but fortunately, it being Christmas Day, they were seen very quickly, and the cheery doctor pronounced Angela to be suffering from bruises and shock. In light of her age, and there actually being room on the wards, he wanted to keep her in for observation overnight, so within a couple of hours, as Angela insisted they get back to continue Christmas with the children, Cat and Noel found themselves on their way home.

‘That didn’t go quite as expected did it?’ said Noel with a wry grin. He looked pale and shaken, as well he might. Noel hadn’t always got on with his mother, but Cat knew how deeply he loved her.

‘You can say that again,’ Cat agreed. ‘Honestly, why does it always happen to us? It was the perfect Christmas till then.’

‘You don’t think—?’ Noel started, looking sombre as he pulled into the drive.

‘What?’ Cat asked, but she had a feeling she knew what he was thinking.

‘That this – might be, you know, the start of something? I mean Mum is in her seventies now.’

Cat squeezed her husband’s arm. She knew how he felt. When her mum had started her long slow decline into Alzheimer’s, it had been little things that had gone awry at first. Cat knew at first hand how hard it was to see a much-loved parent going downhill. She hated the thought of Noel having to go through that too.

‘Don’t fret,’ she said, trying to remain positive. ‘You heard the doctor, Angela will be fine by tomorrow.’

‘And if she isn’t?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said Cat.

Pippa stood in her kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, staring into the garden, as the last embers of the setting sun leached away, setting the snow-filled hills alight with flaming reds and golds and casting a gold, warm light across her battered kitchen table and Welsh dresser. This was the bit of Christmas Day she’d always liked best when the children were younger: lunch eaten, presents unwrapped, everyone sprawling around the lounge either watching TV, or playing games, and most certainly gorging themselves on chocolates they really didn’t want. In the past she’d have relaxed with them all, letting Dan take over the clearing up, but not this year; this year everything was different. Everyone was being so polite and friendly, she’d wanted to scream. So as they all settled down to late afternoon boozing in front of the telly, Pippa had escaped out here, claiming tidying up duties, to avoid the feelings of suffocation which threatened to oppress her.

It had seemed like the best thing to do – the grown-up thing to do – a year on from her split with Dan to have a family Christmas as they’d done in the past. While she might have been able to cope with another Christmas without Dan, she couldn’t let the kids down, they’d been through too much already. They’d all begged her individually if Dad, Grandpa and Grandma could come like they used to.

‘It wasn’t the same last year,’ Nathan her oldest son had said a little mournfully.

‘I want things the way they were,’ added George, though at thirteen, he was old enough to know that couldn’t be the case.

Her lovely boys had coped so well and maturely with the events of the previous twelve months – Nathan in particular, who’d tried to become the man of the house, would have been enough to sway her. But as ever, it was her wheelchair bound twelve-year-old daughter Lucy, whose cerebral palsy gave her enough to deal with, who made the decision for her. Lucy had been stoical about her dad moving out, though she missed Dan keenly. So when one night she typed on the computer which allowed them to communicate, ‘Can Daddy be with us for Christmas, please,’ Pippa felt any resolve she may have had dissipate.

One of them, Pippa could have resisted, but all three? And so it had been agreed that Dan, his mother and father would come for Christmas Day.

And it probably would have been fine, if Richard’s plans for Christmas hadn’t gone catastrophically awry. Richard normally stayed with his mum and sister and visited his daughter, apparently, but his sister had suddenly announced she was going skiing with her new partner, which led his mum to declare that she was spending Christmas with an aunt whom Richard detested. This was all new to Pippa, last Christmas she’d only just met Richard, while organising a Christmas Ball to fundraise for Lucy’s respite care, and their relationship was still at a fairly tentative stage. She hadn’t factored in him coming for Christmas Day.

But what could she do? Without thinking about it, Pippa had said, ‘Well of course you must come here,’ ignoring the black looks from Lucy and the unasked what the—? questions from the boys. Richard was still new enough for her not to be sure about letting him into her home territory; still new enough for the children to be wary of him, especially Lucy. In an ideal world she would have never invited him, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she decided it would be make or break.

After all, in the last difficult year, when Pippa had finally had to accept that Dan was lost to her, Richard had been a bright ray of hope, giving her comfort that life could move on, and she could be happy once more. Never intrusive, but kind and supportive, Richard had been a rock of empathy to her during the most difficult period of her life. He made her laugh, and was thoughtful and sweet, as well as being very attractive. In the last few weeks, their relationship appeared to have gone onto a more permanent footing, and though Pippa was still not sure where they were headed, she’d decided she owed it to Richard to give things a go. Dan wasn’t coming back, that was clear, and Pippa decided for her sanity’s sake she couldn’t sit moping about forever. Second chances didn’t come every day. Maybe Christmas Day was the day to accept this one.

Luckily, she’d invited her cousin, Gabriel, his wife and her best friend, Marianne, and the twins over too, thinking there was safety in numbers. In such a potentially awkward situation, she was grateful she had done. Marianne was tact itself, and she liked Richard, and could happily be relied on to entertain him if necessary.

As it was, everyone was on their best behaviour and it was only Harriet, her ex mother-in-law who seemed to find it difficult, despite the fact that Pippa had made it clear that Richard was sleeping on the sofa. Their relationship, if it even was a relationship was still at a very tentative stage. Harriet came sobbing into the kitchen early in the day, after one too many glasses of sherry, hiccupping that she was so sorry about what had happened.

‘Harriet, I’m sorry too,’ said Pippa, fighting back tears of her own, ‘but Dan left me, remember. I am allowed to move on.’

Except, was she moving on? Could she, when she had spent the whole day watching Dan, so natural with his daughter, who loved being with her dad, comparing him to Richard, so ill at ease, yet making an effort. Seeing the pair of them in the same room had sent her into total turmoil. What did she really want?

Was it Richard, who was so kind to her, and had gently reintroduced her to the idea that she might still be attractive, or was it Dan, who even now felt like a part of her that she would never get over losing?

‘Maybe I’m rushing things,’ she said aloud as she stared out of the window. She sighed, and sipped her wine, as she pottered around, tidying in the kitchen. Her two closest friends, Cat and Marianne, didn’t think so, pointing out that she and Dan had been living apart for over a year now and that he’d made his feelings perfectly clear. But part of Pippa felt guilty for finding someone new so soon. Even though it was illogical. As she’d reminded her mother-in-law, Dan was the one who had left.

‘Need any help in here?’ Pippa turned round with a start to see Dan standing in the doorway. Her heart pounded that bit harder. Should she still be having this reaction to him, when she had Richard? Guilt tightened across her stomach once more. ‘I rather think that’s my job, isn’t it?’

Not anymore, she felt like saying, but didn’t.

‘Go on, sit down, Pippa,’ said Dan. ‘If I know you, you’ve been on the go since six this morning.’

And that of course was the point. Dan did know her. And understood her, and got her. Did Richard? It was too soon to say. And unfair to consider, she scolded herself. She was just getting to know Richard. They both needed time.

But it was nice to be bossed about by Dan, so Pippa let herself be persuaded to sit at the table with a glass of red wine, while he loaded the dishwasher, dealt with the remains of the turkey, and even cleaned out the roasting dish, which she’d left to soak, intending to do it in the morning. Pippa wondered if Richard would ever do that if they stayed together – then felt guilty again for making the comparison. Richard brought different things to the table. She shouldn’t dismiss him for not being like Dan.

It was then that Dan dropped his bombshell, quite casually as he wiped fat away from the roasting dish, just as Pippa was beginning to feel mellow for the first time that day. For a second it felt like old times, and if she shut her eyes, she could imagine that things were as they’d always been, Dan in the kitchen by her side.

Before Dan said the words she’d never wanted to hear.

‘You and Richard look good together,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased for you.’

‘Oh,’ said Pippa who had been worried about his reaction. It had taken all her courage to ring Dan to tell him that Richard was coming for Christmas lunch, after her first aborted attempt. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind? I mean, I wouldn’t have had him over this Christmas, under normal circumstances, it’s a bit soon …’ her voice trailed off. How soon, was too soon, when your husband had rejected you?

Dan put the tray on the rack, and then turned to her, in such a familiar gesture it made her throat catch.

‘You had to move on sometime,’ he said. ‘I’ve been expecting it.’

‘Oh,’ said Pippa again. Her palms were sweating. Where was he going with this?

After a long and pregnant pause, Dan eventually said, ‘I think you should give it a go.’

‘But—’ Pippa wasn’t quite sure how to react. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t such calm acceptance of the situation. It really was over. She’d have to face it now.

‘We’re still married?’ said Dan. ‘I know. And I’ve been thinking. We can’t go on as we are, working the farm together as if nothing’s changed. Pip, I’m holding you back.’

Don’t say it, she begged him silently, please don’t say it. The words she’d been hoping never to hear, since he first suggested separating a year before. If he didn’t say them, there was still hope.

‘Pippa, I think it’s time we sorted this out properly,’ Dan said. ‘I think we should file for divorce.’

Marianne picked herself up reluctantly from the very comfortable spot where she had been sitting in Pippa’s cosy lounge. The twins, who had behaved impeccably well all day, were getting into hyper mode. It was only a matter of time before they lost the plot totally. She was so grateful Pippa had invited them for Christmas lunch, as December had been frantic this year, and she was glad to pass up the opportunity to cook on Christmas Day, particularly as her thirteen-year-old stepson, Steven, was going to spend Christmas with his mum, Eve. Gabriel was always moody the years when Steven wasn’t with them, as Eve had been a flaky mum at best, so it was good he had a distraction. Plus Marianne knew it would help Pippa (she and Gabe were closer as cousins than a lot of siblings, Marianne knew) to have more people there to minimise the awkwardness of the first post-separation Christmas together with Dan and his family. When they’d arrived and realised that Richard was there too, Marianne had worried the day was going to be more difficult than she’d imagined. But thanks to superhuman efforts from both Pippa and Dan, there had been no histrionics, and everyone had had a lovely day.

Marianne started to gather coats, bags and presents together with a sigh. It was so warm and mellow inside, she wasn’t looking forward to braving the east wind whistling off the hills.

‘Oi, lazybones,’ she said, gently giving Gabriel a kick. He was sitting sleepily by the fire, having uncharacteristically for him, tucked into the port after lunch. Gabriel’s parents, David and Jean, had opted for a quiet Christmas this year, and David had volunteered to do the evening shift on the farm, so for once Gabriel could relax. Marianne was pleased that he’d been able to enjoy himself, but he looked firmly ensconced where he was, and she had a feeling it was going to be hard work prising him out.

‘Come on, Gabe, it’s time to go,’ she said, as she’d had no response to her first foray.

‘Oh do we have to?’ said Gabriel, looking at his half full glass longingly. ‘It’s still early yet.’

‘The twins?’ said Marianne pointedly, trying not to feel irritated. Gabriel didn’t often do this to her, but she didn’t really want to go home on her own. ‘It’s nearly their bed time.’

‘Ten more minutes,’ pleaded Gabriel.

A further ten minutes elapsed, and Marianne was going to suggest they left again, particularly as Harry and Daisy erupted into a squabble, which was threatening to turn into all-out war. She glanced over to Gabriel, and saw he was deep in what looked like an important conversation with Dan, who’d emerged from the kitchen where he and Pippa had been closeted quite a while, looking rather gloomy. Marianne didn’t feel like she could disrupt them, and neither did she want to. Gabriel and Dan were good mates, and since his accident two years ago, she knew Dan needed to offload from time to time. Marianne hoped Pippa was all right. She’d followed Dan in five minutes later, looking a little bright-eyed, but, being Pippa, was now laughing and joking as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Marianne settled back to give it another half an hour, by which time the children were climbing the walls.

‘I really think I’d better take the twins home,’ said Marianne, hoping Gabriel would take the hint. Which he didn’t. I’m your wife, she wanted to say, and it’s Christmas. Was it too much to ask to cuddle up with her husband, while the children were in bed, and watch cosy Christmas telly, drinking wine and counting their blessings? Clearly Gabriel wasn’t even thinking about it.

So, with simmering resentment, Marianne took two overexcited and overfed three-year-olds home alone. They were so hyped up they refused either bath or bed for a whole fractious hour, before Harry shouted ‘I feel sick,’ and promptly threw up on the lounge floor. Followed five minutes later by a wail from his sister who had followed suit. Marianne had just about cleaned up and was about to pour herself a glass of wine, and sit down grumpily in front of the TV waiting for Gabriel to come home, when the phone rang. The instant she answered it, she heard Steven’s panic on the other end, and everything else was forgotten.

‘Marianne,’ he said. ‘It’s Mum. She’s really not very well. She’s locked herself in the bathroom and I don’t know what to do.’

Part One

My Broken Brain
Day One. 9pm

I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I’m not the sort to bare my soul. I’ve never ever written anything down about the way I feel. Except a letter to Pippa once, a long long time ago. This is just not me. But then I don’t know who me is anymore …

The old me was calm and patient, and easy going. The new me – is impatient, depressed and angry … So very angry at what’s happened to destroy my family, my life.

Which is why Jo said it might help to write stuff down.

(Jo’s my counsellor.) Christ. I can’t believe I wrote that. But then, I can’t believe I have a counsellor either.

Five minutes later

I keep sitting looking at the screen. What am I going to write? It’s not as if I have anything interesting to say. My life is pretty fucked up at present. That’s all I know.

I knew this wouldn’t help.

Half an hour later

I’ve had a cup of tea. Come back, sat here staring some more. I’d give up now, but Jo will want to know that I’ve written something down.

Where do I even begin?

Jo says, at the beginning … that sounds like some kind of lame story we had to write at school. I was never much good at that. I was never much good at anything apart from tending to animals, and ploughing the land. And now I’m not much good at that.

So … the beginning.

I used to be happy once. I had a family, a lovely wife, a farm we ran together. I didn’t know it then, but life was pretty damned perfect.

Then, two years ago, I had an horrific accident which caused me brain damage. And nothing’s been the same since …

20 Years Ago
First Christmas

‘You’re here! Already?’ Pippa looked stricken as she walked across the snowy yard, delightfully scruffy in an old raincoat, thick woolly jumpy, jeans, wellies, her auburn curls tied up in a loose ponytail. ‘Just look at me, I haven’t even changed yet.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Dan, his heart singing. Pippa could have been wearing a brown paper bag and she’d still have been gorgeous. He resisted the urge to pick her up and swing her in his arms, just in case her parents were looking out of the farmhouse window. He’d only met them again once, since he and Pippa had got together at the Farmer’s Ball, though of course he remembered them from when he and Pippa had been at school together, a lifetime ago. Pippa’s parents had been nothing but friendly and welcoming, but he didn’t want to get in their bad books this early on in his relationship with their daughter.

‘You did say, Christmas Eve, your place, 7pm, didn’t you?’ said Dan, puzzled. ‘We are still going to the Hopesay Arms, aren’t we?’ They’d made the arrangement earlier in the week, but what with it being Christmas week, he’d been flat out helping his own parents on their farm, and presumably Pippa had been doing the same.

‘Oh!’ said Pippa, her face dropping. ‘I thought we said eight. Mum and Dad like going to the early Christmas service at church, so they can be up early for the cows on Christmas Day. I offered to take charge of milking tonight for them. One of the farm hands was supposed to be coming up to help me, but he’s just rung to say he’s down and out with flu. I’m so sorry, but I’m not going to be ready for hours.’

‘I can help,’ said Dan, who didn’t care where he spent time with Pippa, so long as they were together. Ever since their first date, he’d been pinching himself that she was interested in him. Pippa North, the girl every guy in his year at school had fancied. And now she was his. Permanently, he hoped.

‘Would you really?’ Pippa looked like she might burst into tears.

‘Of course,’ said Dan with a grin. ‘Where do you want me?’ Luckily, he hadn’t dressed up too much for their date, and he didn’t mind if he got his clothes dirty. He’d do anything for Pippa, he realised, anything at all. Every time he met her, she astonished him more. How many other girls her age in Hope Christmas would be milking the cows instead of heading for the pub on Christmas Eve?

‘You’re amazing,’ said Pippa, throwing her arms around him in an embrace which he wanted to last for ever. ‘Let me find you some overalls to wear.’

Which is how Dan found himself half an hour later, sitting in the milking shed, listening to Christmas carols on Pippa’s old cassette deck over the hum of the machines and the cows bellowing, laughing at the way the evening had turned out.

‘And there was me planning to show you a wild night in Hope Christmas,’ he said, grinning. ‘At this rate we’re going to be too knackered to do anything.’

‘That would be difficult,’ said Pippa, smiling as she expertly removed a cow from the stalls and cleaned it up before patting it on its rump and sending it out to the yard. ‘Hope Christmas is hardly a hub of night life. I am sorry I’ve kept you from the pub though.’

He loved that about her, the way she was always so positive and kind.

‘Don’t be,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t care where I am so long as I’m with you.’

She looked at him shyly, and blushed.

‘Me too,’ she said, and he was hit by a sudden revelation.

‘I love you, Pippa,’ he said. It was the first time he’d ever said that to any girl, ever.

‘Oh Dan,’ she said, her eyes shining, ‘I love you too.’

He wanted to kiss her there and then, but there was a cow between them, and work to be done. But as Dan watched her, focussed completely on the task in hand, totally at one with the animals she was dealing with, he was hit by a second revelation. Come what may, Pippa North was the girl he was going to marry.

This Year

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