Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage
LINN B. HALTON

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Linn B Halton 2017

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Cover design © Books Covered 2017

Linn B. Halton 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.

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Source ISBN: 9780008261290

Ebook Edition © October 2017 ISBN:9780008261306

Version: 2017-07-19

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1 Elana

Chapter 2 Elana

Chapter 3 Elana

Chapter 4 Luke

Chapter 5 Luke

Chapter 6 Luke

Chapter 7 Elana

Chapter 8 Elana

Chapter 9 Elana

Chapter 10 Luke

Chapter 11 Luke

Chapter 12 Luke

Chapter 13 Elana

Chapter 14 Elana

Chapter 15 Elana

Chapter 16 Luke

Chapter 17 Luke

Chapter 18 Luke

Chapter 19 Elana

Chapter 20 Elana

Chapter 21 Elana

Chapter 22 Luke

Chapter 23 Luke

Chapter 24 Luke

Chapter 25 Elana

Chapter 26 Elana

Chapter 27 Elana

Chapter 28 Luke

Chapter 29 Luke

Chapter 30 Luke

Chapter 31 Elana

Chapter 32 Elana

Chapter 33 Elana

Chapter 34 Luke

Chapter 35 Luke

Chapter 36 Luke

Chapter 37 Elana

Chapter 38 Elana

Chapter 39 Elana

Chapter 40 Luke

Chapter 41 Luke

Chapter 42 Luke

Chapter 43 Elana

Chapter 44 Elana

Chapter 45 Elana

Chapter 46 Luke

Chapter 47 Luke

Chapter 48 Luke

New Year’s Eve

Chapter 49 Elana

Chapter 50 Elana

Chapter 51 Elana

1st December, Eleven Months Later—

Chapter 52 Elana

Chapter 53 Elana

Chapter 54 Elana

Chapter 55 Luke

Chapter 56 Luke

Chapter 57 Luke

Chapter 58 Elana

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Linn B. Halton

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

My Christmases have been, for the most part, wonderful times creating memories I will always cherish and for which I am so very grateful.

But, as is true for lots of people, there have been occasions when my heart has been heavy. When you lose a loved one it’s a bitter-sweet time, but as a new generation starts to fill the empty seats around the table, you know you are truly blessed.

Seeing Christmas once more through the eyes of the children around you isn’t just special, it’s magical and the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.

So I’m dedicating Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage to Billy, Lily, Joe and Maddie.

The Christmas table is growing and even though Mum and Dad can’t take their seats, their presence is keenly felt.

Merry Christmas to everyone and hugs to those whose Christmas this year will be tinged with sadness. Remember that love never dies because we carry it with us in our hearts, always.

Linn x

Prologue

‘Daddy, you’ve been gone a while. I was worried you wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas!’

Maya’s sweet little voice rose up in the darkness, reflecting a real sense of relief, closely followed by the love and joy bubbling up inside of her.

‘I know, Princess, it’s complicated. Some journeys take longer than others. Have you been a good girl?’

‘Yes, Daddy. Well, mostly. It’s still dark outside, is it snowing?’

‘No, no snow today.’ Maya wriggled down the bed, snuggling in as Niall tugged the duvet a little higher, tucking it in around her.

‘It’s still early, baby, you need to go back to sleep now.’

‘Will you stay with me?’ Her voice was a whisper, sleep beginning to wrap itself around her once more. ‘You won’t go away?’

‘I’ll be here when you need me, Maya. Daddy’s always here.’

Niall lay down next to his daughter and within seconds her breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic pattern.

‘I’ve missed you, baby, and I’m sorry.’ His words seemed to echo around the room, even though his voice was barely audible. In his head all he could hear was the haunting strains of Maya’s favourite Christmas song by the infamous Wizzard. The words seemed to overtake his thoughts as he began to relax. When the snowman brings the snow—

Chapter 1
Elana
Christmas is Coming

It’s not that I’m a Christmas grouch, or anything, but this back-to-back festive cheer with the first of December still a week away is beginning to grate just the teensiest bit. Admittedly, a few of the oldies do get my foot tapping, but the last thing I need until I meet this deadline is to be distracted. The clock is ticking and that awful, cold-sweat panic is beginning to set in. There are bills to be paid and having to do Christmas on a tight budget is yet another pressure.

‘Maya, can you turn that music down just a little bit, please? Mummy’s trying to work.’

‘Okay, sorreee.’ The sound of her lilting voice drifting into the study makes my heart squish up with love, tinged with that now all-too-familiar sadness. The volume reduces by a few decibels, only to be replaced by shrieks of laughter as Maya and her best friend, Amelie, continue stringing beads for the Christmas tree. The tradition she’s always known still has to be upheld. At the moment it’s all about Christmas magic, until the year that she’s ready to face the dreaded truth – that Santa isn’t real. And this could be the last one, assuming we make it to the twenty-fifth without her caving in to the rumours. Even at the tender age of six and a half, some kids are so knowing these days and want to grow up much too quickly. Others, like Maya, are content to hang onto their childhood as long as they can and choose to ignore the rumours they hear at school. I guess it’s all about that inner desire to believe it’s a time when wonderful things can truly happen, no matter how old we are.

Oh, Santa, what would I wish for? To turn back the clock, but then what would be the point? I give myself a shake, this isn’t helping at all.

Once again my concentration is shattered beyond redemption and all it took was one line from a stupid Christmas song. The oldies are the best, but not when all they serve to do is to bring back painful memories. My head tells me firmly not to go there. I refuse to get maudlin as we approach the second Christmas without Niall. He would be disappointed in me. I thought I was doing much better this time around and avoiding the slippery slope that always seems to be one step away. It’s a ride I’ve taken so many times since the funeral, but wallowing is a luxury I can’t afford. Maya not only needs me to be strong, but to be in the moment with her. We missed too many moments in those early months after Niall was taken from us. The therapist I’d been seeing helped me to understand that when a loss occurs without warning the adjustment is always going to be difficult. Niall was strong and healthy, and … amazing. So full of life. But I wasn’t there with him when he took his last breath, crushed in a tangle of torn metal wedged beneath a barrier on the motorway. My stomach does an involuntary somersault as I try to push the horror away, realising no good comes of re-living the worst moment of our lives. The investigation concluded that one of the tyres had a blowout and his efforts to avoid careering into a lorry had actually caused the car to roll. In my heart I wondered if his reactions weren’t as sharp as normal, because he was over-tired and he paid the ultimate price in his haste to hurry home to us. He’d been working long hours to keep the money coming in to pay for the renovation work on our dream cottage on the edge of the Forest of Dean. Anything we could do ourselves, to save paying someone, we did, and that meant spending evenings and weekends stripping walls, filling and painting. He kept saying it wouldn’t be forever, but it turned out that for us it was our forever.

Reaching out for the coffee mug, I take a large gulp. It’s cold, but I need the caffeine hit. The funny thing is that even now I still find myself listening for his key in the door, as if what’s happened is nothing more than a nightmare from which I’m going to awaken. Tears these days are few and far between. There are none left to shed and I’m glad about that, at least. But the last thing I need now is to be using up energy I don’t have trying to be bright and breezy for Maya if I let myself regress. We’re at that sensitive time in her life when she’s changing in so many ways. At the moment she claims with a fierce determination that she believes in Santa, but I’m not sure whether it’s more about the desire to hold onto that belief, rather than the innocent, wide-eyed acceptance of the fairytale. Losing her dad was loss enough; perhaps this is one step too far and she feels as if the life she knew is slipping away from her.

I turn back to the flashing cursor in front of me, switch screens and begin typing.

Diary Log – day 481 since Niall left us. We’re doing okay. 10 days to hit my deadline and 31 days to Christmas. When did life become all about numbers?

I glance back at the entries above, reflecting that my therapist, Catherine Treadwell, would be proud. Gone is the anger once reflected in my daily entry, but gone also is any real sense of commitment to moving on. I’m in limbo. Reality now is worrying about money first and everything else second. Niall’s life insurance policy paid off the mortgage on this place but with only one salary coming in now, I’m living from month to month. Every penny of our nest egg went towards the renovation work, but we weren’t worried when the money ran out. We thought we had time on our side to turn Bay Tree Cottage into the perfect home. Except that, even if all the work is eventually carried out, it never will be perfect now, will it? How can it be, without Niall?

***

‘Mum, can we light the log fire tonight?’ Maya looks up at me with eager eyes.

‘I think we should wait until the weekend, darling. There isn’t really time to appreciate it on a school night, is there? Besides, I’m not even sure whether there are any logs left in the store. I promise to get it sorted as soon as I can.’

It was Niall’s job, sorting the fire. He would have booked the chimney sweep in early autumn and had the logs all ready and waiting, stacked neatly against the back wall of the garage. Ironically, last year I was much more organised. I suppose it was one of my coping mechanisms during those raw, early weeks and months. Keep going; keep doing something – anything, so I didn’t have to listen to what was in my head. But I feel bad. Maya will remember that this time last year we spent every evening huddled together on the sofa in front of the fire, reading. Hour upon hour we escaped into alternative worlds inspired by some wonderful authors. Roald Dahl’s Matilda, E. B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, and Maya’s favourite, Jill Murphy’s The Worst Witch, a story of tenderness and triumph.

It was the very worst of times, but I focused on getting us through it one day at a time. My gut instinct, immediately after the accident, had been to sell the cottage, just to escape that prevailing sense that something was missing. Niall was no longer here and it would never, ever be the same again. But soon realisation dawned that Maya needed a sense of continuity; the memories trapped within these walls were a lifeline for her, although a cruelly painful reminder for me. In a way she feels her dad is still here and I can’t take that away from her.

In a strange, surreal way, last winter brought us even closer together on a level that wasn’t really about the mother-daughter relationship. It was the bond of loss and of adjustment. I enjoyed the tales we read together just as much as Maya had done, desperate to escape our stark reality. Watching TV wasn’t even an option, as I couldn’t connect with the images flickering in front of me long enough to stop my mind from taking over. But reading a book out aloud, well, it wrapped us both in a cocoon.

Before heading into the kitchen to think about our evening meal I add chimney sweep, logs and fire-lighters to my to-do list. Clearly, it’s important to Maya for her to mention it and maybe it’s something we both need at the moment. Guilt starts to creep into my head, a niggling worry that seems to be there at every turn these days. I’m conscious that what she needs is more time from me and I wish there was a magic wand I could wave to solve my money worries. Pride won’t let me take the money Mum and Dad offered and, besides, what I need is a permanent solution. Unless work picks up, either I look for a job that pays more money but still allows me to work from home, or we move to a place that’s cheaper to run. The latter option would break Maya’s heart because she isn’t ready to let go.

Everyone understands that coping with the death of a spouse is heart-breakingly tough, but the reality is so much more complicated. It’s the problems that those around you don’t even give thought to, which threaten to steal away the ground beneath your feet.

I switch screens again, noting that it’s three days since my last entry.

Diary Log – day 484. Christmas is coming. Will it be our last one here? Quality time with Maya v holding onto memories. It’s a decision I still can’t make. So for now we stay.

Chapter 2
Elana
All Work and No Play

‘How are you doing with that deadline, Elana?’ Eve busies herself making us both a coffee as I settle myself down on the sofa.

Looking around, what I feel is a sense of calm. I love popping into Hillside View as it reminds me how wonderful it’s going to be once Bay Tree Cottage is finished. Both semi-detached cottages stand alone on an outcrop of rock, with almost surreal views across to the river, and with the Forest of Dean as a backdrop. Ironically it was the one thing that originally spoilt it for us, the fact that it wasn’t detached. Now, I’m thankful to have Eve, Rick and little Amelie, who is Maya’s best friend, on the doorstep.

Both cottages had been empty for quite a long time, owned by an eccentric local farmer, who was in his eighties and seemed oblivious to the decay as the buildings deteriorated. Hillside was already sold when we first came to view Bay Tree and the moment we drew up outside we knew this was going to be our home. We looked at it longingly for what it could be, rather than with the cold appraisal needed when taking on a project of this scale. It’s the reason we didn’t hold up our hands in horror at the amount of work that was going to be required, imagining the cosy place it would eventually be. Now what I have is a cottage that is half-renovated and no idea when, or if, I’ll ever be able to afford to get it finished.

‘It’s coming along, albeit slowly. I seem to have a client who is driving the publisher mad at the moment. He’s hardly ever around and has missed our last three Skype meetings. How on earth I’m supposed to pull together his biography, goodness knows! If this job falls through I’m in big trouble.’

Eve shoots me a sympathetic look and holds out a coffee mug.

‘Thanks. It’s my third cup already and Maya’s only been at school an hour. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?’

Eve shifts from foot to foot, her face colouring slightly as she settles herself in the armchair opposite me.

‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. The builders have now fixed the leak and given the roof a once-over. Surprisingly it’s in pretty good condition. Their boss, Matthew, says both cottages were re-roofed some time in the last eight to ten years. However, unfortunately, the chimney needs re-pointing urgently. He’s not sure it’s safe, so he’s going to arrange for scaffolding to be erected and his son, Luke, will be here next week to work on it. The bad news is that yours is in the same state.’

I put the coffee mug down on the side table and push myself further back into the sofa, trying hard to keep my face composed. More money I don’t have.

‘Look,’ Eve leans forward to touch my arm, ‘we can get him to do the work and you can pay us when you can. I know this is the last thing you need at the moment, so don’t worry about it. Let us handle it as we’re going to incur the cost of the scaffolding anyway, so it will only be the labour costs and a few materials. It’s best to get it sorted and there’s no hurry with regard to the money.’

I can see that she’s embarrassed, but with our girls playing outside whenever they can, and living in a windy position on the side of a hill, this is a health-and-safety issue. It’s not something that can be ignored, or postponed, just because I can’t afford to have it done. And I don’t accept charity, even when it’s well-meant. I try not to let a sigh escape, because I know it would quickly turn into a sob. I swallow determinedly – no point in panicking until I know what’s involved.

‘That’s so kind, Eve, and please do thank Rick, too. I’m sure I can stretch to it, though. If you can get Matthew to give me a quote that would be great and, of course, it needs to be sorted quickly.’

We exchange glances and I can see by her frown how troubled she is for me.

‘Hey, don’t worry. I’m doing okay, really.’ I give her a reassuring smile.

Eve eases herself out of the chair and walks around to sit next to me on the sofa. She places her arms around my shoulders and gives me a warm hug. This isn’t about money, or a chimney. This is about being weary; so tired of thinking that I want to switch off my brain and wishing I could spirit myself back two years in time. Golden days that I didn’t realise were so very, very precious.

‘Time heals, my lovely friend. But there will be setbacks. Sometimes you need to just let it all out, there’s no shame in that.’

It’s comforting, not least because there aren’t many people who understand the frustrations that are still a part of my daily life. My parents would be horrified to know that, because they believe this strong front I’m presenting to the world. They are proud of me because of the way I’m coping and wouldn’t know what to do if they thought for one moment I was so fragile I’m in danger of … what?

‘Thank you, Eve. It helps, you know. Just once in a while I need to drop my guard. And the chimney, just get Matthew to pop in to see me. It’s kind of him to have checked it out and I’m happy to pay half of the cost of the scaffolding.’

‘Don’t you even go there! I feel awful having to raise it and wish we could have simply told him to get on with both jobs. But he needs your permission, of course. And you can’t light the fire until he gives you the all-clear. Oh, life, eh?’

The sigh that escapes her lips is one of empathy and concern. With our girls being only six months apart in age, Niall’s death also affected Eve in a very real way. It was a reminder that you can’t take anything for granted, even the fact that there will be a tomorrow. In some ways I hope that it has brought Eve and Rick closer together, allowing them to appreciate how lucky they are to have each other.

‘Actually, I also have a problem with a leak in the spare bedroom, so maybe he could take a look at that, too. The last thing I want is to risk it getting worse over the Christmas holidays. It’s on my to-do list but until I have the draft outline of this biography done I can’t turn my attention to anything else.’

‘You never said who it was you’re writing about. Is it anyone interesting?’

‘Aiden Cruise.’

Eve rolls her eyes and laughs out loud.

‘Ha! Good luck pinning down that bad boy! Is it going to be X-rated?’

‘Well, if I don’t get at least one more lengthy Skype session in with him, all I can say is that at the moment it all seems rather tame. But then we’ve only covered his early years and rebellious teens; we didn’t get as far as his front-page, post-fame antics.’

‘Ooh, the best bit is yet to come, then. Will you get to meet him face to face?’

That’s something I’ve been wondering myself, but mainly because it’s difficult with regard to babysitting for Maya. I’m pretty confident that I can get the overview of the book finished if Aiden will honour just one more session, but when it comes to fleshing out the story I’m going to have to really pin him down. I’ll have until May next year to get the first draft to the publishers, so for the moment that’s a worry for the future.

‘To be honest, he’s so hard to contact that I think I’ll probably end up having to follow him around for a few days to get him talking. I’ve been liaising with his manager, Seth, and he’s promised me that Aiden will be there for my next call, so we can wrap up the outline. He’s sympathetic, understanding the problem I have and he suggested I see Aiden on tour some time. If I spend January doing all of the preparation and research work, I’m hoping to have a list of questions for him to focus on when we finally meet up. Fortunately, I have quite a lot of information already, but I have to sift through it and once that’s done, it will just be a case of filling in the gaps with the really personal stuff.’

‘It’s not an easy job you do, is it? Are biographies the hardest to do?’

‘Well, to be honest, I prefer straightforward editing jobs but this pays really well. It’s easier when it’s someone the public adore. Aiden’s book will be a best-seller simply because people love reading an exposé about a bad boy. But if he doesn’t open up and give me the really interesting stuff, then the publishers won’t be happy. On paper what I seem to have so far is a picture of a rock god and each person I talk to seems to be describing a very different man. It’s all very confusing. I get a fixed fee from the publisher for the job, but they’re more likely to use me again in the future if I can really get to the heart of this story. The problem is that if Aiden keeps avoiding me, then I’m never going to gain his trust and get his side of things. I’ve interviewed two members of the group, his ex-manager and a few celebrities whose paths he’s crossed over the years. What’s missing now is the detail only he can give me to bring the story alive. The other project I’m working on in between the biography is editing a set of children’s books. Although it’s the eight years and up age range, I’ve read the first one to Maya and she seemed to love it, so I can’t wait to work on the second and third books.’

Eve reaches across for her coffee and then sits back snugly into the corner of the sofa.

‘Well, when it comes to your little jaunt with Aiden, Maya is very welcome to stay with us. The girls would love having a couple of days together.’

The sad thing is that I constantly sense the awkwardness Eve feels about my situation and it has affected our friendship. As if all the good things in her life might somehow be a reminder of how awful my life has turned out to be. Rick is an investment and mortgage adviser, well-regarded and with a growing clientele. Money has never been a problem for them and they are the perfect family unit. We all got on so well because it seemed we had mirror lives and so many shared interests, not least, turning a pair of neglected cottages into comfortable homes. I don’t envy her, or the wonderful life they have, but I will admit there are moments when I catch myself wondering where we’d be now if Niall hadn’t died. Would Bay Tree Cottage be finished and we’d be looking forward to a magical Christmas?

‘Thanks, if Mum and Dad aren’t available to look after her I might take you up on that offer. I appreciate it, Eve, what you’ve done. You’re a good friend and I know I’m truly blessed. In fact, I have no idea how I would have coped without you on the doorstep. And Maya, too. Amelie has been a tremendous friend, she’s a very special little girl.’

I mean every word of it. I’ve often heard the girls chattering away and Amelie is definitely an old head on young shoulders.

‘They never go away,’ I’d heard her tell Maya once. ‘Your dad would never leave you. You just need to talk to him.’

I was watching them through a crack in the door, just to reassure myself that Maya really did want to play that day. She hadn’t been sleeping well and her little face was so pale. Eve and I were encouraging the girls to spend more time together, as my therapist had advised me to keep things as normal as possible. Normal? I nearly screamed at the top of my voice when she’d said that. ‘What’s normal?’, but then that was in the early days.

So they played and each day was a little easier than the one before. Without Eve, Rick and Amelie I don’t know how we would have got through it. It’s a debt that money can’t repay.

Chapter 3
Elana
I Need to Get My Act Together

‘Mrs James? I’m Matthew’s son, Luke Stevenson.’

The guy on my doorstep sticks out his hand in a friendly manner. The first thing that pops into my head is that, up close, he’s younger than I expected. From ground level, the few times I’ve seen him he looked older, somehow, but then he was always the height of a cottage away as he clambered over next door’s roof. I suppose roofing work does require a good level of fitness and agility. And he has that in spadefuls. His hair is dark, short around the sides and longer on top. He has a boyish look that doesn’t really go with his body, which is strong and athletic. Clearly he doesn’t bother to shave every day, but it suits him. His father, who is probably in his fifties, seems to do just about everything aside from roof work, from what I’ve seen. Guess that makes a lot of sense; why would he when he has such a fit son to do it for him?

I offer my hand and we shake, then I invite him inside. He seems a little hesitant, but I’m conscious of the heat drifting out of the open door as it’s such a chilly day. I can almost feel the oil flooding out of the tank to keep the boiler going.

He glances down at the floor, seemingly looking for a mat on which to wipe his muddy boots. At the moment the downstairs floor is still bare concrete and I’ve given up worrying about it. His eyes scan the little line of shoes and boots neatly standing to attention along one wall. He seems rather surprised, probably assuming he was going to walk into a beautifully renovated cottage, like Hillside View.

‘I didn’t mean to stop you; your neighbour mentioned you work from home. I was just wondering if you were happy with the quote my father dropped in and whether you wanted me to start work on the chimney. I’m almost done working on Hillside’s repairs, so I could start tomorrow if you like.’

Thankfully, Aiden Cruise came through with that Skype meeting yesterday and I’m now on target to get the outline submitted. This means that in ten days’ time the first payment should be hitting my bank account, just sixteen shopping days before Christmas. And, if I shop wisely, there should be enough to cover the work required on the chimney.

‘Yes, that would be fine, thank you. It’s been a worry, you know, since Eve mentioned it. The girls play outside all the time and we’ve had some really strong winds this winter. Actually, while you’re here, I have a small leak in the corner of the bedroom ceiling. I wonder if you could take a quick look in case it’s something you can remedy while you’re up on the roof.’

I had hoped that Matthew Stevenson himself would call in with the quote, but I was out on the school run yesterday and came back to find an envelope lying on the hallway floor. It’s reasonable enough, but my other little problem is a real concern, too, and I’m not sure whether Luke is the right one to ask.

‘Sure.’ He’s already bent over, tugging at the knots in his boot laces. I find myself looking down at his feet as he eases them out, staring at his socks. They’re black and one toe on his left foot is poking through a rather large hole. My gaze moves up to his face and he gives me an apologetic, and rather embarrassed, smile.

‘I’m a bit behind on the washing,’ he informs me. ‘All the good socks were dirty.’

I’m tempted to laugh and don’t know why on earth he would share that information with me, but instead I nod in acknowledgement and turn on my heels.

‘It’s this way,’ I call over my shoulder.

I lead him from the rather dusty hallway across the open-plan dining room/study and kitchen, to the staircase. Upstairs is carpeted, but downstairs I’ve merely covered the concrete as best I can with large rugs. It helps to detract from the unfinished state and we’re used to it now.

‘You’ve done a nice job on the kitchen,’ he remarks, probably thinking it’s the polite thing to say.

‘Thank you. Upstairs is virtually finished, which is why the leak is so annoying.’

We continue in silence, until we walk into the spare bedroom and he immediately lets out an ominous ‘Oh’.

‘Is it bad?’

The damp patch on the ceiling extends out about twelve inches from the corner and already the wallpaper at the top of both walls is beginning to peel away. It’s a horrible blot on an otherwise perfect, country-cottage bedroom.

‘Well, it’s not good, let’s put it that way. I’ll take a look up top and see what’s going on. Pity you didn’t get this looked at a bit sooner, to save you redecorating. It could be a guttering problem, or maybe a few slates have slipped.’

For a moment my attention wanders and I’m transported back to the weekend we’d spent wallpapering this room. I can visualise Niall up the ladder as I passed him a pasted sheet of paper folded back on itself in loops. He’d taken it from my hands, but within moments it began to slither down to the floor and as I grabbed it the paper tore. It wasn’t a good day, we’d both been tetchy and ended up having a row. We were tired and our patience was wearing thin. A day that was wasted with needless upset in the grand scheme of things because we had no idea the clock was ticking.

‘Mrs James?’

Luke’s voice brings me back into the moment and I try to shrug off the wave of sadness and regret.

‘Sorry. Yes, I realise I should have looked into this sooner. It’s been a busy time, I’m afraid.’

‘I was thinking of the cost, that’s all. These things are always cheaper to fix if they are caught early. If the water has blown the plaster, then it won’t be a case of just replacing a couple of pieces of wallpaper. Anyway, I’ll let you know what I find.’

As I follow him back down the stairs I give myself a mental kick. I have to get a better grip on things, because he’s right and I know that. He doesn’t understand my situation, of course, but I have no excuse and it’s a relief to know he’ll begin work in the morning.

As I close the door behind Luke, I wonder if there’s a bill I can avoid paying this month to cover the extra work. I know there isn’t and reality hits that I’m probably going to have to take that loan from Mum and Dad.

The sigh that echoes around the stark hallway seems to grow in intensity, enveloping me with a sense of loneliness that is bone-chilling. Can I do this on my own? I used to think of myself as a strong person, but as time passes each little hurdle is beginning to feel like yet another mountain to climb.

***

Diary Log – day 486. 26 days to Christmas. 4 days to my deadline for the Aiden Cruise book outline and I’m on target. Christmas will happen and, fingers crossed, we will be lighting the fire. It seems almost as important to Maya this year as hanging onto the idea of Santa.

The remedial work to the roof is going to cost as much as the work on the chimney. It’s with a heavy heart that I ring Mum to break the news, although she’s clearly delighted to help out.

‘You know, Elana, everything we have will be yours one day. So don’t talk about loans, dear, it’s only money.’

Her words make me feel even more miserable. I’ve just lost Niall, or that’s how it feels still, and the thought of losing someone else is one I can’t bear to think about.

‘It’s a loan, Mum, and I will pay it back once this book is finished. You and Dad must enjoy your retirement and I’m not going to rob you of that. Hopefully it will be a long and enjoyable one. You’ve both earned this time to do whatever you please. It’s your time, Mum – remember that, because I don’t want you living just through us.’

There are a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

‘Darling, if you are hurting, then we are hurting. You and Maya are our world; we love you both to bits. We’ve had a wonderful life and we are so proud of you and how well you are coping. But we know you only choose to show us that brave face. We’re always here for you if … if things ever get too much.’

Her voice is strained and I know her eyes are filling with tears, as are my own.

I can’t share this with you, Mum. I just can’t. I shake my head, as if it’s that easy to shake away my thoughts.

‘That’s life and we just have to get on with it. We’re fine, really. And thanks for the loan, I appreciate it. Give Dad a hug from us!’

Almost as soon as I put the phone down, Maya rushes into the room.

‘Was that Grandma Tricia?’

Her little face shows disappointment and, rather guiltily, I realise I should have called her in, even for a brief ‘hello’.

‘We’ll see Grandma very soon, Maya, I promise. It was only a quick call today. Have you finished your homework?’

Her bottom lip wavers a little, telling me that she hasn’t even started it.

‘Can we light the fire, Mum?’

My heart sinks into my stomach.

‘I’m afraid we can’t, Maya. The builder has to sort the problem with the roof before he can move on to fix the chimney. If we light the fire now it wouldn’t be safe. We want to be safe, don’t we?’

She considers that for a few moments and then nods her head in agreement.

‘How about tonight we cuddle up on the sofa and read anyway, we can light some candles instead of having the fire.’

‘But it won’t be the same, Mum. And if the chimney isn’t safe how will Santa manage to come down it?’

‘Well, I hope it will be all fixed by then. So don’t worry about that now. Go and sort your homework, then after tea we can have a reading fest. Promise.’

She saunters out of the room without saying another word. I notice that there’s no Christmas music, either. Guess we are both having a down day, so I’ll finish up and get started on dinner. I don’t know who needs this most tonight, Maya or me. As I put the PC into sleep mode, Niall’s face stares back at me. One day soon I’ll find the strength to take the photo off, but I’m still not quite ready.

Chapter 4
Luke
Some People Don’t Appreciate How Lucky They Are

It’s milder today and hard to believe it’s December. This time last week it was blowing a gale and the rain was driving across the valley in almost vertical sheets, hitting the ground like bullets. Talk about changeable, but at least this is good weather for roofing.

I hate being the bearer of bad news for a customer, but whoever replaced this roof was either very sloppy or wasn’t an experienced roofing contractor. Not only had a few slates slipped, resulting in a lot of water damage, but the lead flashing around the chimney is a mess. A quick check in the loft confirmed that the visual damage to the bedroom below only hinted at how much water was getting in. It was only a matter of time and a couple more heavy storms, before the lady of the house had a major leak on her hands that would have brought down the ceiling.

My mobile kicks into life and I groan as I spot the caller ID.

‘Yes, Anita. What’s wrong?’

‘Joe has an ear infection and I forgot to pick up some medicine. It’s important.’

‘Of course, I’m on my way.’

I hate not knowing when Joe is ill and the fact that Anita only tells me things when it suits her. It’s hard enough when a family splits up, let alone putting up with an ex who doesn’t feel the need for two-way communication. She’s happy enough to share information when she wants me to fetch and carry, but other than that I rarely get to hear what’s happening. As I slip the phone back into my pocket and straighten, I take a moment to draw a deep breath. My eyes scan the ridge on the opposite side of the valley. A small, light aircraft is taxi-ing along the airstrip on the hill and I watch as it appears to bounce a little. The noise from the engine carries on the breeze, sounding mechanical, as old planes tend to do. Life is such a contrast at times.

I clamber down the ladder, stopping only to knock on Mrs James door to let her know I won’t be around for an hour.

‘Sorry, Mrs James, I need to run an errand, but I’ll get back here as quickly as I can.’

She blinks, as if slightly taken aback by my words and I kick myself, thinking I should have said I needed to pick up some supplies.

‘Oh, that’s … um … fine. And call me Elana, please.’

She’s a good-looking woman, but she wears an almost constant frown. She’s probably only in her mid-thirties at most, but that overly serious disposition is ageing. Take now, for instance. She only opened the door about a foot and is peering out at me from the tiny gap. I mean, who does that? I’m not some stranger, I’m her building contractor and yet, on the other hand, she’s just asked me to call her by her Christian name. Talk about mixed signals – guess I’ll never understand women.

‘Okay. Thanks, Elana. I’ll be back shortly.’

Eve did mention that her neighbour works from home and I was to keep the noise down whenever possible. Rather remarkably, I didn’t laugh, but managed to keep a straight face. How can you not make a noise when you’re working on a roof? I need to hammer and saw at the very least and there’s no way to do that without making a fair bit of noise.

Anyway, I didn’t know her name was Elana. Unusual, but it suits her. She’s rather different, a little posh I’d say. She has this mop of curls, the sort of hair that won’t be tamed and her little girl is like a mini version of her. It’s quite a contrast to her general demeanour, which is rather serious, based on the little interaction we’ve had so far. Still, I’ve done the polite thing, now I’m off to sort out Anita.

***

I don’t know why I fall for it every time. When I arrive at Anita’s apartment with the medicine, Joe is running around in the background looking his usual boisterous self. His face breaks out into a big grin the moment he sees me but Anita doesn’t invite me inside.

‘That took you a long time.’ She scowls as she takes the box from me.

‘I was on the roof of a cottage, halfway up a hill on the edge of the forest. I left as soon as I received your call, but it was a thirty-five-minute drive. So what exactly is wrong with Joe?’

As I peer over her shoulder she continues to bar my way, making it clear I’m not going to grab a cuddle from the little fella.

‘He seemed a bit hot and he was pulling his ear.’

‘Well, he looks okay, now.’

‘Yeah, but kids are like that. They bounce back quickly. See you at the weekend.’

With that Anita shuts the door. I hear a yell from inside as Joe protests, but I know there’s no point in trying to grab a few minutes with him. The court order says Saturdays ten until four, and Anita has no intention of showing any sort of flexibility.

It’s tough being the parent who isn’t the primary carer, but I have to work. I’m not saying it’s easy for Anita either, but if she could only relax and let me help out I could easily have him more often. The problem is that the system is more about one solicitor against another, rather than common sense coming into play. And, not wanting to sound sexist here, but it favours the mother. Now I don’t disagree with that, the mother-child bond is unique, but Anita constantly complains about being a single parent. She is a mother coping on her own for seven nights and six days a week, but that’s her choice. I’ve offered to have Joe at weekends, and weekday over-nighters, if she’s in need of a rest. And yet, in court, all I ended up with was six hours on a Saturday.

Whatever I do is wrong and no one seems to understand that it’s not fair. Anita left me, disappointed when I gave up my lucrative career in software design to help Dad out with the business. It’s a small operation with a total of five of us covering most of the skill sets, from our electrician, to myself, the general builder/roofer. Was I happy to be back in the profession I’d trained in when I left school? No, and Anita knows that, but this is all about family. The pride my dad now has seeing ‘& Son’ on those letterheads, is priceless. More importantly, Mum doesn’t have to worry quite so much about the effects of his high blood pressure. It’s under control again at the moment, but a dizzy spell when you’re thirty feet plus in the air is a real scare. It isn’t just roofing work, but anything off a ladder, or scaffolding, now makes her worry about him, so it’s my job to keep that to a minimum.

If the price I paid is that I gave up my dream to maintain his, then what choice did I have? The livelihood of five families is on the line here.

Besides, regrets are something I can’t afford at the moment. Having to pay maintenance for both Anita and Joe until he goes to pre-school, and Anita can get a part-time job, is understandably costly. The mortgage on our old apartment is expensive, but Anita said it was unfair to expect her to move into something cheaper. Thankfully, the tiny bedsit I rent is a good price and my needs are modest. I enjoy my own company and, to be honest, when I’m not working or with Joe, then I’m on the computer. Jeez, that makes me sound like a saddo, if ever I heard a sob story. But at the moment I can’t contemplate having anyone else in my life to complicate it even further.

Ironically, the guy Anita left me for wasn’t in the picture for long. It takes a special person to take on someone else’s son and accept the situation; plus the fact that I had no intention of absenting myself from Joe’s life didn’t go down too well. Anita was appalled when he suggested she hand over Joe to me, so they could ‘start afresh’. The wake-up call made her bitter, because I think she began to realise that my loyalty wasn’t quite so boring after all. Maybe stability was actually a big positive over wanting to socialise and party all the time. But then, she’s still only twenty-two years old and at twenty-four I’ve had a couple more of those so-called delightful party years. Personally, I thought it was all a bit over-rated, if I’m honest. Getting drunk and chatting up women just to be one of the lads was often mind-blowingly boring. And yet it was how I met Anita. She was out on a friend’s hen party at the time.

Anyway, it is what it is. The truth is that we were simply too young when we had Joe, despite being delighted when we found out Anita was pregnant. But I guess I’d always wanted to be a part of a stable family unit of my own, because my parents are so happy together. I’m used to family life, whereas Anita feels she’s been robbed of her freedom. She’s torn between a mother’s instinctive love for her child and the hopeless feeling of being tied down, with a level of responsibility she couldn’t even comprehend in the beginning.

Now she takes her frustrations out on me and I have to be man enough to accept that, because no matter what happens, we created one great little kid.

***

‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

I look down over the edge of the roof to see Elana James shouting up at me, hands cupped around her mouth. You can’t shout quietly, lady, it’s a long way up. Admittedly she’s rather reserved and it’s kind of her to make the offer, so I hold up one hand in acknowledgement and shout back, ‘Thanks, tea, I’ll be down in five.’

It’s about time I finished, anyway, so I adjust the tarpaulin and check everything is watertight for the night. I found a lot of broken slates that also need replacing and the order will be delivered in the morning. By tomorrow night I’m hoping the roof repair will be in hand and then I can start thinking about the work on the chimney. A voice suddenly rises up out of thin air, startling me; well it’s more of a mumble, really. I ease myself into a standing position and hold my breath, straining my ears to catch the direction it’s coming from. There it is again. I move closer to the chimney and now I can make out actual words.

‘… and you have to promise me that you won’t forget, Santa. I don’t want my daddy to think I’ve forgotten him. You can’t send presents to people who are in heaven, even though you can speak to them, of course. So I need you to take him something special from Mummy and me. I’ll let you know when the chimney is fixed. And I’ll leave you some extra biscuits on Christmas Eve. Thank you.’

A lump rises in my throat as the voice trails off into silence. No wonder the lady is so reserved; she’s not divorced, as I’d assumed, she’s a widow. I wonder when exactly her husband died. Her daughter is a really cute kid, bright and very polite. Christmas can’t be easy for them; it’s a hard time of year when you have to live with regrets. I’ll be with my parents this year for the first time since I left home when I was eighteen. Never thought I’d find myself back there at Christmas, staying in my old bedroom as if being married and becoming a dad is merely a dream.

I wonder if Elana heard her daughter’s plea, too. It’s none of my business, but it’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Right, time to get off this roof and drink that tea before I set off home for the day.

Chapter 5
Luke
Keeping the Client Happy

‘Everything alright, my son?’ Dad’s voice booms down the line. Mrs James let me know he’d called in shortly after I left to run my errand.

‘Yep. You know what kids are like; Anita had run out of medicine and was worried Joe was getting an ear infection. He was fine when I saw him, briefly. I wasn’t invited inside.’

Dad makes a sound like ‘harrumph’.

‘Just do what you can, when you can, Luke. The little dude might not be aware of it yet, but he’s lucky to have a dad who cares so much.’

It matters to me that my dad thinks that, although I’ve failed to give Joe the stable family unit he deserves. Maybe if I’d made the effort to take Anita out more, rather than assuming she was happy enough with a life that centred around just the three of us, we’d have stayed together. I thought that was what we both wanted, and I sure got that wrong!

‘Thanks. Is Ma there?’

I hear him call out, ‘Sally, it’s your favourite son on the phone.’

A few seconds later Mum picks up the receiver.

‘Only because he’s my only son,’ she comments, laughing. ‘How are you, Luke – and Joe?’

‘I’m fine, really. I just wanted you to know that there’s no panic. Just Anita doing the usual; maybe Joe has been a little off-colour, but she wanted to remind me that she’s the one who takes the brunt. It was just a trip to the chemist, that’s all. I knew you’d be worried. He was running around in the background and seemed fine.’

‘She didn’t let you talk to him, then?’

The disappointment in her voice is a killer. She simply can’t understand Anita’s actions and she hates to think of the hurt it’s causing me.

‘I’ll have him on Saturday, as usual. He was fine, that’s all that matters.’

‘Yes, that’s the main thing. And you are okay?’

‘Yes, Ma. I’m doing fine and loving my work.’

I can almost see the smile on her face.

‘You’re a good son and one day you’ll find someone very special.’

If only Anita had thought I was a good husband, then life would be sweet. Instead, it’s a mess and I feel like a failure. I’ve given my parents a grandchild, but one they can only see briefly every Saturday afternoon.

***

The replacement slates for Bay Tree Cottage don’t arrive until late morning. Fortunately, it’s a dry, bright day and even the sun is putting in an appearance. I can only hope this weather continues into next week, as I can’t start work on the repointing if there’s any sign of a frost. It’s a job I’d normally look to postpone until early spring, but like Hillside View, it’s a job that has to be done sooner rather than later. One really strong gust of wind could do a lot of damage and the debris falling from a roof could potentially kill someone.

The bonus of working up here is that it’s quiet for the most part. The drone of traffic is hardly noticeable in the distance, and the odd car driving down the hill is merely a reminder of the existence of other people. It’s certainly a great place to live. It’s just a pity for Elana that the inside still needs quite a lot of work to finish it off.

As I climb down the scaffolding, more than ready to demolish my packed lunch, the postman is at the door of Hillside View and Eve looks up.

‘Luke, I have a cheque here for you. Step inside while I go and find it.’

I loiter inside the porch, making sure I don’t step off the coir matting. My boots are mostly clean, but the light-cream carpet beyond it isn’t exactly practical. I guess when you have money that’s not a major consideration.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Luke. Here you go. Please tell Matthew that we’re thrilled with the work and ask if he can confirm when exactly in January he’s able to make a start on the new conservatory.’

‘No problem, and it’s nice to get feedback. And thanks, too, for your recommendation to next door.’

‘Oh, Elana. Yes, an unfortunate expense for her, I’m afraid, but in another way she’s relieved to think it will all be fixed very soon.’

I turn to go, then hesitate.

‘Um … just so I don’t put my foot in it, or anything. Do you mind if I ask when her husband died? I heard her daughter talking about it.’

‘About sixteen months ago in a tragic accident. A tyre blowout on the motorway. It’s considerate of you to ask. So easy to assume a husband is around and she’s very fragile still, naturally.’

I nod my thanks, holding up the cheque in acknowledgement and head off to the van.

It’s a bit chilly, but with the radio playing in the background I’m happy enough sitting here eating my sandwiches and looking out over the extensive views. If only I could stop my mind wandering and wondering ‘what if’. If Anita wasn’t so bitter, if I’d realised how trapped she’d end up feeling—

A movement in front of me makes me jerk my head up and I see Elana parking her car up by the garage. As she walks down the path it would be rude not to wave. She smiles and when she draws alongside the van I wind the window down, because she appears to be slowing her pace.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch, Luke. When you’ve finished do you think you could pop in and take a look at something?’

‘Will do, Mrs James – I mean, Elana. I’ll be in shortly.’

Even when she smiles there’s that little hint of sadness in those green eyes of hers. Something that she probably isn’t even aware is there, or maybe it takes one to know one. People who have sadness in their lives often carry it inside, unseen, but the eyes are the windows of the soul. When a hurt runs deep there’s no getting away from it. I wonder if that’s what people see when they look at me – the disappointment and sense of failure I feel.

I straighten my back and stretch out my arms, my muscles beginning to ache a little from sitting in a cramped space. I can’t wait to get to the gym tonight and have a really good workout. Then it’s a takeaway pizza and a little software program to test out. One of these days, hopefully, I’ll have something to sell that will take away all of my money worries. Until then, though, it’s back to the job in hand.

As I walk up to the front door of Bay Tree Cottage, Elana is looking out for me and immediately opens the door.

‘Thanks, Luke. Much appreciated. The problem is in the utility room, this way. Don’t bother about your boots, it’s hardly pristine in here.’

She sounds accepting of the situation and I feel for her, now I understand the position she’s in. She appears to be quite a proud lady and it must hurt, being alone with a child and living in something that is only partially completed.

I follow her into the narrow utility room and she pulls open the doors to the sink unit, exposing a large bucket half-full of water. A constant drip that is running quite fast is like a low drumbeat.

‘How long’s it been leaking?’

I look across at her and she grimaces.

“A while. I have to empty the bucket several times a day. And it’s getting worse.’

A quick glance isn’t enough to discover what’s causing the leak, although it’s sufficient to establish that this probably wasn’t done by the best plumber in the world. If her husband did it I have to be careful. In fairness, it’s not a really bad job, but there’s a lot of pipe work running off to service the washing machine and dishwasher. I would have configured it differently, flush against the back wall so that if there was a problem everything was easier to access. Quite simply, this is a pig of a job, because it’s going to be difficult to get a wrench in there to tighten up whichever joint is leaking.

‘It’s not a problem. I’ll go and grab some tools.’

She lets out a sharp breath, clearly relieved it’s something I can fix.

‘I was rather worried you’d say it was a major problem. I’m afraid the plumber we used wasn’t the best. My husband wasn’t here when the work was done and when he saw it he thought it was a bit of a mess.’

I smile and shrug, but she looks back at me rather flustered. I’m not sure she meant to share that, so I make a quick exit and when I return she’s nowhere in sight. I throw a dust sheet on the floor and open the doors wide, then take out the shelf. Lying down on my back I ease myself into the cabinet and stare up at the maze of pipes. Isn’t it always the way that the leak comes from the top? It’s the cold tap that’s leaking; the drip is almost constant. I can just about get my hand up between the pipes and get the wrench in place, but when it bites I can only twist it about a millimetre at a time. Even then, nothing seems to be happening. Then it dawns upon me that whoever installed this probably cross-threaded it when they tightened it up. Every time I move it slightly, it’s just going around the same thread. Nothing I do seems to stem the dribble of water. I hear a cough and as I begin easing myself back out, I find myself looking up at Elana.

‘It’s not going to be an easy fix, is it?’

I guess she can tell from the look on my face.

‘Hey, it’s not as bad as that. Someone has over-tightened the nut at some point and it looks like the tap itself is crossed-threaded. That means when I try to do it up it’s not making any difference.’

‘There’s an “and”, isn’t there?’

I nod.

‘And that means a new tap. The problem with the layout underneath there is that the taps were put in first. All the extra pipe work was installed without any thought to accessing the taps. In all honesty I’m better off doing a quick re-design so that it’s easier for the future. If I try to replace the tap as it is now, it will probably take me longer than sorting it out once and for all.’

She nods. ‘Okay. Thanks. No point in cutting corners. To be honest, I’m getting a little sick of the word leak. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost?’

‘It’s a couple of hours’ work and a tap, that’s all. It won’t be a lot. As I’m here working anyway, it will just be a small add-on.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate that. Can I make you a drink?’

‘That’s very kind, but I’ll pop off now to pick up a replacement tap. I have everything else I need in the van. It going to take me a couple of hours, tops.’

‘Sorry to have pulled you away from the roof. Oh, there’s my phone – I’ll leave you to it. I’ll make a cuppa when you get back. And thanks for not making a drama out of my little crisis.’ She gives me a warm smile and the little furrow in her forehead disappears for a second or two.

***

Elana opens the door and I step inside, slipping off my boots.

‘You know, there’s really no need. It’s not as if the floor is clean, the concrete constantly throws up a white dust and I’ve given up on it.’

‘It’s a habit – we like to respect our customers’ homes. I’m going to have to turn off the water for a while, so if you need to run a tap for anything let me know when you’re done.’

‘The kettle is full, so no problem. It’s only me here during the day when Maya is at school, so you aren’t disrupting anything. One sugar, white – right?’

‘Thanks. I’ll make a start, then.’

As Elana disappears into the kitchen, I head off to the utility room. Walking past the computer in the corner of the dining room, I can’t help but notice the photo of a rather good-looking guy on the screen. It must be so hard to lose the person you love, just like that; having to juggle not only your own emotions, but those of a child, too. It makes me think of the Santa thing and her daughter. It’s not something I can bring up, but I sincerely hope she’s aware of what’s going on inside that little girl’s head.

Anyway, it’s none of my business and now I have a mess of pipes to hack about, so I can start again and do the job as it should have been done in the first place. Shoddy workmanship just annoys the heck out of me.

Chapter 6
Luke
Dad For the Day

Picking up Joe is always a bittersweet moment. It’s great to know I have some quality time with him and yet the handover is always upsetting. What I wish is that we could have family time together, all three of us. It can’t happen, I know, as whatever was good between Anita and me has completely disappeared. Maybe it’s just too soon to expect her to be able to put her feelings to one side to join in our fun. But I always try.

‘We’re going swimming, would you like to come?’

She looks directly at me, raising one eyebrow with disdain.

‘Swimming? You know the chlorine isn’t good for my hair. I think I’ll pass. Besides, I’m meeting up with a friend at the mall to do some shopping. Goodness knows, I don’t get much time to myself and I deserve a few hours off.’

I’m such a fool, I didn’t mean to upset her, or make her feel guilty for grabbing a few carefree hours. I just thought … hoped—

‘No, it’s fine. I understand. I thought I’d ask, as you know what Joe’s like. He loves splashing about in the water and it’s great fun.’

The eyebrow doesn’t lower and I hold Joe up for a goodbye kiss. She hugs him close, plants a kiss on his forehead and says, ‘Mumma loves you. See you later, little guy.’

I know she’s pulled between the sadness of letting him go and the desire to grab some precious me time. It’s different for the guys, isn’t it? Most men don’t even consider that when a baby arrives it’s a truly life-changing event being a mum. It’s often something we take for granted. We tend to dip in and out of our kids’ lives, a lot of men still being the traditional main provider. And even when both parents are working, I wonder how many men jump out of bed in the middle of the night when the kids start crying? I like to think I did my share, but Anita was always awake before me and out of bed before it registered with me that Joe was even awake. Perhaps it’s all down to how we are wired up.

Joe wriggles, clearly eager to be put down and for us to get on our way. He looks up at me expectantly as I grasp his little hand in mine.

‘Swimming, Joe?’

He nods. ‘Water,’ he says in that sing-songy little voice of his. It sounds more like ‘vauta’, but his words are getting much easier to understand as the weeks go by. Apparently he’s a little behind on his speech, considering he’s now seventeen months old, but my mum says boys are often like that. Girls, apparently, are much quicker to talk.

‘Right, little man. We have one job to do on the way to the pool. Daddy has to drop something off as Granddad forgot, so we’re taking the scenic route and going via the forest. Trees, Joe? Wanna see some big trees?’

Joe nods enthusiastically, although I’m not sure he understands. You don’t get many big trees in the middle of a busy town, so I hope he’s going to love the detour.

He’s happy enough in his car seat and as we leave behind the built-up area of town and the landscape changes, he’s fascinated by the open fields.

‘Look Joe, sheep!’

‘Eep.’ He repeats, pulling his finger out of his mouth and pushing the wet digit against the car window. ‘Eep.’ A once-clean window is now covered in smears and it makes me smile. Today I feel like a dad again.

As we pull up outside Bay Tree Cottage, I unclip Joe from the seat and he claps his hands. ‘Baa, baa,’ he shouts. He thinks we’re going to look at the sheep up close.

‘No, Joe. But we are going to see a great view.’

I grab the roll of flashing from the boot and walk down to the cottage, both arms full. Then I realise I need to ring the doorbell, but the lead is even heavier than Joe. Just as I’m considering my dilemma the door opens and it’s Maya.

‘Hi, Maya. I’m just dropping this off and wondered if your mummy was around?’

‘Baba,’ Joe says, not wanting to be left out.

‘Maya’s a big girl, Joe. You’re the baba.’

Maya laughs. ‘He’s funny and cute!’ She reaches out and he grabs her hand. Elana walks up behind Maya, smiling.

‘Ah, what a sweetie. Who is this little chap?’

‘His name is Joe.’

‘Mum. Can he come in and play, please?’

Elana looks at me and then smiles down at Maya.

‘I think that’s rather up to Luke.’

She tilts her head in my direction, clearly quite happy to invite us in.

‘Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your day. I was just going to ask if I could store this in the hallway. I’ll need it on Monday and it’s not something I can leave outside. It’s just that I don’t have the van at weekends.’ I turn my gaze in the direction of Joe.

‘Oh, sorry. That’s heavy and you have your hands full. Step inside, please. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Elana disappears and I put Joe down. At first he clings to my leg, but Maya starts talking to him and, before I know it, he’s toddling after her as she encourages him inside.

I’m relieved to dump the roll of lead as I’m not sure how much longer I could have carried it. It’s only as I turn to enter the cottage that I notice the photo on the windowsill. It’s Elana and her husband. I recognise him from her screensaver; he’s holding Maya, who is probably only a few weeks old.

‘What will Joe drink?’

Elana’s voice catches my attention and I quickly check on the kids before I join her in the kitchen.

‘Water will be fine. He’s not very good with a cup still, but he’s okay if I hold it for him.’

She hands me a mug of coffee and carries a tray through into the sitting room.

‘Take a seat, Luke. So, do you babysit often?’

Maya is on the floor showing Joe one of the apps on her iPad. There’s a small monkey running around collecting bananas and as they both stab their fingers at the screen, he runs faster and faster.

‘Sort of, he’s my son, actually.’

Elana takes the seat opposite me, a look of mild surprise on her face.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise you were a family man.’ Her face looks a little flushed.

‘I’m older than I look,’ I retort. Her cheeks are now beginning to glow. ‘It’s complicated. We split up when Joe was six months old. I have him every Saturday.’

Quiet ensues as we both turn our attention to taking sips of coffee that is way too hot to drink. Maya and Joe are having lots of fun and now they have crayons and a colouring book.

‘Just make sure he keeps his crayon on the paper, Maya. He’s still learning the rules.’ Maya smiles back at me as Joe does a squiggle all over a Christmas tree she drew for him.

‘That’s sad,’ Elana says after a few minutes have elapsed.

‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t my decision. But you know what it’s like, life has to go on.’ The moment I finish speaking I realise that she might think I was referring to her situation, too. She probably doesn’t realise I know, so now I’m the one feeling embarrassed. I glance across at her and our eyes meet.

‘It certainly does,’ is all that she says. There’s no emotion in her voice, though, and no hint of acknowledgement beyond the obvious. It’s a relief, as I have to remember she’s a client.

‘He’s a happy little chappie, so you must be doing something right. It’s hard for the kids when things go wrong. It’s a constant worry, isn’t it?’

‘Yep. I don’t like to think of him paying the price for our mistakes. But you’re right, he is happy most of the time. Sometimes on handover he wails when I have to leave and that breaks my heart.’

‘Do you want to try him with his drink?’ Elana holds out the plastic cup.

I take it and hold it out to Joe. He immediately toddles over and with his hand on one handle, and mine on the other, he drinks half of it in one go.

‘Ta,’ he mutters and then heads straight back to Maya and the colouring book.

‘Aww … he’s a little darling. I can’t really remember Maya at that age; I’d have to look back at the photos. I vaguely remember that every time she tried to pick something up off the floor she would topple over. Her head seemed to be heavier than her body for ages, as she was very slim. She constantly walked around with a forehead that looked like she’d been fighting!’

We laugh and for some reason Joe decides to join in, which makes Maya laugh, too.

‘Look, I really didn’t intend to disrupt your day and we’d better get off. I’m taking Joe swimming and then we’re going to visit my parents. Thanks so much for the coffee and I’ll be here at seven on Monday. The weather forecast is dry but overcast, so fingers crossed I can get that lead work sorted and then make a start on the repointing.’

‘It’s been a real pleasure and Maya has enjoyed playing with Joe. Next door are away this weekend and she’s missing the company of her friend.’

‘It must be nice having a best friend living next door. Lucky too, given this location. I haven’t seen many other kids around.’

As I scoop Joe up and he gives Maya a big wave, we head out to the front door.

‘It’s one of the drawbacks when you have kids, but we thought the benefits outweighed the negatives. It’s safe for them to play outside, there isn’t much passing traffic, and nature in all its glory is literally on the doorstep.’

I don’t think Elana realises she said we and I pretend not to notice. I guess it’s hard to switch from being one half of a happy couple to being a widow. Even the word itself sounds grim and it doesn’t suit her. Grief is a process, I believe, so I’m sure it’s not easy going through each stage. I suppose splitting up with someone is quite similar in some respects. I’m grieving for what could have been and still trying to work out what to do next.

As I strap Joe back into his car seat I can’t help thinking that this is the sort of life I’d envisioned for my family. I just thought it was a few years away and by then I’d be financially secure. Instead, it’s all one big sorry mess. They do say you get the life you deserve and I guess Anita and I aren’t being punished, but paying the price for letting life sweep us along. No baby should be a surprise, it should be something that is planned. My aim now is to make sure I keep them both as happy as I can, given the circumstances.

Chapter 7
Elana
Living Life Under a Cloud of Dust

I sit in front of the screen with my email to the publishers open in front of me. There’s a massive sense of accomplishment as I press the send button and, at long last, the outline of Aiden’s biography is winging its way to their offices. They promised they would get the payment for stage one processed by the end of next week. I’ll have to wait to find out what changes they want once they’ve had a chance to consider my initial thoughts, but that doesn’t affect payday.

I told Seth Greenburg, Aiden’s business manager, I’d give him a call once it was done. I grab my phone, sitting back and looking at the screen with a measure of satisfaction and relief.

‘Seth, it’s Elana James. The outline is done and on the way. I doubt I will hear anything now until the New Year, but as soon as I do, I’ll let you know what they have to say. I’ve plenty to be going on with and I’ll begin fleshing out some of my notes from the various interviews.’

‘Great. I’m sorry Aiden couldn’t be available as often as we’d hoped, but it’s going to be a case of grabbing time with him when you can. I mentioned the idea of you perhaps accompanying him on tour in March, but he’s doing a special gig on New Year’s Eve at Eastleigh Court. It’s invite only, as it’s a private party for Morton Wiseman, but I wondered if it might be an opportunity for you two to meet in person. I think you’ll understand a lot more about him when you see him perform live.’

Is Seth worried about what I think of Aiden and concerned I’ll focus less on his talent and more on his infamous temper? And why can’t I seem to get a clear picture of who this guy is, because even as I try to piece it all together nothing seems to fit.

‘Well, um, I’ll have to think about that as there would be a few things I’d have to rearrange at this end. Is this the Morton Wiseman, you’re talking about? The actor?’

‘Yep, this year’s number-one sexiest man alive, or so the polls say. He’s not the best influence on Aiden, I’m afraid, but they’ve always been good mates. Look, I appreciate you might already have plans, but I think it would help if you meet up before you start getting down to the detail. Research is one thing; what other people tell you is another, but you also need to see the guy beneath all the hype.’

Seth is a really genuine man, very professional and very astute. He knows he can’t influence what I write, but I think he can see that I’m going into this with an open mind. I know sensationalism sells books, and the publishers will expect a full account of the years Aiden was using illegal substances, but he has changed. Yes, he still has a short fuse, but from what I’ve pieced together so far, there is often a lot of provocation before he explodes.

‘I understand. Leave it with me and I’ll do my best. Can you email me the details?’

“No need. I’ll send a car to pick you up late afternoon on the day and it’s only just over a two-hour drive. Aiden’s performance begins at nine. I’m happy to book a room at a local hotel for you if you can stay over; it’s going to be a late one.’

‘Thank you, Seth. I’ll email to confirm when I’ve sorted things at this end.’

I put down the phone thinking I rather walked into that one. New Year’s Eve has never been special, usually the three of us watching a film together before Maya went to bed. Then, Niall and I always watched one of our favourites – some of them we’d seen over and over, but never tired of the storylines. Should I feel guilty about leaving her with Mum and Dad, just so I can work? And how do I feel about dressing up and being around celebrities? The answer to that is nervous as hell. It’s certainly not something I thought about when I took this job on.

‘Mum, are you ready to play Monopoly now?’

‘Yes, honey. I’ve just finished.’

‘Can we light the fire?’

‘No, Maya. Luke is starting work on the chimney tomorrow. Then I have to book the sweep and I’m not sure he’s going to be able to come before Christmas. We might have to pile the fire grate up with logs and pretend this year. Do you mind? Maybe I could buy some red lights to put in between them, so it looks like a fire?’

She stands with her head crooked to one side, considering my offer.

‘It’s not quite the same, Mum. I suppose it’s better for Santa, though. I wonder if he’s ever burnt his feet? You know, on the hot bits in the bottom.’

I have to concentrate hard not to smile, but keep my expression as serious as hers.

‘That’s why he wears stout boots. He’s been doing it a long time, Maya, and even when there isn’t a fireplace he has a master key that fits every front door.’

She jumps up and down on the spot, her eyes wide with excitement.

‘I wondered about that! He listens, too, Mum. Doesn’t he? I’ve been talking to him and hoping he was listening.’

My frown is back, the smile no longer hovering. What has she told Santa that she hasn’t told me?

‘Well, yes, he does listen but he’s very busy in the run-up to Christmas so it’s probably better to write to him. I can post a letter for you, there’s still plenty of time. It’s express delivery to the North Pole at this time of year.’

What goes through the mind of a six-and-a-half-year-old child when they are missing their daddy at Christmas? I remember something Luke said, yesterday. ‘Life has to go on.’ It’s the same whether you are a child or an adult.

‘Think about it, Maya, I’m sure Santa would be very happy to receive a letter from you.’

‘It’s Monopoly time!’ She shrieks, and I’m not sure whether or not my words have even registered with her. It would help me to know what’s important to her this Christmas, aside from having a roaring fire, which doesn’t look very promising at the moment.

‘Go on in and set it up on the coffee table. I’ll pack this away, make a quick coffee and then I’m all yours.’

Her beam is reward enough. I quickly scoop the small pile of papers into a stack, slip them into the box file and then, with the mouse, click to change screens.

Diary Log – day 490. 22 days to Christmas. Pressed send on the Aiden Cruise book outline – now awaiting payment. Time to change my screensaver, I think, something Christmassy to show Maya I’m getting in the mood. Hoping she will write Santa a letter so I can gauge what’s going on inside that little head of hers. We’re surviving – just.

As I make a cup of coffee, I wonder what I’d write in a letter to Santa. What would I ask for? What do I want? My mind is blank, like a chalkboard that has been cleaned and is ready and waiting for someone to begin writing on it. Except that I have no idea what to ask for, even if Santa was real and could deliver whatever my heart desired. Everything I wanted was wrapped up in Niall. All I want now is a rosy future for my daughter, but should I also want something for myself? I suppose what I’d really like is for someone to wave a magic wand and make Bay Tree Cottage perfect. If we can’t have Niall, then maybe we can surround ourselves with a home that still feels like he’s here with us. I’m only guessing Maya feels that way, too, but I’m pretty sure it would be very different if we moved somewhere new. The problem is that until she’s prepared to tell me in her own time, I’m second-guessing. Okay, Santa, find a way to sort out this cottage once and for all. I don’t care if it’s a lottery win, although I’ll have to remember to buy a ticket – or an unexpected cheque in the post.

I look down at my slipper-socks, covered in white concrete dust, and sigh. Just make it happen soon, Santa.

Chapter 8
Elana
Santa to the Rescue

By seven a.m. Luke is already on the roof clambering around. The intention was for Maya to have an early night after several hours of board games yesterday, but we ended up reading quite a few bedtime stories. She went to sleep a little later than usual for a Sunday night. Her last words were that it had been a lovely day and that actually brought a tear to my eye. The cottage doesn’t feel full any more with just the two of us and she obviously feels the same way, but we’d laughed a lot. It had turned into one of those days that you re-live with a smile on your face, as it’s a reminder that life can still be good.

I pop out to put some rubbish in the bin and pass Rick on the drive.

‘Hey, Elana. How’re things?’

‘Hey, stranger. Good and I owe you a big thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Eve looking out for me. I hear you’ve been busy.’

He’s carrying a large pile of files under one arm and a small suitcase in the other.

‘It’s not a problem; I’m only sorry it meant more expense for you. I’m off to London again; at this rate it would be easier to rent an apartment up there. The travelling is the worst part, although usually I can work on the train. Today I have to take the car as I’m dropping off files and then heading off to Surrey.’

‘Well, just drive safely.’

We exchange glances and Rick nods in agreement; I didn’t mean to say that, as immediately we both think of Niall.

‘Will do and enjoy your week,’ he calls out as I head down to the cottage.

Today I have to phone Mum about New Year’s Eve, to see whether they will be able to have Maya. I did think of asking Eve first, as she’s having a small family party and it would be great for the two girls to keep each other company. However, I know that it’s a night Mum and Dad rarely go out and they love spending time with Maya. Since Niall passed away there are few reasons for her to go and stay over, so I know they’ll be delighted.

When I open the post I’m rather surprised to see an envelope with Mum’s writing on it. Slitting it open, it’s a card with a picture of some hand-tied roses on the front of it. Inside is a cheque, folded in half, and the note on the card says:

This is a Christmas present and you can’t refuse something that’s given with love at this time of year. Mum and Dad xxx

When I unfold the paper it’s for five thousand pounds. My legs wobble a bit and I sink down onto the dining chair.

‘What the … I can’t take this!’ Talking to oneself out loud probably isn’t best with a six-year-old around, so I stuff the handful of post into my filing tray on the desk. I shout up to Maya to clean her teeth and come straight down afterwards, or we will be late for school. Amelie is probably already waiting for us as it’s my turn to do the ferrying this week.

All the way to school, and back, I can’t stop thinking about the cheque. Yes, I need it, but will my conscience allow me to take it? I have a roof over my head and we don’t go short of anything – all it lacks is a little cosmetics. Is that really enough justification to begin emptying my parents’ little nest egg?

When your thought processes are churning it’s almost like having two voices in your head. Good cop, bad cop. Okay, that’s not quite right, but it’s how it feels.

They’re going to be upset if you don’t take it.

There goes their dream trip to Australia.

No more concrete dust – a floor you can clean!

Mum will admit that she wasn’t looking forward to the long flight anyway.

How selfish are you prepared to be?

It’s a temptation to just take it and say thank you, but it doesn’t feel right. In the end, when I arrive home I go straight inside and phone Mum. An hour and quite a few tears later, I place the cheque on my desk, ready to take it to the bank this afternoon. Mum is over the moon about having Maya to stay on New Year’s Eve, but I’m still feeling as if I’ve been talked into doing something that will rob them of one of their dreams. I’ve become a liability and somehow I have to turn that around. The time has come to stop making excuses and start grabbing hold of life again.

I’m going to do such a great job of this biography that lots of new work will come my way and then I’ll repay my parents every single penny. As a rush of enthusiasm rolls over me the door bell chimes, interrupting my determined, ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ moment.

It’s Luke.

‘Sorry to bother you, Elana. The flashing is done and that’s the really noisy bit out of the way, now. I need to use your outside tap to mix up the cement for the chimney, but it appears to have been turned off, so it must have a separate stop valve. Do you mind if I take a look?’

‘No problem, help yourself.’

Luke steps inside and I leave him to forage under the stairs. On his way out he shouts out a quick thanks and I hurry to catch him before he shuts the door.

‘When you stop for lunch do you think you could pop in? I’d like to talk to you about some of the outstanding work on the cottage. If you haven’t prepared anything, I could make us some sandwiches.’

He nods his head. ‘Sure. I have a pasty if you could nuke it in the microwave for me.’

I can’t help laughing at the thought. ‘No problem. See you in a bit, then.’

He’s so easy-going that’s it’s hard to understand what could have gone wrong with his relationship. Yes, he’s very young, but he seems mature and level-headed enough. Maybe going through the experience of fatherhood and a break-up has made him that way. I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror and run a hand through my hair, thinking it’s about time I had it cut. I lean in, noticing that the little crow’s feet around my eyes seem much deeper these days. And I now have an awfully sharp frown line on my forehead that seems to deepen with each week that passes. That’s another awful thing about grief, it ages you.

Diary Log – day 491. 21 days to Christmas. Must remember not to frown quite so much. Yes, bad things have happened – the worst – but I’m lucky in that I still have people around me to love and who love me unreservedly in return. Time to remember to count my blessings – appreciate what I have, as opposed to what I haven’t … And Santa, thank you! I didn’t realise you could work that fast.

Chapter 9
Elana
Moving Forward Means Accepting Change

Sitting around the kitchen table with Luke, he seems remarkably relaxed and there’s no indication that he feels I’m encroaching on his lunch break. The re-heated pasty on the plate in front of him looks anaemic and unappetising, but that doesn’t put him off as he tucks into it quite heartily. Alongside his plate I’ve buttered some thick slices of beetroot-and-apple bread and he’s already devoured one slice.

‘I’m sorry to be a pain and you must really long to just get on with the original job you’re here to do, so you can finish. It’s just that—’ I stop to find the right words, my eyes sinking to the dusty, grey concrete floor.

‘It’s just that you are living in a partially finished cottage and while you’re pretending everything is fine, it isn’t.’

My mouth goes dry as I look up at him in utter surprise.

‘Oops. Sorry, that sort of came out sounding a bit, um, well – blunt. Some things sound harmless enough when you think them, but unexpectedly harsh when you try to put them into words. I hope I haven’t offended you, that wasn’t my intention.’

He doesn’t seem upset, quite prosaic, actually, and it hasn’t stopped him munching his way through the last of his pasty. I toy with my neat little sandwich.

‘No, not at all. Spot on, really. I try not to let it get to me because up until now there was nothing I could do about it. You see, my husband died last year. Since then virtually nothing has been done on the cottage. It’s like living in two different homes at the same time. Upstairs is a reminder of how the whole place should look: the moment we descend the stairs it’s rather like camping out. Yes, the new kitchen is in place, and I managed to give the walls a coat of paint to tidy it up, but we never expected to live like this for months on end. The dust permeates everything and it’s ruining the sofa, and I worry about how much of it Maya is inhaling—’

Luke hasn’t moved, but he has stopped eating. That’s not a good sign. I feel rather silly, now, as if I’ve just emptied my head of a jumble of words that won’t really mean anything to a young man like Luke.

‘Life isn’t very fair at times, is it, Elana? I’m really sorry for what you’ve been through. I could seal the floor for you, to stop you worrying about Maya—’

‘Oh, no, really, I wasn’t … didn’t mean. You see, I’ve been given a present that will allow me to have some of the work done. Obviously I’m going to ask your company to give me a quote. But I need help making a list of the jobs that need doing and their individual costs, so that I can decide what exactly I can afford to have done. I mean, is it wise to have the flooring sorted, or will the walls need re-plastering, first? I’m afraid I don’t have a clue about building work in general. Filling, sanding and painting I can do myself, but I have no idea if there’s damp, or any other serious problems that are more important than a nice, clean floor covering. Could you help me on that? I’m happy to pay for your time.’

He picks up the last piece of bread and begins chewing.

‘I’ll tell you what, invite me to dinner this evening and I’ll do a thorough inspection. Then we can sit down after Maya’s gone to bed to look at potential costs and priorities. Or is that over-stepping the mark?’

‘Not at all, it’s helpful. Really. Do you like beef casserole?’

‘I’ll eat anything, if I’m honest. I’m used to microwave meals for one these days, but even before that Anita wasn’t a cook. Highlights for me are trips home for some old-fashioned, hearty dinners. Anyway, I have to get back to work now. My client is a rather demanding lady.’

He starts laughing and I join in. I hope I’m not the proverbial home-owner from hell, but then it’s not that I keep changing my mind, more that the list of jobs that need doing seems endless.

***

‘Mum, here are the words I have to learn for the Christmas play. I’m the wishing star!’

‘Wishing star, you say? And you have words?’ That’s a little puzzling.

‘Of course! I grant each of the three wise men a wish. A bit like Santa, I suppose.’

My heart skips a beat. This could be my opportunity.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll do a great job. Do you want to write that letter to Santa this evening? Luke is joining us for dinner as he’s going to make a big list of all the jobs that need doing in the cottage. I think it’s time we began to sort things out, don’t you?’

She stares at me without blinking, what did I say?

‘You mean, we have money?’

She’s six, well, six and a half, and I can’t believe my own daughter just said those words. What has she overheard me saying – does she worry about our future, too?

‘Yes, darling, we have money, of course we do. We simply have to use it wisely. Mummy has just been so busy that I haven’t had time to decide what to do next. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a lovely clean floor, one where we could walk about without raising dust clouds?’ I force out a laugh, trying to lighten the moment.

‘You mean like in Amelie’s cottage?’

Was I being very naive thinking that, at that tender age, kids didn’t take much notice of their surroundings?

‘Well, maybe not quite as stylish as Hillside View, as I don’t think cream carpet would be practical for us. But some rather nice wood flooring would make things a lot cosier, don’t you think?’

Maya gazes down at the assortment of rugs covering about eighty per cent of the floor.

‘I like the colours, I just don’t like the dust.’

‘Me too, darling. Hopefully Luke will come up with a plan so we can get the work started very soon.’

Maya comes close, putting her arms around my waist and hugging me with great force.

‘I’ll write that note to Santa, Mum, before it’s too late.’ She sounds subdued and I can only assume that this has, unwittingly, raked up some old memories of Niall and me working upstairs together. On several occasions Maya, too, wielded a paintbrush, usually preferring to paint in circular sweeps rather than going for coverage. And, more often than not, getting more paint on herself and the floor than the walls. But those were fun times, for the most part. Times I didn’t realise she would readily remember.

I head off to check the slow cooker. Luke usually finishes work for the day at about five-thirty, so he could be knocking on the door shortly. As I set the table, it seems strange putting out three place settings again. I purposely set a place for Luke in the chair opposite the one Niall always occupied. I hope it’s not going to upset Maya as she’s usually quite bouncy. Sadness comes in fleeting moments, until I can distract her. I won’t know until we all sit down together how she’s going to react.

As the big hand on the clock hits the six, there’s a tap on the front door. I wonder why he didn’t ring the doorbell.

‘Hi, thanks for coming, Luke.’

He looks hesitantly at me and doesn’t appear to be making any attempt to take a step forward and come inside.

‘I realised afterwards that I kinda invited myself along this evening and that might have been out of order. I can come back another time just to take a look, if it’s inconvenient.’

‘Hey, you are doing me a huge favour and I would have suggested the same thing if you hadn’t. Come in, please.’

‘Maya, when will you be finished?’ I call out, leaving Luke to wrestle with the laces on his boots. Silence reigns.

‘Do you mind if I wash my face and hands? I have a towel, so I’m not going to leave mortar everywhere, promise.’ He indicates a backpack slung from one shoulder.

‘That’s fine, of course. There’s a cloakroom leading off the utility room. Help yourself.’

Maya still hasn’t answered me.

‘Maya, are you on your iPad?’

I’m expecting her to shout down, but she’s in her bedroom and from the dull thumping, she probably has her Disney CD playing. When I go up to check, popping my head around the door discreetly, she’s at her desk writing. I back out slowly, not wanting to disturb her, and creep back downstairs.

Luke has changed his trousers and shirt, which surprises me, and I look at him with a smile.

‘I always carry something a bit tidy in the van, just in case. I’ve also had the odd occasion when I’ve worked until late on an empty property and ended up sleeping on the floor. A change of clothes is essential in this business.’ As he smiles his eyes twinkle and I hadn’t noticed that before. He seems more relaxed this evening, maybe enjoying the fact that the working day is over at last.

‘It can’t be easy working up so high all the time, in all weathers. Please, take a seat. What would you like to drink? Hot, cold or something alcoholic? I have wine and beer.’

Instead of pulling out a chair he stands there looking at the table and clears his throat.

‘Um, where would you prefer me to sit?’

At that precise moment Maya appears, letter in hand. It’s one of those split seconds where everything and nothing happens all at once. No one moves but I glance at Maya, who glances across at Luke, whose eyes nervously seek out my own, before we both return our gaze to Maya.

‘You can sit in my chair if you like and I’ll sit in Daddy’s chair. Mum, I have my letter.’

She walks past us both, placing the hand-written envelope on the table. Then she slides one of the place settings around in front of Niall’s seat and hoists herself up onto the chair.

‘Is it nearly ready, because I’m starving?’ she states, quite casually, unaware of the way Luke and I are watching in amazement.

With that, I give Luke an encouraging nod and he walks across to sit down next to Maya.

‘What are you hoping Santa will bring you this year, then, Maya?’

It’s not a straightforward question and, with a lot of seriousness, Maya begins to explain that she’s between toys; too old for dolls and too young for her own real computer. The look on Luke’s face is priceless. I’m sure he was just being polite, but what follows is a critique of the most popular toys and why Maya wouldn’t be pleased to find them under the tree on Christmas Day.

Out of Maya’s line of sight I hold up a beer in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other. Luke nods in the direction of the beer and I carry two across to the table, together with an apple juice for Maya.

‘It’s serious stuff, then,’ Luke says in earnest to Maya. ‘What if he gets it wrong?’

‘Oh, he won’t. He brought me my iPad last year and I didn’t make up my mind about that until Christmas Eve. I nearly had a bike, but Mummy said it was a bit difficult to have one here because of the hill.’

‘Sensible decision. Anyway, what’s the final verdict, then, for this year?’

‘A piano.’

I look at Maya, stunned. A piano? Where on earth did that come from? She doesn’t know how to play the piano and, unless they’ve been doing it at school, I wasn’t aware she’d ever seen one up close. Luke can see I’m speechless and begins to laugh.

‘Well, I’m sure whatever Santa brings you will be the right thing. Don’t you agree, Elana?’

I nod enthusiastically, wondering how on earth I’m going to talk her out of this idea. Besides, I have other plans for her Christmas present.

It’s funny how with children you worry about the things that you perceive are likely to upset them. Then they totally surprise you. Maya chattered away quite easily, as did Luke, and the meal passed very pleasantly. It was actually nice having some company. Usually we only get that when we’re away from home, as I still shy away from inviting people here. Who wants to eat surrounded by a hollow room with bare floors and a thin layer of powdery dust covering everything you touch?

Fortunately, Luke takes it all in his stride and he even distracts Maya when I slip Santa’s envelope off the table and onto my lap.

Chapter 10
Luke
A Working Arrangement

Kids are funny at times, and I don’t mean in a humorous way. Clearly, Elana and Maya don’t have many dinner guests and I’m sure there are several reasons for that. But Maya was so relaxed over dinner earlier on, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be here. In truth, I’d spent most of the day on the roof being mad at myself for making such a stupid suggestion. I only said it because it’s easier to help Elana out if I do it in my own time – not that Dad would mind, I’m sure, but I’d feel better about it. There didn’t seem any point in driving all the way back to the flat, only to return later, but even I was surprised when I casually invited myself for dinner.

I’d been mulling it over all afternoon and ended up thinking that I had made a big mistake. Two, in fact. First of all Elana might think I fancy her, or something, hence the inappropriate suggestion. Secondly, either Maya, or Elana, could have had a meltdown if I was the first male to sit down at the table with them since their loss. Did I need to worry? Not at all.

In fact, Maya has only just gone upstairs, after some coaxing from Elana, to get ready for bed. She’s going to have some iPad time instead of reading, which I gather is a treat, while we make a start down here.

I’m waiting for Elana to come back down, as I don’t want to go poking around on my own.

It’s a credit to her that although it is a work in progress there’s still a very comfortable feel to this cottage. She’s tried to soften the ugliness by painting it white throughout and the colourful rugs add a fun element. With only the side lights on, the unevenness of the walls and the fact that the windows badly need replacing isn’t quite so obvious. You don’t even notice the bare patches of concrete in between the splashes of colour. She’s a homemaker, that’s for sure. A twinge in my chest reminds me that I didn’t choose a homemaker to settle down with. Anita feels that things should be done for her, that life owes her something. I tried to explain that the deposit on the apartment took everything I had and after that we could only buy things as we could afford them. I worked a lot of overtime to get the basics, but my absence seemed to annoy her even more. And then, of course, she was disappointed that we could only afford to buy the more reasonably priced stuff. Every penny had to stretch as far as we could make it.

I guess Elana is in much the same position, although her situation is entirely different. Elana asked how soon she could get the chimney swept and start using the fire again. When I told her it takes about twenty-eight days for the mortar to cure, both of their faces fell. I’m not sure what that was about, but it didn’t go down well. It’s not as if it’s needed for extra heat, so I guess there’s a bit more to it.

‘Right, sorry about that,’ Elana traipses down the stairs, stopping on the last step to put her dusty slipper socks back on.

‘Those will be a thing of the past, soon,’ I comment and she looks up, smirking.

‘If only!’

‘Two very powerful words, there. I spend most of my days thinking the same thing.’

Damn it! Why did I say that? I’ve been sitting here letting everything get to me again and this isn’t the time, or the place.

Elana flicks the switch on the kettle. ‘Time for coffee, I think. I know what it’s like, Luke. Don’t feel awkward.’

Our eyes meet and I nod, because we both understand it’s all about acceptance.

‘Right, I’ll grab my clipboard.’

As I walk off into the dining/study area to grab my back pack, Elana explains her dilemma.

‘I know I can only afford to get a few things done, but as I’m not sure when I’ll get another influx of spare cash, it’s going to be tough deciding what can, or should, wait. I have to make the decision with my head and not my heart, if you know what I mean.’

‘Do you have the original survey report handy, by any chance?’

‘I’ll dig it out. Here you go: coffee is on the side table.’

As Elana disappears back upstairs, I move out into the sitting room with clipboard and pencil in hand. On closer inspection most of the walls aren’t in a poor condition, exactly, they’re just not totally smooth as in a new property. All of the wood seems to be sound, although there’s a little woodworm in one of the overhead beams, but none of it is active. There doesn’t appear to be any damp, but the window frames are rotten and they all need replacing. The fireplace isn’t original and is in good condition. As I walk around I continue making notes.

By the time I walk back through into the open-plan area, Elana is sitting at the table with the report.

‘Great, let’s have a look.’

I take the seat next to her and we both lean over the document, scanning the pages for anything that jumps out.

‘Ah, the woodworm.’ I point to the paragraph and Elana nods.

‘Yes, we had the wood treated before we moved in, just in case anything was still live.’

‘Good, even if it’s old stuff it’s always best in a property of this age.’

By the end of the document, I only have two concerns.

‘There are some blown areas of plaster under the stairs. I noticed it when I turned the outside tap valve on and it’s mentioned in here. It also talks about similar areas across that back wall. Let’s take a closer look.’

I drain my coffee mug and then grab the clipboard, heading off to take a look at the under- stairs cupboard.

Crouching down with the door open, there’s no smell of damp. I turn on my small pocket light and train it on the back wall.

‘Elana, if you look over there you can see that there’s no visible signs of mould, or anything that indicates water ingress. This hollow plaster will need to be hacked away, I’m afraid. But let’s check further along the wall.’ I stand up and walk her over to the bottom of the staircase.

‘If we pull out this unit I think you’ll find similar problems along the entire run. I had a look at the ground levels outside this morning and I’d say that in the past the level outside has been lowered to cure a persistent damp problem. The exterior wall was then treated, but over time the moisture left in the wall has affected the bonding of the plaster in a few places.’

Sure enough, as I ease the cabinet forward and begin tapping the wall, I demonstrate the difference in sound between plaster that is firmly attached, and the hollow sound where the moisture has forced the plaster away from it.

Elana gives me a grimace.

‘I had no idea there was even a problem. Is it difficult to fix?’

‘Don’t panic. This is minor stuff and there are people who will ignore the problem until it spreads, cracks, and eventually a chunk of plaster falls off. It’s a messy job hacking off the blown areas, but once it’s been patched you’d have a sound surface to re-paint.’

The worry line on her forehead deepens.

We move on into the kitchen, which is the easiest room. The newly fitted units are fine. The areas that need tiling above the work tops are sound and the ceilings throughout have been replaced. It then takes about twenty minutes to measure up the downstairs to get the square meterage for the flooring. And then we’re done.

‘The good news is that there are no really nasty surprises here. And the survey report confirms that. Shall we take a seat and start making that list so you can prioritise the work?’

***

An hour and a half later Elana seems relieved that although she’s only going to get a few things done within her five thousand pound budget, she has a good grasp of the outstanding jobs.

‘Thank you for explaining things in detail, Luke. It really helps. I didn’t know where to start, if I’m being honest.’

‘Hey, it’s my job. If you are happy to accept that the plaster has to be remedied first, then it will probably take about a week in total, with drying time, before you can paint over it. However, that won’t stop me from laying the flooring, assuming you pick something that is a stock item. It’s a pity you don’t have enough money to replace the downstairs windows, too, as that will be quite a messy job at some point in the future. But it’s a costly one.’

‘I think I need a strong coffee, will you join me?’ She’s frowning again, but maybe she has a headache. It’s been a lot to take in.

‘That would be great, thanks.’

‘I’ll just pop up to check on Maya – can you carry these biscuits through to the sitting room? We might as well make ourselves comfortable. Back in a couple of minutes.’

I watch her walk across to the staircase, stooping to take off those dusty socks, and then taking each step carefully to move soundlessly up to check on her daughter.

Even though they are two instead of three, this is still a good life for them both. It’s not perfect, but Elana is clearly a survivor.

I head off to the sitting room, put the small tray on the coffee table and then make my way out to the downstairs cloakroom, phone in hand.

‘Dad, it’s me. I’m at Bay Tree still, so I’ll be quick. The lady asked me to price up the outstanding work. She only has a small budget, so she can’t afford to have all of it done immediately. Is there anything we can do for her?’

‘This is the widow lady, right?’

‘Yep.’

‘Up to you, my son. There’s always flexibility in the price if you’re prepared to do it yourself, or I can help out. If it requires Andy or Greg’s involvement, then obviously it has to be the going rate. It’s the extra petrol, pulling them off other jobs, etc. You know the score.’

‘Thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.’

When I return to the sitting room Elana is curled up on the sofa, having changed into leggings and an over-sized jumper. I don’t make a comment because it’s not my place, but she looks very different. Amazing, even.

‘She’s sound asleep. I needed to get out of my work clothes, too. I hope you don’t mind. It’s time to relax.’

‘It’s a long day when you have a kiddie around. That had never crossed my mind before Joe came along.’

I lower myself onto the sofa opposite her, taking the mug of coffee she’s holding out to me.

‘Here’s to an action plan,’ she says, raising her own mug in the air and I do the same.

‘Look, I’ll be straight with you. Most of the work here is stuff I can do without any help. Labour is costly and usually the only way to save money is on the materials. Like you have cheaper flooring, or things are made good rather than being replaced. I think we can help each other out a little here.’

I hope that didn’t come across as sounding dodgy. Her reaction is merely a blink, she’s still curled up and hugging the coffee mug in her hands as if to warm them.

‘Sounds interesting. Tell me more.’

I lean forward, placing my mug back onto the tray and clear my throat.

‘I have a lot of free time, except for Saturdays. Being able to earn a little money on the side would be very helpful at this moment in time. You’ll get more for your money because I won’t have to charge you the firm’s usual hourly rate IF you’re prepared for me to work outside of normal hours.’

Elana is watching me, her eyes scanning my face.

‘But it’s a family business you work in, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, and that presents another problem. We’re committed right through until early March. Admittedly, after that we could then have two people working here, but it’s still a wait.’

‘Ah, and you’ve just been kind enough to sort my other issues, which have, no doubt, put you behind on the jobs you should have been attending to instead. Luke, I’m really sorry I didn’t think this through and I don’t want to cause any problems for you with the family business.’

‘Hey, I said we could help each other. Dad’s more than happy for me to do work on the side, because we actually turn a lot of work away. But I can’t do it in the firm’s time, as obviously we have wages to pay and overheads. What I do in my own time I can charge you for at a very reasonable hourly rate. We can see how far we can make that budget of yours stretch.’

Elana’s eyes are wide open and I can almost hear her thoughts churning away inside her head.

‘And this is of mutual benefit? You don’t mind spending your relaxation time doing more of the same?’

‘I don’t exactly have much to do outside of work these days and, if I’m being honest, I need every penny I can get. Are we on?’

‘It looks like we have a deal, then.’ Once again she raises her mug in a toast and as our eyes meet what I see reflected back at me is a genuine smile. I realise a weight has just been lifted from her shoulders. As our mugs chink, it’s good to see the sense of relief reflected in her body language as she begins to relax.

Chapter 11
Luke
The Best-Laid Plans

‘Luke, I’ll put you on Hillside View’s conservatory job in January, alongside Greg. I’ve scheduled it to start the first day back after the Christmas holidays. You’ll be there for two weeks, so at least it will mean no additional travelling if you are still sorting out Bay Tree.’

‘Thanks, Dad. It just seemed like the right thing to do and the money will come in handy.’

‘I thought you had that software thing to test? Have you gone cold on the idea?’

Dad obviously hears more than I give him credit for; I always thought he switched off whenever I talked about anything IT-related.

‘No, it’s ongoing. But it can wait.’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, my son, but I hope you’re going into this with your eyes wide open.’

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