“Santa has a very busy job,” she said.
“Like Daddy?”
“Like Daddy.”
Christy checked the time. Seb had messaged her to say he’d be late home. It was the third time that week. Four times the week before.
When Christy had pictured their life in the country she’d assumed that Seb would continue to work remotely, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Changes in his office meant that he was no longer able to work from home. He was more stressed than usual, and Christy couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Did he hate the cottage? Hate living in the country?
Lately she’d been waking up in the night, wondering if this whole thing had been a mistake.
Living here didn’t feel the way she’d thought it would feel. It wasn’t just the cottage, or the money. She was lonely—although that wasn’t something she’d admitted to anyone. But after trying so hard to persuade Seb to move here, how could she admit that she missed busy London streets and coffee shops? She missed bustle and noise and the undemanding company of strangers. She missed living in a warm apartment.
The cottage had seemed idyllic to begin with, but then they’d experienced their first winter. After a heavy rainstorm it had become clear that the roof needed replacing. The boiler had stuttered to a halt, and they’d found damp in one corner of the kitchen. They’d moved just before Christmas, and had spent the festive season shivering and trying hard to be upbeat for Holly’s sake. It had been an exhausting experience—which was another reason Christy had booked Lapland. She didn’t want another Christmas like the last one.
She sighed and finished straightening the kitchen.
She’d made a choice and now she had to live with it.
Where was Seb? How was she supposed to produce a delicious meal when she had no idea what time he was arriving home? It was a planning nightmare.
Oblivious to her mother’s anxiety, Holly rubbed at her face, spreading paint. “Santa has help from the elves.”
“He does.” She needed help from the elves—preferably elves with building experience who could fix a leaking roof.
She moved her laptop from the kitchen table so that she could lay it for dinner.
As a freelance graphic designer, she could work from anywhere, and she’d spent the morning working on a project for a client, keeping half an eye on her daughter and half on her work. As a result the house reflected the joyous mess of a free-range child.
She felt the pressure squeeze. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, even though she’d been gone for more than a year.
“One toy at a time. You need to be stricter with her, Christy. Teach her to respect rules. She’s a wild one.”
Christy felt a rush of protectiveness. Her daughter was bold, inquisitive and adventurous, and she didn’t want to crush that. She admired and occasionally envied her. Had she ever been that fearless?
But she knew that what had really worried her mother was Holly’s resemblance to Robyn.
All her life her Aunt Robyn had been held over her as a warning of what could happen if discipline was not enforced.
Christy had never been sure what Robyn had done, and whenever she’d asked the question her mother’s response had either been “Don’t mention that name in this house” or “You don’t want to know.”
Did Christy want to know? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that it felt wrong, having a family member alive and not at least making an effort to be in touch.
Even if she didn’t discover a bond with her aunt, she’d have ten whole days in which she wouldn’t have to think about her leaky cottage. Ten whole days of quality time with her family. And Alix, of course. The thought of spending time with her oldest friend lifted her spirits. Alix was the sister she’d never had. It was weird to think she’d spent more Christmases with her than she had with Seb and Holly.
“I’ve painted a forest for you.” Deprived of her brush, Holly had splodged green paint onto the paper with her finger.
“It’s beautiful.” Christy scooped her daughter up, carried her to the sink and washed the paint from her hands before the “forest’ transferred itself to her kitchen walls. “Show me Lapland on the map.”
Holly wriggled from her arms, sprinted across the room and paused in front of the map that Seb had stuck to the wall, a look of concentration on her face.
Christy took advantage of the moment to quickly load the dishwasher. “Can you find it?”
“It’s here. All along the top. The Arctic.” Holly rose onto her toes and slid her paint-stained finger across the map. “But we’re staying...here.” She stabbed her finger into the north of Sweden and gave her mother an excited smile.
She had her father’s blue eyes and dark eyelashes. It was, as Christy had discovered within minutes of meeting him, a killer combination. She’d fallen hard—as had plenty of women before her, if his reputation was to be believed. But she was the one he’d married.
Pride, love, delight—Christy felt all those things circle through her as she watched her daughter.
She regretted nothing. She wouldn’t put the clock back. She wouldn’t change a thing.
Except the cottage. She’d change that in a New York minute, as Alix would say.
No sooner had she thought about her friend than the phone rang and her name popped up on the screen. “Alix!”
Holly immediately reached for the phone. “Aunty Alix!”
Technically, Alix wasn’t an aunt, but as she and Christy were as close as sisters it seemed an appropriate title.
“I need to talk to her first.” Christy held the phone out of reach. “You can say hello when I’ve finished.” She scooped Holly up with her free arm and sat her back down at the table. As Seb was going to be late she’d have time to chat with her friend before straightening the house. “How’s New York?”
“Cold.” Alix’s voice was clear and strong. “It’s rare to have snow in December, but everything about the weather is messed up at the moment.”
Christy thought about the leak in the bathroom. “Tell me about it.”
She pictured her friend in Manhattan—dark hair pulled back, tailored dress, heels that would make most women wince to look at them, let alone wear.
“I envy you your glamorous life...” Christy carried on clearing up with one hand, her phone in the other.
“Are you kidding? I envy you your idyllic country cottage.”
Idyllic? Christy shivered, and snuggled deeper into her sweater.
She resisted the temptation to confess the doubts she was having. She couldn’t tell anyone. Not after she’d made such a fuss about living here.