‘What’s that?’
‘As we’re formally engaged, I was hoping I might be able to stay here more often? It’s a real hassle for me having to live between my flat and here.’
‘I thought you said you were old-fashioned and didn’t want to live together?’
‘True.’ He laughs. ‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t spend lots of nights together! Will you want to carry on living here when we’re married? After all, this is the house you shared with Adam.’
‘Goodness, I haven’t thought about that. I want to do whatever is the least disruptive for the kids. But maybe we should sell this house. Move somewhere new, somewhere that’s ours?’
Patrick follows me into the kitchen. ‘I think that’s a marvelous idea. Something smells scrumptious.’ He helps himself to a beer from the fridge whilst I stand at the stove and stir the risotto.
‘I’m going to have to choose the right time to tell the kids about us getting married, and if they don’t want to move to a new house, then I think we’ll have to carry on living here. They might be really upset. Not that they don’t like you or anything, it’s just they’ve only recently lost their dad.’
I note a flash of annoyance cross Patrick’s face, but after a sip of beer, it’s gone and he smiles at me. ‘Of course. It’s just I want to scream about our engagement from the rooftops. I am the happiest man alive.’ He moves across the kitchen and puts an arm around my waist, purring in my ear. ‘So, the soon-to-be Mrs Grant, what can I do to help you make supper?’
The problem is, I can’t tell the children yet. It’s Christmas, and Adam’s absence will be a gaping chasm for Mia and Oliver, despite us being away from home. Along with the hordes of travelers returning home or going on holiday, I take a flight to Geneva, followed by the train to Sion. It is years since I’ve been to the Alps, and I have forgotten how stunning the scenery is as the train snakes slowly along the edge of Lake Geneva, the sun glistening on the pale silvery water, so still it could be a mirror, reflecting the glorious white peaks of the mountains and the startling azure blue sky.
Craig is waiting for me at the station, having driven to Switzerland just yesterday.
‘How is everyone?’ I ask as he kisses me on the cheek.
‘On good form. But more importantly, how are you?’ He peers at me as if checking me for some rare disease.
‘Happier to be here than at home, despite my initial reluctance.’
‘Mmm. You look much better,’ he says, wheezing as he lifts my two heavy suitcases into the boot of the car.
I wish I could tell him my news; I wish I could wear my sparkling, enormous engagement ring with pride, but instead, it lies hidden in my bedside drawer. If I put it on, it would be an instant giveaway. I wish Patrick were here to celebrate Christmas with all of us.
The chalet is as hygge as I anticipated and the children are in fine spirits, bouncing, refreshed and the happiest I have seen either of them since Adam died. Even Mia seems content to converse with me, our previous run-ins seemingly forgotten. And Christmas, well, it isn’t so bad. Bea makes a huge effort with a big turkey and Christmas pudding brought from England. I spoil the kids and give them everything on their Christmas lists and more. It isn’t until bedtime that Oliver buries his head in his pillow and weeps for his dead father.
Meanwhile, Patrick messages me every morning and telephones me just before going to bed. I feel like a teenager, madly in love, missing him terribly and desperate to announce my happiness to the world.
On Boxing Day, Craig takes the kids off skiing, and Bea and I tog up and go for a walk. Our breaths create wisps of steam as we talk; the snow crunches underneath our boots. I turn my face up to the sun, surprised at how hot the rays feel at this time of year.
‘You seem different,’ Bea says as she strides along so quickly, I struggle to keep up with her.
‘I’ve met someone.’
‘Thought so,’ she says, not altering her pace. ‘Mia and Oliver are at a very sensitive stage. I hope you’re not going to make things worse for them.’
‘Excuse me.’ I stop still and put my thick, gloved hands on my hips. It takes Bea a few moments to realise I haven’t kept pace with her. ‘I don’t need to be told how to look after my own children.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Lydia, but sometimes you do. You throw yourself into everything. Work. Love life. I don’t know what else you do. Sometimes I think you forget that your children should come first.’
Her words sting and I feel a fury burn at the back of my throat.
‘That’s not true!’ I retort, but I wonder if I’m being totally honest with myself. ‘I love my children and do the very best I can for them.’
‘It’s too soon for you to be in a new relationship.’
‘How dare you tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing! You’ve no idea what I have been through these past couple of years. Don’t I deserve any happiness?’
‘Of course you do. But there’s a time and a place for everything. You need to–’
‘Stop listening to my sanctimonious big sister who thinks she knows best!’ I retort, turning on my heel and walking back the way we came.
‘Lydia, stop!’
But I don’t. I march back towards the chalet and then continue along the path in the other direction, tears smarting my eyes. I lose track of how long I walk for. The path is flat and well-trodden, icy patches giving way to sawdust and pine needles. The views are spectacular, long vistas of the Rhone Valley, with towns dotted along the riverside in both directions and magnificent mountains rising far up into the sky. Sometimes I find myself in the forest, where the trees are still laden down with piles of snow, and I breathe in the scent of pine and watch as the snow glistens as if it’s made up of millions of little diamonds.
And then I FaceTime Patrick. I hope I’m not disturbing him whilst he’s with his sister and her family.
‘Darling, how are you?’
I smile at the sound of his voice. ‘Look at these views. Aren’t they spectacular? I wish you were here.’ I hold the phone up so that he can see the mountains.
‘Wow! Something else. I’m missing you.’
‘I’m missing you too.’ I hold the phone so that I can see him, but he’s got it on audio only. ‘Can you switch over to video so I can see you?’
He lowers his voice. ‘Can’t, love. I’m with Sandra and the nurse is here. Wouldn’t be appropriate.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m home the day after tomorrow. Can I see you?’
‘Of course. What do your children think about us getting married?’
‘I haven’t told them yet,’ I admit.
‘Lydia,’ he says, the disappointment heavy in his voice.
‘I will tell them. When we’re home. I promise.’
‘Got to go now,’ he says.
‘Bye, darling. I love you.’
But he’s already hung up.
Two days later, without really patching up relations with Bea, we’re back home. This morning, Patrick sent me a text message asking whether I’ve told the children about us getting married. I haven’t replied. The truth is, I haven’t plucked up the courage to tell them. We seem to have achieved a sense of equilibrium, and I am so loath to upset it. And Bea’s words ring in my ears. But I do deserve happiness. Cassie and Fiona know me better than Bea these days, and they’re supportive. If I want to marry Patrick, if I want to keep him, I have no choice but to tell Mia and Oliver.