‘Yeah, well, let’s face it, I’m never going to write bloody love sonnets, am I?’
‘You did very well with your cheery Christmas poem.’ ‘That was definitely a one-off.’
That makes me laugh, but Lucas doesn’t join in. ‘Oh, my darling boy, what can I do to cheer you up?’
‘Fuck knows.’ His eyes are bright with tears. ‘Just don’t be too nice or I’ll cry.’
‘We could decorate the inside of the caravan for Christmas. If you like. We are the only bit lacking festivity. Even if you don’t feel like it, I think it would be a good thing to do.’
Lucas shrugs his acceptance.
‘There are some spare Christmas lights from Bev’s splurge. That should do it.’
‘I’ll get the step ladders,’ he says.
So Lucas brings them from the barn and I find the Christmas lights. I hand them up to Lucas, directing him how to drape them into garlands round the ceiling of the caravan, hooking them onto whatever we can as we go.
‘I am an expert in this,’ he tells me.
‘I know. But let that bit dangle a bit more, just don’t cover the door.’
He’s in the middle of a heavy sigh when there’s the sound of a car in the lane and all the dogs go into a frenzy of barking.
I look out of the window and it’s Shelby. ‘Your dad’s here.’
‘Now?’
I don’t know who’s more surprised, me or Lucas.
‘Did you know he was coming?’ Lucas asks as he climbs down the ladder, lights put aside.
‘No. I haven’t spoken to him for a few days, but he didn’t say anything.’ If I’d know he was coming I might have done something with myself. ‘I’d better go and let him in.’
So I hurry across the yard to open the gate and Shelby pulls in, giving me a wave as he drives by.
‘Hey,’ he says as he climbs out of his unfeasibly shiny car. ‘Good to see you.’
My heart, as always, tightens when I see him. But now there’s a feeling behind it that I can’t identify. He looks vibrant, glowing and altogether too polished to be in our humble yard. His pristine jeans, black jumper and jacket make him look like he should be modelling designer clothes or flogging aftershave.
‘You should have told me you were coming,’ I say as I go to hug him. ‘I would have made something special for lunch.’
‘Flying visit. As always.’
Arm-in-arm, we walk across to the caravan and, inside, I announce, unnecessarily, ‘Look who’s here!’
‘Good of you to grace us with your precious time, Father,’ Lucas replies and, already, we’re off.
To his credit, Shelby ignores the barb. ‘You look a bit down in the dumps, Son,’ he says, cheerily. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine,’ Lucas mutters.
I look at Shelby and indicate with my eyes that he should keep quiet. But no, he’s not receiving my warning look.
‘How’s that hot girlfriend of yours?’ he asks and, unwittingly, digs himself deeper.
Lucas winces and two spots of red appear on his cheeks. ‘Fine,’ he says tightly. ‘Everything’s fine and fucking dandy.’
I think I should separate these two quickly before it ends in pistols at dawn.
‘We were trying to spruce up the caravan for Christmas,’ I explain.
‘Great idea. ‘Looks like you’re doing a good job there, Son.’
Lucas glowers at him. And Lucas does very good glower. ‘Stop calling me “Son”.’
‘You are my son,’ Shelby snaps back.
Oh my giddy aunt. I stand between them. ‘Speaking of Christmas, we need to decide where we’re going to spend it. I have to organise food and all that. I assume you’d prefer to be at Homewood.’
‘Ah,’ Shelby says. ‘That’s really why I’m here. We need to have a talk about that.’
Lucas rolls his eyes. ‘Count me out of that one. Some people embrace Christmas, some people have Christmas foisted upon them.’ He stomps back up the stepladder and snatches at the lights.
I turn to Shelby and grimace. As always, stuck in the middle. He’s looking stony-faced.
‘Shall we have a cup of tea or a walk across the fields?’ A cup of tea equals not so bad. A walk, something terrible coming.
‘A walk, I think,’ Shelby says.
‘I’ll get my coat.’ I smile and brace myself for the worst.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
We go over the stile and, instead of taking our usual route over the fields, I turn right and head into the woods that border our property on one side. The mulch of damp, fallen leaves is turning to mud. I’m glad that Shelby put on his wellington boots, even though they don’t look like they’ve seen much in the way of mud action. Possibly another pair purloined from the Flinton’s Farm prop store.
The dogs run ahead, picking their way along the path and through the trees. Betty Bad Dog bolts after every squirrel that she sees, ever hopeful that one day she might catch one. As she’s so over-excited and uncoordinated, I think the squirrel population of Buckinghamshire is quite safe. Every now and then, Little Dog comes back to check that we’re still here as Shelby and I follow on behind. The trees are bare skeletons, black silhouettes against the clear blue sky. I like the stripped back minimalism of nature at this time of year but, nevertheless, look forward to spring and wonder what next year will bring for us all at Hope Farm.
When Shelby fails to start a conversation, I revert to my stock question and ask, ‘How’s the panto going?’
‘Good. Good. I’ll be glad when it’s done. This far into the run, the jokes are starting to wear thin. At least I don’t get a custard pie in my face twice a day.’
‘Not long until you finish now.’
‘No.’ He lapses into silence again.
‘Penny and Jess have settled into the cottage,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t thank you enough for that. They’ll be so much safer there.’
‘Not a problem. Glad to be able to help. I haven’t been home yet. I’m pushed for time, so I’ll head back after a bite of lunch.’
‘So soon?’
‘Stuff to do tonight,’ he offers.
‘Oh.’
We walk on, quiet again. I feel the weight of many unspoken words hang in the heavy air between us. Sometimes, when Shelby doesn’t have a pre-prepared script, he seems at a loss. When we are deeper into the woods, he takes my hand in his. ‘This is tough,’ he says.
‘You’ve taken the LA job.’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s no surprise there. I know how much it means to you.’
‘I’m planning to stay for a year. Initially. I want to make my mark while I’m there.’
I nod. ‘Initially’ is a big word.
‘I’ll get a nice place out there. The studio are being very generous. You can come out as often as you like. With Lucas too,’ he says. ‘And, of course, I’ll come back regularly.’
But he won’t and we both know that. It’s been hard enough for him to find time to come back from Birmingham to see us.
He rubs at his chin, frowning. ‘How do you think Lucas will take it?’