One More for Christmas

“Two children who resent me?”

“I doubt they resent you. It sounds more as if they don’t understand you. And if we’re to blame for anything in this complicated game called parenting, then maybe it’s that.”

“We?”

“You don’t have the monopoly on frustrating your children, you know.” Mary gave her hand a final squeeze and then stood up and walked across the kitchen. She opened a drawer, pulled out a clean cloth and dampened it. “You protected your girls, and the downside is they have no idea of the reasons behind all the decisions you made. Maybe you should tell them.” She sat back down and held the cloth to Gayle. “For your eyes. They’re swollen.”

“Thank you.” Gayle took the cloth and held it to her face. She’d experienced emotional lows before, but always on her own. At the beginning, when life had fallen apart, there hadn’t been anyone she could lean on and then she’d become so used to handling things alone, she’d forgotten how to reach out. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel supported. “What’s the point of telling them now? It feels like excuses.”

“You’re not making excuses. You’re saying ‘these are the reasons I made the choices I made.’ And you made plenty of good choices. No one is perfect, Gayle. I’m not, you’re not, and I’m sure your girls aren’t, either. No person is perfect and no relationship is perfect.”

“Your relationship with Cameron sounded perfect. You had more than four decades together.”

“Perfect?” Mary sat back and laughed. “No one can be perfect for four decades. That doesn’t happen. I loved Cameron. I loved him as much as it’s possible to love another person, and I know I was lucky. He was a good man, but he was far from perfect. When people talk about him—not just friends and neighbors, but the children—they talk about the good bits. Do you remember when Cameron did this? Dad was great at that, wasn’t he? They never mention any of the frustrating or irritating things. And that makes me feel alone. It makes me feel as if I was the only one who really knew him. They never mention how he was always losing his glasses, or how many times we had to turn the car round because he’d left his wallet in the house. They mention his optimism, and how inspiring it was to be with someone who always believed there would be a great outcome to everything. They never talk about how frustrating that could be, or maybe they just didn’t see it. It will be fine, Mary, he’d say, even when I knew for sure it wasn’t going to be fine.” She shook her head. “He refused to entertain the possibility that something might not work out. It almost drove me to drink. One of the reasons we’re needing to take in paying guests now is because he thought some magical being would sprinkle fairy dust on our home and solve all our financial problems. And maybe he knew he could be that way because I was firmly rooted in reality. He knew I was holding the string of his balloon, and I wouldn’t let him float away. Living in a dreamland doesn’t prepare you for reality. You’ll understand what I mean by that.” There was a wobble in Mary’s voice, and this time it was Gayle who reached out and took her hand.

“Sounds as if you had a great partnership despite those things.”

“We did. And there were plenty of things about me that frustrated him, too. I’m cautious. I can’t leave the house in the morning unless the kitchen is cleared up and sparkling. I never throw anything away. But we fitted. Was our marriage perfect? Definitely not. But it was perfect for us. A relationship is like a jigsaw, isn’t it? Whether it’s with a partner, with friends or with your children—it’s made up of hundreds of tiny pieces, some perfect, some imperfect. Those characteristics unique to each one of us, the genes we inherit, our life experiences, the way we behave. Tiny, misshapen little pieces that make us who we are. And when you make a life with someone, you have to somehow find a way to make all those pieces fit. If you’re lucky, they come together into something that makes sense as a whole. Cameron and I made sense.” Mary blew her nose. “And you have no idea how good it is to talk about him this way. Remember him properly, without having to protect the feelings of the person I’m with.”

“You’ve brought him to life for me.” Gayle had never made room in her life for friendship, but now she wished she had. “You chose well, Mary.”

“I was lucky.”

“No. You recognized a good man when you saw him. You understood what mattered to you, and what didn’t. You made a choice. That’s not luck.” Gayle folded the cloth neatly and put it on the table. “I don’t think my family has fitted together well for a long time.”

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. You’re here, building a relationship with your granddaughter, even though being back in Scotland must be hard for you.”

“I was hoping it would happen. It’s the reason I’m here. But I’ve messed it up.”

“And you don’t think your daughter will forgive you for that?”

Gayle thought about

how important Christmas was to Ella. “I’m not sure that she will. I said the wrong thing.”

Mary sat up straight. “Have you never said the wrong thing before?”

“I’m sure I have. Many times.”

“And when you do, do you fold and give up?”

Gayle looked at her. “No. At work I take responsibility. Apologize. Learn. Try and move forward. But this is different. Family is different. More complicated.”

“Stay there. Don’t move.” Mary stood up, left the room for a moment and then returned a couple of minutes later and slapped two books on the table. “I recommend you read these. I think they’ll help you.”

Gayle glanced at them.

Choice Not Chance, and Brave New You.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Where did those come from?”

“I ordered them. Brodie said you were a top businesswoman, and frankly I found that a little intimidating.”

It was the first time she’d found her achievements uncomfortable. “Mary—”

“It’s true. You’re an impressive woman, Gayle. Which is why I know for sure you’ll be able to find a way through this. What would you say if I was in your situation and you were advising me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”