One More for Christmas

The fact that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a relaxing weekend in Cornwall didn’t lessen the feelings of loss. If anything it intensified those feelings, because she was now wishing she’d taken greater advantage of the cottage. She’d assumed it would always be there...

Ever since her father had died, visits to Oakwood Cottage had been associated with chores. Clearing the garden. Filling the freezer. Checking that her mother was coping with a house that was far too big for one person, especially when that person was advanced in years and had no interest in home maintenance.

“Honestly? I can’t see your mother selling it,” Sean said, “and I think it’s important not to overreact. This accident wasn’t of her own making. She was managing perfectly well before this.”

“Was she, though? I don’t think she eats properly. Supper is a bowl of cereal. And bacon. She eats too much bacon.”

“Is there such a thing as too much bacon?” Sean caught her eye and gave a sheepish smile. “Just kidding. You’re right. Bacon is bad. Although at your mother’s age one has to wonder if it really matters.”

“If she gives up bacon maybe she’ll live to be ninety.”

“But would she enjoy those miserable, bacon-free extra years?”

“Can you be serious?”

“I am serious. It’s about quality of life, not just quantity. You try and keep every bad thing at bay, but doing that also keeps out the good stuff. Maybe she could stay in the house and we could find some local carers to look in on her.”

“She’s terrible at taking help from anyone.”

Liza hit the brakes as the car in front of her stopped, the seat belt locking hard against her body. Her eyes pricked with tiredness and her head pounded. She hadn’t slept well the night before, worrying about Caitlin and her friendship issues.

“Do you think I should have locked our bedroom? And the study?”

“Why? If someone breaks into our house they’ll simply kick the doors down if they’re locked. Makes more mess.”

“I wasn’t thinking of burglars. I was thinking about the twins.”

“Why would the twins go into our bedroom? Or the study? They have perfectly good rooms of their own.”

What did it say about her that she didn’t entirely trust her own children? They’d been suitably horrified when they’d discovered that their elderly grandmother had been assaulted, and sweet when Liza had explained that she and Sean were going away for the weekend, but had flat-out resisted her attempts to persuade them to come, too.

“There’s nothing to do at Granny’s,” Alice had said, exchanging looks with

her sister.

“Besides, we have work to do.” Caitlin had pulled out her laptop and a stack of textbooks. “History exam on Monday. I’ll be studying. Probably won’t even have time to order in pizza.”

It had been a perfectly reasonable response. So why did Liza feel nervous?

She’d call later and check on them. Insist on video-calling, so that she could see what was going on in the background.

The traffic finally cleared and they headed west toward Cornwall.

By the time they turned into the country lane that led to her mother’s house it was late afternoon, and the sun sent a rosy glow over the fields and hedges.

She was just allowing herself a rare moment of appreciating the scenery when a bright red sports car sped round the bend, causing her almost to swerve into a ditch.

“For—” She leaned on her horn and caught a brief glimpse of a pair of laughing blue eyes as the car roared past. “Did you see that?”

“Yes. Stunning, isn’t it? V8 engine.” Sean turned his head, almost drooling, but the car was long gone. “Nought to sixty in—”

“He almost killed us!”

“Well, he didn’t. So that’s good.”

“It was that wretched rock star who moved here last year.”

“Ah, yes. That makes sense. I read an article in one of the Sunday papers about his six sports cars.”