Christmas at the Edge of the World

“It’s not a prison, Laurel.” Abby sounded both defensive and irritable. “I checked myself in, I can check myself out.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Where’s Zac?”

Of course Abby wanted to see her son. “He’s upstairs…” And Archie was in the kitchen.

“How is he?” Abby asked, biting her lip, suddenly looking wretched.

“He’s okay.” Laurel felt cautious. Did Abby want to hear that her son was doing all right without her, or that he wasn’t? “Do you want to go up to him? I can give you some space…”

Abby bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking in deep enough to draw blood. “I’ve made such an absolute mess of things,” she said in a low voice.

“It’s not too late, Abby.” For what, Laurel didn’t even know. But she felt it strongly, that it couldn’t be too late. Not for Abby and Zac, maybe not even for Abby and her. Another miracle, messy and complicated, but still. A miracle. “Why don’t you go up and talk to him?”

Abby glanced fearfully at the stairs, and then nodded. “All right. I will.”

Laurel watched her mount the stairs before turning to the kitchen, everything feeling surreal, as if she was in a film, and someone with a camera was going to jump out and yell surprise.

Archie had finished the washing up, and was just hanging a tea towel on the Rayburn’s railing when Laurel came into the kitchen.

“My sister is here,” she said numbly. “I can’t believe it.”

“I gathered that’s who it was.”

“She’s with Zac now. I don’t even know… I don’t know anything.” She looked at him helplessly. “What happens now?”

Of course Archie didn’t have the answer. “I should give you all some space,” he said, and Laurel watched as he gathered his things—his presents, his coat. They hadn’t even had pudding, which they’d been saving for after the washing up, or coffee, or the whisky liqueur, or anything. Laurel had been looking forward to the whole evening—games by the fire, maybe a movie later, and definitely another kiss.

She wanted to revel in the kiss she and Archie had already shared, the most astonishingly wonderful kiss of her life, not that there had been that many, but right then it felt as if it hadn’t even happened. Archie was putting on his coat.

“Archie…”

“I really should go,” he said. Now he was the one not meeting her eyes. Laurel felt as if all the hope and happiness that had been enveloping her in a warm bubble had just popped. Splat.

“You don’t have to…” she began, because she really didn’t want him to go, even as she recognised the sense of it in this moment.

“You need your space. Abby will want to talk to you, as well.”

“Yes, but I don’t even know what she wants.” Laurel almost suggested that she come back to the farm with Archie, but she wasn’t brave enough to suggest it, not when he was looking as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“She’ll tell you, I’m sure.” His hand was on the knob of the back door.

“When will I see you again?” Laurel asked, hating how plaintive she sounded.

“I’ll be around,” Archie assured her. “You know where to find me.”

“But…” That sounded so ambivalent, so non-specific. What if this was it? Panic fluttered inside her like a caged bird futilely beating its wings. This couldn’t be the end. But with Abby here… and everything now so uncertain… what if Abby wanted to return to London? And even if she didn’t want to go back right away, Laurel’s life was still in York. Where exactly had she thought this was going?

“Okay,” she said at last, and with a brief nod and an awful look of relief Archie opened the door and stepped outside. Laurel watched him loop around to the front of the cottage, and then she heard his car start up, and then he was gone.

She sank into a chair at the kitchen table, feeling as if she’d been shipwrecked on a foreign and desolate shore. She had no idea what to do, or even what to feel, now. She strained to hear Abby and Zac upstairs, and caught a low murmur, but nothing else.

What now? What on earth now?

In the end, Laurel didn’t so much as move for about twenty minutes, letting her mind empty out as her body sagged. Then Abby came downstairs, pulling her cardigan around her slender body, her face haggard.

Laurel rose from her seat automatically. “Do you want a cup of tea? Or…” She couldn’t think of anything else. Whisky liqueur? Chocolate?