‘Okay,’ I said, putting on the brave smile I’d perfected in the days after Darren left. ‘I’ll be down soon.’
‘No hurry.’ He shut the door tight behind him, and I was alone.
I sighed, and flopped back to lie on the bed, my mind still swirling at being at Rosewood, at Edward’s words, and, most of all, at the sight of Aiden, two hundred miles away from where I’d expected him to be.
It was strange, knowing we lived in the same city, but never running into one another. Never even considering the idea of making contact. I’d wondered, once or twice, what I’d do if I saw him – across the street, on the tube, at some event or another. I’d never been certain – but I’d always suspected I’d have turned and walked away and pretended it never happened.
And now, here he was. And here I was. And pretending we weren’t really wasn’t an option.
No. I wasn’t thinking about Aiden. I’d spent fourteen years hardly ever letting myself think about him – why stop now? I needed to focus on my family, on my son, on our Christmas together.
I threw an arm over my eyes, listening intently to the silence. I supposed it was kind of nice to have some peace and quiet after Mum chattering in my ear all the way from London.
The problem with Mum was that she meant well. She was so earnestly supportive and helpful and encouraging that I couldn’t ever get properly mad at her.
She just had absolutely no understanding of how I felt.
When Dad died, it was as if the world ended for her. They’d been married for over thirty years, and never had a cross word. There’d been no warning, either – his death had come like lightening from a clear sky, one bright and sunny spring day. And for a while, I’d honestly worried that life might never start up again.
But it had. Mum had found strength she’d never needed before, and she’d carried on living and thriving without Dad. It was only in the quiet moments – when I caught her looking at old photos, or staring out at the tree in the back garden that Dad had always planned to cut down but never had – that I realised anew how much of a hole he’d left inside her.
Well, not just then, in truth.
Every time I’d mentioned a problem in my marriage – even just a niggle or an annoyance – Mum had been quick to remind me how lucky I was to have Darren. And when he’d finally left… she’d been distraught. Bereft. As if she were the abandoned wife. Almost as if she were losing Dad all over again.
No, I really wouldn’t be telling Mum how I actually felt about Darren’s departure. Especially not over Christmas.
And not with Max here, listening in at corners like he had been for months. Trying to find out all the truths his father and I were protecting him from. Wanting to know why his world had changed so drastically – even if he’d be better off never knowing.
I didn’t want to poison my son’s relationship with his father. Which meant never telling him what an utter bastard he was, unfortunately.
I might not mind being without Darren, and I might not be mourning his loss. But that didn’t mean I was particularly happy about being cheated on and abandoned after thirteen years.
When I’d finally confronted him, the last time, all I’d got was, ‘I’m unhappy here. I can’t help being in love with someone else. I’m leaving, tonight.’
Hardly the grand apology one would expect under the circumstances.
Of course, two weeks later, he’d thought better of it. He’d shown up on my doorstep at closer to midnight than was really appropriate, begging me to listen. And I had. I’d heard all about how he missed us, how he was scared he’d rushed into something he shouldn’t have. How he was worried he’d made a mistake.
How he wanted to try again.
And I’d sent him back out into the night, telling him firmly and calmly that it was too late.
I’d never mentioned that late night visit to Max, though. Or to Mum.
I sighed, pushing thoughts of my ex from my mind as I levered myself off the bed and crossed to the window. Below, the famous Rose Garden was full of sticks and thorns, with sludgy looking grass peeking between the still falling snow between the paths. Hardly the stuff of grand romance, even if that was what it was supposed to be famous for.
And grand romance made me think of Aiden again, and the woman I’d been all those years ago, for just two weeks. My jaw tightened at the memory. A woman I’d never be again. She’d disappeared the day I’d accepted Darren’s proposal, melting away into a life of doing what was expected, what made others happy.
But I didn’t have to do that any more, did I? As long as Max was happy, no one else really mattered. I might not be able to be that twenty-one year old Freya again, but I could be a new version. A better version.
Hopefully a happier one, anyway.
Laughter floated up through the stairwell and I figured that if it was loud enough to reach me all the way up here, something had to be pretty funny. I took a moment to smooth down my blonde curls as best I could, and rummaged in my bag for some perfume to spritz on to cover the travel fug, then headed down to find out what was going on.
After all, we’d come here for a fun, family Christmas, and I wasn’t going to find that hiding in my room. And if a small part of me wondered if that was Aiden’s laugh I’d heard – low and resonant and amused – well, I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself just yet.
As I rounded the curve in the stairs, I paused and watched the scene in the hall below. The whole family seemed to have gathered in my absence, and were merrily tearing open boxes of Christmas decorations, unwrapping them one by one.
‘Oh look!’ Saskia held up a small, painted wooden book, glinting in the light from the chandelier overhead, and the candles in the wall holders. ‘This one was Nathaniel’s favourite.’
The laughter dimmed, just for a moment, at the memory. I supposed this must be their second Christmas without him, but the grief was obviously still raw.
She handed the decoration to a woman I recognised as her grandmother Isabelle, who smiled, then passed it on to a younger girl who stood on a step by the tree.
‘Caro? Why don’t you hang this,’ Isabelle said. Caro. That must be Caroline – Saskia’s younger sister.
With a solemn nod, Caro took the book decoration and stretched up to hang it on one of the four branches sticking out and curving up like a crown, around the top of the central point, which already held a silver star.
For a moment, I felt utterly out of place. What were we doing, gatecrashing someone else’s Christmas? This was a mistake. We’d given up our own traditions only to impose on Saskia’s family’s.
‘Tricia?’ Isabelle asked, and Mum looked up. ‘Did you bring any of your own decorations to add to the tree?’
Mum nodded, and pulled out a small box from behind her back. ‘Just a few.’ But as she took each of them out in turn, handing them to Caro and Max to add to the tree, I knew she’d brought all the important ones. The half-eaten apple Dad had brought home from a business trip in New York, the Paris bauble I’d bought them on my year abroad. Even the manky old feathered dove that had hung on our family tree for longer than I could remember.
Every one of those decorations held a memory, as dear as the ones Saskia and her family must have of theirs. I was suddenly very glad that Mum had thought to bring them.
The sensation that I was being watched crept up the back
of my neck, and when I looked away from the tree I found Aiden’s gaze on me. Our eyes met, briefly, before he tore his away. I wondered what he was thinking, behind that hot and angry gaze. Was he remembering the tiny fake tree in my empty flat on campus? The way the lights used to flash on and off – not because they were supposed to, but because there was a loose connection. Or the tinfoil decorations we made from mince pie containers?
How was it I could still remember that, but not what Darren had bought me for Christmas last year?
‘Mum? Did you bring any of our decorations?’ Max's voice pulled my attention away, and I hurried down the remaining stairs to join the rest of them in the hallway.
Our decorations. The box of perfectly coordinated purple and turquoise baubles that Darren had insisted on after we redecorated the lounge? No. All the handcrafted ones that Max had made in primary school had found their way to Mum’s house, somehow, and none of the ones that were left meant a damn thing to me.
‘Um –’
‘I’ve got this one of yours, Max,’ Mum broke in, pulling the three lollipop-stick reindeer that Max had been so proud of six years ago from her box. Now, he just rolled his eyes.
‘Why did you bring that old thing?’ he asked.
‘Because it’s my favourite,’ Mum said firmly, choosing a branch for it.
Caro and Max exchanged a look – one that I was pretty sure meant ‘Grandparents. What can you do?’ At least he wouldn’t be lonely this Christmas, away from all his friends. If he’d found someone else to be sulky and sarcastic with, he’d be happy as anything. In a subdued, glaring sort of a way.