Page 32 of The Holiday Cottage

Ava ran off and Iris picked up the breakfast plates and carefully loaded them into the dishwasher.

“Thank you.” Sara gave her a hug. “Don’t forget to take your project in today.”

“It’s already in my bag.” Iris followed her sister out of the room and Patrick raised his eyebrows.

“The arctic project is finished?”

“It’s done.”

“No more drawing polar bears?”

“You have drawn your last polar bear. The next time you see those bears will be at parents’ evening in a week. They are having an exhibition of all the projects.”

“Hers is the best.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t think you’re biased?”

“No. Did you see how hard she worked on it? She gives everything her all.”

“I know.”

He put his plate on top of the dishwasher, caught her eye and loaded it inside instead. “So now tell me what’s wrong. Is this still about your mother?”

“She still punishes herself, and I hate it. Even after all these years, she still thinks it was all her fault.”

“Maybe that’s part of being a parent. I suppose it’s natural to ask yourself what you could have done differently.”

“Maybe, but I also think there’s a point where you have to accept that your children are individuals. You can raise them with all the right values, but you’re not responsible for their choices.” She stopped herself. “Let’s not talk about it. You know I hate talking about it. I’ve learned to lock it in a box that I never open. I wish my mother could do the same.”

“It’s the time of year, you know that. She always finds this time of year difficult.” Patrick’s phone rang, but he ignored it and tugged Sara into his arms.

“You should answer that.”

“It can wait.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I hate the fact that she feels guilty. It actually makes me angry that she blames herself.”

“I know. You feel helpless and you want to fix it, but you can’t, honey.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “Remember that there are plenty of good things in her life. For a start she has you. And you’re pretty great.”

“Pretty great?” She lifted her head to look at him. “I’m more than pretty great.”

“You are. You’re certainly great at making toast houses.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek. “Is there something more? Tell me.”

She sighed and rested her hand on his chest. Part of her didn’t want to bother him with her anxieties, but another part of her needed his reassurance.

“She makes me worry about the girls. She’s always asking how they’re doing, if they’re getting on well, if they have good friends. And I know why, of course, but it makes me jumpy. I find myself analyzing everything they do and say.” She felt a rush of frustration. “It makes me wonder if I need to visit all their friends’ houses spontaneously just to check things out. It makes me wonder if I’m doing enough as a mother.”

“We do visit all their friends’ houses.” As always, Patrick was calm and logical. “This is a village. We know almost everyone.”

“I know. But still—”

“Just because something bad happens once, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.”

“I know that too. I didn’t say any of this was rational. But it’s how she has made me feel.”

“I know.” He stroked a strand of hair away from her face. “We’re going to do what we’ve always done. We’re going to be the best parents we can be to the girls. We’re going to pay attention and make sure they know they can talk to us about anything. We’re going to keep talking to each other. Keep checking in. We’re going to encourage them to look out for each other. And it’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be okay.”

She knew he believed that, and she loved that about him. He looked for the good. Expected the best. And she was grateful for it. She needed that.

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