Page 93 of The Holiday Cottage

She’d thought it would be good for them, and perhaps a little easier and less overwhelming for Imogen than dealing with all of them at once, but then she’d had moments during the day when she’d questioned that decision. Sara hadn’t asked for any of this, and it was only because of Dorothy that she’d been forced to confront it all again. How was she handling it?

The trip to choose a Christmas tree was one of Sara’s favorite days of the year. What if having Imogen there had spoiled that for her daughter?

She had to stop herself messaging Sara to check everything was all right and reminded herself that Patrick and Miles were both there, and the girls. It was hard for anything to be too awkward or serious when Ava and Iris were involved.

Maybe it would go well, but she was careful to keep her expectations in check. She knew she had a tendency to romanticize family life, even now after everything that had happened. It was one of the reasons she still blamed herself for much of what had happened. A part of her still believed that if she’d done things differently, the outcome might have been different. But would it? Maybe Sara was right. It was fanciful to think she had the ability to control everything that happened. At some point maybe a parent just had to accept that you could raise a child in a certain way, but in the end their choices were their own and you had no control over that.

Instead of blaming yourself, you should try acceptance.

Sara’s words had settled in her brain.

She’d spent so much time regretting what she’d said to Tina, the way she’d dealt with it, and blaming herself for all that had happened. And by taking the blame, she’d essentially excused Tina, which she knew Sara found frustrating.

Dorothy stared out of the kitchen window, watching as Benson ventured out of the barn to explore his snow-covered field.

Sara was right. It was Tina who had made the choices. The choice to leave Imogen, the choice to return and take Imogen with her, the choice to exclude her family from her life.

Perhaps acceptance was the right way to go, but how were you supposed to achieve that?

At some point maybe you just had to acknowledge that it was possible to love your child with every fiber of your being, but dislike their behavior and their choices.

Exhausted with worrying about it all, she wrapped up warm and went out to feed a few treats to Benson and the other alpacas. The fields were coated with white, snow crystals gleaming as they caught the sunlight. The beauty of it took her breath away, although it was hard to breathe at all in the bitter cold.

And really she shouldn’t be out here talking to Benson when there was so much to be done indoors. She should be focusing on the present, not the past.

Feeling a little better for the fresh air and five minutes with her animals, she returned to the house and busied herself in the kitchen.

An hour later she’d made a rich winter casserole, and delicious smells wafted through the kitchen.

As it was a special dinner, she laid the table in the dining room and took extra care over the presentation. Candles flickered on surfaces and the tree she’d chosen a few days before took pride of place in the curve of the window. She stored the decorations carefully from one year to the next and all of them were precious to her. Everything she hung on the tree came with a memory.

This was where she’d serve Christmas lunch, she decided.

When Phillip had been alive, they’d loved to entertain. Dorothy had brought together people from the village and they’d enjoyed noisy evenings full of laughter and conversation. After he’d died, the idea of doing the same things alone that they’d done together held no appeal for her. She still cooked and enjoyed it, but her gatherings were almost always informal and often impromptu.

But today they had a reason to celebrate.

As a concession to Ava and Iris, they’d eat early. She could hardly believe that Imogen would be joining them at the table.

She’d barely finished her preparations when she heard the sound of car engines, then voices and a shriek of laughter from Ava.

They crowded into the house, bringing cold air, smiles and snowy boots.

And noise. So much noise. It echoed through the house and filled Dorothy’s heart.

Sara and Imogen were laughing together, and Dorothy glanced at her daughter with relief but also a touch of curiosity.

Sara had so rigidly protected herself from the past that Dorothy had been worried she would hold herself back with Imogen, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Well, at least your tree fits in the living room,” she was saying to Imogen as they shrugged off coats and piled up scarves and gloves on the side. “The one the girls chose for us is too tall. Even I think that. Patrick is going to have to trim it.”

Ralph chose that moment to chase Bailey into the kitchen, and Miles tried to call him back.

“Ralph. Ralph! Sorry, Dorothy,” he muttered. “Why did I let myself get talked into this? Imogen? You need to call your dog.”

“My dog?” Imogen hung her scarf on top of Sara’s and turned to look at him, cheeks glowing. “Since when is hemydog?”

“Since you’re the only one he will listen to.”

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