Page 61 of The Shape of Your Heart
‘I’ll go and help her.’ Picking up a bag, Rita heads for the kitchen.
‘Where is he?’ Sasha looks troubled.
‘Resting,’ I nod towards the stairs. ‘He does a lot of that these days.’
* * *
When Alice joins us on Christmas Eve, her presence is calm and reassuring – more so when I spot the medical bag she’s brought with her. ‘Just so I can keep an eye on his blood pressure.’
The four of us are more subdued than usual, our chatter more muted, our eyes anxious as we glance between each other and our parents. Meanwhile, Alice has an eye on everything, it seems, including the food. But my mother’s clearly done her homework.
‘This is non-dairy,’ she tells Alice as she serves up dauphinoise potatoes. ‘It’s made with plant milk and a plant-based spread. I’ve made it before and believe it or not, he really likes it.’
‘Bravo, Mum.’ Alice tastes a spoonful. ‘It’s delicious.’
As the six of us sit around the kitchen table, it’s reminiscent of the Christmas Eves of our growing-up years, yet it’s different, too. There are moments I think of Liam, wishing he was here, but mostly I’m thinking of my family and how grateful I am to have each one of them.
Christmas Day is as it always has been in our house. A lazy morning in pyjamas as we open some presents, followed by us getting dressed up in our Christmas finest for a late lunch.
Having been banished from the dining room by my mother, I am amazed to see, when at last we’re allowed in, that the table’s beautifully dressed in green and silver, the room lit by dozens of candles. It’s the first time my mother’s done anything like this.
‘This is beautiful, Mum.’ I take in the candles on the table and on the windowsills, the effect enhanced by stands of fairy lights.
She looks pleased. ‘I saw the idea in a magazine. I’m glad you like it.’ She glances at my father, her eyes slightly anxious.
He takes her hand. ‘You’ve done us proud, love. But you always have.’ He kisses her cheek.
‘Come and sit down everyone.’ Letting go of his hand, she’s businesslike again. ‘Callie? Could you help me?’
As we’re dishing up, I can see that even with the food, there’s a twist on the old favourites.
‘We have to think of your father’s health – and I thought it would be good to change things up a bit.’
I can’t help wondering if this is about me as well as my father. But when my mother’s gone out of her way to make this a different kind of Christmas, I don’t allow myself to wallow in the past. Instead, I focus on everything in the here and now: on this day with my wonderful family, because, these days, we’re not together often enough.
* * *
On Boxing Day, after coffee and toast, as my sisters and I prepare to walk off yesterday’s lunch, my parents come into the kitchen.
‘Ah. Glad I’ve caught you all together.’ My father sounds jovial, but when I look at him, his expression is serious. ‘If you have a few minutes, your mother and I would like to talk to you.’
* * *
‘I can’t believe they’re going to sell.’ As we walk up the lane, the four of us are stunned.
‘It’s a huge place,’ Rita says sympathetically. ‘A lot of work, too. It’s probably sensible.’ But she doesn’t sound convinced.
‘It’s just that it’s our home.’ Sasha’s voice wavers.
‘Can we agree that whatever we say out here, we keep to ourselves?’ Alice says. ‘Dad’s heart isn’t in a good way. I’ve seen his medical notes. Between you and me, I don’t think he believes he’s going to get better.’
As Rita gasps, I have a strange feeling inside. It’s what I’ve been feeling, too, subconsciously, but until now, I haven’t known how to put it into words. I turn to Alice. ‘I think you’re right.’ I go on, ‘I’ve spent quite a bit of time with them lately. There have been small changes – and bigger ones, the main one being that Dad does very little these days, and we all know how active he used to be.’
‘So what do we do?’ Rita sounds shaken.
‘Say nothing,’ Alice says gently. ‘They’re dealing with this in their own way. And of course, medical diagnoses can be surprising. Dad could have years ahead of him.’
But when none of them speak, I know they’re as worried as I am. ‘I know what we do,’ I say quietly. ‘We make the most of today, and tomorrow, and the next day… We tell them we love them. That we know how lucky we are.’ I look at them all. ‘I know we’ll all be sad to see the house go. But look at what they’ve given us: our childhoods, the freedom to be ourselves; the beauty of the Cornish countryside. The support and sense of security we’ve always had… Not everyone has that – and every part of that is down to them. And now…’ I shrug. ‘However we might feel about it, they have to do what’s right for them.’
