Page 5 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
‘Right. Who’s Mal?’
‘A boy in the sixth form?’ She heaves a sigh. ‘I’vementioned him before but you probably weren’t listening.’
I steel myself to ask. ‘Is he…your boyfriend?’
‘No!’ she protests, and relief rushes through me. ‘He’s justa mate. But don’t worry, he doesn’t do drugs or anything. I’ll be absolutelyfine.’
I feel nauseous. I don’t want to be a party pooper but I hateit when Tavie’s out and I’m not one hundred per cent certain where she is. Ialways tell her to text me and she always sighs and says she will, but sheinvariably forgets, I guess because she’s having too good a time to rememberher boring old step-mum.
Oh, Harvey, why did you have to die? Your daughter needsyou!
I take a breath. ‘Okay. Listen, Tavie, I need you to be backhome by ten.’ I say it softly but firmly, bracing myself for the cries ofprotest that will inevitably follow.
‘Fine. Ten o’clock,’ she says nonchalantly, completelyblindsiding me. (She does this a lot. I’ve learned to always expect theunexpected.) ‘But please stop calling me Tavie. I hate it. I’m not eleven anymore.’
She ends the call and I breathe a sigh of relief. No battlethis time. Maybe she’s getting used to me in the role of anxious protector. Ireally hope so. All I want is a return to the easy way it used to be betweenus, before funny, adorable, bright-eyed ‘Tavie’ was replaced almost overnightby the sulky fifteen-year-old version, full of glowering angst.
However much she protests, to me she will always be ‘Tavie’.
I picture her as she was when Harvey first introduced usfour years ago. I was captivated by this talkative and sparky eleven-year-oldwith the flaming corkscrew hair and dazzling blue eyes. She was tall for herage and a little self-conscious about it, but Harvey and I made a point oftelling her how great it was to be tall. And eventually, she held her head highin any situation. She missed her mum, Vivian, who’d moved to Wales with her newpartner, Wesley, and I’ve always aimed to fill the gap by being her friend, butnot trying to be a mother substitute.
After Vivian left, Harvey and Tavie were on their own for fouryears, until I came into their lives and eventually moved in with them whenTavie was twelve.
Vivian and Wesley have since had a boy and a girl – Danny,aged five, and four-year-old Megan – who Tavie adores. I know she wishes shecould see her half-brother and sister more often, but Wesley is a high-poweredexecutive, working long hours, and their weekends are precious.
Losing her dad last Christmas hit Tavie so hard, and shecouldn’t even rely on her mum as a shoulder to cry on. Vivian always sighs andsays she wishes their house in Wales had another bedroom because then Taviecould come and stay more often. But I can’t help thinking that’s just anexcuse. Vivian is too focused on her new family to have time for a teenager’sproblems, and my heart aches for my step-daughter.
I feel a pang of sorrow, thinking of what Tavie’s beenthrough. If she’s home by ten, as she promised, I’ll give her more leeway nexttime, to show her I trust her…
I ring the doorbell and pick up the cake box, crossing myfingers that it will be Fen who answers the door, and not Marjery.
If only my first meeting with my most exacting client hadgone a little more smoothly…
*****
The night I ran into Marjery for the first time, emotionshad flared between Tavie and me once again.
Feeling bad after our argument, I’d nipped out, while Taviesulked in her room, to buy her a double cheeseburger, chicken nuggets, and herall-time favourite caramel and choc chip ice-cream. I was feeling upset afterthe confrontation, which happened because I wasn’t keen on her going to herfriend’s Christmas party in the next village. I just needed to know that she’dbe safe, but she took my enquiries about who’d be there as the beginnings of arefusal to let her go, and suddenly, she was venting all her frustration at me.
As I drew up in the car park, I told myself it was no wondermy step-daughter was so prickly and angry with me at times; anyfifteen-year-old who’d lost the dad they worshipped just twelve short monthsago would probably be the same…
My arms full of fast food, a large coke balanced on top, Iwas dashing out of the restaurant, checking in the bag to make sure they’dincluded Tavie’s favourite sauce, when I literally bumped right into Fen. The cokefell to the ground, splashing its contents all over the neat black loafers ofthe woman Fen was with. I stared at her in horror. She had short, snowy whitehair and there was a surprised look in her sharp, intelligent grey eyes.
Marjery?
Panicking, I stooped to rescue the cup, but in doing so, theopen brown bag managed to disgorge some of its contents onto the pavement.
‘Sorry! So sorry!’ Covered in confusion, I started scoopingthe food back into the bag and fumbling for a paper napkin to wipe Marjery’sshoes.
Fen laughed. ‘Jenny! Hi. I think that might have been myfault. We were just on our way to collect our Christmas wreath for the frontdoor and I always get a bit over-excited when it comes to festive decorations.I probably wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘No, it was me.’ I dabbed at Marjery’s left shoe with thenapkin, looking up apologetically at the owner.
Marjery eyed her shoes then me with an astonished look – notsurprisingly, since I was at that moment quite literally grovelling at herfeet! Then she said in a fairly jolly tone, ‘It’s fine. Shoes can be cleaned.It’s certainly not the end of the world.’
I stood up, my face flushed pink from bending down, hairescaping from my ponytail, smelling of chicken and fries, and Fen said, ‘Mum,this is Jenny, who’ll be providing all the wonderful food for your house partynext week.’
Marjery’s eyebrows rose. She glanced in vague alarm at thefast-food packages I was clutching and then at me. Then she held out her hand.‘Very nice to meet you at last, Jenny.’
