Page 22 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
He runs a hand through his short blond hair and takes a gulpof his drink, but he doesn’t return to reading his paper, and I can tell he’sfeeling a bit awkward, as if he ought to chat.
‘Listen, don’t let me disturb you. You carry on reading yourpaper,’ I say, tying on my apron. ‘Actually, I think I’ll have a cuppa myself beforeI get started. Would you like another one?’
He pushes his chair back. It makes a screeching sound on theold flagstones. ‘I’ll make it.’
‘Oh, thanks, Fergus. Coffee. Just milk, please. So…what willyou be doing on the big day itself?’
‘Going home to see my mum and my sister.’ He takes off hisglasses and rubs the lenses on the edge of his jumper, and I’m struck by howamazing his eyes are. They’re a glossy dark brown with a fine line of goldencircling the pupil.
‘Lovely.’
He nods a little awkwardly.
‘My parents live in France,’ I tell him. ‘They came overhere last Christmas and I was supposed to be flying out there this year with mystep-daughter, but…well, she wanted to stay here with her friends.’
‘How old is she?’ he asks, and I can see in his eyes thathe’s wondering why I’d give up seeing my parents at Christmas because of achild’s whim.
‘Tavie’s fifteen. But she…lost her dad last year, so Ithought it might be best if she was here this Christmas, surrounded by herfriends.’ I shrug. ‘I’ll probably fly over to France myself early next year.’
There’s a slightly awkward silence, and I wonder if I’vesaid too much. I really didn’t want to embarrass Fergus but it seems as if Imight have. He’s studying his flexed fingers as if he’s trying to work out whatto say…
‘Anyway, sorry. I don’t know what’s got into me,’ I sayapologetically. ‘I don’t usually talk about this stuff.’
He looks up. ‘So…if Tavie lost her dad, does that mean thatyou…?’
‘Lost my partner?’ I swallow hard. ‘Yes. It was all verysudden.’
My heart rate is speeding up, as it always does when Irecall the events of that day.Arriving at the scene…Harvey’s car parked infront of the ambulance…the man honking his horn at me…the stretcher…and then…
‘Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?’
I look at the chair that an alarmed-looking Fergus haspulled out for me, and I subside into it gratefully. He sits back down,opposite me.
‘Thanks. I’m fine, really.’ I attempt a laugh, but I cantell he isn’t fooled.
‘When you lose someone, you can go for days thinking you’reokay,’ he murmurs. ‘But then a song…a memory…can bring it all flooding back. Ilost my dad a few years ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ We exchange a sad look, and I take a deepbreath. ‘It’s Tavie I worry about. She’s turned from a truly delightful,carefree teenager into someone I barely recognise. She won’t talk to me abouther dad, not properly, and I feel so useless, not being able to help her.’
‘Just being there for her is the best thing you can do,though, isn’t it? For when she finally does want to talk. And she will, I’mcertain.’
‘You’re probably right.’ I shake my head. ‘God, I’m sosorry, burdening you with my problems.’
‘Please, Jenny…don’t worry about it.’
He’s looking at me earnestly and his presence is so comforting,I find myself smiling. ‘So…what do you do when you’re at your mum’s forChristmas?’
He grins shyly. ‘It’s quite nice, actually. I’m not allowedto lift a finger for three whole days and all I have to do in return is playlots of weird games and drink snowballs with cherries on cocktail sticks.’
‘Sounds good.’
He gets up to make the coffee. ‘Yes. We live life on theedge, my family.’ He says it solemnly, then he turns and I catch themischievous light in his eye, and we both laugh.
I watch him pour boiling water into our mugs, wondering ifhe has someone special in his life. ‘It’s funny how people have their ownfestive traditions they carry out every year without fail. My parents alwayseat herrings for breakfast on Christmas Day.’ I shudder. ‘What’s that allabout?’
He brings the drinks over, sitting back down and pushing hisglasses onto the bridge of his nose. ‘The Swedes burn a giant straw goat everyChristmas.’
‘Do they?’ I laugh at the unexpectedness of this.
