want to see.
He stops and looks up at me, as if uncertain of my reaction.
‘Oh, Lucas.’ I don’t even bother to hide the fact that I’m crying. ‘That is the nicest present I’ve ever had.’
‘Then you must have had some really shit presents in the past,’ he says, but I can tell that he’s secretly pleased that I like it. No, I don’t just like it. I love it. I adore it.
I remember so well the moving poem that he wrote for his mother to express how he felt without her and this, I feel, is Lucas coming full circle. It’s a statement of where he is now and I couldn’t be more proud. I’m proud of myself too for being part of his life.
‘Should have put on my poet T-shirt before I did that,’ he says, shyly.
‘You should because you are an amazing poet.’
‘Heartbreak and misery, it turns out, are very good for creativity. Perhaps I wouldn’t be a poet if I was deliriously happy.’
‘Are you not happy?’
He thinks for a moment and then gives a rare smile. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think I might be.’
‘Hug?’
With only a moment’s hesitation, he steps into my arms and I give him a good squeeze while I have the chance. I have so much hope for Lucas’s future. He’s made mistakes, had setbacks, experienced love and loss, endured moments of darkness and doubt, but he’s turning into a fine young man and I can’t wait to see what’s to come.
‘You can stop crying now,’ Lucas says.
‘Can you read it again?’
He sighs. ‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes. It’s Christmas. Indulge me.’
So he recites it again and makes me cry a bit more.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Lucas and I have a lovely, chilled day together. I cook a traditional Christmas lunch for us except with vegan onion tarts instead of turkey. Holly and Ivy will be happy about that. We pull crackers that the students have made and wear our completely naff paper hats.
‘I feel like a right wanker,’ Lucas says as he checks out his reflection in the window. But he keeps it on, nevertheless.
In the afternoon, I potter about while Lucas, amidst a pile of cushions and dogs, reads his new poetry book. I cajole him into a game of cards, which he quite enjoys as he pays little attention and yet he still wins. The dogs flop about on the floor beneath us, untroubled even though they’ve been cooped up for hours.
The snow continues to fall throughout the day and, as they say, it’s deep and crisp and even.
As it darkens into evening, I look out of the window. ‘I should go and feed everyone. Want to come?’
‘Yeah,’ Lucas says, pushing himself out of the cosy nook he’s created in the sofa. ‘I’ll get my coat.’
I look at him tenderly. ‘It’s been a nice day. I’ve enjoyed spending time together.’
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘And I whooped your arse at cards.’
I laugh. ‘You did.’
‘Return match tomorrow?’
‘Don’t forget we have a houseful – or caravanful.’
‘Ah. I might challenge Penny to a game or two. See what she’s made of.’
That makes me smile. ‘I see.’
‘You don’t,’ he says. ‘We’re friends. Don’t start phoning the vicar.’
‘I won’t. I just want you to find a special friend.’
‘A special friend?’ He wrinkles his nose at me. ‘Give me a break. You forget, I’m sworn off lurrrrve for the foreseeable future. Little Dog is the only companion I need.’ He ruffles the dog’s ears which sends him into a frenzy of delight.
Maybe. If not Penny, then I hope someone comes along for Lucas to care for, someone of his own age to share his life, his hopes and dreams.
We wrap up, pull on our boots and venture out into the snow. The fresh fall has obliterated our previous footsteps, so the yard is pristine until we crunch across it to reach the barn.
The animals are quite excited to have some human company and even more excited that dinner is on its way. Lucas and I set about feeding them all. When we get to the sheep, Fluffy has separated herself from everyone else and is pawing at the ground. Her belly looks lower than it was and she’s stretching her back.
‘I think that Fluffy’s time is near,’ I note.
Lucas looks anxious. ‘Shall we phone the vet?’
‘If it’s a straightforward birth, she’ll be able to manage,’ I assure him. ‘I don’t want to drag out anyone on Christmas night unnecessarily. We’ll keep a close eye on her.’
Then there’s the sound of a car trundling