How was he doing? And Josie and Maria? Maybe he was moving back to London so the Pettersson Family Unit Mark II could spend Christmas together. Or – her heart squeezed so hard she gasped – had Loren moved into the warmth of sweet little Honeybun Cottage?
Monday and Tuesday dragged. She walked to a local pub and drank two large glasses of wine but they didn’t make her feel better. It was hard to concentrate on reading or watching something on her phone. She hadn’t switched off banking transaction notifications and so saw the international transfer finally arriving from Albin but felt none of the triumph she’d anticipated. Thousands in the bank but emptiness in her heart.
On Wednesday she toyed with checking messages but wasn’t sure she could bear to face any Nico might have left. She posted a daily don’t worry, I’m fine on the family WhatsApp and felt guilty that her hiding out in The Bus was worrying them all. But the thought of going home and perhaps seeing Nico if he hadn’t left the village flattened her. She and The Bus could spend Christmas together. It was just another day. And there would be people here on the site. They came every year and had a riotous time, someone in the shower block had told her.
Thursday was Christmas Eve. Fellow campers wished her ‘Merry Christmas!’ every time she ventured outside.
Trying to outdistance her misery, Hannah got The Bus ready to roll and paid her fees then drove towards Folkestone with a vague idea of crossing to France. But the mere idea of trying to get on a ferry or a Eurotunnel train, let alone locating a French camping ground open for the festive season, made her stop short on an isolated clifftop where she could switch off the chattering engine and watch the grey, corrugated sea. Here, it was possible to ignore Christmas. Not a single gaily decorated tree or glowing white star reminded her that there would be jolly parties in Middledip, that Carola would be leading sing-songs in The Three Fishes, Mo and Jeremy would have friends round with Nan joining in, wrinkles lifting as she laughed.
But she didn’t need the sound of party poppers to remind her that her family would be missing her. Dark clouds flew like ragged flags above white horses racing on the waves. Seagulls soared and swooped like fighting kites. Grass and gorse topped chalk cliffs curving in either direction. She could not see a single other human being.
Stiffly, she pulled on her outdoor things and got out. The wind met her with an unfriendly shove and tried to snatch her hat before slamming the camper door with a bang that would have made Jeremy faint. Hardly caring whether the gale spat her over the cliff into the booming sea Hannah coiled her hair under her hat and staggered along a path frozen to iron, almost enjoying the fight.
A smiling woman appeared suddenly beside her, well kitted out in hiking gear. ‘Blowy, isn’t it? Are you one of the Turkey and Tinsel crowd?’
Not having been aware of anyone coming from behind, Hannah jumped. ‘Turkey and Tinsel?’
The woman fell in step, pulling up her hood. ‘I thought you might be at the Fernleigh Hotel along the cliff. Their Christmas breaks are called Turkey and Tinsel. If you’re one of the solo folk we can walk back together.’
‘Oh. I’m not, sorry.’ Hannah tried not to appear terse, to adjust from solitude to company. ‘Is Turkey and Tinsel fun?’
The woman laughed. ‘Well. Needs must. A lot of people on their own. The hotel staff make a big effort. This is my third year, since my husband and I split up.’
Not everyone had people with whom to share Christmas but Hannah wasn’t sure how you reacted to it. Sympathy? Patronising. Questions? Rude. ‘Have a wonderful time,’ she said, eventually.
The woman’s smile wavered. ‘It’ll be OK. Merry Christmas! Must get on. Don’t want to be late for lunch.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Hannah echoed, as the woman hurried off.
She watched her grow smaller and smaller until she disappeared around the curve of the path, her words to her parents echoing in her head: ‘… you’ll have Rob and Leesa and Nan. Everyone at The Three Fishes and The Angel, everyone you’ve known your whole life long. They’re here for you.’
Jeremy’s response rang loud in her imagination: ‘And for you, Hannah. Don’t forget that. And for you.’ Years of family Christmases flew at