Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,39

with her headphones clamped to her ears. She doesn’t look up when I stand next to her bed.

‘Darling, you need to eat.’

She ignores me and I wonder if she can even hear what I’m saying, as the music is thumping so loudly. I reach over and try to pull her headphones off.

‘Don’t!’

But one earphone is off now.

‘I know you don’t want to meet Patrick, but I’d rather you did. It’s polite and I don’t want to be hiding things from you.’

‘You’re gross, Mother. I don’t want to know who you’re shagging. I’ll eat later.’

‘No, you will come downstairs now. You don’t need to make conversation, but you will join us.’

‘And if I don’t? What can you do?’

‘Don’t push me, Mia.’ I try to withhold my tears. I remember when Mia was a toddler and she threw herself down on the floor in Tesco, screaming and wailing because I wouldn’t let her have a packet of jelly babies. I was mortified at the time, but now I think how much easier those days were. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells. People are forgiving of parents with temper-tantrum toddlers.

She sighs melodramatically. ‘If it means so much to you, I’ll come and see lover boy, but don’t expect me to talk.’

She follows me downstairs and into the kitchen. She’s wearing shorts that barely cover her backside and a shapeless baggy T-shirt with the name of a band I’ve never heard of. As she sits at the table, she clamps her headphones back over her ears and keeps her eyes on her bitten fingernails.

‘Hello, Mia.’ Patrick tries to engage with her. She doesn’t look up.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say quietly, carrying two plates piled with food back to the table. Patrick carries the remaining two and places one in front of Mia and the other at the head of the table.

‘You can’t sit there. It’s Dad’s place.’ Mia scowls at him.

‘Um, do you mind sitting next to me instead?’ I suggest, trying to quell the redness I can feel creeping up my neck.

‘Of course. No problem. I totally understand.’

Mia eats with her headphones on, totally ignoring the rest of us and refusing to engage in conversation. I am mortified. But what can I do? Fortunately, Patrick and Oliver seem to hit it off. Patrick knows all of the ‘in’ computer games, and Oliver is suitably impressed. I am relieved and also curious as to how childless Patrick knows so much.

After dinner, when both Mia and Oliver have left the room, Patrick strides over to me and takes my hand.

‘I understand, Lydia. Really I do.’

And I burst into tears, thinking how incredibly lucky I am to have met such a gorgeous, compassionate man.

13

As the autumnal days merge into winter, Mia starts communicating with me again. It’s slow, but I’ve decided not to push her. Yes, she’s angry with me for dating Patrick, and as a result, he hasn’t been back to our house. Yes, she’s angry with her father for dying. My heart bleeds for her. Life isn’t fair. But so long as I avoid any mention of Patrick, we seem to be on safe territory.

Now, we’re facing the dreaded winter holidays. Our first Christmas without Adam. I think back to the happy times, when year after year Adam insisted on dressing up as Father Christmas, and how he used to creep into the children’s bedrooms to lay their filled Christmas stockings at the end of their beds. I think back to last Christmas when we tried so hard to be civil to each other for the sake of Mia and Oliver. I think we succeeded. I hope we did.

My sister, Bea, has suggested that we join them in Switzerland. The kids jumped at the idea; I wasn’t so keen. The compromise was that she would whisk Mia and Oliver away at the beginning of the school holidays for ten days in an alpine chalet with her and the boys, for daily ski lessons and fondues with fries. Her husband, Craig, and I are due to join them for a short break over Christmas and Boxing Day. They regularly rent the same chalet in a small resort in the French part of Switzerland. I’ve seen the photos of wooden walls and fleece-covered chairs, a log-burning stove and breathtaking views of jagged mountains and snow-laden fir trees. They’ve been so many times, I assume Bea is a pro skier by now.

She has changed since she married Craig. I think she tries a little too hard