Firholme.
‘Jay, what a lovely surprise. And Trevor too. We’re honoured. We didn’t expect you. We know how busy you are at this time of year.’
‘Hi, Mum.’ He kissed her cheek as Trevor shot up the hall, snuffling in delight.
His dad appeared from the kitchen, wearing a flowery apron, a teacloth in his hand. The scent of fruit and baking wafted down the hall, making Jay’s mouth water. It was the scent of family Christmases … and after all, it was now December.
‘Hello, son,’ his dad said, wiping suds from his hands with the tea towel. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’
‘I thought I’d drop by while I could. We’ve been rushed off our feet with the Christmas tree sales.’ He thought of Lottie’s face when he’d mentioned the tree. It had lifted him to do something nice for her, however small – he didn’t think he’d be here now, if it wasn’t for her.
‘I bet you are,’ his mum said, stroking Trevor.
His dad tutted. ‘Always strikes me as ironic that those involved in spreading the festive spirit are too knackered to enjoy it themselves.’
‘Everyone wants a tree, Dad.’
‘I always get the artificial one out.’
‘Oh, bah humbug, Phil!’ his mum said. ‘We could get a real one from Firholme this year.’
‘I’m entitled to a free one,’ Jay said, following them into the lounge where a few early Christmas cards had already been arranged on the mantelpiece.
‘Don’t you want it?’ his mother said.
‘Not really. I don’t have room in my cottage.’
She eyed him sharply. ‘Mm … well, if you really don’t need it, then yes we’d love to have a tree. Wouldn’t we, Phil?’
‘Yes.’ His father looked doubtful. ‘Will it shed loads of needles?’
‘Not if you water it regularly,’ Jay said.
‘Of course, we’ll take care of it. It can be your dad’s job.’ She smiled and even Jay was amused. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee please. Milk and sugar … and um, have you made any mince pies yet?’
His mum rolled her eyes. ‘You know we have. You must be able to smell them.’
He smiled. ‘I can.’
She laughed. ‘Some things never change. No matter how many I make, they’re always gobbled up before I can blink!’
Jay and his dad shared a look that left them both in no doubt of who ate all the pies. While his dad made a fuss of Trevor, and they talked about work, his mum made the drinks, refusing any help. Jay guessed she was hoping he and his dad might find some time to ‘bond’.
She was soon back with a tray of pies, hot drinks and a dog chew for Trevor, who happily settled on the hearth rug. The pie was delicious, with home-made mincemeat and crumbly rich pastry. It seemed to taste better than he even remembered.
It was just like any other visit he’d made, except that the whole time, he was wondering if or when they were going to bring up the incident in the pub with Ben.
He was midway through the final morsel of pie when his mum said, ‘Will you come for Christmas dinner?’
He couldn’t be surprised that she’d asked. Christmas Day was less than four weeks away and after all, he’d come round to deal with this very issue.
‘I don’t know. I can’t be here at the same time as Ben and Nadia.’
‘That’s a shame,’ his dad said. ‘We had hoped that after so long, you might have reconciled yourself to the idea.’
So long? he thought. The idea? Jay forced himself to give a calm answer. All his parents wanted was for their family to be at peace but Jay knew things could never be the same. However, Lottie had reminded him how important family was so he’d come to offer a small olive branch.
Jay put his plate on the coffee table. ‘Look, Dad, I’m happy that Seb is doing well. He’s a lovely little boy. I’ve no doubt that Ben and Nadia love him and are a great mum and dad, but I’m not ready to play happy families yet. In time, maybe the situation might improve but there’s no point pretending that things can ever be the same.’
‘We’re not expecting everything to be the same,’ his mum said patiently. ‘But we were hoping you’d still be able to join us for Christmas dinner? Ben and Nadia are bringing Seb round to open his presents in the evening but we’ve already discussed the fact that it would be too much to expect us all to sit round the dinner table as