Once Upon A Winter (37 page)

‘legends and myths
are largely made of truth’

J.R.R. Tolkien

Joshua
held the old man’s hand and gazed around the churchyard. It was a warm day for the season. He’d been allowed to wear his smart suit without a coat over the top, which was amazing considering he had a cold and his nose was running.

Clouds scudded across a pale blue sky, but the wind wasn’t blowing lower down. The treetops all around the church barely swayed.

‘I’m glad you could come, Abe,’ said Joshua, glancing up at the old man beside him.

Abe looked
down at him, and straightened the tie that went with his own smart suit. ‘So am I, Joshua.’

‘I’ve got loads to tell you.’

‘I’m sure you have. I’m sure you don’t even know where to begin.’

‘Did you have a good trip down? Or up? It’s north you came, isn’t it? That’s up. Was the train comfy?’

‘I had a pleasant enough seat, with a table. I could read my newspaper in peace.’

‘Is it nice staying at Calista’s? Are you comfy there, too? She’s got loads of room. You could have stayed with us, but the Gingerbread House is too small. We haven’t got any spare rooms.’

‘It was kind of Calista Molyneux to put people up. It’s very comfortable. Apparently she even had the place cleaned. I’d been warned to expect . . . dust.’

‘Joshua . . .’ Grandpa drifted back over. ‘I hope you aren’t tiring Mr Golding out? You keep dragging him all over the place. And you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on Nana Gwen.’

‘Grandpa, we don’t call him Mr Golding, so you shouldn’t, either.’ Joshua glanced towards the church door behind him. Nana Gwen seemed fine. She was tucked up with a blanket, in a wheelchair, and flapping her handbag at a pigeon that kept pecking too close to the wheels.

‘Well, I’m glad you could com
e.’ Grandpa patted Abe’s back. ‘You’re practically family, the way they all talk about you.’

‘It’s how I think of them, too,’ said Abe, ruffling Joshua’s hair. ‘Thank you for the invitation.’

‘Ooo, look, there’s Aunt Em. And Ivy and Rose . . .’ Joshua waved. ‘Oh, and, Abe - that’s Uncle Gareth behind. He’s just moved back home with them. He’s been living in the Annexe since Dan left.’

‘Er . . . I hardly think Abe wants to hear about that, Josh . . .’ Grandpa coughed, and a shadow came to sit on his face in the form of a frown.

‘I imagine you never stop worrying about your children,’ said Abe to Grandpa quietly. ‘However old they get.’

‘I only ever wanted my girls to be happy,’ muttered Grandpa. ‘It’s been hard accepting . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Well, just coming to terms with how things have turned out these last few months. But I have to accept that they’re adults, and capable
of making their own decisions.’

‘It’ll all be OK
,’ said Joshua. ‘You’re not supposed to be sad today, Grandpa.’

‘I know. I know, Josh. To be honest, I’m just an overly protective and defensive old man. I would have wrapped Emma and
Ellena in bubble wrap, given half the chance.’

‘You’re n
ot old, Grandpa. Not like Abe. Oh, oh,
oh
!’ Joshua jumped up and down. ‘There’s, Dan! Dan came! Can I go and say hello? That’s got to be his new girlfriend. He told us all about her in an email. Her name’s Ruth. She’s a dancer or something. Dan put on some show in his new school. That’s how they met.’ Joshua suddenly hesitated. ‘She’s very nice looking - isn’t she?’

‘Well, go on.’ Grandpa gave him a gentle nudge. ‘Don’t be shy. Go and say hello.’

Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, because Ruth really was extraordinarily pretty, with curly black hair and skin the colour of caramel, Joshua headed coyly along the path towards Daniel.

*

Freya climbed out of the tiny vintage car, and smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress. It was a strangely warm day for late November, but not warm enough that she wasn’t glad of the faux-fur shrug that went with the outfit. She had helped design the ensemble, and Mum had brought it to life. Freya wished she could sew like that, too, but needles and pins always seemed lethal in her hands. She clearly didn’t take after her mum, or her great-great-grandmother Meredid.

Freya turned to help Yvette out. T
he woman hesitated, adjusting the ivory fascinator perched on one side of her golden bob. A small crowd had already gathered in the lane, come to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ the much-loved couple tying the knot today, as if they were village royalty.

‘We’ve got here quicker than I thought, Freya, love,’ said Yvette. ‘Why don’t you go make sure everyone’s in position in the church? It’s my prerogative to be late, not inconveniently early.’

‘OK.’ Freya turned to the lych-gate, just as Rose and Ivy, in identical outfits to hers, bustled through it.

Rose sighed dreamily. ‘That’s a gorgeous car. I want one just like it when I get married.

‘It’s not fair you got to ride in it, Freya,’ said Ivy.

‘It
was
fair. We drew straws, and I won.’

‘You always win,’ said Rose. ‘That isn’t fair, either.’

‘Girls! Don’t argue,’ called Yvette soothingly, ‘not on my special day. Rose, Ivy, why don’t you come take a spin up and down the lane with me, one at a time, while we’re waiting to go in. There’s plenty of time. I don’t even know where the photographer’s got to . . .’

‘I’ll go find him,’ said Freya. ‘And I’ll make sure everyone’s inside the church, ready and waiting for you.’

In her ivory shoes, with the sparkly bows, Freya skimmed down the path, feeling a little like a bride herself, she was so happy today. She passed the photographer hurrying in the other direction, and gave him a stern frown, which was meant to warn him to do a good job - or else.

Then she spotted Calista, striding around the side of the church. The woman, resplendent in a kingfisher blue suit with a jaunty hat, stopped in her tracks.

‘Oh, child, you look like an angel . . .’

Freya twirled on the spot, then grew solemn. ‘But I’m not.’

‘No,’ smiled Calista. ‘But it’s quite all right to look like one. Or how
I
think they ought to look. Everyone’s got their own ideas, of course.’

‘Is everybody inside, do you know? Yvette’s already here, although she’ll be a while yet.’

‘Everyone’s inside, as far as I know. Apart from your mum and dad.’

‘Where are they?’

‘I just left them by your Grandmother Mason’s grave . . . We’ve been laying flowers . . . Remembering “absent friends”.’

Freya gave her a smile. ‘They’re not absent. They’re here to wish us all well. I can feel them. So can you, I think. Anyway’ - she breathed in a gulp of fresh air, too sweet somehow for autumn, without any trace of frost or ice in it - ‘I’d better go tell Mum and Dad to hurry up. They don’t want to be late and miss anything.’

Freya half-danced along the path, heading in the opposite direction to Calista.

Her parents looked up as she came into their line of sight.

‘You’ve got a few minutes still,’ called Freya, ‘but you’ll need to hurry up. How do I look, by the way?’ She gave another twirl, and grinned at her mother. Then she turned expectantly to her dad.

A slow, proud smile broke across his face. ‘You look beautiful,’ he mouthed.

Freya felt a warm glow glide over her, like sunshine. ‘I’d better go back. They might need me again for some more photos. I’ll see you afterwards.’ She half-giggled, half-squealed, hardly able to contain how she felt. ‘
Eek
, I’m so excited!’

And she dance
d away again, past the grave of the young woman called Lydia, with the yellow rose lying across it.

*

‘I worry about Freya sometimes . . .’ Nell sighed, her smile fading. ‘She’s so -’

‘Herself,’ said Silas. ‘And you worry too much.’

‘Oh, and you don’t? She’s such a Daddy’s girl these days, and you let her twist you round her little finger. What’s she going to be like when she’s older?’

Silas stared after their daughter
, more serious now. ‘I don’t know . . . None of us do . . . Not even Calista. I suppose half the fun will be finding out.’

‘Fun?’ Nell
shook her head, still finding it hard to accept that Freya was more than she had ever appeared to be; but what exactly, no one quite knew. ‘My life is populated by crazy people, and I’m supposed to be having fun?’

Silas stared down at her with his characteristic half-smile, before sliding an arm around her shoulders. Nell leaned against him.

If anyone still had reservations that things would be different this time, Nell didn’t know what more could be done to dispel those misgivings.

She would never tire of her husband’s
arms around her, or ever take him for granted, either. Since he had come back to her all those months ago, so thin and haggard and weak for a man who had once been so strong, she had felt she was nursing him back to full health as much as herself. And not just physically, but in his mind, too; constantly pushing back the fear that still gripped him at times. A pessimism instilled in him by his father, over such a long period, Nell knew she might need a lifetime of patience to combat it.

They had moved into the Gingerbread House in the spring, when her
dad and Yvette had returned home to North Wales. Her father’s plan all along apparently - to sign the cottage over to Nell. If it was ever sold, or rented out again, though, then Emma was to have half the proceeds.

Of course, Silas had not been part of the equation when John Mason had mapped all t
his out. But the cottage was a Tardis, they had thankfully discovered, even full of furniture. The sensation of space seemed to grow as and when required, and, as Nell pointed out to any doubters, there were families living in far more cramped conditions in far less happy homes. Families who couldn’t build on a conservatory one day, or extend in some other way when the need arose.

In her heart,
she had no cause for complaint.

‘I wouldn’t swap any of you,’ she murmured now, ‘however crazy it gets.’

Silas’s lips skimmed the top of her head. ‘And we wouldn’t swap you, either.’

‘I wish we could stay like this forever. Just standing here. It’s such a gorgeous day . . .’

‘You want to freeze-frame every moment lately. Only last night, in bed, you said -’

‘I know what I said.
It’d been a while, though, hadn’t it? Since we . . .’ Nell felt herself turn pink. ‘Ouch,’ she squirmed, distracted from her embarrassment. ‘Rib-digging alert.’

Silas instantly loomed over her, folding back the lapel of her scarlet jacket. His solicitousness was always touching. The warmth in his eyes as they melted, the slight crinkle in his brow, the t
wisting of his lips in concern.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, bending his head to peer over her chest.

‘Anna’s waking up,’ said Nell. ‘And now she’ll want feeding again. She’s smelling my milk.’

‘Well, give her to me, I’ll carry her. Maybe if she’s not sensing you, she won’t start
to cry.’

‘That’s incredibly optimistic.’

Together, with fumbling hands, they prised the small creature out of the baby-sling. Silas cradled his daughter against him, pressing his lips down on the pink woollen hat.

‘You know I’d feed her myself if I could,’ he insisted, his gaze glued to her face, as the tiny
, semi-translucent eyelids quivered.

‘Well, I’ll express milk later, and you can make
that offer again at three a.m. We need to get to the church, anyway. We’re supposed to be sitting up the front, not skulking in at the back half-way through. I’m one of the groom’s daughters. I think they’d notice if I wasn’t there.’

‘Is Anna all right?’ asked Silas, with a frown, as they walked back through the churchyard. ‘She’s gone back to sleep. Is she hot? Or maybe she’s too cold. What did you do with that shawl?’

‘She’s fine,’ Nell tried to reassure him. ‘Remember she’s a fighter. She’s always had to be. Even when everything was against her.’

‘But -’

Nell rummaged in her large bag and pulled out a knitted shawl. ‘Here. If it’ll make you happy. Now let’s hurry . . .’

‘You go on, I’ll catch up. I can’t walk fast if I’m carrying her, she might wake up again.’

Silas took his time, watching his wife, her long, loose curls tumbling against the woollen suit, with the fitted jacket and the short skirt, her slender legs encased in suede boots. No one would have guessed she had given birth only a few short weeks ago, even if Anna had only been five-and-a-half pounds.

Nell was beautiful. She was everything. Along with the children, she filled and completed his world. If others could only count what they had every day with the same sense of gratitude, they would find they had so much more than they’d imagined.

Work. Home. A family. It was all he wanted from life now; but the first two would be meaningless without the latter.

As he wrapped the shawl around Anna, she jerked, her
thin arms flailing. There was a whimper, a scrunching up of her face as she woke up again. She went red, and then back to her usual hue almost instantly. Silas smiled.