Page 24 of A Cornish Winter’s Kiss

By the time Patsy’s appointment with the consultant was over, it was getting dark and the cold was turning their breath into clouds of smoke in the air.

‘I don’t know about you, but I need a drink after that.

’ Emily’s mother reached up and put a hand over where her husband was grasping the handle of the wheelchair.

She’d started using it when she was out and about a few months earlier.

She could still walk short distances using a frame, but she needed help getting in and out of a chair, and it had just become more traumatic than it was worth to resist using a wheelchair if she needed to walk further.

‘I didn’t think you could drink alcohol with your medication?

’ Emily’s tone was gentle. She could understand why her mother might want a glass of wine after getting confirmation that the disease was progressing, but she was usually very sensible when it came to ensuring that she maximised the chances of her medication working.

‘I can’t – well, put it this way, I’m not supposed to. But I didn’t mean alcohol, I meant a nice big hot chocolate and preferably an even bigger slab of millionaire’s shortbread to go with it.’

‘Oh, I think that can be arranged. There are plenty of cafés nearby and some of them should still be open,’ Emily’s father said as he pushed the wheelchair across the car park.

‘Or we could get into the car and go down to Lemon Quay. The Christmas market has started.’

‘Now that sounds like a good idea. We don’t want to come all this way and not have a bit of fun.

Onwards to Lemon Quay, and don’t spare the horses.

’ Patsy pretended to swing a whip in the air.

It was nice for Emily to see her mother so animated, and she seemed to be reacting calmly to what the consultant had told her.

The main change, if her mother agreed to go ahead, was to have a minor operation so that her medication could be administered via a tube directly into the small intestine.

It would maintain a more consistent level of treatment, which should help with some of the symptoms Patsy had been experiencing with her movement and motor skills, as well as the anxiety which seemed to have become worse in recent months.

It all made sense, although Emily found it difficult to believe there was anyone with a diagnosis like her mother’s who wouldn’t feel anxious about it, especially when it seemed to be getting worse.

In around twenty minutes they’d transferred Patsy back into the car, driven down towards the market and found a parking space.

Then they’d walked the short distance to the Boscawen Street market, with a plan to head on to the bigger market afterwards.

It was just after five o’clock on a Wednesday evening, so although the markets were bustling, they weren’t so horribly busy that it was impossible to move.

After checking out the stalls at the first market, and sampling the best clotted-cream fudge Emily had ever tasted, they moved on to Lemon Quay.

Patsy was already one festive hot chocolate down, having sampled a peppermint flavoured one, complete with candy canes, but she wasn’t done yet.

‘I want to find a gingerbread hot chocolate this time, or one of those Ferrero Rocher ones if they do them, and I haven’t forgotten about the millionaire’s shortbread either. Someone here must sell it, but if not I will settle for a brownie at a push.’

‘Last year there was a stall further up on the left that did amazing brownies. Let’s head up that way and see what we can find.

’ Emily squeezed her mother’s shoulder gently and exchanged a look with her dad.

Her mother was still so upbeat, but she knew Patsy sometimes wore a bright expression to mask her fear.

She’d done it ever since her diagnosis, to try and stop her family worrying even more than they already were.

She’d made a comment once about having put the family through enough when she had her car accident, but none of her health issues were her fault and Emily wanted her mother to be able to talk about her fears.

They’d all seen the mask slip from time to time, but never for long.

It meant that Patsy was carrying a heavy load she ought to be able to share with the people who loved her.

‘Did you say you’re driving home, Em?’ Her father paused, waiting for her to respond.

‘Absolutely. I thought you could have a drink. I bet they’ve got Baileys hot chocolate, and glühwein.

’ Emily’s father wasn’t a big drinker, but he’d always enjoyed a couple of drinks with his friends at the end of the working week, and when he’d first retired he still went occasionally.

Recently he’d stopped going altogether and these days he wouldn’t even have a drink at home at the weekend, in case anything happened and he needed to get his wife to the hospital.

‘I might go wild and have a mulled cider. I’m sure I can smell it.’ Emily’s father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was a definite hint of apple and cinnamon in the air, as well as what smelt like hot fresh doughnuts.

‘Why don’t you guys go and grab a spot under the covered seating area and I’ll track down some gingerbread hot chocolate, the mulled cider and some amazing cakes.’

‘Okay, sweetheart.’ Richard gave her a brief hug before pushing her mother through the crowd.

Emily was as good as her word, quickly finding the drinks her parents had requested.

She hadn’t been able to track down any millionaire’s shortbread, so she’d settled on some very indulgent-looking brownies and a bag of hot doughnuts.

‘Have I missed anything?’ Emily asked as she took the food and drinks over, and Patsy pulled a face.

‘Your father was just telling me that it’s okay to admit that I’m worried about having to have an operation. But Dr Alexopoulos was very reassuring and she told us it was only minor, so God knows why he thinks I’m going to make a fuss about it.’

‘She’s great at making things sound straightforward.

’ Emily smiled, but she couldn’t help wondering if her expression looked as false as it felt.

Her mother’s consultant had been wonderful.

She and Pasty had developed such a good relationship that Emily’s mother hadn’t wanted to move to another consultant, even after the opening of St Piran’s Hospital just down the road from them.

It was why they still came to Truro. But despite how much they all trusted Dr Alexopoulos, the operation was a big deal.

It was another step along the road of a progressive illness, and that would be scary for anyone.

‘We all know what you’re like for trying to pretend everything’s okay, Mum.

Charlotte and I were only talking about that the other day.

But you don’t need to cover up how you’re feeling for our benefit. ’

‘That’s what all mums do, sweetheart.’ Patsy smiled. ‘I hope you discover that one day, I really do.’

‘Not all mums are as selfless as you are. I hit the jackpot.’ Emily laid her hand over her mother’s.

She couldn’t help thinking about Jude and the things he’d told her.

Her heart had ached for what he’d been through, losing his mother so young and then being faced with a stepmother who seemed determined to make his life hell.

She couldn’t imagine how painful that had been, and she’d wanted to do something to try and take some of that hurt away, but there was nothing she could have done or said.

It had clearly affected Jude deeply; she’d been able to see it in his eyes as he recounted the story, and it had played on her mind ever since.

It had been a stark reminder of just how blessed her own childhood was.

‘Hmm, I’m not sure about that.’ Her mother pulled a face. ‘I can’t help you or Charlotte out nearly as much as I’d like to.’

‘You’re always there to listen and support us, and that’s far more important than anything you might not be able to do.’ Emily hoped her mother believed her, because it was true. ‘I met someone recently who made me realise how fortunate I am to have the family I’ve got.’

‘You’ve met someone? Did you hear that, Richard? She’s met someone.’ This was typical of her mother. All she seemed to want was to see both her daughters settle down, and Emily almost didn’t want to admit that her relationship with Jude was strictly business.

‘I did hear that, Patz. And are we allowed to ask any more details about this someone, sweetheart?’ Her father reached for the mulled cider as he spoke, and Emily attempted a casual shrug.

‘His name is Jude and before you get all excited…’ She knew it was already too late for that particular caveat, but there was no point in giving them any false hope about Jude.

He couldn’t have been less likely to fulfil her mother’s dream of seeing her youngest daughter settling down with someone.

‘He’s an author from the same publisher as Sophia, and I’ve been working with him on his book. ’

‘Doing the audio recording?’ Her mother’s assumption was a natural one and it would have been far easier to just go along with it, but Emily knew her mum.

Patsy would want to know when she’d be able to listen to the book, just as she had with all the other novels Emily had narrated.

If she tried to fob her off, her mother would start digging. So she might as well be honest.

‘No, not exactly. Jude’s editor told him he needs to give the main character in his series a meaningful relationship, something that makes readers invest in staying with the series long term and root for the character. So he asked for my help.’

‘But you’re not a writer.’ Her father narrowed his eyes. ‘And I love you to bits, Em, but you could hardly put “expert in relationships” down on your CV, could you?’