Page 21 of Home This Christmas

‘Thanks, that’s nice of you. And the activities do sound lovely,’ I say, imagining a forest walk with a bunch of friendly women, or eating food and drinking wine at Roberto’s. It reminds me that I don’t have a lot of girlfriends back home.

‘My friend is getting married here tomorrow; it’s a shame you can’t be here to see the wedding,’ Esme adds.

‘I am really looking forward to it,’ says Marilyn. ‘The church is going to look wonderful, with winter flowers and foliage, and we are putting candles all around the altar. It would be lovely if you could stay…’

‘That sounds magical.’ I can already picture the scene in the church.

‘Hopefully it will be. It really would be marvellous if you could stay – especially as the reception is going to be held at the Swan Inn where you’re staying,’ Marilyn tells me. ‘And wait until you see Esme’s cake, it really is stunning!’

‘Thanks!’ Esme smiles modestly.

‘It does indeed sound lovely, but as I don’t know the bride-to-be, I’m not sure I would be invited to the wedding…’

‘Oh, but everyone is welcome to the church service,’ Marilyn explains. ‘You know what it’s like around here. Although perhaps you have forgotten.’

Maybe I have, I think to myself, as a wedding really does involve the whole village. I remember that from when I was a young girl.

Glancing around the church, it seems that most people have headed off home, something that Marilyn comments on.

‘It’s a shame people don’t seem to hang around churches once the service is over,’ she muses, as she looks around.

‘Although serving snacks and a drink does at least mean some of them are here long enough for Gerard to push a leaflet about our church services into their hands.’ She laughs.

‘And maybe we really should consider getting one of those fancy coffee machines.’

‘On reflection, the local coffee shop might not thank you for that,’ I point out.

‘True enough. We will stick to Yorkshire tea and instant coffee.’

As I place my paper cup into a bin, I notice the grey-haired lady once more, pushing a walking frame, and I excuse myself for a moment.

‘Pardon me but are you Phylis who once ran the Greyhound pub?’ I ask her.

She scrutinises my face for a moment before she speaks. ‘My goodness, it’s young Ruby, isn’t it?’

‘It is, maybe not so young anymore, though.’ I smile.

‘Compared to me you are a spring chicken.’ She laughs. ‘And you have hardly changed a bit. Yes, I remember you and Nathan.’ She smiles.

‘You do?’

‘Oh yes. I recall you trying to get served once when you were under eighteen.’ She frowns in concentration as she recalls the moment.

‘I know that because the previous day, your mother spoke of your upcoming eighteenth birthday. It’s more than our licence would have been worth to serve you before then.

’ She smiles at me with kind, watery grey eyes.

‘It’s funny the things I can recall from yesteryear but ask me what I had for dinner last night, and I wouldn’t have a clue. ’ She laughs.

‘I remember trying to get served in a pub when I was underage myself,’ says her companion, who introduces herself as Phylis’s carer. ‘I even had a fake ID. So brazen when I think about it…’

‘I guess we were all so desperate to be grown up,’ I reply, wondering why on Earth I was so keen to do that – although maybe that is only with hindsight, as the years are flying by far too quickly.

I ask Phylis about her husband as her carer chats to someone else nearby, and she frowns once more before telling me he died some time ago and that she lives in a care home nearby. ‘I’m not so good on my feet these days,’ she explains, tapping her walking aid.

‘I always thought you and young Nathan would marry,’ she tells me thoughtfully as she nibbles a shortbread.

‘I think most people did,’ I reflect, remembering how I proudly displayed my engagement ring to all and sundry.

Maybe I truly believed it myself in the beginning, before my desire to move to London and pursue a career truly took over.

‘I assume he carried on running Hope Farm, then?’ I comment, recalling he was heading out to a delivery the day I ran into him.

‘Oh yes.’ She smiles. ‘Married with two lovely little boys.’

Just then, her carer rejoins us and tells Phylis that they ought to be heading back to the care home.

‘Well, it was lovely to see you,’ Phylis says, gently touching me on the arm before she departs.

‘You too. Take care, and merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas, Ruby.’

The news that Nathan is married with two sons inexplicably makes me feel regretful – but what did I expect? After all, it is highly likely that he would be married by now.

Here I am, at almost forty, without a partner and I can’t help wondering how different our lives are and if children will ever happen for me?

Little boys, Phylis said, so perhaps Nathan only got married in his thirties.

Maybe his sons were part of the nativity earlier.

I wonder why he was keen to go for coffee if he has a wife and children…

but then I suppose there is no harm in simply having a catch-up before I head back to London.

I remind myself of how I felt when I laid eyes on him yesterday, and in this very moment decide that there will be no catch-up over coffee. As soon as this train strike is over, I will be on the next available train out of here.