Page 21 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest. “I did all the things you’re supposed to do.

I got a degree, a steady job, I settled down with one man—though obviously that was poor judgment on my part—I had a gym membership and a pension plan, and my life still swirled down the toilet.

And now my mum, aka Captain Chaos, is going to swoop in and rescue me.

And I hate myself for being so petty, but there it is. ”

Liam nodded sagely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “There’s the truth of it; I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. You feel hard done by because you followed what you saw as ‘the rules’ and your mum didn’t, and you don’t think it’s fair.”

“I know it’s unreasonable—believe me, I do—and I hear what a spoiled cow I sound like when you lay it out like that.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “I’m just trying to put it into some sort of context for you.

Your mum was an unconventional parent in many ways, I’ll grant you that.

But did she really do such a bad job of raising you?

Did she fail to give you a childhood surrounded by love and financial security? ”

“No!” Fred was surprised at the strength of her affront at such a suggestion. “She did a great job…Maybe I didn’t always think so, or maybe I just used that as an excuse. Oh, I don’t know! I’m all mixed up about it.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re allowing yourself to remain trapped in a cycle of teenage gripes. Only you’re long past sixteen. Wouldn’t the sensible, grown-up thing be to let yourself move past it?”

Liam had a way of making harsh truths feel soft.

She chewed her lip, knowing he was right.

But it was hard to let go of old defense mechanisms. She had drawn strength from those walls of petty grievances when faced with the man who’d wanted to break her.

Without them, without her dogged determination to be the antithesis of her mum, she might have crumbled completely.

Then again, minus the blinkers of stubborn pride and burning indignation, she might have perceived his behavior sooner and been able to save herself.

When she didn’t say anything, Liam went on speaking. “Claire and I were never blessed with children. But if we had been, I’d always imagined they’d be like you.”

“Really?” She felt herself choking up again. “Even though I’m a bit of a cowbag?”

“You are better and stronger than you give yourself credit for. But nobody’s giving out medals for making life more difficult than it needs to be. Self-respect is a good and necessary thing, but too much pride will leave you out in the cold.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I mean, who is it that I’m trying to impress? And what’s so wrong with making Christmas Crackers? I like making Christmas Crackers!”

“If you want my two penn’orth, go look at the business with fresh eyes.

View it as a potential investor and see what you could offer it.

And if you find yourself inspired, act on it.

If it doesn’t work out down the line, so be it, what’s the worst that could happen?

You’ll have added another experience to your CV is all. ”

“You’re right.” She hugged him, feeling like several weights had been lifted. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

—

Later, after dinner, when the aunts had begun to concoct their postprandial cocktails, Bella excused herself and headed out to the workshop, and Fred followed.

The clouds had eclipsed the moon completely, and if not for the multitudinous fairy lights the garden would have been in total darkness.

A freezing drizzle was falling and turning to ice the moment it hit the brick pathways.

Out in the thick cold darkness the waves crashed against the cliff.

The wind snatched up the scents of salt and seaweed and tossed them around in the garden.

Mother and daughter shook out their raincoats when they closed the door on the blustery night and hung them on the hooks near the wood burner.

Bella set about stoking the fire while Fred put the kettle on for tea.

“There’s a blanket in the basket”—Bella gestured to the wicker basket by the stove—“if you want to get cozy in the chair.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather help you with the crackers.”

“Oh. Lovely. That’ll speed things along a bit. When I start stockpiling in September, I always think I’ve made far too many. And then November comes, and it turns out I could have made them twice over. Still, you won’t find me complaining about sales. We are very lucky.”

“I probably should have come back here sooner. Once it was clear I wasn’t going to be headhunted by a new agency,” Fred added, dryly. “I can see how much you’ve had on; I could have been helping. I’ve been feeling bad about that.”

“You don’t need to. I’ve never wanted you to feel under pressure to help with the business. This life was my choice, not yours. And I know it took a lot for you to leave London and come back here. I’m just grateful for the extra pair of hands.”

As she set herself up next to Bella, within easy reach of papers, snaps and gifts, she wished her mum wasn’t always so understanding.

It was its own kind of infuriating to have her selfish behavior reflected back at her with compassion.

And then she remembered her conversation with Liam.

Maybe alongside viewing the business with fresh eyes, she should do the same with her mum.

“I was surprised at how well you remembered the making stages,” Bella said. “Your ribbon tying was on point.”

Fred laughed. “It’s like muscle memory, I couldn’t forget if I wanted to.

These new papers are beautiful,” she said, picking up a thick printed sheet with a repeating pattern of a Victorian Christmas tree in a beribboned pot and candles on the branches.

The tones were muted, as though the paint had aged, depicting dark green fir fronds and pale yellow flames, on a clotted cream background, with prettily wrapped presents stacked neatly around the base of the tree.

“Thank you,” said Bella. “I was inspired by some old Christmas cards I found of Great-Granny’s when I was up in the attic.

You’d be amazed what’s up there. I don’t normally venture into the far corners, but one of this year’s swallow chicks found its way into the attic in the spring, and I had to go on a rescue mission. ”

“Was it okay?”

“Yes, it was fine once I’d managed to pop it back into its nest in the eaves. Didn’t do much for my spine, though.” She laughed.

“I’d love to see the cards.”

“Be my guest, there are boxes of them: cards, letters, postcards. Wear a warm jumper, though, it’s freezing up there.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, rolling the patterned papers using the ceramic rolling pins and tucking the gifts inside, before securing the ends with lengths of thick velvet ribbon.

“So, business is good?” Fred asked after a time.

“It is…”

Fred could hear the waver in her mother’s voice.

“We’ve still got the big stores, so that’s good, and the market is busy, as you’ve seen. But the online orders have been a bit slow this year…the last couple of years actually.”

“Do you want me to look at the website? See if the settings need tweaking?”

“You can do, I haven’t had the time to update things in a while. I was late getting this year’s designs on as well, which probably didn’t help.”

They worked quietly side by side for a time. It was soothing, the gentle repetition of rolling and tying the crackers, before laying them in the boxes. Fred had forgotten how mindful this work could be.

The little lights festooned in the garden trees and shrubs shivered as the north wind blew through branches and boughs, so that the garden appeared to be alive with fireflies.

It was nice here with her mum, just being.

They hadn’t done this in a long while and Fred wondered, not for the first time, how much of her disdain for it had been perpetuated by her own comments being collated, sifted and then drip-fed back to her by Tim as a means of keeping her in line.

A throwaway line she’d uttered once in conversation would find its way back to her, twisted and with a sting attached.

“My mistake, I thought you wanted more than the kind of surface-level attachments favored by your mother.” “Try not to showcase your provincial roots tonight, Fredricka.” “Your family rolls Christmas Crackers for a living, they’re not exactly splitting the atom up there in Pine Bluff.

” It was a subtle form of control—but control, nonetheless—and for her own sanity she had found it easier to tell herself that she’d never fitted in at home anyway, rather than admit that the person who was supposed to love her was showing signs of coercive behavior.

“Penny for them,” said Bella.

Fred wanted to tell her, but she didn’t know where to begin, so instead she said, “I saw Liam this afternoon.”

Her mum fumbled trying a bow, but swiftly recovered and said, “Oh, that’s nice, he’s been waiting to catch up with you.”

“I wasn’t sure how he would be, but he seems okay. I know it’s been a while now but…”

“Grief is never straightforward.” Bella finished the thought for her.

“Yes.”

“I think he’s reached a place where he can remember what they had, without it cutting to the quick. They had a good marriage; they were lucky.”

Fred stepped back from the bench and stretched her limbs, turning her head from side to side to get rid of the knots in her neck. “I’m going to make a cup of chamomile tea; would you like one?”

“Please.”

She tucked the cracker she’d finished into its box and crossed the room to make the tea.

“I’d like to see him meet someone else,” Fred said, idly. “He’s only in his mid-fifties, and he does have of touch of George Clooney about him. I don’t think he’d have any trouble finding a girlfriend.”

Bella dropped the scissors with a clatter.

“Are you all right?” Fred asked.