Page 30 of So This is Christmas

‘It made me sad, more than anything. I wasn’t angry.

As she declined with dementia, she often talked fondly of my childhood in ways I’d forgotten.

She talked about making a Barbie ski lift out of old milk bottles with me – I remembered it then, painting the bottles together, making the pulley system.

She talked about baking, especially butterfly cupcakes.

She seemed to have a thousand different memories stored up when she didn’t know my name half the time.

It was odd, unsettling, but in a way I kind of understood her a bit more.

It made me see that perhaps it wasn’t as simple as I always thought it was.

I just wish we had had the chance to start over, to have a real relationship. ’

‘You cared for her until the end?’

‘She was in a home but I visited whenever I could. Some days were harder than others, but I’m glad I did.’ She took a deep breath, let the sadness fade. ‘Like I said, I’ve made sure to give Hayden the things I never had.’

‘You sound close.’

‘We are. But these days I must remind myself to back off a bit, let him become a man and make his own way in the world.’ She took out her phone, scrolled and found the most recent photograph of Hayden and a friend of his from university standing on the Brooklyn Bridge.

‘He looks a lot like you,’ said Jennie.

‘He looks more like his dad.’

When a waitress came to take their empty cups, Jennie ordered a couple of pastries and the atmosphere between them thawed a little more while they chatted.

They talked about Jennie’s years in the hotel industry and how much she loved it, Sophie told her about the different jobs she’d had and how seeing the smiles of the residents made her day.

‘No wonder you’re so good with Walter,’ said Jennie, catching flakes of her pastry on her bottom lip and popping them into her mouth.

‘He’s very good company. We’re getting on well with the bears. I never thought I’d be doing so much knitting, but the time flies when we’re both working and chatting away.’

‘I’d better start making another one… Who knows,’ said Jennie, ‘if I start now I might be able to make a couple for next year.’

Sophie finished the last morsel of her own pastry. She thought back to the woman in the red coat and the card the receptionist had passed to Jennie. Maybe Jennie’s mother had chosen Christmas to try to reconnect. ‘Were your mum’s contact details on the card?’ she asked.

Jennie took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I have a number for her.’

‘Do you think you’ll call?’

Jennie looked about to shake her head but then she shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time. All those things she said to me.’

‘You know, I never felt special enough in my mother’s eyes.

She was always distant,’ said Sophie. ‘But I got those years caring for her before she passed away and it gave me a sense of peace. I could never change what my childhood was like, but I didn’t feel as resentful and it made me wonder how difficult it was for her, especially parenting me on her own.

Now I’ve been a single mum I know how tough it is, and she wouldn’t have been as financially secure as I was, she worked two jobs.

I’ll never fully understand her but I’m glad I had that time before it was too late. ’

‘You think I should talk to her.’ Jennie put her plate on top of Sophie’s empty one.

‘It might be good for both of you.’

‘I’m not sure I can ever forget the things she said.’

‘Maybe she hasn’t forgotten them either. Her words might have haunted her ever since.’

‘I can’t believe she came to Vienna. I can’t believe she wants to see me after all this time. Part of me wonders whether she’s here to yell at me and accuse me all over again. And if she is, I’ll break down, I know I will.’

‘I don’t know for sure but I highly doubt she’s come to do that.’

‘Losing my brother was devastating, and she never saw what it did to me.’ Tears sprang to Jennie’s eyes and she took a deep breath, holding them back.

‘Tell me about him.’

Jennie talked about her brother, some of the games they’d played as kids – climbing trees, hiding in the woods from each other or their parents, the project one summer to build a fort in the back garden that didn’t withstand an August storm.

‘We were convinced we would stay dry.’ Jennie was laughing now.

‘We’d used sheets, a few planks of wood and a couple of old umbrellas to form a roof.

Honestly, it was a crazy mishmash of things we found in the garage and the loft.

It didn’t work. We were inside getting drenched and by teatime – which we were planning to have in the cubby – we gave up and ran inside to eat the shepherd’s pie in the warmth of the kitchen.

Mum and Dad were very kind about it but I knew they wanted to laugh.

It’s one of the favourite memories I have of growing up with Donovan. ’

Sophie felt herself shiver and her words came out in a bit of a croak. ‘It’s a lovely memory to have, really special.’ Surely the name was a pure coincidence.

‘Once I got my driver’s licence, Donovan was in awe.

He thought I was so cool having my own car.

’ Her mood sobered. ‘I wasn’t supposed to take him anywhere, though.

My parents thought I needed time to get a bit more confident before I started ferrying passengers around.

But one day my parents were out and he begged me to take him to meet his friends.

I backed down. I took him. It was a gorgeous June day, the sun was out, we were joking about and laughing.

‘And then all of a sudden we weren’t. Another driver drove through a give way sign without looking and smashed into the passenger side where Donovan was sitting.’

The words had come out along with Jennie’s grief and Sophie had listened, but the shiver had been replaced with a dull ache in the pit of her gut, an awareness of her breathing growing more rapid.

Right now she wanted to get up, she wanted to walk away, and she didn’t want to ever look back.

Jennie’s words were on repeat in her head: Donovan, a red car, a sunny day in June, a give way sign, a crash.

Her gaze fell to Jennie’s name badge. In black letters on a gold background, pinned proudly to the left breast of her suit jacket, it said Jennie Clarke .

How had she not made the connection before now?

She felt sick.

Donovan Clarke. It was a name she’d never forgotten.

She almost didn’t register Jennie saying she had to get back to work.

‘Hey, are you all right?’ Jennie asked her when Sophie swayed as she stood up.

‘What? Yes… Head rush.’

‘That’ll be the caffeine,’ Jennie started. ‘Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for listening and not freaking out.’

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ Her voice came out weak even to her ears.

Jennie nodded but not convincingly. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so awful to you about Walter, Sophie.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not. And I believe you when you say you have good intentions when it comes to the Wynters.’ She took Sophie by surprise when she pulled her in for a hug. ‘Thank you for being a friend.’

Friend?

It was the sort of hug and the sort of words Sophie might have appreciated once upon a time.

But not now. Not now she knew who Jennie was and how they were linked.

Even if Jennie no longer suspected that she was here under false pretences, this would give her plenty of ammunition to push her away again.

In fact, it would make her hate Sophie more than Sophie hated herself right now.