Page 48 of So This is Christmas

‘I got your number from Prue Braverock and she told me where you were working. I hadn’t seen her in years, not since she’d tried to help me after you left and I refused to even answer the door.

The Braverocks moved away when I was in the hospital, but three months ago I bumped into her when she was in town visiting family.

It was outside the bakery and as we caught up briefly and I told her that I was teaching, she must have assumed that you and I were back in touch.

It soon became obvious that we weren’t, and she said that while she hated breaking a confidence, she also hated knowing that you and I had never had a chance to repair what was broken.

We sat on the bench opposite the bakery and after she’d texted her husband to please get your details from her address book, she told me some of her fondest memories of our family. Things I’d forgotten.’

She should be angry that one of their former neighbours, Prue, had given her away – and yet she wasn’t.

Whatever way this went today, it felt good to finally be doing it, to see her mother and see whether they had anything left to salvage.

She was beginning to think and hope that they did, even though it wasn’t going to happen overnight.

‘She talked about the year you helped Donovan ride a bike without stabilisers for the first time.’ Gwendoline smiled.

So did Jennie. ‘He took ages to get the hang of it. Especially for a boy.’

‘Your dad and I had almost given up. You were always so good with him, and patient.’

‘What else did Prue remember?’ She’d been burying these memories for so long, it was unexpectedly nice to have them rise to the surface.

‘She talked about the year Donovan got himself a paper round for extra pocket money but it was snowing and when she took the newspaper from him at her front door he told her that his sister was helping so he could get to school on time. Mostly she remembered you two laughing all the time. She said she could hear the noise four gardens down, and it would always make her wonder what on earth you were up to.’

Jennie let the facts settle. Seeing each other after all this time was awkward, painful, and Jennie wanted to run more than once but slowly she and Gwendoline settled into a rhythm of sorts.

Their shoulders dropped a little, their voices weren’t as strained, and with a second coffee each they’d moved past the incredibly awkward hello, the initial shock at how much each of them had changed over the years.

‘How did you get into teaching?’ Jennie asked.

‘It took a while. I went back to work as an admin assistant, which I had experience with, but I needed something more. I needed a focus because without my family…’

Gwendoline had worked part-time after having Jennie but stopped when she had Donovan, and the family’s income had relied solely on their dad’s work as a plumber.

‘I studied part-time so I could continue working and eventually I was qualified. I work in a primary school now.’ She looked across at Jennie. ‘You’re doing well in the hotel business, it seems.’

‘I’m head housekeeper.’

Gwendoline beamed a smile, but snatched it back as though she didn’t believe it was her right. In some ways it didn’t feel like it was, but in others Jennie desperately longed for her approval and the pleasure it offered both of them.

‘Why did you stop looking for me?’ Jennie asked, a tear tracking its way down her cheek. She’d given up trying to stop it.

‘I suspected that after what I’d said, you didn’t want to be found. I didn’t stop for ages, I promise you that, but I had to accept I’d pushed you too far.’

‘I lost my brother and then my dad. And then I lost you.’

‘Honey—’

‘Don’t.’

Gwendoline held up both hands and bounced them up and down. ‘Sorry, I just… well, I’m trying.’

‘I know you are.’

‘I couldn’t see what my behaviour and my grief were doing to you at the time.

It was like I was buried beneath a ton of rubble, and I couldn’t find my way out.

I’m ashamed of myself for the way I was with you.

I wish I’d never said what I did, I wish I’d been able to look after my daughter, but I couldn’t even look after myself. ’

‘I tried, you know. I mean, I really tried to help you, Mum. I did whatever I could, and you threw it all back in my face.’

‘I did. And I can’t change that. All I can do now is try, hope that we can find a way forwards. It’s been a long time, but has it been too long?’

‘I lived on the streets for a while,’ she blurted out.

A look of absolute horror cast itself across her mother’s face.

She’d never written about her struggle in her cards to the Braverocks.

As far as they knew she’d left and fallen on her feet.

‘I found work, a place to live, lost it all, and ended up with a cardboard box for shelter. My only safety was finding another homeless person to stay alongside – the more of us there were, the safer it felt.’

Her mother turned to face the window so nobody else in the café could see her cry. Jennie wanted so badly to reach out and comfort her but she wasn’t ready.

‘It was the Wynters who found me,’ Jennie went on. ‘The hotel name is a coincidence but they did work in hotels and Greta and Walter took me in. Greta passed away earlier this year but Walter is still with us, so is Nick, his son, and they’re my family now.’

Her mother nodded. ‘It’s a relief to know you’ve had people you can count on. I only wish I’d been one of them.’

The regret and the raw emotion and honesty of the conversation had such a powerful effect that Jennie had to escape.

She fled to the bathroom. She stood in the vacant cubicle, bunched-up tissues across her mouth so nobody in there would hear her sobs. For years she’d hoped to hear her mother’s remorse but she’d never realised how powerful it would be when she did.

Jennie could see the café had filled up when she emerged so she ordered two slices of cheesecake as she passed by the counter. She wasn’t ready to be asked to leave.

She set the plates down at the table. ‘I hope you still like cheesecake,’ she said to her mother.

Gwendoline dabbed beneath her eyes where her mascara had run. ‘I still like cheesecake.’

They ate mostly in silence until Jennie said, ‘I’ve been getting back into baking.’ At her mother’s smile she added, ‘I’ve finally mastered how to make Sachertorte .’

‘What’s Sachertorte ?’

‘It’s a chocolate sponge cake – denser than your usual sponge – with a layer of apricot jam and a dark chocolate glaze.’

‘It sounds delicious. You used to bake a lot as a teenager.’

‘I remember. I would bake, Donovan would eat.’

Gwendoline’s laughter was genuine, hearty. ‘He could eat a lot. It was like he had hollow legs.’ She ate another bite of cheesecake.

‘It took a long time for me to get back to driving,’ she told her mother after a lull in their conversation.

‘I expect it did.’

‘I wasn’t going to bother but I went with the Wynters up to Yorkshire and their cottage was in a remote village.

One day Greta burned her arm and I had to ask Walter to come home and take her to the hospital.

After that they both encouraged me to get behind the wheel, in case of another emergency, so I did it.

I don’t love driving, but I can make short journeys without getting into a panic now. ’

She nodded, understanding. ‘Where do you think we go from here, Jennie?’

‘I don’t know. This is hard. So much has happened.’

‘Do you think we might see each other again?’

She didn’t know what to say, what she wanted, and when her phone rang, the distraction took away the debate going on inside her head.

‘Do you need to get that? I’m going to the bathroom anyway; I’ll give you your privacy.’ Her mother popped the last of her cheesecake into her mouth and left her to it.

But Jennie didn’t answer the call from Nick, not yet. He’d be checking up on her – she liked to think if Donovan were still alive it would be him doing that instead – but she wasn’t sure she was ready to answer any questions about today, not just yet.

Instead, she waited for the call to go to voicemail and then sent him a message.

She sent Sophie one too to say that it had gone better than she expected.

She couldn’t say much more than that because this was going to take time.

One visit to a café wasn’t going to mend things, but maybe it was a good start.

When her mother came back to the table she thanked Jennie for giving them both a chance to talk.

‘I think we both needed it,’ said Jennie. ‘And maybe we can do it again before I go back to Vienna.’

‘Is tomorrow too soon?’

Surprised at herself, Jennie agreed. ‘Here at the café again?’

‘Maybe for breakfast so we can justify having the table a bit longer.’

‘That sounds really good.’

And when they hugged goodbye Jennie felt better about her fractured family than she had in a long time.