Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage
Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage
LINN B. HALTON
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Linn B Halton 2017
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Cover design © Books Covered 2017
Linn B. Halton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008261290
Ebook Edition © October 2017 ISBN:9780008261306
Version: 2017-07-19
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1 Elana
Chapter 2 Elana
Chapter 3 Elana
Chapter 4 Luke
Chapter 5 Luke
Chapter 6 Luke
Chapter 7 Elana
Chapter 8 Elana
Chapter 9 Elana
Chapter 10 Luke
Chapter 11 Luke
Chapter 12 Luke
Chapter 13 Elana
Chapter 14 Elana
Chapter 15 Elana
Chapter 16 Luke
Chapter 17 Luke
Chapter 18 Luke
Chapter 19 Elana
Chapter 20 Elana
Chapter 21 Elana
Chapter 22 Luke
Chapter 23 Luke
Chapter 24 Luke
Chapter 25 Elana
Chapter 26 Elana
Chapter 27 Elana
Chapter 28 Luke
Chapter 29 Luke
Chapter 30 Luke
Chapter 31 Elana
Chapter 32 Elana
Chapter 33 Elana
Chapter 34 Luke
Chapter 35 Luke
Chapter 36 Luke
Chapter 37 Elana
Chapter 38 Elana
Chapter 39 Elana
Chapter 40 Luke
Chapter 41 Luke
Chapter 42 Luke
Chapter 43 Elana
Chapter 44 Elana
Chapter 45 Elana
Chapter 46 Luke
Chapter 47 Luke
Chapter 48 Luke
New Year’s Eve
Chapter 49 Elana
Chapter 50 Elana
Chapter 51 Elana
1st December, Eleven Months Later—
Chapter 52 Elana
Chapter 53 Elana
Chapter 54 Elana
Chapter 55 Luke
Chapter 56 Luke
Chapter 57 Luke
Chapter 58 Elana
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also by Linn B. Halton
About the Author
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
My Christmases have been, for the most part, wonderful times creating memories I will always cherish and for which I am so very grateful.
But, as is true for lots of people, there have been occasions when my heart has been heavy. When you lose a loved one it’s a bitter-sweet time, but as a new generation starts to fill the empty seats around the table, you know you are truly blessed.
Seeing Christmas once more through the eyes of the children around you isn’t just special, it’s magical and the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.
So I’m dedicating Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage to Billy, Lily, Joe and Maddie.
The Christmas table is growing and even though Mum and Dad can’t take their seats, their presence is keenly felt.
Merry Christmas to everyone and hugs to those whose Christmas this year will be tinged with sadness. Remember that love never dies because we carry it with us in our hearts, always.
Linn x
Prologue
‘Daddy, you’ve been gone a while. I was worried you wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas!’
Maya’s sweet little voice rose up in the darkness, reflecting a real sense of relief, closely followed by the love and joy bubbling up inside of her.
‘I know, Princess, it’s complicated. Some journeys take longer than others. Have you been a good girl?’
‘Yes, Daddy. Well, mostly. It’s still dark outside, is it snowing?’
‘No, no snow today.’ Maya wriggled down the bed, snuggling in as Niall tugged the duvet a little higher, tucking it in around her.
‘It’s still early, baby, you need to go back to sleep now.’
‘Will you stay with me?’ Her voice was a whisper, sleep beginning to wrap itself around her once more. ‘You won’t go away?’
‘I’ll be here when you need me, Maya. Daddy’s always here.’
Niall lay down next to his daughter and within seconds her breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic pattern.
‘I’ve missed you, baby, and I’m sorry.’ His words seemed to echo around the room, even though his voice was barely audible. In his head all he could hear was the haunting strains of Maya’s favourite Christmas song by the infamous Wizzard. The words seemed to overtake his thoughts as he began to relax. When the snowman brings the snow—
Chapter 1
Elana
Christmas is Coming
It’s not that I’m a Christmas grouch, or anything, but this back-to-back festive cheer with the first of December still a week away is beginning to grate just the teensiest bit. Admittedly, a few of the oldies do get my foot tapping, but the last thing I need until I meet this deadline is to be distracted. The clock is ticking and that awful, cold-sweat panic is beginning to set in. There are bills to be paid and having to do Christmas on a tight budget is yet another pressure.
‘Maya, can you turn that music down just a little bit, please? Mummy’s trying to work.’
‘Okay, sorreee.’ The sound of her lilting voice drifting into the study makes my heart squish up with love, tinged with that now all-too-familiar sadness. The volume reduces by a few decibels, only to be replaced by shrieks of laughter as Maya and her best friend, Amelie, continue stringing beads for the Christmas tree. The tradition she’s always known still has to be upheld. At the moment it’s all about Christmas magic, until the year that she’s ready to face the dreaded truth – that Santa isn’t real. And this could be the last one, assuming we make it to the twenty-fifth without her caving in to the rumours. Even at the tender age of six and a half, some kids are so knowing these days and want to grow up much too quickly. Others, like Maya, are content to hang onto their childhood as long as they can and choose to ignore the rumours they hear at school. I guess it’s all about that inner desire to believe it’s a time when wonderful things can truly happen, no matter how old we are.
Oh, Santa, what would I wish for? To turn back the clock, but then what would be the point? I give myself a shake, this isn’t helping at all.
Once again my concentration is shattered beyond redemption and all it took was one line from a stupid Christmas song. The oldies are the best, but not when all they serve to do is to bring back painful memories. My head tells me firmly not to go there. I refuse to get maudlin as we approach the second Christmas without Niall. He would be disappointed in me. I thought I was doing much better this time around and avoiding the slippery slope that always seems to be one step away. It’s a ride I’ve taken so many times since the funeral, but wallowing is a luxury I can’t afford. Maya not only needs me to be strong, but to be in the moment with her. We missed too many moments in those early months after Niall was taken from us. The therapist I’d been seeing helped me to understand that when a loss occurs without warning the adjustment is always going to be difficult. Niall was strong and healthy, and … amazing. So full of life. But I wasn’t there with him when he took his last breath, crushed in a tangle of torn metal wedged beneath a barrier on the motorway. My stomach does an involuntary somersault as I try to push the horror away, realising no good comes of re-living the worst moment of our lives. The investigation concluded that one of the tyres had a blowout and his efforts to avoid careering into a lorry had actually caused the car to roll. In my heart I wondered if his reactions weren’t as sharp as normal, because he was over-tired and he paid the ultimate price in his haste to hurry home to us. He’d been working long hours to keep the money coming in to pay for the renovation work on our dream cottage on the edge of the Forest of Dean. Anything we could do ourselves, to save paying someone, we did, and that meant spending evenings and weekends stripping walls, filling and painting. He kept saying it wouldn’t be forever, but it turned out that for us it was our forever.
Reaching out for the coffee mug, I take a large gulp. It’s cold, but I need the caffeine hit. The funny thing is that even now I still find myself listening for his key in the door, as if what’s happened is nothing more than a nightmare from which I’m going to awaken. Tears these days are few and far between. There are none left to shed and I’m glad about that, at least. But the last thing I need now is to be using up energy I don’t have trying to be bright and breezy for Maya if I let myself regress. We’re at that sensitive time in her life when she’s changing in so many ways. At the moment she claims with a fierce determination that she believes in Santa, but I’m not sure whether it’s more about the desire to hold onto that belief, rather than the innocent, wide-eyed acceptance of the fairytale. Losing her dad was loss enough; perhaps this is one step too far and she feels as if the life she knew is slipping away from her.
I turn back to the flashing cursor in front of me, switch screens and begin typing.
Diary Log – day 481 since Niall left us. We’re doing okay. 10 days to hit my deadline and 31 days to Christmas. When did life become all about numbers?
I glance back at the entries above, reflecting that my therapist, Catherine Treadwell, would be proud. Gone is the anger once reflected in my daily entry, but gone also is any real sense of commitment to moving on. I’m in limbo. Reality now is worrying about money first and everything else second. Niall’s life insurance policy paid off the mortgage on this place but with only one salary coming in now, I’m living from month to month. Every penny of our nest egg went towards the renovation work, but we weren’t worried when the money ran out. We thought we had time on our side to turn Bay Tree Cottage into the perfect home. Except that, even if all the work is eventually carried out, it never will be perfect now, will it? How can it be, without Niall?
***
‘Mum, can we light the log fire tonight?’ Maya looks up at me with eager eyes.
‘I think we should wait until the weekend, darling. There isn’t really time to appreciate it on a school night, is there? Besides, I’m not even sure whether there are any logs left in the store. I promise to get it sorted as soon as I can.’
It was Niall’s job, sorting the fire. He would have booked the chimney sweep in early autumn and had the logs all ready and waiting, stacked neatly against the back wall of the garage. Ironically, last year I was much more organised. I suppose it was one of my coping mechanisms during those raw, early weeks and months. Keep going; keep doing something – anything, so I didn’t have to listen to what was in my head. But I feel bad. Maya will remember that this time last year we spent every evening huddled together on the sofa in front of the fire, reading. Hour upon hour we escaped into alternative worlds inspired by some wonderful authors. Roald Dahl’s Matilda, E. B. White’s Charlotte’s Web, and Maya’s favourite, Jill Murphy’s The Worst Witch, a story of tenderness and triumph.
It was the very worst of times, but I focused on getting us through it one day at a time. My gut instinct, immediately after the accident, had been to sell the cottage, just to escape that prevailing sense that something was missing. Niall was no longer here and it would never, ever be the same again. But soon realisation dawned that Maya needed a sense of continuity; the memories trapped within these walls were a lifeline for her, although a cruelly painful reminder for me. In a way she feels her dad is still here and I can’t take that away from her.
In a strange, surreal way, last winter brought us even closer together on a level that wasn’t really about the mother-daughter relationship. It was the bond of loss and of adjustment. I enjoyed the tales we read together just as much as Maya had done, desperate to escape our stark reality. Watching TV wasn’t even an option, as I couldn’t connect with the images flickering in front of me long enough to stop my mind from taking over. But reading a book out aloud, well, it wrapped us both in a cocoon.
Before heading into the kitchen to think about our evening meal I add chimney sweep, logs and fire-lighters to my to-do list. Clearly, it’s important to Maya for her to mention it and maybe it’s something we both need at the moment. Guilt starts to creep into my head, a niggling worry that seems to be there at every turn these days. I’m conscious that what she needs is more time from me and I wish there was a magic wand I could wave to solve my money worries. Pride won’t let me take the money Mum and Dad offered and, besides, what I need is a permanent solution. Unless work picks up, either I look for a job that pays more money but still allows me to work from home, or we move to a place that’s cheaper to run. The latter option would break Maya’s heart because she isn’t ready to let go.
Everyone understands that coping with the death of a spouse is heart-breakingly tough, but the reality is so much more complicated. It’s the problems that those around you don’t even give thought to, which threaten to steal away the ground beneath your feet.
I switch screens again, noting that it’s three days since my last entry.
Diary Log – day 484. Christmas is coming. Will it be our last one here? Quality time with Maya v holding onto memories. It’s a decision I still can’t make. So for now we stay.
Chapter 2
Elana
All Work and No Play
‘How are you doing with that deadline, Elana?’ Eve busies herself making us both a coffee as I settle myself down on the sofa.
Looking around, what I feel is a sense of calm. I love popping into Hillside View as it reminds me how wonderful it’s going to be once Bay Tree Cottage is finished. Both semi-detached cottages stand alone on an outcrop of rock, with almost surreal views across to the river, and with the Forest of Dean as a backdrop. Ironically it was the one thing that originally spoilt it for us, the fact that it wasn’t detached. Now, I’m thankful to have Eve, Rick and little Amelie, who is Maya’s best friend, on the doorstep.
Both cottages had been empty for quite a long time, owned by an eccentric local farmer, who was in his eighties and seemed oblivious to the decay as the buildings deteriorated. Hillside was already sold when we first came to view Bay Tree and the moment we drew up outside we knew this was going to be our home. We looked at it longingly for what it could be, rather than with the cold appraisal needed when taking on a project of this scale. It’s the reason we didn’t hold up our hands in horror at the amount of work that was going to be required, imagining the cosy place it would eventually be. Now what I have is a cottage that is half-renovated and no idea when, or if, I’ll ever be able to afford to get it finished.
‘It’s coming along, albeit slowly. I seem to have a client who is driving the publisher mad at the moment. He’s hardly ever around and has missed our last three Skype meetings. How on earth I’m supposed to pull together his biography, goodness knows! If this job falls through I’m in big trouble.’
Eve shoots me a sympathetic look and holds out a coffee mug.
‘Thanks. It’s my third cup already and Maya’s only been at school an hour. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?’
Eve shifts from foot to foot, her face colouring slightly as she settles herself in the armchair opposite me.
‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. The builders have now fixed the leak and given the roof a once-over. Surprisingly it’s in pretty good condition. Their boss, Matthew, says both cottages were re-roofed some time in the last eight to ten years. However, unfortunately, the chimney needs re-pointing urgently. He’s not sure it’s safe, so he’s going to arrange for scaffolding to be erected and his son, Luke, will be here next week to work on it. The bad news is that yours is in the same state.’
I put the coffee mug down on the side table and push myself further back into the sofa, trying hard to keep my face composed. More money I don’t have.
‘Look,’ Eve leans forward to touch my arm, ‘we can get him to do the work and you can pay us when you can. I know this is the last thing you need at the moment, so don’t worry about it. Let us handle it as we’re going to incur the cost of the scaffolding anyway, so it will only be the labour costs and a few materials. It’s best to get it sorted and there’s no hurry with regard to the money.’
I can see that she’s embarrassed, but with our girls playing outside whenever they can, and living in a windy position on the side of a hill, this is a health-and-safety issue. It’s not something that can be ignored, or postponed, just because I can’t afford to have it done. And I don’t accept charity, even when it’s well-meant. I try not to let a sigh escape, because I know it would quickly turn into a sob. I swallow determinedly – no point in panicking until I know what’s involved.
‘That’s so kind, Eve, and please do thank Rick, too. I’m sure I can stretch to it, though. If you can get Matthew to give me a quote that would be great and, of course, it needs to be sorted quickly.’
We exchange glances and I can see by her frown how troubled she is for me.
‘Hey, don’t worry. I’m doing okay, really.’ I give her a reassuring smile.
Eve eases herself out of the chair and walks around to sit next to me on the sofa. She places her arms around my shoulders and gives me a warm hug. This isn’t about money, or a chimney. This is about being weary; so tired of thinking that I want to switch off my brain and wishing I could spirit myself back two years in time. Golden days that I didn’t realise were so very, very precious.
‘Time heals, my lovely friend. But there will be setbacks. Sometimes you need to just let it all out, there’s no shame in that.’
It’s comforting, not least because there aren’t many people who understand the frustrations that are still a part of my daily life. My parents would be horrified to know that, because they believe this strong front I’m presenting to the world. They are proud of me because of the way I’m coping and wouldn’t know what to do if they thought for one moment I was so fragile I’m in danger of … what?
‘Thank you, Eve. It helps, you know. Just once in a while I need to drop my guard. And the chimney, just get Matthew to pop in to see me. It’s kind of him to have checked it out and I’m happy to pay half of the cost of the scaffolding.’
‘Don’t you even go there! I feel awful having to raise it and wish we could have simply told him to get on with both jobs. But he needs your permission, of course. And you can’t light the fire until he gives you the all-clear. Oh, life, eh?’
The sigh that escapes her lips is one of empathy and concern. With our girls being only six months apart in age, Niall’s death also affected Eve in a very real way. It was a reminder that you can’t take anything for granted, even the fact that there will be a tomorrow. In some ways I hope that it has brought Eve and Rick closer together, allowing them to appreciate how lucky they are to have each other.
‘Actually, I also have a problem with a leak in the spare bedroom, so maybe he could take a look at that, too. The last thing I want is to risk it getting worse over the Christmas holidays. It’s on my to-do list but until I have the draft outline of this biography done I can’t turn my attention to anything else.’
‘You never said who it was you’re writing about. Is it anyone interesting?’
‘Aiden Cruise.’
Eve rolls her eyes and laughs out loud.
‘Ha! Good luck pinning down that bad boy! Is it going to be X-rated?’
‘Well, if I don’t get at least one more lengthy Skype session in with him, all I can say is that at the moment it all seems rather tame. But then we’ve only covered his early years and rebellious teens; we didn’t get as far as his front-page, post-fame antics.’
‘Ooh, the best bit is yet to come, then. Will you get to meet him face to face?’
That’s something I’ve been wondering myself, but mainly because it’s difficult with regard to babysitting for Maya. I’m pretty confident that I can get the overview of the book finished if Aiden will honour just one more session, but when it comes to fleshing out the story I’m going to have to really pin him down. I’ll have until May next year to get the first draft to the publishers, so for the moment that’s a worry for the future.