‘I have to get back – the doctor will be here to see Marilise soon and I must make sure she’s ready.’
We kissed goodbye and I hurried back to the house, glad to have something to take my mind off the situation with Nick. Was he right? Was I contemplating driving myself into something I didn’t want to do, and for all the wrong reasons? I let myself into the house and shook off the thoughts. I would give them a chance later, but for now I had to attend to Marilise.
The doctor’s visit took longer than I had anticipated as she needed to talk us through a change of medicine that she hoped would allow Marilise more energy.
‘But you’re still not to overdo it,’ she said, smiling. ‘No more than one party a week, and you have to make up for that with extra sleep.’
‘It’s not like the good old days, when one party an evening would have seemed boring,’ said Marilise. ‘But I will take your advice, doctor, thank you.’
I saw the doctor out, then brought Marilise downstairs. She wanted to write some Christmas cards and had left it almost too late to make the last posting day.
‘I’m sure they are very mean about it,’ she grumbled, picking up her pen. ‘There was a time when you could post your cards on Christmas Eve and they would still get there. I suppose you have done yours already?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, grinning. ‘I’m usually lucky if mine get there for New Year.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Marilise. ‘So organised in work.’
‘But not in life?’ I asked.
‘I thought you would have done them on December the first. Well, go and get them now, and keep me company. We can try to remember the names of our friends’ children together.’
I ran upstairs to get the cards I had bought, still sitting unopened in a bag, and my address book. I quickly checked my phone while I was up there, to find a message from Nick:
I’ve gone to see a friend in Exeter who needed help with some work stuff. Back tomorrow xx
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, I thought, as I jogged back down the stairs. We could probably both do with some space to let things percolate. But my sensible, rational thoughts couldn’t quash the worry and sadness that had taken up residence in my heart.
‘Here they are!’ I said in an overly jolly tone to Marilise. ‘I seem to be sending fewer each year, but it’s still such a chore.’
We sat for nearly an hour writing our cards, then Marilise told me she would prefer supper in her room that evening. I joined her, then decided on an early night – surely a good sleep would make everything clearer?
The next morning, I was in the kitchen preparing the breakfast tray, when Astrid came in.
‘Oh, Laura, good morning. Can you check the time of the girls’ Christmas show this evening? I’m terribly worried I’ve double-booked myself.’
I took out my phone and looked at the calendar, giving a sharp intake of breath when I saw the date.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Astrid. ‘Have you double-booked as well?’
‘No – no, it’s okay,’ I said. ‘The show starts at seven, but I’ll get there earlier and help Sofia get dressed.’
‘You’re an angel,’ said Astrid, heading for the door again. ‘See you later!’
I was glad that it had only been a flying visit, as my legs gave way and I sat down heavily on a chair. I rubbed at my tightening chest and stared at the floor. It wasn’t the time that had shocked me, but the date. The anniversary of Paulo’s death. And I hadn’t realised. After a few minutes, despite my limbs feeling weak and shaky, I stood up again. The task of preparing breakfast had suddenly taken on a huge importance where continuing to sit there limp and helpless compounded my self-loathing. I went through the motions on autopilot, fighting the nausea that was churning in my stomach. Every year up until now I had today’s date emblazoned on my mind for weeks before it arrived. Scrupulously, I had set aside time on the actual day to honour his memory, looking at photos and making a donation to the charity that had supported us in his final days. And this year I had been too distracted by all the trappings of Christmas I had sworn off as well as, of course, Nick, to bother remembering. I threw the knife I had been using into the sink and picked up the immaculate breakfast tray.At least I could still do my job properly. The thought brought me little comfort.
I carried the tray upstairs and went through the morning routine with Marilise, trying to be cheerful and professional, but knowing that my voice and behaviour were strained. Eventually, after fiddling fastidiously with the curtain tiebacks, I sat down and poured tea that I didn’t think I would be able to drink through my constricted throat.
Marilise put her hand on my arm.
‘Laura?’
I jumped.
‘Oh, sorry, let me do your toast.’
‘Let me do my own toast,’ she said gently. ‘Something has upset you; please tell me, if you can.’
I looked into her kind eyes, then dropped mine.
