‘I don’t feel like this evening should end yet,’ she said. ‘It is so nearly Christmas, and the anticipation is the most fun part, don’t you agree? I want to teach you some games we played as children, before you young people all became endlessly distracted by Marios and Minecrafts and whatnot.’
A chorus of amused disagreement met this assertion:
‘I’ve never played Minecraft in my life!’
‘A little Candy Crush with a cup of tea doesn’t mean I don’t do other things!’
‘Marilise, you spend more time on your phone than any of us!’
‘I am old,’ she said in a dignified manner. ‘And have time on my hands to surf the net. Now! Let us prepare the refreshments and adjourn.’
So, with giggling and chatter we made the drinks and put the cookies on a plate, then piled into the sitting room, where Marilise, her eyes glittering with fun, addressed us.
‘We will start,’ she said, ‘with a simple word game. Each person says a short sentence, and the next person must start their sentence with a word which rhymes with the last word of the previous sentence. Yes?’
We looked around at each other, a little bemused.
‘I get it,’ said Greg. ‘If I say, “I like eatingcheese” the next person might say, “Beesare rare in winter”.’
‘Exactly,’ said Marilise. ‘Now, we try.’
The game went slowly at first, as we all tried to think of things, then picked up speed as we all grabbed at rhyming words and the sentences became more and more ridiculous. Eventually, Astrid held up her hands.
‘I’m simply wrung out!’ she announced. ‘Can’t we try something else?’
‘Very well,’ said Marilise. ‘The next game is called The Sculptor.’
In this game, a ‘sculptor’ went around everyone posing them as if they were those wooden artists’ dolls. The aim of the game was to make such funny poses that the ‘sculptures’ laughed and were out. Angela was the first one to try. She started by positioning India as if she were riding a horse, then moved on to me. She was placing one hand behind my back and lifting up my knee, and I was trying not to giggle, when the door opened.
‘Looks like some good old-fashioned fun,’ said Nick.
‘Where have you been?’ said Astrid, going over to hug him. ‘We haven’t heard from you in days.’
‘Come and have a drink,’ said Greg.
Steve bounded into the room and straight over to me. I dropped my silly pose gratefully and fussed over him, glad to have something to do. Nick’s sudden appearance had thrown me more than I might have expected. He sat down with us and Marilise suggested that we continue with a favourite game of hers from childhood, which involved more wordplay, this time thinking of adjectives in alphabetical order to create a story, and precluded any conversation. Mine and Nick’s eyes met several times, and each set off an uncomfortable mix of fireworks and butterflies, which no amount of mulled wine, Linzer cookies or silly parlour games could quell.
Eventually, it was time for bed, and I offered Marilise my arm to take her up. Nick came over and leant close to me, a waft of his familiar, nutmeggy smell making me feel dizzy and confused.
‘Could we talk later?’ he muttered.
I paused. I wanted more than anything to talk to him, to spill out everything I had discovered, to see if we had a future together. But there was something else I wanted to do as well, something I had decided on when I was at Azula and Bernardo’s home, and tonight wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Can we go out soon?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to talk.’
He nodded.
‘Of course. Good night, Laura.’
I helped Marilise with her nighttime routine, then went to my own room, hoping for a peaceful night’s rest so that tomorrow I might be able to show Nick that I wasn’t going to do what so many others in his life had. I wasn’t going to leave him, abandon him or let him down and it was time to prove it.
TWENTY-FIVE
The following morning was a busy one at Lyonscroft. It was so nearly Christmas and deliveries were arriving so often that there was barely time to deal with one before the doorbell rang again. India and Sofia kept themselves busy by baking more Linzer cookies, far more than any of us could eat. Angela had suggested that they package some up and take them to neighbours, probably to get them out of her kitchen as much as anything, and this had caught their imagination – so much so that they had also started looking up food banks and nursing homes that might be willing recipients of their efforts. Marilise had ordered piles of presents, and I helped her wrap them until I thought my fingers would bleed.
‘It’s probably my last Christmas,’ she said. ‘And I want to spoil everyone.’
In my line of work I am, of course, accustomed to patients dying, but my relationship with Marilise had become special, and the thought of losing her after such a short time of knowing her upset me, especially when, in my professional opinion, she seemed to be in particularly good health at the moment. I went downstairs on the pretext of getting more tape and stepped outside into the garden to take a few breaths.
