Page 74 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Do you ever hear from him?’ Julia asked.

Jen shook her head. Nothing since that day. She’d messaged a few times, when she’d been feeling weak, but he never replied. His social media accounts were private. And, as the years had passed, she’d forced herself to stop wondering.

‘She’ll be a teenager now.’

‘I know.’ Julia shook her head. ‘It must have been so awful for you, to lose them both like that. I’m so sorry, Jen. I should’ve been there for you.’

Jen smiled. Something had unravelled inside her, something that had been twisted and knotted for years. ‘Well. You’re here now,’ she said, and meant it. At last, she was truly grateful to be part of Julia’s life again.

Julia shook her head. ‘But at the time . . .’

‘At the time I had Ted.’ She shrugged. ‘So I got through it.’

Julia gave her a loaded look.

Jen yawned. ‘Don’t start.’

The fridge hummed gently and colourful lights splashed onto the table from the little tree. The cooker clock showed that it was the early hours, and Jen’s head was still woolly from drink and shock.

She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe Anthony was using me like that. I’m such – so stupid. How many times am I going to let myself get treated like this?’ Her voice wobbled and she stopped, slugging the last of her wine. ‘Why do I keep falling for men who don’t care about me?’

Julia stood up and walked over to Jen, bending to envelop her in a tight hug. Jen leaned in to her, breathing in the comforting smell of washing powder and face cream. ‘It’s not you,’ Julia said, her voice fierce. ‘You’re amazing, just as you are. He was never right for you anyway, you shouldn’t have to pretend to be into the stuff that he’s into just to be with someone.’ Jen turned her face up to look at her sister, and Julia stroked the hair from her wet cheeks. ‘You’ll find someone who loves you just as you are. I know you will.’

Jen didn’t think so. The world of romance was a mystery to her – she’d thought her parents were happy, and their bitter split still baffled her. She’d always thought that Julia had settled for the boring option with Dan, and she’d assumed that he was some useless twerp who left all the childcare and housework to his wife. But now, having spent time with him, she saw that this was far from the truth, and that his steadfast devotion to both Julia and the children was rare and precious. And the men Jen fell for, the ones she thought truly saw her, always ended up letting her down.

But she was tired, and more than a little tipsy. She didn’t have the energy to argue.

‘Right, let’s get our heads down. We’ve got the tree decorating bright and early tomorrow,’ Julia said, yawning. She grimaced. ‘Well, in a few hours, actually.’

She groaned, and pulled Jen from the chair. Together, they crept up the stairs. Or at least, Julia crept. Jen missed her footing and got the giggles, Julia hushing her gently, and then bounced off the bedroom door frame, cracking her shoulder against it.

At last, she fell into bed, make-up still on and images of David, little Martha and Anthony swimming through her mind.

On some level, she was aware of the activity in the house.

The thudding of little footsteps down the stairs, followed by the slow trudge of adult ones. The boiling of the kettle, the clink of cutlery and the chime of sweet voices. Each sound like a hammer to her skull. Jen pulled the cosy duvet over her head and burrowed deeper under it.

She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened the night before, but the sick feeling in her stomach told her that she didn’t want to. And also that she’d drunk plenty in order to blot it out.

At one point, she was aware of the small, warm lump that crawled on top of her, smelling of bubble bath and strawberry toothpaste, and whispering in the dark.

‘Please come with us, Auntie Jen,’ the little voice said. ‘Because I actually do love you. And you promised.’

There was a silence where she felt the expectancy of a held breath.

Every part of her ached, her mouth was dry and tasted like the cat had dropped one of its offerings in there. Her head pounded, her eyes smarted.

The sound of the sweet voice almost roused her enough to emerge from her cocoon; something was nagging at her, as though she’d forgotten an important meeting or errand. But as she began to resurface, memories of the previous night started to drift through her mind, and soon the picture would become terribly and unavoidably clear.

She couldn’t deal with that right now. Didn’t want to.

So she rolled over, closed her eyes, shut her ears. She felt the small body tip off her and thud onto the floor.

‘Please don’t tell Mummy I disturbed you,’ came a sad whisper.

Jen closed her eyes, blocked her ears to the sounds of voices, the opening and closing of doors, the crunch of footsteps on snow outside, and let herself fall back into blissful oblivion.