Page 2 of The Christmas Star

The older woman came over all serious. ‘I was sorry to hear about your dad.’

‘Ladies, please!’ the shopkeeper said, shocking us both into silence.

As much as I didn’t appreciate being snapped at, I understood the need. Getting colleagues to focus at Foredale and Frogmore where I worked often felt like herding cats. I shifted in my seat. ‘I suppose I could give this crochet thing a go while I’m here.’ My face lit up and I clapped my hands. ‘I know. Why don’t we start with a team-building exercise?’ I picked up my yarn. ‘Pretend this is a ball and whoever I throw it to has to tell us about themselves.’

While the older woman appeared happy with my suggestion, the shopkeeper looked less than keen. ‘Maybe we should learn about each other as we go?’ she said, taking the wool from me.

Hearing her frustration, it seemed the older woman and I weren’t the only ones having a bad day. ‘You sound like you need a drink,’ I said.

‘I know.’ The older woman jiggled in her seat. ‘Why don’t we head over to the pub instead?’

‘Great idea. And look.’ I pointed to the shop window. ‘It’s even stopped raining.’ Wrinkling my nose, I turned to the younger woman. ‘You have to admit, that sounds a lot more fun than crocheting.’

CHAPTER 1

SIX MONTHS LATER – 19 DECEMBER

No, she won’t like it. Yes, she’ll resist. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have the conversation.

As I pulled up outside Mum’s, it didn’t matter that I was a fifty-year-old woman with experience and valid concerns, I still felt like an ogre. As if I was one of those adult children who packed their parent off to a nursing home, abandoning them until they could collect their inheritance.

I stared up at the house, reluctant to get out of the car. Maybe you could wait until January to talk about it? Get the restructure at work out of the way first. I took in the brightly lit tree that filled the living room window. Why risk spoiling Christmas if you don’t have to? Sighing, I grabbed my bag and climbed out into the cold night air. Or you could say nothing at all ever and hope for the best?

Insisting I’d see how things went, I let myself into the house. ‘It’s only me!’ I waited for a response, only to be met with silence. Shaking my head, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen.

With no sign of Mum, my gaze settled on a box on the table. My shoulders slumped. ‘What’s she been buying now?’ The number of times I’d talked to her about not wasting money for the sake of it. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t need it. I had to wonder if Mum had developed a shopping addiction.

I hung my bag on the back of a chair and picking up her latest acquisition, read its label. ‘Crystal and gemstone Bonsai Tree. Featuring genuine Red Jasper, Carnelian, Amethyst, and Clear Quartz.’ I shook my head. ‘Genuine my arse.’ Out of all Mum’s online purchases, that had to be the worst.

Putting the box down again, I turned my attention to the kettle, and filling it with water, set it on the stove to boil. I shivered and feeling a draught, saw that the back door was ajar. Moving to close it, I heard a voice. Mum’s. My heart sank. I had a good idea she was talking to Jackson, the lad next door.

Everyone knew winter temperatures plummeted once darkness fell and the last thing he should’ve been doing was keeping an elderly woman out in the cold. He’d been a bad influence from the moment he and Mum met. Not that I could say anything. Mum wouldn’t hear a word against him.

Irritated, I ventured outside but as I looked around, Jackson was nowhere to be seen. Mum, wearing what she’d taken to calling her ‘signature beret’, yet no coat, sat alone on Dad’s bench. I took a deep breath to calm myself. ‘Mum, who are you talking to?’

Her face brightened as she looked my way. ‘Bonsoir, Erin. Comment ça va?’

I tilted my head and pursing my lips, waited for an answer to my question.

Mum rolled her eyes. ‘I was chatting with your father, if you must know. Why?’

‘Because it’s freezing out here and you’re gonna get pneumonia.’

‘See what I mean, Derek? She’s always telling me off for something.’

What Mum took as a scolding, I viewed as concern. ‘Mum, you need to come inside and if Dad were here, he’d be saying the same thing.’

Mum pouted. ‘Anyone would think you’re the parent and I’m the child.’ She rose to her feet and sticking her nose in the air, led the way back into the kitchen. Her gaze suddenly darted from the table to me and hurrying over, she grabbed the box and stuffed it into a cupboard, which, as far as I was concerned, was the best place for it. She straightened herself up and narrowing her eyes, turned to me, suspicious. ‘You didn’t look at that when you came in, did you?’

I feigned innocence. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Good.’ She headed back to the table and sat down. ‘It’s your Christmas present and it would have spoiled the surprise.’

I pictured my carefully curated, bordering on minimalist flat. The last thing it needed was a crystal and gemstone bonsai tree. I didn’t have a clue where I was going to put it; nor did I have the acting skills I’d need come Christmas morning. The kettle whistled and glad of the distraction, I set about making us both a cup of tea.

I handed Mum her drink. ‘That should warm you up.’

Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her mouth, but instead of taking a sip she paused. ‘It’s because I’m cold,’ she said as if sensing I was watching her. ‘Not because I’ve got some degenerative disorder.’