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And now she was losing it—talking to the house as if it was a person with a grudge against her.
She closed the door behind her and mentally drafted a sales pitch.
Beautiful country cottage for sale. Would suit a water-loving, draft-loving family with an interest in local wildlife (mice, bats, rats and the occasional squirrel) and money to burn. Must enjoy boring books and judgmental locals.
“Mummy!”
The shout was louder this time, and Christy hurried to the kitchen. “Oh, my—Holly, what have you done?”
“I’ve done you a painting.”
Holly flourished the paper with pride and Christy gave a weak smile.
“Most of it seems to be in your hair and on your face.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.”
There were days when she wondered if Holly was really her child. At the same age she’d loved wearing dresses and staying clean. Holly was never happier than when she was climbing a tree or digging in the dirt for worms.
“How many sleeps until Christmas?” Paintbrush still in hand, Holly bounced in her chair, scattering blobs of color across the surface of the table. “Can we go to Lapland today?”
“Not today. Seven sleeps until we travel. Fourteen sleeps until Christmas.”
Christy reached for a cloth and wiped up the mess. Outside, rain lashed at the window. Their little garden, so pretty in the summer months, had turned into a droopy mess.
“Don’t wave the brush, honey.”
She checked the forecast on her phone, her spirits plummeting when she saw the amount of rain in her future. It was impossible not to anticipate the next disaster the cottage would throw at her. Yet another leak. More damp.
“I want to go to Lapland.
I want to see the snow and the lights.”
Christy wanted that, too. Christmas here should have been romantic and gorgeously festive, but no matter how many decorations she added to the tree, or how many fairy lights she hung, it didn’t change the fact that all she wanted to do with the cottage right now was escape from it. Lapland would give them a Christmas to remember—which was why she’d delved into her precious savings to pay for it.
“Snow will be fun.”
Christy was excited about more than snow. She was finally going to meet her mystery aunt. Her only living relative. Robyn and her husband owned an upmarket retreat for intrepid travelers. The Snow Spa. How cool was that?
Christy grinned. Very cool—literally.
And visiting her rebel aunt probably came under the heading of “intrepid”.
Part of her felt disloyal—as if she was betraying her mother’s memory by reaching out to Robyn. But that was ridiculous. She was an adult. Her mother was gone. This was Christy’s decision.
What exactly had her aunt done to cause such a major falling out? Christy didn’t know, but she felt a pang of empathy. Living up to her mother’s impossibly high standards wasn’t easy, as she knew only too well.
“You’re pregnant, Christy? You’ve only known the man for a matter of weeks! How could you be so careless? This is the worst mistake you have ever made.”
Of course her mother had come around eventually, once she’d met her granddaughter, but that faint cloud of disappointment had always hovered.
“Six o’clock. Time for your bath.”
She gently removed the brush from her daughter’s grip. Holly was the best thing that had happened to her, not the worst. Unplanned did not mean unwanted. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of her as a mistake.
“Will Santa be there? Can we see him?”
