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But he was already in the shower, humming tunelessly as the water splashed around him.
Suzanne lay for a moment, her brain fuzzy and contented, the dream all but forgotten.
She knew she ought to make a start on those stockings.
Knitting was the perfect form of relaxation, although it had taken her years to discover it.
She hadn’t knitted a thing until she was in her thirties.
To begin with it had been her way of showing her love for the girls. She’d clothe them and wrap them in warmth. When she’d picked up her needles and yarn, she hadn’t just been knitting a sweater; she’d been knitting together her fractured, damaged family, taking separate threads and turning them into something whole.
Stewart came out of the shower, rubbing his hair with a towel. “Did you want me to sort out a Christmas tree on the way home?”
“Posy said she’d do it. I thought we’d wait a few more days. I don’t want the needles falling off before Christmas. How many trees should we have this year? I thought one for the living room, one for the entryway, one in the TV room. Maybe one for Hannah’s room.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one for the boot room? How about the downstairs bathroom?”
She studied him. “There are still plenty more pillows on this bed that I can fling.”
But he’d distracted her from her nightmare. She knew that had been his intention, and she loved him for it.
“All I’m saying is that maybe you should leave a few in the forest.” He threw the wet towel over the back of the chair and then caught her eye and put the towel in the bathroom instead. “Every year you half kill yourself turning this place into a cross between a winter wonderland and Santa’s workshop.” He dressed quickly, pulling on the layers that were necessary for his job. “You have big expectations, Suzanne. Not easy to live up to that.”
“It’s true that things can be a little stressful when the girls are together—”
“They’re women, not girls, and ‘a little stressful’ is an understatement.”
“Maybe this year will be different.” Suzanne stripped the sheets off the bed. “Beth and Jason are happy. I can’t wait to have the grandchildren here. I’m going to hang stockings above the fire and bake plenty of treats. And Hannah won’t need to do a thing, because I plan on getting everything done before she arrives so I can spend time with her. I want to catch up on her news.” She held the sheets to her chest. “If only she would meet someone special, she’d—”
“She’d what? Eat him for breakfast?” Stewart shook his head. “I beg you do not mention that to her. Hannah’s relationships are her business. And I don’t think she’s that interested.”
“Don’t say that.” She refused to believe it might be true. Hannah needed a close relationship. She needed her own family. A protective circle. Everyone needed that.
Suzanne had craved it. At the age of six, she’d dreamed about it. Her early years had been spent with a mother too drunk to be aware of her existence. Later, when her mother’s internal organs had given up fighting the relentless abuse, Suzanne had been placed in foster care. Every story she’d written at school involved her being part of a loving family. In her dreams she had parents and siblings. By the time she was ten, she was resigned to the fact that it was never going to happen for her.
Eventually she’d ended up in residential care, and that was where she’d met Cheryl. She’d become the sister Suzanne had longed for, and she’d poured all the surplus love she had into their friendship. They’d been so close people had assumed they were related.
Cheryl’s love filled all the gaps and holes in Suzanne’s soul, like glue bonding together broken fragments. She stopped feeling lost and alone. She no longer wished for someone to adopt her because then she’d have to leave the care home and that would mean leaving Cheryl.
They’d shared a bedroom. They’d shared clothes and laughter. They’d shared hopes and dreams.
The memory was vivid and the need to hear Cheryl’s infectious laugh so strong that Suzanne almost reached for the phone.
It had been twenty-five years since they’d spoken, and yet the urge to talk to her had never gone away.
The part of her that missed her friend had never healed.
“Suzanne? What are you thinking?” Stewart’s voice dragged her back to the present.
He’d thought Cheryl was a bad influence.
The irony was that Suzanne never would have met Stewart if it hadn’t been for Cheryl. She wouldn’t have been a mountain guide if it hadn’t been for Cheryl.
“I was thinking about Hannah.”
“If you mention her love life, I guarantee she will be on the first flight out of here and we will not have a happy Christmas.”
“I won’t say a word. I’ll ask Beth for an update. I’m glad they’re both living in New York. It’s good for Hannah to have her sister close by. And Beth is settled and happy and loves being a mother. Maybe spending time with her will be an inspiration for Hannah.”
