was the pinnacle of one-upmanship in the Carmichael family. Rod was the middle child of five overachieving siblings. Last Christmas, as run by eldest sister Josephine, had involved a professionally decorated house in St John’s Wood, a champagne breakfast, three different kinds of roast meat, and a children’s entertainer. The year before that, his uber-successful stockbroker brother Don and family had rented a cabin in the Lake District for a no-tech, no-phone-signal, back-to-tradition Christmas that had filled the teenage family members with despair, featuring log fires and mulled wine and carol singing around a piano, and family games and frosty walks in the stunning countryside. This year, Lucy was hostess, and Rod’s expectations set the bar extremely high. She needed enough food to feed hordes of people, there were rooms to get ready, Christmas decorations to put up, a festive day to deliver that would impress or at the very least not disappoint his bloody perfect family.
No pressure.
‘We’ve got the works’ Christmas drinks coming up,’ he carried on, as if what she really needed now was a shedload more stress, ‘and we need to focus and make a decent impression. This promotion would be a big step towards partnership, and decisions will probably be made in the next couple of weeks even if they’re not announced until the New Year. Eye on the prize.’
Her place was at his side during work social functions. The accountancy firm was family run, and Rod liked to fit in with that image, no impression was too much trouble in the path towards partnership. She liked it. She liked being part of a couple. And of course, by implication, his future was also her future. She pulled the box back towards her, and he caught her hand in his. She looked up at him.
‘I know you’re under a lot of stress, honey,’ he said. ‘I’m right behind you, I really am. I just meant that it’s easy to lose sight of your own goals in a situation like this. It’s important for Olive that you and I keep ourselves grounded, so we can support her and stay organised and in control. Especially with Christmas, my family, and all the extra stuff that brings with it.’
‘I know, I know.’
He squeezed her hand, pressing the point.
‘Who knows what could happen if this promotion comes through? With all my family in our home, it would be the perfect time to make special announcements.’
He winked at her. She squinted back. Had he just used a plural? Was he hinting that more than promotion could be on the cards?
‘The best thing to do is just get this clearance done and out of the way as quickly as possible,’ he swept on. ‘Like ripping off a plaster. Then we can absolutely do what’s best for Olive.’ He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to protest against yet another predicted mention of care homes. ‘And that includes her moving in with us if that’s truly the best option. We just need to stay objective.’
She felt a rush of love for him, and a spike of excitement at what was surely a hint about popping the question. Wasn’t it? He really was committed to her, he had her best interests at heart, she was just being oversensitive. And he did have a point. Christmas was her favourite part of the year, she had been looking forward to spending time getting the house to look perfect, and all the preparation associated with it. Cooking ahead, making plans. She really hadn’t made the slightest dent in that yet. And if Gran was able to come out of hospital for Christmas – and she really hadn’t given up hope of that – Lucy wanted everything to be perfect for her. She had to keep focused. Gran had to be the priority here, and if she let every bit of history in that attic distract her, she’d still be sorting out the house clearance next bloody Christmas.
‘No need to worry,’ she said. ‘You’re completely right. I’ll storm through the house tomorrow, and then I’m going to visit Gran in hospital and check on her progress, see if I can get some information out of the doctors about when we might be able to bring her home.’
She closed the lid on the box of decorations and shelved her curiosity.
Six hours later, Lucy stared at the bedroom ceiling and tried to ignore her curiosity, which at – she checked the LED display on the bedside clock – two-thirty in the morning, was refusing to be shelved. And since the alternative to getting up and sorting her curiosity out was lying here and elbowing Rod every five minutes to keep his infuriatingly rhythmic snoring at bay, she might as well throw in the towel on sleep and go downstairs.
Sitting bleary-eyed at the kitchen table, she pulled the box of Christmas decorations towards her and unwrapped one, turning it gently in her fingers. A tiny swan. Perfect in every detail. She unfolded the note that was wrapped with it.
Do not settle for less because it is easy. Do not give in to pressure. Wait for me through this hard time and it will be worth any challenge we face.
She frowned. What did that mean? What would Gran be settling for? Or was it a who? Who had sent these to her? The mystery nagged maddeningly. Just where the hell to even start. Wide awake, Lucy grabbed her tablet from the kitchen worktop and did an Internet search on Christmas tree decorations that was rewarded with page after page of pictures of predominantly garden centre tat. Refining the search to World War Two brought up a collection of make-do-and-mend war effort items. Paper chains. Cardboard Christmas lanterns. Jack’s first instinct today had to be right, there was no way the decorations were from that time period. Moving the dates further back, it was obvious they predated the war by some decades. She ran her hand over the smooth cool wood of the box. Whatever they were, they were undoubtedly special. Whoever had sent them to Gran, one a day with a note for twelve days in the run-up to Christmas 1944, they must have cared for her very much.
She racked her brains for the slightest mention of that time in Gran’s life, but came up blank. Gran had simply never talked about it. She ran a finger over the slightly indented holly carving on the lid. How could she just chuck this on eBay without trying to look into it even the tiniest bit? But where to start?
She grabbed a tote bag from the cupboard and eased the box gently into it. The best place to start was most definitely not eBay. The logical thing to do would be to hang on to these for a while. The answer could be just waiting for her in the mountain in Gran’s attic. And technically, she would still be working on the house clearance; she would just have a bit more of a purpose in mind than to just lob the whole lot in a skip.
Jack held his tongue until he could take it no longer.
Since the attic currently sported a hole big enough to stumble through, which then progressed through to a gaping hole in Olive’s master bedroom ceiling, it had overnight shot to the top of the list of cosmetic tweaks he had been tasked with to make this house as saleable as possible. Engaged in cutting boards to size and nailing them across the gap in the attic, it became slowly clear to him that it was simply a matter of time if Lucy carried on the way she was going, before disaster struck a second time in as many days. She had been here even before he arrived this morning, and there was, in his view, a lot more sorting through and reading going on than there was house clearance. Every so often she would finish with the contents of a box or bag, and it would be taken down the loft ladder and presumably spirited away downstairs to be disposed of. If she carried on at this current speed, Olive would still be living here in five years’ time. Then he remembered their conversation yesterday, and wondered if that might actually be the point of the go-slow.
He managed to rein it in until she teetered towards the loft ladder with a box balanced on each arm and a cloth bag looped around her neck. Downing tools, he crossed the attic in a couple of strides. She stopped in surprise.
‘For God’s sake give me one of those boxes,’ he said, taking one from her before she had the chance to protest. ‘In fact, give me both of them before you fall down that ladder.’
She
