cool.’ She took the blanket from him and carefully positioned it over the duvet across the bottom of her bed.
‘I see.’ Sam nodded. ‘So it’s not all gangsters demonstrating dodgy dance moves and people telling you what stuff to buy on there, then?’
‘Oh Dad, you’re so lame sometimes,’ Holly laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘But, it is brilliant to have you home.’
‘It’s brilliant to be home,’ he smiled and stood up. ‘But I’m going to pop down and chat to Mum now.’
‘But what about the guitar? I want to show you how good I am?’
‘I know, darling. How about we get the guitar out at Granny Dolly’s when you come over?’ Sam appeased, but thought the whole situation just felt so wrong. And none of it was fair on Holly. She was still just a kid … even if she was dressed up like Taylor Swift.
‘OK.’ Holly sat down on the bed, looking resigned, but just as he bent to give her a kiss goodbye she asked, ‘Everything is going to be all right … isn’t it, Dad?’ And in that moment, she was the little girl with the bunches. The image he always held in his head from when she was about six years old and everything was happy and good. And long before his marriage had started to crack. He hesitated before answering, unsure if Chrissie had explained anything to her.
‘It’s complicated, Holly.’
‘But you will make it right, won’t you, Dad. You’ll sort it out with Mum?’
Sam saw the heartache in his daughter’s eyes and felt a swirl of emotion. ‘I’m going to do everything I can, I promise you.’ Holly gave him a smile, reassured. And he wished he felt as confident as he sounded.
Heading downstairs, Sam sneaked a glance at the master bedroom as he passed by, briefly pausing to take in the familiar soft grey walls with the original black wooden beams and shabby chic furniture that Chrissie had sourced from various country fairs, and then lovingly restored. The handmade crushed velvet curtains. A stack of books on her bedside cabinet, her intoxicating perfume punctuating the air. The neatly arranged hand-crochet-covered cushions on their enormous bed. The bed that he and his wife should be in together.
Sam found Chrissie in the kitchen, standing against the red Aga. She handed him a mug of hot black coffee. ‘Strong and sweet. The way you like it,’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
‘Thanks.’ As he took it, his fingers brushed hers and an electric spark shot up his arm. ‘Strong and sweet … just like you.’ He eyed her over his coffee mug, trying to be playful, but on seeing the look she gave him, a knot of doubt crept in. Did she think he was being patronising? It was hard to be sure. There was a time when he could read her like a book, but not now, it seemed … and that just compounded his feelings about this whole situation. It was almost as if they were two strangers.
‘Hmm, it’s a good job I am strong, Sam. Seeing as I’ve had to manage on my own for the last few years.’ He smarted. Chrissie had gone straight for the jugular.
After gulping down a mouthful of the coffee, he replied.
‘Look … Chris,’ he started, ‘I know that I haven’t got things right. I realise now that I should have seen that you needed me here, but you’ve always been so … capable. And self-sufficient.’
‘Self-sufficient?’ Chrissie’s voice rose an octave. Her cobalt eyes flashed as she quirked an eyebrow. And the uncertainty Sam had felt earlier vanished in an instance – he knew exactly what she was thinking now; her hackles were well and truly up. ‘Is that how it works then? I’m the self-sufficient one, just getting on with it all, while you’re the one who travels around the globe, having only yourself to think about? Like, what gourmet meal you’re going to choose from the restaurant in your luxury hotel-apartment complex, or what film you might enjoy as you kick back and relax on the super-king bed the maid has made for you? While, meanwhile, I look after our daughter – make sure she keeps on top of her diabetes, her homework, friendships, guitar lessons, gymnastics, packed lunches, school uniform, cake sales, netball matches, sleepovers … and all the rest of it.’ Sam watched as Chrissie counted off the list of tasks on her fingers. ‘And I make sure all the bills are paid, the house is kept running, the garden is tidy, the bins are emptied, the hedge is trimmed, the lane isn’t littered with leaves, the monthly parish magazine is paid for, the village charity collections are contributed to, the May Fair cakes are baked, the summer school show costume is made. Honestly, the list is endless! And I do it all. I keep everything going!’ Her voice cracked. ‘But who’s keeping me going?’
Sam immediately wished he could go back out to his car and start this all over again. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind at all. Of course, he knew that Chrissie was going to be hostile, that was her way … their fight pattern, if you like. Whenever they had fallen out in the past, had an argument, she would be super-cool with him afterwards, and as soon as he’d calmed down and invariably realised what an arse he was being, he’d apologise. They’d talk it out, do something nice for each other, and they’d make up. That was the way it was. His dad, Rob, had shown him long ago that it was best to back down and be the appeaser – ‘happy wife, happy life’; that’s what Rob had always said. Sam remembered it clearly – Dad invariably in the back garden, his favourite domain, snipping some roses to take into the house for his mum, Linda, even though she’d been scolding him only moments earlier for not having done something or another exactly the way she liked it. But Rob never seemed to hold a grudge and always let it wash over him. Maybe that was the key to happiness, Sam had surmised, but he wasn’t sure he managed it as well as his dad had. He and Chrissie had different ways of doing things – it wasn’t always possible to keep the peace and maintain a state of continuous calm.
But Sam had tried hard, always apologising, even if he felt he was in the right – Chrissie could be very black and white, not always able to see things from the other person’s perspective. So he’d pull Chrissie in close for a nice cuddle on the sofa, followed by making love as soon as Holly was asleep, and they would wedge the laundry basket behind their bedroom door so she couldn’t barge in unannounced, as had happened one time when she was about three years old. Thankfully, she had still been young enough for them to pass off Chrissie bobbing up and down astride him, naked, as ‘mummy dancing’. And they had giggled silently together like a pair of silly teenagers for ages over that afterwards, whenever Holly had asked to see ‘mummy dancing’ again.
Sam put the coffee mug on the kitchen counter and dropped his hands down by his sides, his heart sinking at the sadness of the current situation. He and Chrissie at loggerheads, no mummy dancing on the immediate horizon and their daughter upstairs bravely hiding her heartache. The feeling was quickly followed by an even greater determination to fix things.
‘Please, Chrissie, I don’t want to fight. Can we talk, properly? I’m back for goo—’
‘It’s too late for that,’ she said quickly, as if instantly throwing up a brick wall to protect herself. Sam wasn’t sure if she even really believed the words herself; it was as if she was saying them on autopilot, without conviction, just to keep him at a distance … or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. ‘Besides, now isn’t a good time …’ Chrissie’s eyes flicked to the watch on her left wrist.
‘But I’ve just got back. I thought we could try and have some time together …’
‘There have been plenty of opportunities for us to have some time together over the last year. But you didn’t take those chances, Sam.’
‘But I’d like to now … if you’ll let me?’ Sam tried.
