her head seriously. ‘But amazing toast, Granddad, seriously. Jeremy’s cooking skills are starting to look terrible in comparison.’
Heather, who had been quietly drinking her coffee, overseeing her husband’s cooking, looked up. She shared a significant look with Jonathan.
‘Is Jeremy your…step-father?’ Heather ventured, checking to see how upset Megan was by the question. Her lips got thin and she raised an eyebrow.
‘No!’ Skye laughed, looking to Megan.
‘Oh, no, I mean…you obviously think of him as your father,’ Jonathan said, nodding, then making a face as if to convey just how awkward it was. What if Skye hadn’t known about her parentage? What if Megan had been living with someone who’d raised her child as her own? It wasn’t unheard of. Their assumptions would have screwed it all up.
‘Jeremy’s gay!’ Skye laughed, waiting for Megan to elaborate.
‘He’s Anna’s lodger. He’s lived with us as long as we’ve been there,’ Megan said stiffly, ‘he’s family.’
She watched as her mother’s lip curled. She knew exactly what she was thinking: what kind of den of sin was Anna letting them live in? And she hadn’t even mentioned Jeremy’s job, thank god.
‘He’s wonderful. He’s a writer, working on plays,’ Skye said proudly, and Megan breathed a sigh of relief.
‘And he does drag acts!’ Skye added, as Jonathan coughed, and Heather looked at the ceiling. ‘He’s a really beautiful woman!’
Megan shrugged and realised there was nothing to do but join in. ‘Yeah, he’s got this way with body glitter that just…highlights his non-existent assets.’
‘Megan!’ her mother exclaimed.
‘What, Mum? Going to ask me how I dare to raise my child in such an environment? Because I wasn’t given many options when it came to that, was I?’
The two women stood facing each other, hands on hips, and Skye marvelled at how much of a mirror image they were.
‘Now, now, Megan, we didn’t mean anything,’ her father intercepted. ‘This bloke sounds fascinating, and we’re both glad you have someone in your life you love so much.’
‘We do,’ Skye nodded, then turned to Heather. ‘So what are we doing today, Grandma?’
Heather turned towards Skye, whose little face smiled up at her, eyes wide and curious. Megan saw how torn her mother was – continue the fight and defend herself, or connect with her granddaughter. She sat down and patted Skye’s hand, answering her in an overly cheery tone.
‘Well, we thought we’d go down to the Christmas Fayre in the village, play some games, hear the carols.’ Heather winked. ‘Eat lots of junk food. What do you think?’
Skye nodded. ‘I think it’s the best idea ever, don’t you, Mum?’
Megan nodded, completely aware that her daughter was creating a diversion, especially as she winked at her when she knew Heather wasn’t looking.
They disappeared to get ready for the walk down to the village, and Megan grabbed Skye’s hand.
‘What are you doing, Pink Panther?’
‘What?’ Skye made her eyes wide and innocent, raising her eyebrows. But her smirk gave her away.
‘Your questions, your diversions, your “devoted to grandma” routine. Don’t think you’re fooling me, kid.’
‘I don’t need to fool you, I need to fool them,’ Skye said seriously. ‘It’s sleuthing practice.’
‘Why do you need to practise?’ Megan raised an eyebrow, helping Skye into her padded winter coat. Her two pigtails hung out from the big fur-lined hood, making her suddenly look so much younger, so much more innocent. No doubt Skye had chosen her outfit especially for this purpose, as part of ‘Project Make Grandma Adore Me’. Evil genius.
‘Because skills take practice. Plus, I’m getting you out of situations. So I’m being useful.’
Megan knelt in front of her, holding out her gloves, an eyebrow raised. ‘You don’t have to be useful, my love, because you are absolutely necessary.’
Skye frowned at her, bemused.
‘I just mean you don’t have to keep saving my arse.’ Megan paused. ‘Bum. Don’t tell them I said arse.’
‘Twice,’ Skye grinned, and took her mum’s hand. ‘So, this fayre thing, it happens every Christmas?’
They wandered out to the front of the house to wait for their hosts, who were probably gossiping about Jeremy the Gay Performer whilst getting ready.
‘Yep, every year. It’s pretty fun. Or it was, anyway. Your granddad is extraordinarily gifted with the Hook A Duck games. Get him to win you something.’
Skye’s brow furrowed. ‘Where’s the fun in that? I want to win it for myself.’
Megan grinned, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Two hot chocolates for you today, kid. Or two treats of whatever kind you want.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a wonderful person, and I’m your mum, and it’s Christmas. So there.’ Megan stuck out her tongue. Her parents arrived, wrapped up in the same winter clothes they’d had since she could remember, and off they went down the steep hill to town.
The village had changed a fair bit in the last ten years, Megan noted. Not necessarily the people, or the feel of it, but a few bits here and there. The existence of a Subway, the Costa Coffee on the corner. There were still the independents, the butchers, the bakery that she hung out in one summer, obsessed with the boy behind the till who gave her free donuts. The strange pottery cafe that no one ever seemed to go to, but never disappeared. They walked past Vittorio’s, a posh Italian restaurant she’d waited tables at every Saturday night since she was sixteen. It looked exactly the same inside, pristine, with the waiters in penguin suits. She’d hated that job. Hated Marco, the owner, and how he talked to them all. But the tips had been good, and the free dinners were almost worth the abuse. Heather had made her give up the job once exam season started, but she wasn’t too bothered by that point. It was strange to think the money she made from Marco had given her and Skye their start. But he was still an arse.
They reached the High Street, where the festivities were in full swing. Market stalls and Christmas lights were everywhere, to a soundtrack of carollers in the middle of the square. They stood before a grand Christmas tree, lit up, sparkling in the dull greyness of the afternoon. The voices were angelic, and yes, there was Mr Turner, still conducting the choir with his audacious movements, always overzealous as he started sweating through his woolly hat.
Skye was holding Heather’s hand as they moved through the crowd, and Megan relaxed, allowing herself to be transported back to the childhood days of the fayre. The year they won the raffle, the year Matty drank so much hot apple cider he was sick behind Santa’s grotto. The year she and Lucas played their own version of Christmas carols in the square to raise money for charity, and everyone was so kind, so generous, so
