Christmas here. Holly had been a toddler and the three of them had been really happy. On Christmas morning, he had let Holly open every single one of her Christmas presents first thing when she woke up, the two of them running downstairs and ripping open the carefully wrapped gifts under the tree. The entire living room was deluged in piles of wrapping paper and boxes of toys, games and treats. Holly had squealed in excitement and Sam had loved the chaotic fun of it. Chrissie had come downstairs in her dressing gown, perplexed and frowning at the anarchy unravelling in front of her. She’d told Sam off for letting Holly go nuts; now she didn’t know who any of the presents were from and it wasn’t instilling in their daughter the value that the people who had bought the presents placed on them.
‘It’s Christmas Day, you can’t take anything too seriously, love. And look how much fun Holly is having.’ The sight of Holly’s face, lit up in excitement, had allowed them to laugh it off, with chuckles of ‘it’s only once a year’. But with the benefit of hindsight, it was those polar approaches to parenting that highlighted the differences between them, foretelling the cracks in their relationship.
Sam went to retrieve his key from his jeans pocket, and stopped. He wasn’t even sure why he still carried the key to The Forstal Farmhouse around with him … it wasn’t his home any more, not now. Chrissie had also made that quite clear with a reticent, ‘Maybe it would be better if you stayed with Dolly the next time you come home’, a suggestion that was definitely not optional. Followed by something about not wanting to destabilise Holly, as she was used to it being just the two of them now. Sam felt a momentary flash of anger. Chrissie had always tried to drive home to him that he had needed to take his responsibilities seriously – once they’d had Holly – and wasn’t that what he’d been trying to do over the last few years; and now Chrissie wasn’t even going to let him come home? He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. No, Chrissie was right – he hadn’t listened when he should have. But all he wanted now was to see Holly. They were close. They always had been. He knew that Holly had missed him being there, just like he missed her, but surely he would have known if she was unhappy with him, wouldn’t she? Or if she was angry that he hadn’t been home in ages. They spoke all the time, on the phone, on FaceTime, and she’d always been her usual bouncy and happy self. But then Chrissie always did have a tendency to want to control situations. Not in a nasty way … it was just her natural coping mechanism after having experienced no control as a kid. Her childhood had been very chaotic, with her mum an alcoholic and dad seeking solace at the bookie’s until they died within a year of each other when Chrissie was in her twenties, shortly before she and Sam met.
Sam pushed his hand into his pocket again. Having the key there felt comforting, like a talisman of some kind, something to hold on to, something to give him hope that this house he had so lovingly restored for his family would be his home once more.
He pressed the bell on the centre of the black front door, and then it struck him, the door had been yellow before. A gorgeous sunshine yellow. A happy colour; that’s what Chrissie had called it when they had chosen the paint together in the hardware shop in the village. And he had loved every second of preparing and painting the front door for her … their happy home, together. And for some reason this made Sam catch his breath. He folded his arms, as if to warm his body, or was it to comfort himself? Either way, he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t dither here on the doorstop like some kind of idiot. No, he needed to get inside and sort things out.
He rang the bell.
Seconds later, although it felt like an eternity, the door opened.
‘Dad!’ Holly was standing in front of him, her face wreathed in a smile. Gone were the little girl bunches and gappy grin that he always pictured in his mind’s eye when he thought of his daughter, even though bunches hadn’t been a thing for a while now. Her shoulder-length bobbed hair had sophisticated-looking caramel and honey-blonde bits running through it, which accentuated the sparkly shimmer on her eyelids. Her gappy grin was now complemented by a brace on her teeth. Sam felt his forehead crease; the skirt, if you could call it that, was way too short. It was her usual tartan school skirt, but it barely covered her bottom. Surely that wasn’t the regulation uniform? How could she have grown up so fast? And how come he hadn’t noticed these changes during those FaceTime calls? It just went to show that nothing could beat a proper old-fashioned face-to-face conversation.
‘Hello, darling!’ Sam beamed, and Holly threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around, like he used to when she was little. ‘Ooof, steady on,’ he joked, pretending to be winded as she squeezed him tight.
‘Oh Dad, you’re not that ancient.’ Holly stepped back, giving his arm a playful punch. Sam was aware of Chrissie standing aside, allowing father and daughter their moment together.
‘Hi, Sam,’ Chrissie said. Sam caught his breath as they made eye contact. She looked amazing in a clingy black top and tight jeans. Her blonde hair was a little longer and wavier than it used to be, and she had lipstick on, something she rarely wore. And she smelt gorgeous, like honey and almonds. But it wasn’t her usual perfume. Sam instinctively wanted to reach out and touch her, but managed to resist. He and Chrissie had always been affectionate and touchy-feely with each other. To hover here, with her so close but just out of reach, was almost too much for him to bear.
Chrissie held his gaze and Sam noticed a slight flush on her cheeks, a sure sign that she was struggling to keep her emotions in check too. He took a step towards her, but an almost imperceptible shake of her head stopped him in his tracks. In her eyes, Sam could see resolve, but conflict too. Damn it, how had they got to this point? When he adored her. And he was sure that she … at the very least … still cared.
‘Come on, Dad, come in. I’ve got so much to show you.’ Holly quickly sidestepped around her mum, holding Sam by the arm. ‘You’ll never believe how good I am on the guitar now. Better than you, I bet.’ She laughed, but her smile faltered a little when Chrissie spoke.
‘Dad can’t stay for too long today, Holly. Perhaps you can have tea with him on Saturday at Granny Dolly’s house. Plus, you need to go and finish your homework now … it’s getting late and you have school tomorrow,’ Chrissie said, not looking Sam in the eye.
‘But it’s only Tuesday. I want to see him now. Saturday is like nearly a whole week away.’ Holly folded her arms.
Sam could see, despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach, that this wasn’t the moment to challenge Chrissie’s decision and risk starting an argument.
‘Maybe it’s best if you do as Mum says. We’ll have loads of time together just as soon as Mum and I have had a good catch-up,’ he intervened, smiling and keen to keep his cool. ‘Here, these are for you,’ he said giving her the bag of knick-knacks that he’d picked up from the airport – keyrings, a cuddly toy, bath bombs, sticker book; there were no sweets, though: for Holly they were strictly rationed.
‘Oh, thanks, Dad!’ Holly grinned, taking the bag and peeping inside it before turning to Chrissie. ‘Mum, can I just show Dad my room, I want him to see the blanket I knitted.’
Chrissie eyed them both warily. ‘OK, Hol, but just ten minutes, you and Dad can have a proper catch-up at the weekend. I’ll be in the kitchen, Sam, if you want a quick chat before you go.’
Ten minutes later, and Sam was sitting on the chair beside Holly’s desk. She had hurriedly told him absolutely everything that had happened in her life since they had last spoken on the phone. Plus, proudly shown him the blanket which had taken her two weeks to knit. It was a mixture of pansy colours – purple, pink, blue, yellow and white squares all sewn together.
‘This is amazing,’ Sam said, holding up the blanket and keen to show an interest in his daughter’s new hobby,
