and went to fill it. Although she had spoken to Connor at the church, seeing him, properly seeing him, now gave her a jolt. She immediately felt jittery and uncomfortable in his presence. Again, they used to be so close, he was her best friend growing up, but she hadn’t seen him for so long that familiarity had definitely faded. It was as if standing in front of her was a man she knew so well, but also a stranger. One that she wanted to reach out to but who made her feel unsure of herself.
‘Thanks, Connor,’ Gus said, taking the filled ice bucket from him.
‘Connor!’ Harriet breezed, collecting herself, a smile plastered to her face. ‘It’s been so long,’ she said, hoping her voice wasn’t as squeaky as she suspected.
‘Harry, you look exactly the same as you did ten years ago,’ he teased, wrapping his eyes around her. She disentangled herself from him as rapidly as she could without being offensive.
‘You git, I’ve aged horribly,’ she giggled. Goodness, that was the first time she had giggled in a long time. Connor had always had that effect on her. He was two years older than her, and she had adored him as a child, followed him around like a shadow. Well, the less said about that …
‘It’s really lovely to see you, Harry,’ he enthused.
‘So, you came back to Meadowbrook?’ Harriet said. She felt shy, awkward. Like the time she first got braces and refused to smile, lest Connor see them. That hadn’t turned out well of course.
‘You are the only one of the Singers I haven’t seen, and I’ve been back for three years, Harry.’ He shook his head reproachfully. ‘Living in one of the cottages, but anyway, I’ll fill you in later.’
Harriet opened and closed her mouth, goldfish-like, at Gus, who shrugged, and with his newly filled ice bucket headed out. And as she turned to follow him, she felt such a gulf between her life and her life. How had this happened? All her siblings had been part of Meadowbrook and only she had not. How and why had she let that happen?
‘Connor, Gwen, come join us,’ Harriet said, recovering, determined to resume control, of herself mainly.
‘Yes, it’ll be nice to toast your father, just the family,’ Gwen said, her voice catching as if on a rusty nail. Harriet felt her grief. It was all around her. In her siblings, in Gwen and Connor. She knew it was there, but even though she hurt inside, she was angry that she couldn’t see it in herself.
‘Goodness, how long does it take to get ice,’ Freddie cried, grabbing the ice bucket from Gus, as they returned to the study, and organising drinks for everyone. Finally, everyone had a very large, expensive whisky in their hands.
‘I propose a toast, to the old man,’ Freddie said, with a grin. They all drank.
‘And to his children,’ Gwen added. ‘He’d be very proud of you all today.’
Would he though? Harriet was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be proud of her in the slightest.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Freddie said for the millionth time as people began to leave the wake. Pippa pinched him. ‘Ow. What?’ he asked, glaring at her.
‘It’s Mark, Pippa’s husband,’ Mark pointed out, shaking his head.
‘Oh goodness I didn’t recognise you.’ Freddie was slurring his words and Harriet knew he had put away enough whisky to render him almost blind. Freddie had always liked a drink, he was almost expelled from school for trying to brew his own vodka from potatoes when he was thirteen, but he excused it as part of his job as a party organiser in some of the hottest clubs.
Mark smiled, patiently. ‘I was in the pew with you in the church,’ he pointed out. He had his arm around Pippa, Harriet noticed with a pang of something akin to envy; he had been by her side for the whole of the wake. Although Harriet hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Mark, she was grateful for him being there for her sister. Sad that she didn’t have anyone but happy Pippa did.
‘Oh, I’m sure you were, dear brother-in-law,’ Freddie said, pleasantly. ‘But unfortunately you have one of those forgettable faces.’
Harriet gaped at Mark, who looked a little red-faced, but then, to everyone’s relief, he laughed. Harriet let herself relax, and Pippa giggled. Freddie was a terror, but so lovable. She’d almost forgotten.
Her relationship with Gus over the years was distant, and Freddie was well, Freddie. Pippa had kept in touch via email but those emails didn’t tell the story of what was really going on, nor did Harriet’s replies. Harriet felt as if her siblings were out of her reach in many ways. Being back at home with them, having to say goodbye to her father, it hit her how much she actually missed them. How she should have tried harder to keep them together. How much she wished her father was still here to tell her how.
Thank goodness the wake was winding down – if Harriet had to smile any more, she felt her face would split in two. Her feet were killing her, she hadn’t anticipated how much standing she would have to do, but it had definitely been an event. The Singers didn’t have any other family; her father had been an only child, her mother’s family was pretty much an unknown quantity, but the villagers had shown up in full. It seemed as if most of Parker’s Hollow had come to her father’s send-off and it was clear, touchingly clear, that her father was a very popular man.
Either that or the village had heard about his wine collection.
Impulsively Harriet grabbed Pippa’s hand.
‘Come with me,’ she said, dragging her away as Mark was being cornered by one of the village’s older ladies.
Harriet ushered Pippa into the study, where she sat down and started spinning in her father’s chair. She felt dizzy and a little nauseous, so it possibly wasn’t her best idea. Pippa sat on the desk, cross-legged, taking up most of the available space. It was a scene from their childhood. But Pippa was no longer a child, she was a woman, a married grown-up. A stunning grown-up woman.
Harriet didn’t think she was beautiful like her younger sister. Pippa looked like their late mother with her white-blonde hair, blue eyes and slender figure. Harriet took after their father more. She had dark hair, was taller than Pip and her features were even, some would say striking, but not ethereal like Pippa’s.
‘I miss him,’ Harriet said, simply.
Pippa’s eyes filled with tears, but Harriet remained dry-eyed. She wanted to cry for her father, but it was as if the tap of tears had been turned firmly off. Not that Harriet was much of a crier. She had cried a lot when she was a child, well she probably had; she assumed she did. But after her mother died, she realised that she was the oldest and that meant she had to behave as such. She had to look out for her brothers and sister and suddenly tears didn’t seem to have much of a place in her life. Harriet had become so good at shutting off her feelings, she wasn’t sure how to conjure them up anymore.
‘Me too. I still think he’s going to walk in any minute. It’s funny isn’t it, how long it’s been since we’ve all been together.’ Pippa sighed. ‘I mean, it’s been years since I’ve spent any proper time with you.’
‘I know, it’s my fault. I mean, being in New York.
