difficulty hiding her dismay. He hadnât gone out of his way to produce such massive, untidy offerings. He couldnât have been concentrating on what he was doing.
âOK.â She capitulated, and reached for a knife to cut the sandwich into smaller, more manageable pieces. âI suppose it wouldnât help the festive spirit much if we both sat here in gloomy silence. Iâll go along with you, and try to avoid contentious subjects. But I warn you, Iâm not going to pussy-foot around, double-checking everything before it trips off my tongue, like a reformed trollop at a vicarâs tea party.â
He did grin then, but hid it behind the rim of his wineglass. An excellent vintage claret, heâd noted back in the kitchen, twisting the corkscrew with cynical ferocity. Sheâd spared no expense to get the party moving, to find the right mood!
He caught the thought, examined it. Was he being unfair? Was she in some kind of trouble? Had she engineered this time together because she needed his help? It was something to think about. Maybe if she relaxed enough she would tell him the truth. âSo?â he prompted gently, watching her long, narrow hands as she cut into the thick, crusty bread and the filling of hacked meat. He wondered why she didnât push it fastidiously aside and float out to prepare a medallion of tenderloin on a bed of unidentifiable leaves. She was obviously trying hard to please.
âSo Dad thought Christmas was a waste of money, right? But Mum always did her best to make sure Evie and I had a package to open on Christmas morning. Granted, money was in short supplyâbut he didnât even make an effort, and wouldnât let us try, either.â
She chewed reflectively on a piece of her sandwich; the meat was wonderfully tender, spiced up with just the right amount of mustard. His sandwiches were no way as inedible as they looked.
âI like to think he wasnât a Scrooge by nature, but acted like one because it upset him to think he couldnât give his family everything they wanted.â
She looked so earnest, Jake thought, watching her closely. Somehow he couldnât bring himself to say what was on his mindâthat any father who didnât make the effort to find some way of making Christmas special for his kids didnât deserve to have any. Let her keep her manufactured delusions if they helped her.
âDad was mostly out of work, and we were always on the move,â she was telling him, long fingers idly stroking the stern of her wineglass now. âHe always thought the grass would be greener in the next county or town. It never was, though. Things just seemed to go from bad to worse. Smaller flats in seedier areas. And moving meant Mum had to keep finding new jobs to make ends meet. Sometimes she couldnât. Things got really tough then.â
Her mother had never complained. Bella wondered if sheâd inherited those doormat genes, making her willing to let Jake call all the shots during the time theyâd lived together.
Unconsciously she shook her head. Now wasnât the time to delve into cause and effect.
Jake said, his voice surprisingly gentle, âI remember you telling me your parents were separated, and your mother settled in New Zealand with her widowed sister.â
âYes, but Mum going out to live with Auntie May came much later. She wouldnât have dreamed of leaving us until Evie and I were both on our feet. But Dad walked out on the lot of us when I was fourteen. We stayed put, then, and for a couple of years the three of us had our first settled home. A two-bedroom flat above a greengrocerâs in a backstreet in Newcastle. Downmarket, but home.â
She was twisting the glass now. Jake expected the contents to spill out at any moment. There was a lot of tension there, waiting to be released.
âIt must have been about that time I knew what I wanted out of life.â
She wasnât
âOK.â She capitulated, and reached for a knife to cut the sandwich into smaller, more manageable pieces. âI suppose it wouldnât help the festive spirit much if we both sat here in gloomy silence. Iâll go along with you, and try to avoid contentious subjects. But I warn you, Iâm not going to pussy-foot around, double-checking everything before it trips off my tongue, like a reformed trollop at a vicarâs tea party.â
He did grin then, but hid it behind the rim of his wineglass. An excellent vintage claret, heâd noted back in the kitchen, twisting the corkscrew with cynical ferocity. Sheâd spared no expense to get the party moving, to find the right mood!
He caught the thought, examined it. Was he being unfair? Was she in some kind of trouble? Had she engineered this time together because she needed his help? It was something to think about. Maybe if she relaxed enough she would tell him the truth. âSo?â he prompted gently, watching her long, narrow hands as she cut into the thick, crusty bread and the filling of hacked meat. He wondered why she didnât push it fastidiously aside and float out to prepare a medallion of tenderloin on a bed of unidentifiable leaves. She was obviously trying hard to please.
âSo Dad thought Christmas was a waste of money, right? But Mum always did her best to make sure Evie and I had a package to open on Christmas morning. Granted, money was in short supplyâbut he didnât even make an effort, and wouldnât let us try, either.â
She chewed reflectively on a piece of her sandwich; the meat was wonderfully tender, spiced up with just the right amount of mustard. His sandwiches were no way as inedible as they looked.
âI like to think he wasnât a Scrooge by nature, but acted like one because it upset him to think he couldnât give his family everything they wanted.â
She looked so earnest, Jake thought, watching her closely. Somehow he couldnât bring himself to say what was on his mindâthat any father who didnât make the effort to find some way of making Christmas special for his kids didnât deserve to have any. Let her keep her manufactured delusions if they helped her.
âDad was mostly out of work, and we were always on the move,â she was telling him, long fingers idly stroking the stern of her wineglass now. âHe always thought the grass would be greener in the next county or town. It never was, though. Things just seemed to go from bad to worse. Smaller flats in seedier areas. And moving meant Mum had to keep finding new jobs to make ends meet. Sometimes she couldnât. Things got really tough then.â
Her mother had never complained. Bella wondered if sheâd inherited those doormat genes, making her willing to let Jake call all the shots during the time theyâd lived together.
Unconsciously she shook her head. Now wasnât the time to delve into cause and effect.
Jake said, his voice surprisingly gentle, âI remember you telling me your parents were separated, and your mother settled in New Zealand with her widowed sister.â
âYes, but Mum going out to live with Auntie May came much later. She wouldnât have dreamed of leaving us until Evie and I were both on our feet. But Dad walked out on the lot of us when I was fourteen. We stayed put, then, and for a couple of years the three of us had our first settled home. A two-bedroom flat above a greengrocerâs in a backstreet in Newcastle. Downmarket, but home.â
She was twisting the glass now. Jake expected the contents to spill out at any moment. There was a lot of tension there, waiting to be released.
âIt must have been about that time I knew what I wanted out of life.â
She wasnât
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