Page 90 of You Were Always the One

The build-up to Christmas is sombre in our house. Like Christmases that have gone before, only dialled down a notch. His increasing frailty means Miles rarely comes downstairs. But we’ve reached a point where at the end of each day, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

On Christmas Eve, I light candles and decorate the table before, between us, Rita and I manage to help Miles downstairs. I’ve prepared a simple dinner but these memories are important.

Max and Grace oblige with traditional sibling squabbling, while I open the bottle of wine Miles has been saving. I see him note the label.

He frowns. ‘I was saving that one.’ But he struggles to get the words out.

‘I know you were.’ I catch his eye. ‘I think you were saving it for now.’ I watch him take in what I’ve said. He doesn’t argue.

For a couple of hours, I can almost believe things are normal again. There is chatter, laughter, plates of food passed around the table, glasses of wine topped up. But then something happens as I watch us, remembering the tensions and arguments that were all too common. What passed for normal in this house was never like this.

When Miles is tired, Rita and I help him back upstairs. There’s a light in his eyes as I help him into his pyjamas.

‘It was a wonderful evening,’ he says quietly. ‘Thank you, Holly.’

‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’ But as I help him into bed, I’m aware he’s barely eaten anything.

‘You were right about the wine,’ he says wryly. ‘No point saving it, is there?’

I don’t reply. Instead, I lean down and kiss him on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Miles.’

On Christmas morning, I lie in bed for a moment, listening to the house coming to life, the footsteps running up and down the stairs, the pantomime of Christmas stockings being unwrapped. Rita’s cry of ‘it’s too early’, before there’s a brief knock and my bedroom door is flung open.

‘Merry Christmas, Mummy!’ Grace launches herself onto the bed.

‘Merry Christmas, sweet pea.’ I aim a kiss into her tangle of hair.

‘Are you getting up?’ she demands. Then she slips off the bed and goes to the window. Pulling the curtains back, she stands there for a moment. Then turns to look at me, her eyes shining. ‘It’s snowing.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to snow.’ It wasn’t, but against the odds, it seems we have been blessed with a white Christmas. Going to the window, I stare outside with her. ‘Magical, isn’t it?’

‘I’m going to tell Max.’

She runs across my bedroom, then as she goes downstairs, I hear her yelling at her brother, a reminder that the simplest, most unexpected things can be the most joyous.

The snow settles. I light a log fire, then cook far too much food. And so our day passes. A collection of small, wonderous moments that will stay with me forever. My children’s faces, the snow. Rita being here. Miles making a superhuman effort all over again, in what is one of our best Christmases ever together.

On Boxing Day morning, I take Rita and the kids over to Charley’s. Her house is suitably chaotic and randomly decorated. There’s a fire burning in the grate; it’s welcoming. Rita stays on with the kids; over the last weeks and months, she and Charley have become friends.

I have a cup of tea with them before, not wanting to leave Miles for long, I drive home alone. Overnight, the snow has frozen, here and there glittering where the sun catches it. It’s an interlude of calm until fate throws another curveball and a car pulls up outside. Seconds later, the doorbell rings. When I go to answer it, there’s a woman standing there. Taller than me, she’s slim and dark haired. We may not have met before, but I recognise her straight away.

It’s Patricia.

Seeing her standing on my doorstep, I feel anger rise inside me, before logic kicks in. This isn’t the time for past grievances. Miles and I are way past this now. And knowing how sick he is, maybe it’s the time for him to see her.

‘I’m Patricia.’ She looks uncertain. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to come.’ She hesitates. ‘Miles isn’t answering my calls. Could you tell me how he is?’

I look at the sadness in her eyes, the dark circles underneath them. That she’s come here not knowing what kind of reception she’d get only goes to show how much she loves him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I don’t mean to intrude.’ She looks anxious. ‘I know we’ve caused enough problems in your life.’

I step outside, pulling the door almost closed behind me, then turn to look at her. ‘I’m not going to say it wasn’t really tough. When I found out about you and Miles, I was devastated.’ I pause. ‘But honestly? He and I hadn’t been good together for a long time. Things were going from bad to worse. But then, as you know, he found out he was sick.’

‘You’ve been looking after him?’ Her eyes meet mine.

‘It’s my job,’ I say more offhandedly than I mean to. But I’m stressed enough without dealing with Patricia, of all people. Then I realise, I haven’t answered her question. ‘He hasn’t responded to treatment. He had a fall a little while ago.’ I pause. ‘He’s getting frailer.’

‘God.’ A look of angst racks her face. ‘Poor Miles.’ She pauses. ‘I’d give anything to see him.’