Page 18 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

‘Yes?’

‘Make sure you text Viv today. I think she’s ordering the turkey soon, so she needs to know how many of us there’ll be.’

‘No problem. Bye, Dad.’ As Jude disconnected the call, his shoulders slumped. Suddenly the thought of going back to Cornwall for Christmas seemed even more stupid. But he reminded himself why he was going. He needed to get this book into shape, and he couldn’t deny the difference the help Emily had given him was making. He was going to Port Agnes to finishthe job he’d started, to get his career back on track and stop Marty pulling the plug on the DCI McGuigan series. Opening his contacts, his fingers hovered over Emily’s name for a second or two as he wondered whether he should text to offer her a lift down to Cornwall. She’d said she was leaving tomorrow too, and it seemed a waste for him to drive down there with an empty car. Then he remembered how long the journey took and just how interminable it could feel if you got stuck in a traffic jam. He wasn’t sure Emily would still be speaking to him if they were confined together like that for hours on end, let alone willing to continue acting as a consultant on his book. So he thought better of it. Instead, he fired off a quick text to his stepmother.

Hi Viv. Thanks so much for the offer of coming to you for Christmas. So sorry for the delay in responding, but I’ve been up against some deadlines for my next book. It would be great to spend Christmas Day with you, Fiona and the family. I won’t be staying over, I’ve rented somewhere nearby as a writing retreat and at least it saves you the hassle of having to make up the room before and after. See you then and thanks again.

His stepmother must have had the phone in her hands ready to type her response, because her reply came through almost straight away.

Hey Jude! Sorry, I know, but I don’t think I’m ever going to stop doing that! Can’t wait to see you and, if you change your mind about staying over, it’s always a pleasure to have you here, never a hassle. You’re welcome any time, I hope you know that. Off to order the turkey now, good luck with the deadlines! Lots of love, Viv xx

He stared at the message, unable to stop himself wishing that his father was just a tiny bit like Viv. He wondered how different things might have been between them if Charles had been warmer, or if he’d met Viv sooner, instead of putting them both through his ill-fated marriage to Sandra. But it was pointless wondering about that, just like it was pointless wondering how things might have been different if his mother hadn’t died. His relationship with his father was what it was, and he doubted very much there was anything either of them could do about it, even if they’d been willing to try.

As usual, Emily had broken her journey to Cornwall in Exeter, staying the night with her sister Charlotte and her young family. She loved spending time with her six-year-old niece, Bronte, and the tornado of energy and excitement created by her four-year-old twin nephews, Ellis and Arthur. How Charlotte had the time to brush her teeth with them around amazed Emily, let alone how she continued to run a small accountancy business from home. Her husband, Jake, was very hands-on too, but his work as a health and safety consultant took him away from homefairly frequently, and Emily had a feeling that was her brother-in-law’s version of down time.

‘I wish I could stay longer, and I wish I could help out more on a regular basis.’ The guilt in Emily’s chest as she said goodbye to her sister weighed almost as heavily as her nephews clinging to her legs on either side. They’d woken her up just after 6a.m. by bouncing on her bed and whacking each other with a pillow. Every moment she spent in Charlotte’s house gave her a new level of respect for her sister.

‘I wish you could stay longer too, but I know you’ve got recordings to prepare for and that you want to go with Mum and Dad to the hospital appointment on Tuesday.’ Charlotte had hugged her tightly and long enough for Emily to wonder if she was having trouble letting go. ‘I’ll see you soon anyway. We’re going to come down as soon as the kids break up from school, but I need you to let me know if you think Mum and Dad can cope with having us staying there for over a week. If not, we’ll see if we can find an Airbnb.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. There’s plenty of room.’ Their parents’ house had four bedrooms and a big downstairs study with a sofa bed, so there was lots of space for everyone, but Emily knew that wasn’t what her sister had meant.

‘I’m not talking about how much room there is; it’s whether it’ll all be too much. You’ve seen what the kids are like and with Mum?—’

Emily interrupted Charlotte, knowing what her concerns were without her needing to voice them, and keen to put her mind at rest. ‘The last thing Mum will want is to miss out on having an entire week with you. I’ll be there the whole time. With you, me and Jake, we’ll be able to do one-on-one marking with the kids. And if Dad wants to take you and the kids out somewhere and Mum doesn’t feel up to it, I can keep an eye on her to give him a break. It’ll be good for all of us.’

‘Okay, but if you get there and you think differently, just promise you’ll let me know.’

‘I will.’

Charlotte had given her another hug, and Emily had eventually managed to peel her nephews away from her legs, with promises of taking them out to the soft play centre in Port Tremellien when they were all down in Cornwall. The journey from Exeter to Port Agnes had been uneventful. Emily’s father, Richard, had told her to call when she was due to arrive so he could pick her up. It was only a ten-minute walk from the station to home, but with six weeks’ worth of packing, not to mention the Christmas presents she’d already bought, she was wrestling with one large case and one medium-sized one. Charlotte had insisted on picking her up in Exeter, and Jake had dropped her back to the station, but even loading and unloading on the train had been tricky. So walking home wasn’t really an option. There was no way she was calling her father out though, because he’d worry about her mum the whole time they were gone if she did.

Her mother’s falls had become far more common in the past eighteen months, and Emily had been shocked by the toll that Parkinson’s disease had taken on Patsy’s body. It was obvious her condition was progressing, and Emily was almost certain that the consultant would say that Patsy was starting to need support to get dressed, and was reliant on a walker to get around the house. After she’d had a fall while Emily’s father was out at work, he’d decided to take early retirement.

‘She was lying on the floor for almost two hours before I could get home.’ He’d had tears in his eyes when he’d recounted the story, but when Emily had offered to move back home to support them, he wouldn’t hear of it.

‘I signed up for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, and I meant every word of it. Looking after your mum is myresponsibility.’ He’d stopped then and shook his head. ‘No, not my responsibility, it’s my privilege.’

It didn’t matter how often Emily repeated the offer, both her parents had declined every single time. In the end it had started to upset Patsy, and Emily had agreed to her father’s pleas to stop mentioning it.

‘She can’t bear the thought of this curtailing your life in any way, so the best thing you can do is to keep going out there, doing what you love, and making us proud.’

Emily had got her love of books from her mother, who read voraciously. She’d even witnessed Patsy trying to do the hoovering and read a novel at the same time once, because the book was quite literally too good to put down. It was no wonder Emily had developed the same sort of habits. Patsy had fallen in love with the novels of the Bront? sisters as a child and it was why her daughters had been christened Charlotte Anne and Emily Elizabeth. Charlotte had ended up carrying on the tradition, settling on Bronte for her daughter, and naming her sons after two other members of the Bront? family. Her parents’ house had bookshelves in every room and, just like after the car accident, Patsy had told Emily that escaping into novels had been her salvation when the Parkinson’s began to take away more of her independence. Patsy had got hooked on audio books too, and Emily knew her mother would be anxious to hear everything about her upcoming projects, so she couldn’t wait to get home to tell her.

There was no long line of taxis outside Port Agnes station in the winter, like there would have been outside any station in London, but if you were very lucky there was sometimes a taxi waiting outside. Thankfully, Emily’s luck was in, and Clive, who drove the only year-round taxi that serviced Port Agnes station, was free to take her home.

‘I thought you were going to call.’ Emily’s father got up from the table in the kitchen and threw his arms around her as she came in through the door at the side of the house. ‘I didn’t even hear your key in the lock, and Gary Barlow certainly didn’t.’

Emily grinned at the mention of her parents’ dog. He was a Border terrier, who’d been named in honour of her mother’s favourite singer. Patsy had fallen in love with a song he’d written when she’d been recovering from the car accident. The song had already been a few years old by then, but she’d heard it on the radio and the lyrics had really resonated with her. After that, she’d started listening to every song he’d ever written, and she could probably answer questions about Gary Barlow as her specialist subject onMastermindif the need ever arose. Whenever anyone in the family was talking about the dog, they always used his full name, to avoid confusing him with their next-door neighbour, Gary, and it had just kind of stuck. The only time the dog’s name ever got shortened to Gary was when he was out on a walk and they needed to call him to come back. Emily’s father had said there was no way he was putting up with the strange looks people gave him when he stood on Port Agnes beach, calling out at the top of his voice for the lead singer of Take That. Why her parents hadn’t just called him Barlow was a mystery no one could answer, but after eight years it was far too late for a rethink now.

‘Is he starting to go grey?’ Emily knelt down to where Gary Barlow was sitting, in his basket by the wood burner, and planted a kiss on top of his head. It was covered with of wisps of wire-like hair. If he’d been a human being, there was no way she’d have kissed him, but somehow it was different with dogs.

‘It seems like it.’ Her father sighed. ‘But he still gets really excited whenever we’re about to go out for a walk, so there’s life in the old dog yet.’

‘You’re going to live forever, aren’t you, boy?’ Emily stood up and took one of the dog treats out of the jar on the Welsh dresser. Gary Barlow might have been getting on a bit, but there was nothing wrong with his sense of smell, and she almost lost a finger with the speed he whipped the treat out of her hand. ‘How’s Mum?’

‘She had a bit of a fall again yesterday.’ Her father’s tone was falsely bright, but she didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched. Even when her mother had broken her wrist in February, her parents had insisted that she’d only hada bit of a fall. It wasn’t until Emily had come for a long weekend over Easter that she’d discovered her mother had broken her wrist in two places.

‘I know you two and your “bit of a fall” description. Am I going to go through to the front room and find her lying on the sofa with her leg in plaster?’

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