Dusk had deepened into the soft grey of night. People held their phones aloft, torches on, as the choir began ‘Silent Night’. Beside her, Cole stood tall, chin raised, as he sang along, stumbling on the words every now and then, without any sign of embarrassment. He was an enigma of a man: burly and masculine but also kind and sensitive. Reserved and unassuming, but with an edge of boyish cheekiness. The perfect mix for anyone in the market for a partner. Almost too perfect.
The next carol began with a harmonised hum. Hannah’s blood froze as the images steamrolled through her mind and body.
His bright-eyed laugh; her mother directing the placement of the ornaments; Maddie shrinking at the sight of the antique, battery-operated Santa with his fiery red eyes, swinging his bell as he rotated a circle.
And all while this song played in the background.
Hannah clenched her teeth, nipping the tip of her tongue and swallowing the rusty taste the bite elicited. ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. Her father’s favourite. Top of his Christmas playlist. She should have been prepared for this from the get-go. Should have known as soon as Crystal mentioned the choir that this was a possibility. Should never have come.
A rush of heat thundered through her temples. She had to leave. Now.
Clutching her bag to her chest, she mumbled a goodbye to Cole. Her breaths were coming thick and fast as she pushed her way through the revellers. She didn’t bother looking around when he called her name. Head down, she rushed along the now deserted street, past the stall holders packing away their wares, headed for the safety of home.
Chapter 8
Nothing could have prepared her for the change, but after the splitsecond lurch of her heart when she opened the door, Hannah was able to mask her shock with a welcoming smile. Ignoring the greyish pallor of Lenore’s skin and the sunken hollows of her cheeks, she pulled her old mentor into a warm embrace. This woman, once as sturdy and robust as a bull, now felt bird-like beneath her hands. And yet her scent was the same, a powdery mix of freesia and lily, rose and geranium. A smell that was unmistakably Lenore.
Tears swam in Hannah’s eyes as she opened them to the sad smile of Nancy standing a short distance away on the verandah. Everything Lenore hadn’t revealed in her letters was written all over her wife’s face, in the downturn of her lips and the slight quiver of her jaw.
‘Well, that’s a greeting and a half.’ Lenore pulled back and stretched out her arms, rested her bony hands on Hannah’s cheeks. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, my girl. It’s been way too long.’
‘It has.’ The words came out in a cough.
‘Right, my turn.’ Nancy stepped forward, jostling Lenore out of the way, and pressed her face against Hannah’s cheek, a gentle palm at her neck. ‘Thank you for this,’ she whispered.
Not now. Not. Now.
She pulled back. ‘Here, let me get those.’ Grabbing her visitors’ suitcases, she wheeled them through the door and into the reception area. ‘I wish you’d let me come and meet you at the airport.’
‘Pssht. And waste all that time and petrol when it was just as easy to hire a car?’ Lenore waved the suggestion away as she looked around the room. ‘This is very convenient, an office in your house. I hope it doesn’t mean you’re still all work and no play.’
The only possible answer was an eye roll. Lenore had been the epitome of a workhorse for her entire career, had barely had a personal life until she’d met Nancy. And that wasn’t until she’d retired. She was hardly in a position to preach.
Hannah led her guests through to the main part of the house, giving them the grand tour before showing them their room and putting on the kettle. They were both tea fiends, and there was no better icebreaker than a well-brewed English breakfast. By the time she’d returned to the living room, Lenore was slumped in a chair, eyes closed.
Nancy checked in with Hannah and gave a small nod. ‘Lenny,’ she chirped, ‘how about having a cat nap? I’m sure Hannah won’t mind. Then you’ll be all refreshed for dinner.’
Lenore slowly opened her eyes, frowning and looking around the room as if trying to ascertain her whereabouts. ‘Yes.’ Her voice husky. ‘I might do that.’ With Nancy’s help, she hoisted herself from the chair and shuffled down the hall to the bedroom.
Water wobbled into the cups as Hannah poured the tea. In a minute or two, Nancy would be back and ‘the talk’ would happen. Shit would get real. Was it better to know the end of your life was on the horizon, so you could prepare and say your goodbyes? Or to have it snatched away from you in a second with no idea what was coming? There’d be no fear that way, no worrying about those you were leaving behind. Either way, they would suffer.
‘So, tea for two.’ Nancy appeared in the doorway, one hand clenched, rubbing her knuckles as if trying to remove a particularly nasty stain. Where Lenore was round and jolly—or at least had been—her wife was slim and serious, friendly but more on the conservative side. She too had lost weight in recent years. Tall and casual in her knee-length shorts and T-shirt, grey bob tucked neatly behind her ears, she was the total opposite of Lenore’s wild-haired, kaftan-wearing bohemian. But the combination worked. Hannah had never seen two people more in love. She placed the steaming mugs down on the table and pulled out a chair, motioning for Nancy to join her.
Now was the time to acknowledge the spectre in the room. Speak the words that had slipped silently between them at the front door. And yet they stuck in Hannah’s throat. She took a sip of tea, swallowed the heat to let it thaw the block of ice lodged in her diaphragm. In the quiet of the country-style kitchen, the wall clock ticked. It was all Hannah could do not to climb up on the bench, grab the thing and smash it to pieces on the parquetry floor. But that wasn’t going to help anyone.
‘How long?’ A two-syllable question she didn’t really want answered.
‘Six months.’ Nancy’s bottom lip trembled. She drew in a mouthful of tea. ‘Possibly a little more.’
The cords of Hannah’s throat drew taut, like the strings of a violin wound too tight, the steel stretching and straining under the pressure. About to snap. ‘And there’s nothing more they can do?’
Nancy drew her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. ‘She’s refused further treatment. As you can see, it played havoc with her health. She wants to go out on her own terms, with dignity, and there were things she wanted to do before …’
There was no need to finish the sentence; they both knew how it ended.
‘One of those things was to see you again. Make sure you were okay.’
‘I could have come to you. Saved her travelling all this way and wearing herself out.’