Page 64 of The Day After Christmas
‘Planning committee, assemble,’ said James, raising a chopstick like an imaginary sword and pointing it above his head.
‘Assemble,’ said Felicity, joining hers to his over their heads. They glanced at Tristan and Harry, who then felt compelled to join in.
‘Assemble,’ roared Harry, who seemed to be quite excited even though he kept reminding them that he’d just said he’d think about it.
‘Whatever,’ said Tristan, holding his chopstick at half-mast.
‘You love it,’ Felicity said, laughing.
‘He does,’ said Harry, leaning forwards. ‘Your brother used to practise being the Marvel characters in the shower. Very loudly, if I recall.’
Tristan made a noise somewhere between a guffaw and a scream. ‘Nonsense. For God’s sake, Dad, that cannot possibly be true.’
‘It is, I’m afraid.’
Tristan crossed his arms. ‘And here I thought you were a good one.’
‘Good ones tell the truth.’
‘Details, details,’ said Tristan, but his arms remained crossed.
Listening to them talk, Felicity felt a pang of jealousy. The easy way they interacted was something she didn’t know if she would ever have. That knowledge, that intimacy. That is what families are, mostly, when it comes down to it. Those shared expressions, the shared history, the experiences you have together during childhood that form and shape you, and not only you but also those around you. It was all permanently out of her reach now. She could never go back and reshape those years. She didn’t even know her father was a bestselling author. She didn’t know he had a garage full of unsold books. She had so much to catch up on, so much she had missed, it was almost an insurmountable task. And it was all his fault.
A memory stung her eyes. Thirteen-year-old Tristan, packing a little suitcase, two bright-red spots on his cheeks clashing with his ginger hair, his jaw set in a tight line. Right when Jocelyn, their mother, had hit rock bottom, drinking all day every day and barely even acknowledging the children anymore, right when Felicity needed him most, Tristan had chosen to leave them both behind, and track down Harry. Felicity wondered now if he thought he was being brave. Perhaps he was channelling his inner Iron Man or the Hulk. Embarking on an adventure halfway across the country and seemingly oblivious to the devastation he was leaving behind him. Or, she thought a little bitterly, perhaps that’s precisely why he left.
CHAPTER 31
Even later still, as they all sat back with full bellies, minds racing from the revelations, all three men contemplating each other from across the room, she just came out with it.
‘I went to Guernsey,’ said Felicity, casually.
Tristan and Harry looked at each other, mouths open.
‘When?’ said Tristan.
‘How?’ said Harry.
‘A year ago. By plane. And then again about a week ago, with James,’ said Felicity, heat rushing to her face at the memory of their rather lovely trip. ‘But I suspect you really meant to ask me why.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Why?’ said Harry, studying her face closely.
‘It was quite spontaneous really. I’m not sure why I went. I wanted to…see something, I suppose. I mean, I knew I wanted to see The House again and well, maybe try and find some answers.’
‘And did you?’ said Tristan, sitting forwards on the sofa.
‘How was she?’ said Harry. He meant The House.
‘I sort of did,’ said Felicity. ‘She was in a poorly state, I’m afraid. She’s empty. She’s been empty since we left. It’s up for sale now. So sad.’
‘Le Manoir?’ said Tristan, catching on a bit late.
‘Yes.’
‘Woah. I haven’t thought about that place in a long time.’
‘I’ve always wanted to go back,’ said Harry thoughtfully.
‘We found a donkey in it,’ said James, out of the blue.
