Page 99 of All We Want for Christmas
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, desperate for Imogen to leave but not wanting to seem rude.
‘Not champagne,’ she said drily. ‘I’m driving, but I could do with something cold before I go home.’
‘I have Coke.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get it, shall I?’
‘No, I can grab a can from the fridge.’ He eased himselfup and went into the kitchen. While he was getting it, Imogen’s voice came from the doorway. ‘I don’t want to cause any trouble and ruin your evening.’
He turned round, can in hand. ‘I was only expecting an Uber from the Greek taverna up the road.’
‘A Greek taverna?’’ She nodded at the laid table. ‘That sounds fancy. We may hardly know each other, but I guess you’re not into flower arranging as a rule?’
‘No … it was all I could manage to find from the grounds near the cottage.’
She smiled. ‘I suppose this is almost funny.’
Flynn tipped the Coke into a glass and handed it over. His leg was already aching again.
Imogen perched on his sofa. ‘I suppose I could call Molly and say I’m not staying, but I think it would be better to talk to her face to face. I presume she’s at home. She’d fed me some story about meeting me here after work at the café.’
‘She clearly had it all worked out,’ Flynn said, easing himself back into a chair and trying not to glance at his mobile.
Imogen sipped the Coke and briefly seemed at a loss for words, then sighed and picked up the carrier bag.
‘Actually, the main reason I agreed to come, as well as keeping Molly company, was to bring you this.’ She handed over the bag. ‘It’s a photo album. Old school. It’s mostly Molly growing up, but I’ve added something.’
Almost too scared to look, Flynn opened the first page. There was a very young Imogen with Molly in her arms, blue eyes peeping out of a pink blanket; Molly in a paddlingpool and on a beach with a bucket and spade; Molly in her school unform, clutching her mum’s hand tightly.
‘Her first day at school,’ Imogen said.
‘She looks so – serious.’
‘She was scared but excited too. She’s always liked school.’
‘I didn’t,’ Flynn said. ‘Unless I was in the workshop, then I loved it.’
The photos went on, with Molly at a nativity play dressed as an angel; singing in a school choir; Molly in a workshop with safety goggles.
‘She’s good with her hands and at science. She was studying Biology and Psychology A levels until Esme came along.’
‘She told me …’ Flynn said.
The last page showed Molly in hospital, tired but beaming, with a very similar picture of her holding Esme in her arms. Imogen and Brenda were at her side, bursting with an unalloyed pride that had once been a mystery to Flynn – but wasn’t now.
‘The midwife took that,’ Imogen said. ‘Molly’s useless ex declined to be present at the birth.’
Flynn murmured something unintelligible because he was seeing his child’s life unfurl before him. A life he had missed, so many moments when he hadn’t been there, hadn’t even been aware were happening.
‘I – I almost didn’t bring these photos. Have I made a huge mistake? Are you angry?’ Imogen said. ‘I guess I would be, but it’s too late now, so I thought that this ought to be the start of you catching up. I can’t turn back the clockbut I can involve you from now on. Not that it’s my decision any more. Molly is an adult – and I should behave like one too. If you’ll let me, you can see all the videos, all the photos, and ask anything you want to.’
Flynn nodded. He couldn’t articulate an honest answer: that every new experience such as this would bring a fresh wave of emotions to deal with. Yet one thing he did know was that there was no point in raging and wallowing in bitterness, even if those feelings would have been natural. Perhaps he needed to allow some time – in private – to feel them, but not in this moment. Not now. When he was with Molly and Esme, he had to make the most of every second.
Finally, he came to a photo stuck to the rear inside cover of the album; it showed a skinny young man with his dark hair touching his shoulders, his arm around a girl in shorts and a vest. They were sitting by the lake, bottles of cider raised high.
He rested his fingers on the photo, somehow finding his voice. ‘I don’t remember anyone taking that.’
‘My friend took it earlier in the evening. I added it to the album because that’s the moment Molly came into being. Now I want you and everyone to know that you’re part of the story. I will never be able to make it up to you for writing you out and all the years you’ve lost, but I promise you that I came here determined to say that tonight … will be a fresh start. A turning point in all our lives.’
