The Girl Who Cried Wolf(46)

So the wig had stayed put, and now my scar was swollen and sore. I carefully replaced the dressing and painfully squeezed the net on top of it before gently smoothing down my crowning glory. I know I look so much better, and it would be worth it. I still make a promise to myself that as soon as I get back to Elm Tree I will give my scar a break from the heat and confinement of my fake tresses.

I jump as the door knocks and quickly pull on my robe as Michael enters, carrying a tray. He looks pleased that I am up and I smell freshly ground coffee and warm cookies. ‘Did Caroline make those?’ I ask, remembering my resolution and biting into one.

‘Actually, my father did. He does most of the cooking. Hates English food, the one thing he tries to hold on to is his American cuisine. I think he missed the states more than he tells us. You look beautiful. Have you been awake for long?’

‘Just a few minutes or so.’ I smile sweetly, despite having just spent forty-five minutes reincarnating myself.

I drink the strong, milky coffee but only manage half a cookie.

‘Eat the other half,’ Michael tells me in fake annoyance.

‘I can’t.’ I flutter my eyelashes, enjoying his attention to my well-being.

‘Eat the other half or I’ll be forced to have my wicked way with you.’

I laugh delightedly as I drop the unwanted remains into my coffee cup and Michael delivers on his welcomed threat.

***

Still laughing I dress in my favourite jeans and a light grey cashmere jumper while Michael remakes the bed and dusts cookie crumbs from the covers.

‘We’ll have dinner soon; it’s a family tradition to all have dinner together on New Year’s Eve. I’m so glad you’re here.’ He pulls me closer for a final kiss before we run downstairs, and despite my repressed appetite, my mouth waters at the delicious aromas as we head into the kitchen.

‘There you are!’ Caroline beckons me over and asks me to open a couple of bottles of wine. There is no time to feel shy or awkward with Caroline and Michael Senior – they have a busy energy that keeps you moving and carries you along with them.

Michael’s father sees me struggling with the fancy corkscrew and takes it from me, asking me to fetch some glasses from the cabinet and set them on the table instead. I am happy to do so, and wonder fleetingly why I found it so hard to help my mother lay the table at Elm Tree this Christmas. I pause for a second and remember how flustered she had seemed when she asked me to find the placemats and cutlery and how angrily I had shouted at her, ‘Lay the table?! How absolutely charming of you to give your daughter chores when she has just had a tumour removed. From her brain,’ I had added for good measure, pulling my wig off. Izzy had grabbed the place settings herself and told me to stop shouting and I huffed crossly in front of the fire complaining why dinner was taking so long.

‘Are you OK, Anna?’ Michael looks at me with worried eyes.

‘Yes… I’m fine.’ I smile at him and jolt back into action, but not before I recollect how jumpy my mother had been as Father and I critiqued her burned parsnips. I prayed silently that I was not like him.

I have to push these thoughts to the back of my head as a fresh wave of guilt washes over me, and I wonder how I could have been so mean when she was clearly already suffering.

There is no critical judgement at Sunrise Ranch; everyone laughs and talks animatedly while we eat heartily. We had roast turkey and buttermilk biscuits with rich sausage gravy. Some of the food I had never tried before, and it was all quite heavy but I embraced my new resolve to gain weight and ate as much as I could, much to everyone’s delight.

Michael Senior particularly approved. ‘Jolly good, Anna. You’ve tried everything. We’ll make a smashing cowgirl of you yet!’ He says this with a British accent, making us all laugh once more.

I sigh happily and take a little sip of wine as my eyes fall upon a photograph of a young boy with very dark features resembling Michael’s father. ‘Is that Benji?’ I ask, and before my words are spoken I wish I had said nothing, I did not want to be the cause of a downward mood when we were having such a lovely time.

Only Michael’s face darkens as Caroline says, ‘Yes, Anna. That’s Benji. I never got to meet him but we like to talk about him and try to keep his memory alive.’ She looks pointedly at Michael, who scrapes back his chair and says he needs some fresh air. I stand up to follow him but his father takes my hand and motions me to sit back down.

‘I am so sorry,’ I cry. ‘I would never want to hurt Michael or upset him. I just saw the picture and he looks so much like you.’ I look over to his kind eyes and he tells me not to be upset.

‘Michael never got over the death of his little brother. They were very close and he rarely talks about him now, although we wish that he would. What happened was an accident, even I see that now.’

‘Did you once blame Michael?’

‘No,’ he says gently. ‘Although I did blame his mother for a while, and I shouldn’t have done that. Ben had autism, you see, he lived in a world of his own and we had to watch him very carefully. He was obsessed with water and there was a river flowing through our old ranch in Colorado. It was magnificent and very still on the surface, but strong currents ran underneath.’ He pauses for a second and Caroline places her hand over his. ‘Renée wasn’t watching him, he had run ahead on their walk, and by the time she reached him he had leaned over the bridge to far and fallen in. Renée couldn’t swim and the currents carried him down to the shallow pools before Michael could reach him.’