One More for Christmas(119)

She tiptoed cautiously into territory she’d never entered before. In the early days of their marriage they’d shared the load, but as his success had grown Sean had focused more and more on work.

“That’s because you take everything so seriously. You worry too much about every small detail. About the twins. About your mother. You need to chill a little.”

He smiled to soften his words, but they’d already slid under her skin like a blade, creating a wound that throbbed. She’d used to love the fact that he was so calm, but now it felt like a criticism of her coping skills.

“You’re saying I need to ‘chill’ about the fact my eighty-year-old mother has just been assaulted in her own home?”

“You’re taking what I said the wrong way. Obviously that’s worrying news, but I was talking generally. You worry about things that haven’t happened and you try and control every little thing. Most things turn out fine if you just leave them alone.”

“They turn out fine because I anticipate problems before they happen.”

And anticipating things was exhausting—like trying to stay afloat when someone had tied weights to her legs.

For a wild moment she wondered what it would be like to be single. To have no one to worry about but herself.

No responsibility. Free time.

She yanked herself back from that thought.

Sean leaned his head back against the seat. “Let’s leave this discussion until we’re back home. Here we are, spending the weekend together in the countryside. Let’s enjoy it.”

His ability to focus on the moment was a strength, but also a flaw that sometimes grated on her. He could live in the moment because she took care of all the other stuff.

“It’s going to be fine, Liza.”

He reached across to squeeze her leg and she thought about a time twenty years ago, when they’d had sex in the car, parking in a quiet country lane and steaming up the windows until neither of them had been able to see through the glass.

What had happened to that part of their lives? What had happened to spontaneity? To joy?

It seemed so long ago she could barely remember it.

These days her life was driven by worry and duty. Duty to her students, duty to her husband, duty to her children, to her mother...

She was being slowly crushed by the ever-increasing weight of responsibility.

“When did we last go away together?” she asked.

“We’re going away now.”

“This isn’t a mini-break, Sean. My mother needed stitches in her head. She has a mild concussion.”

She crawled through the heavy London traffic, her head throbbing at the thought of the drive ahead. Friday afternoon was the worst possible time to leave, but they’d had no choice.

When the twins were young they’d traveled at night, dressing them in pajamas and letting them sleep the whole way. They’d arrive at Oakwood Cottage in the early hours of the morning and Sean would carry both children inside and deposit them into the twin beds in the attic room, tucking them under the quilts her mother had brought back from one of her many foreign trips.

“I really don’t want to do it, but I think it’s time to sell Oakwood Cottage. If she’s going into residential care, we can’t possibly afford to keep it.”

Something tore inside her. Someone else would play hide-and-seek in the overgrown gardens, scramble into the dusty attic and explore the contents of the endless bookshelves. Someone else would sleep in her old bedroom, with its endless views across fields to the sea.

The fact that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a relaxing weekend in Cornwall didn’t lessen the feelings of loss. If anything it intensified those feelings, because she was now wishing she’d taken greater advantage of the cottage. She’d assumed it would always be there...

Ever since her father had died, visits to Oakwood Cottage had been associated with chores. Clearing the garden. Filling the freezer. Checking that her mother was coping with a house that was far too big for one person, especially when that person was advanced in years and had no interest in home maintenance.

“Honestly? I can’t see your mother selling it,” Sean said, “and I think it’s important not to overreact. This accident wasn’t of her own making. She was managing perfectly well before this.”

“Was she, though? I don’t think she eats properly. Supper is a bowl of cereal. And bacon. She eats too much bacon.”

“Is there such a thing as too much bacon?” Sean caught her eye and gave a sheepish smile. “Just kidding. You’re right. Bacon is bad. Although at your mother’s age one has to wonder if it really matters.”

“If she gives up bacon maybe she’ll live to be ninety.”

“But would she enjoy those miserable, bacon-free extra years?”

“Can you be serious?”

“I am serious. It’s about quality of life, not just quantity. You try and keep every bad thing at bay, but doing that also keeps out the good stuff. Maybe she could stay in the house and we could find some local carers to look in on her.”

“She’s terrible at taking help from anyone.”

Liza hit the brakes as the car in front of her stopped, the seat belt locking hard against her body. Her eyes pricked with tiredness and her head pounded. She hadn’t slept well the night before, worrying about Caitlin and her friendship issues.