One More for Christmas(121)

“Mum!” She left Sean to handle the luggage and sprinted across the drive. “I’ve been so worried! How are you feeling? I can’t believe this has happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, what do you have to be sorry for? You’re not the one who broke into my house.”

As always, her mother was brisk and matter-of-fact, treating weakness like an annoying fly to be batted away. She was wearing a long flowing dress in shades of blue and turquoise, with a darker blue wrap around her shoulders. Multiple bangles jangled on her wrists. Her mother’s unconventional, eclectic dress style had caused Liza many embarrassing moments as a child, and even now the cheerful colors of Kathleen’s outfit seemed to jar with the gravity of the situation. She looked ready to step onto a beach in Corfu.

Despite the lack of encouragement, Liza hugged her mother gently, horrified by how fragile she seemed. “You should have had an alarm, or a mobile phone in your pocket.”

Instinctively she checked her mother’s head, but there was nothing to be seen except the bandage and the beginnings of a bruise around her eye socket. Even though she’d tried to enliven her appearance with blusher, her skin was waxy and pale.

“Don’t fuss.” Kathleen eased away from her. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. By the time help arrived it would have been over. As it was, I made a phone call from my landline. The old-fashioned way, but it proved perfectly effective.”

“But what if he’d knocked you unconscious? You wouldn’t have been able to call for help.”

“If I’d been unconscious I wouldn’t have been able to press a button, either. And the police came quickly. A lovely girl, although she didn’t seem much older than the twins, and a kind man. Then an ambulance arrived, and the police took a statement from me. I half expected to be locked up for the night, but nothing so dramatic. Still, it was all rather exciting.”

“Exciting?” The remark was typical of her mother. “You could have been killed. He hit you.”

“No, he didn’t. I hit him—with the skillet I’d used for frying bacon earlier.”

There was an equal mix of pride and satisfaction in her mother’s voice.

“His arm flew up as he fell—reflex, I suppose—and he knocked it back into my head. That part was unfortunate, I admit. But the fortunate part was that the skillet knocked him unconscious. It’s funny when you think that bacon may have saved my life. So no more nagging me about my blood pressure and cholesterol.”

“Mum—”

“If I’d cooked myself pasta I would have been using a different pan...nowhere near heavy enough. If I’d made a ham sandwich I would have had nothing to tackle him with except a crust of bread. So I’ll be filling the fridge with bacon from now on.”

“Bacon can be a lifesaver—I said the same thing myself.” Sean leaned in and kissed his mother-in-law gently on the cheek. “You’re a formidable adversary, Kathleen. Good to see you on your feet.”

Liza felt like the only adult in the group. Was she the only one seeing the seriousness of this situation? It was like dealing with the twins.

“How can you possibly joke about it?”

“I’m deadly serious. It’s good to know that I can now eat bacon with a clear conscience.” Kathleen smiled at her son-in-law. “You really didn’t have to come charging down here on a Friday. I’m perfectly fine. You didn’t bring the girls?”

“They had work to do. Exams coming up. Teenage stress and drama. You know how it is.” Sean hauled their luggage into the house. “Is the kettle on, Kathleen? I could murder a cup of tea.”

Did he really have to use the word “murder”? Liza kept picturing a different outcome. One where her mother was the one lying inert on the kitchen floor. She felt lightheaded and a little dizzy—and she wasn’t the one who had been hit over the head.

Of course she knew that people had their homes broken into. It was a fact. But knowing it was different from experiencing it.

She glanced uneasily toward the back door, now boarded up.

“A kind man from the village came and did it first thing. You look very pale.” Kathleen patted Liza on the shoulder. “You get too stressed about small things. Come in, dear. That drive is murderous...you must be exhausted.”

Murderous. Murder.

“Could everyone stop using that word?” Liza exploded, and her mother raised her eyebrows.

“It’s a figure of speech, nothing more.”

“Well, if we could find a different one I’d appreciate it.” She followed her into the hall. “I feel shaken up, and I wasn’t even here. How are you feeling, Mum? Honestly? An intruder isn’t a small thing.”

“True. He was actually large. And the noise his head made when it hit the kitchen floor—awful. It was the first time I’ve been thankful that your father insisted on those expensive Italian tiles. I’ve broken so many cups and plates on that damned surface. So unforgiving. But in this case the hard surface worked in my favor. It took me an hour to clean up the blood.”

Liza didn’t want to picture it. “You should have left that for me to do.”

“Nonsense. I’ve never been much of a housekeeper, but I can mop up blood. And, anyway, I prefer not to eat my lunch in the middle of a crime scene, thank you.”