One More for Christmas(123)

“The garden is looking pretty.”

The kitchen’s French doors opened onto the patio, where the borders were filled with tumbling flowers. Pots filled with herbs crowded around the back door. Rosemary, with its scented spikes. Variegated sage, which her mother sprinkled over roast pork every Sunday—the only meat she ever produced with enthusiasm. The flagstone path was dappled by sunlight and led to the well-stocked vegetable patch, and beyond that a pond guarded by bulrushes. Beyond the garden were fields, and then the sea.

It was so tranquil and peaceful that for a moment Liza longed for a different life—one that didn’t involve rushing around, ticking off items from her endless to-do list.

Her quiet fantasy of one day living in the country was something she’d shared with no one, not even Sean. Probably because she recognized it as a fantasy rather than a reality. Living in the country wasn’t practical. For a start, Sean’s work was based in London. So was hers. Although teaching was more flexible, of course.

Sean brought the food in from the car and Liza unpacked it into the fridge.

“I had a casserole in the freezer, so I brought that,” she said. “And some veg.”

“I’m perfectly capable of making food,” said her mother.

“Your idea of food is bacon and cereal. You’re not eating properly.” She filled a bowl with fresh fruit and shot her mother a look. “I assumed you weren’t set up for an invasion of people.”

“Can two people be an invasion?” Her mother’s tone was light, but she gripped the edge of the kitchen table and carefully lowered herself into a chair.

Liza was by her side in a moment. “Maybe I should take a look at your head.”

“No one else is touching my head, thank you. It already hurts quite enough. Five stitches. The young doctor who stitched me up warned me that it would leave a scar, and apologized. As if I’m bothered by things like that at my age.”

Age.

Was this the moment to mention that it was time to consider a change?

Across the kitchen, Sean was pouring the tea.

Liza paused, nervous about disturbing the atmosphere. She should probably wait until her brother arrived. They could do it together.

“You must have been very frightened,” she said.

“I was more worried about Popeye. You know how he dislikes strangers. He must have escaped through the broken window and I haven’t seen him since.”

“He’s always been a bit of a wanderer.”

“Yes. That’s probably why we get on so well. We understand each other.”

Her mother looked wistful and Liza patted her hand. “If he’s not back by the morning Matt will search for him. And now I think you should have a lie-down.”

“At four in the afternoon? I’m not an invalid, Liza.” Kathleen took the tea from Sean with a grateful nod. “Did you just mention Matt?”

“Yes. He’s coming tomorrow. On his own, because Gillian is away this weekend on a hen do.”

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a family gathering.” Kathleen put sugar in her tea—another unhealthy habit she refused to abandon. “I don’t want a fuss. And I don’t think I’m quite up to entertaining this weekend.”

“We’re not expecting you to entertain us. We’re here to look after you, and to—” To make you see sense. Liza stopped, reluctant to have a difficult conversation so soon into the visit. She needed to ease into it—maybe after pointing out how much needed to be done in the house.

“And what? Persuade me to wear an emergency buzzer? I’m not doing it, Liza.”

“Mum—” She caught Sean’s warning glance, but ignored it. Maybe the subject was best raised right now, so that they had the whole weekend to discuss details. “This has been a shock for all of us, and it’s time to face some difficult truths. Things need to change.”

Sean rolled his eyes and turned away with a shake of his head, but her mother was nodding.

“I couldn’t agree more. Things do have to change. Being hit over the head has brought me to my senses.”

Liza felt a rush of relief. Everything was going to be fine. Her mother was going to be reasonable. Sean had been wrong to roll his eyes at her. And she wasn’t the only sensible person in the room.

“I’m pleased you feel that way,” she said. “I was worried you wouldn’t. I have lots of brochures in the car, so all we have to do now is plan. And that can wait. We have all weekend.”

“Brochures? You mean travel brochures?”

“For residential homes. We can—”

“Why would you bring those?”

“Because you can’t stay here any longer, Mum. You’ve just admitted things have to change.”

“They do. And I’m in the process of formulating a plan which I will certainly share with you when I’m sure of the details. But I won’t be going into a residential home. That isn’t what I want.”

Was her mother saying she wanted to come and live with them in London?

Liza swallowed and forced herself to ask the question. “What is it that you want?”

“Adventure.” Kathleen slapped her hand on the table. “I want another adventure. It’s summer, and you know how much I love summer. I intend to make the most of it.”