The sun was hiding, and the frost had settled in for the duration of the day, though with so much to be done to decorate the marquee, coats and scarves were soon being discarded as folks worked up a sweat. Merriment was distinct in the air, even more so when the church choir, chivied on by Belinda, began singing Christmas carols. The festivity was infectious and soon everyone was joining in while they worked. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly” had never felt more apt.
Simone’s fingers ached from tying decorations onto garlands over the last three days, but it was all worth it to see them strung across the ceiling, punctuated by twelve holly wreath chandeliers running down the center length. They lent a medieval opulence to the tatty marquee; the lush green foliage with splashes of vibrant color from their embellishments made the space feel warm and inviting.
“It’s actually happening.” Vanessa had taken the afternoon off from the solicitors’ to help with the decorations while her rowdy children—she had three boys aged between four and seven—ran up and down the length of the marquee screeching, “bum, willy, pants, poo face, boobies . . .” and a myriad of other words favored by small boys.
“Against all the odds, it is,” Simone agreed.
“I never doubted you.”
“Liar.”
Vanessa chuckled. “For the record, I found it in poor taste to place a bet. No, I always knew you’d be capable of doing it; my concern was that you’d fail simply because you couldn’t work together.”
“To be honest, I thought the same.”
“But things seem to be rather quiet on the home front.”
“That’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.” Simone smiled.
“I’m glad of it. We used to be firm friends, you and I. Perhaps we could be again?”
“I’d like that.”
Two of Vanessa’s boys had begun to sing “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells,” and she hurried off to bribe them to stop.
Simone looked around, feeling a rare calm while all about her was frenetic energy. Star stood on tiptoe on a garden chair, carefully looping the red ribbons of Ryan’s salt dough angels onto hooks, her tongue poking out as she concentrated. Then she turned to look at Maggie, painstakingly fastening crochet Christmas tree bunting around the sides of the marquee. That acerbic twist of animosity that had flooded her system whenever she’d thought of her sisters was gone.
Through years of practice, she had convinced herself that her sisters were deadweight, but being here now, she realized that it was being without them that weighed her down. Watching them, she felt an effusion of warmth and, beneath it, a quiet lament that their dad wasn’t here to see his girls working together. This was a different grief from the one she battled daily. It didn’t bite but rather settled itself in gently for the duration.
Joe set a voluptuous fir tree in a pot at the far end of the marquee, and Vanessa’s children, along with all the other children they had invited to decorate—including Verity—swarmed toward the boxes of donated decorations and began to festoon the tree with glittery baubles. With the small humans thus occupied, chairs and tables were ferried across from the village hall and set up in two long rows ready for bird feeder making tomorrow and the banquet beyond.
Maggie sidled up beside Simone. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.” To her horror, her voice gave a wobble. She cleared her throat. “Very Christmassy.”
“Now it’s all here, I’m actually quite excited.”
Star skipped over to them, which would look bizarre on any other grown woman, but on her seemed a completely reasonable way to travel.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” she gushed. “It’s making me so happy! Look at it—did you ever see anything more festive in your life? Imagine how it will look when all the tables are dressed.” And then quite unexpectedly, she threw her arms around Simone’s neck and kissed her. “I’m so happy we’re friends again.”
At once Simone was overcome and overwhelmed. Her joy was a Catherine-wheel firework spinning out love hearts.
“Me too,” she croaked.
“Are you crying?” Maggie asked incredulously.
“No!” she sobbed.
“Oh, come here, Simona-Mona.” Maggie laughed, muscling in on Star’s hug so that they were a messy tangle of sisters, and kissed them both.
“You’re not going to believe this!” Gerry Myers called in through the tent flaps. “It’s only bloody snowing!”
As everyone rushed outside to watch the snow, Artemis hopped from a table onto Doreen’s shoulder and mewed in her ear. “Well, quite,” said Doreen. “When the North sisters come together, there’s bound to be magic.”
36
It was Tuesday morning. With the schools out, sign-ups for making edible decorations for the local wildlife were high. The North sisters were grabbing a quick coffee at Betty’s before the hordes began to arrive at the marquee. Artemis was sitting under the table on top of Maggie’s feet. Two ordinarily yappy Jack Russells belonging to the local counselor sat beneath the next table, chins on the floor, eyes doleful as they watched her.
A stiff breeze was picking up, and the fairy lights outside Betty’s café were clinking against the windowpanes. Yesterday’s flurry of snow had been short-lived, but the temperature had dropped further still, painting the village chalky white with its bitter breath.
Maggie peered out toward her shop through a hole in the condensation. The green matting that covered the display shelves outside was flapping in the wind, but she figured the wooden crates of fruit and veg were sufficiently heavy to hold it.
Verity was sitting in the reading corner of the café, her head bowed over a copy of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King. She’d woken up early and so had accompanied Maggie on her morning deliveries before they met the bleary-eyed aunts for coffee. It never ceased to amaze Maggie how she would have to practically drag her daughter out of bed each morning at half past seven on a school day, but she would be up with the birds on holidays.
“Verity asked me this morning if Joe could be her dad.” Maggie’s lips flattened into a thin line. Her daughter’s request had crushed her heart like a beer can. Verity had never made the slightest intimation that she wanted a dad. How long had she been secretly wishing for one?
“Whoa,” said Simone. “That’s heavy.”
“I think it’s lovely,” Star gushed.
“She’s putting it on her Christmas list.”
“At least you know you’ve got her blessing on your relationship,” Simone reasoned.
“It’s so much more complicated with kids. If it was only my heart I had to take into consideration it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“It sounds to me like Verity’s already given her heart away if she wants Joe to be her dad. It’s sweet. Did you tell Joe?”
“He was there.” Maggie covered her face with her hands. She’d watched him swallow down his emotions, knew he had wanted to swing Verity up into the air and then take them both in his arms and call them his family. He’d looked at her for permission but she’d stood frozen, the cruel gatekeeper to their joint happiness. It was one thing to tell Patrick there was something going on but another to raise the hopes of a child.