By the following evening, Freya breathed a sigh of relief that her working day had been relatively drama free compared to the previous one. Her encounters with Travis had been more than enough to set her mind racing like a Formula One car and dominate her thoughts late into the night.
She and Mimi were able to catch up with admin and ensure they had enough staff in place for the changeovers. When they’d first started Cottage Angels, most people had arrived and left on Saturdays, but there was a growing trend for year-round short breaks which meant cleaners were required for almost every day of the week.
Good ones were like gold dust, so Freya had interviewed two more and taken them on, ready for the busy festive period. Their team of freelancers was growing, to go along with their PA, Hamish, and their valuable list of local tradespeople who were ready to respond to any urgent jobs at a moment’s notice.
Hamish was on emergency call that evening, just in case of disaster, so Freya locked up the office and headed round to her mum’s before anticipating a quiet night in front of her log burner at her own cottage down by the lake. As she drove to her mother’s through the heart of the village, the Christmas lights, as yet unlit, swung in the wind. They were due to be switched on at the weekend as part of the Christmas Fair.
She couldn’t wait; it was a gloomy time of year when dark fell by mid-afternoon and the lights would cheer everyone up and herald the start of Christmas and a flood of visitors. She didn’t mind the bustle and long hours that came with the holiday season; keeping busy kept her mind off more gloomy thoughts, about past losses and regrets.
She wondered if her mother had heard that Travis was back yet. News travelled at warp speed in the small community. She’d know soon enough: she was already parking outside her mum’s bungalow in a cul-de-sac near the rugby club.
Her mum opened the door, very red in the face with flour in her normally perfect blow-dry.
‘Quick. Come in, love. Can you shut the door behind you? I’ve got to get these mince pies out of the oven before they burn. Oh, and mind the boxes in the hall! I’ve had another delivery!’
Negotiating an array of packages and cartons, Freya made it into the kitchen where her mother was extracting several trays from the oven and cursing. The room felt roasting after the crisp night air, though the aromas of baking were wonderful.
Cooling racks and plates littered every surface. ‘Blimey, Mum. Are you setting up in business? There must be a hundred pies here.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ her mother said, closing the oven door with a deep sigh. ‘I foolishly agreed to help with the WI stall at the Christmas Fair. We’re doing mince pies and mulled wine, and a raffle. We need four hundred in total. These are going in the freezer.’
Freya reached out to the nearest rack. ‘They won’t miss one will, they?’
Her mother rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose not.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘No, I’ll do that. Looks like you need the rest.’
A short time later, the two of them were sitting in the lounge with coffee. Freya tucked in to her pie but her mum declared herself ‘sick of the sight and smell of them’ and had opted for a glass of Baileys instead.
She plonked her feet on a stool. ‘Thank God, those are out of the way. I will never agree to help again. I never was a domestic goddess.’
‘Frankly, I’m amazed you made any at all, but they are really good, Mum.’
‘Hmm. I watched a ton of online videos first but I was on the verge of ordering the lot from the village bakery. I’d probably have been drummed out of the WI if I had.’
Freya laughed and wasn’t surprised her mother had used video tutorials. She had an Instagram account called @Glamoversixty with tens of thousands of followers. ‘They’re great. What are all the boxes?’
‘I’m not sure because I haven’t opened them all yet. I’m expecting some makeup and a fancy facial steamer and some hair straighteners. Some of it could be Christmas stuff but most are for the spring. I can’t possibly use or review all of it so I’m going to donate some of it to the tombola at the fair.’
‘Are the slippers new?’ she said, admiring her mum’s sheepskin mules.
Her mother waggled her feet. ‘Yes, they’re from a Lakes company. Lovely, aren’t they? Kate Winslet was seen in a very similar pair in a gossip mag last month.’
‘Very nice. Will you review them?’
‘Already made a reel about them. I wore them to my Pilates class. They’re not just for lounging by the fireside, you know. Shall we open some boxes? You can film me, if you don’t mind. I’d better get this flour out of my hair first.’
For the next half hour, Freya filmed her mum ‘unboxing’ some of the haul of free stuff sent to her by companies hoping to have their products featured on her Instagram. Most of it was unsolicited, some of it useful and beautiful – some of it bizarre, like the nose hair clippers that emerged from an oversized carton.
‘I’ll see if Neil fancies a go with those,’ her mum said. ‘Now, this looks interesting …’ she said, removing a black oblong box from inside its cardboard outer. ‘What’s in here?’
‘Chocolates? A silk dressing gown?’ Freya mouthed silently, aware she was still filming.
Her mother put the box on the coffee table, beamed at the camera and rubbed her hands together dramatically. ‘Oooo! This package looks intriguing. I’m really quite excited. Could it be the new ceramic hair straighteners I’m hoping to try out? Let’s see … oh, there’s lovely gold tissue paper around them … I can’t wait …’ Her mum pulled the item from the tissue and her jaw dropped.
‘Oh my God, Mum! That’s not—’ Freya cut herself off, realising her shriek of horror was on film.
‘I think it might be,’ her mother said, holding what appeared to be a gold-plated sex toy by one of its ‘ears’. ‘Well I shan’t be donating that to the WI tombola!’ she declared, her face scarlet. ‘Quick, delete that video. What do they think I’ll be doing with it? Filming myself and broadcasting it to the world?’
After the initial shock of opening the sex toy, Freya and her mum dissolved into giggles. Sandra buried it beneath its layers of tissue and marked the box with a silver pen: NOT for tombola!!!
Freya had to admit there was not a dull moment with her mother these days. None of her friends had mums who were ‘social media influencers’ and even Roxanne had declared it as ‘cool’. It certainly had given her mum a new lease of life since she’d sold the boutique she used to own in the village.
In addition to the freebies, she was often invited to product launches and influencer events while the revenue from her Instagram activities was a welcome addition to her Pilates teaching. Freya was quietly proud of her and very grateful that her mum had helped her set up and curate the Cottage Angels Instagram feed, even if Travis had made a slightly sarcastic remark about the towel art. She felt irritated with him again, and at herself for finding his blue eyes mesmerising for even a nanosecond.
‘Right,’ she said, mentally sweeping Travis to one side. ‘Shall I tell you the latest drama about Roxanne and the flowers?’
For a while they chatted about the wedding, and the upcoming rehearsal. The groom, Ravi, was a doctor, as were the best man and numerous guests, so a Thursday was the only day they’d all been able to take as holiday together.
‘Must have saved them a fortune at the Langdale Manor, not choosing a Saturday,’ Freya’s mum pointed out.
‘Quite a lot. Roxanne’s parents were thrilled when they chose midweek,’ Freya said, amused at her mum’s shrewdness.
She realised that fifteen minutes had gone by and her mum still hadn’t alluded to Travis. She guessed she was safe – for now – and moved onto the topic of Christmas Day, one that she and her mum had always looked forward to and spent together, even if they were invited to friends’. Without her dad around, the day was special and symbolic of the bond between mum and daughter.
‘I was wondering if you wanted to get something different for Christmas dinner? One of the hamper suppliers said he can get me some lovely duck breasts.’
‘Christmas dinner?’ her mother echoed as if she’d never heard of such a thing.
‘Yes,’ Freya said, wondering if her mum had been listening. ‘I thought we could make a special day of it. Just the two of us – or three if Neil wants to come. I wasn’t sure if he’d be spending it with his own family.’
‘That’s a lovely thought, Freya, and it would have been great but I’m afraid I’m going to be away at Christmas too.’ Her mother tittered, causing Freya’s alarm bells to ring. ‘In fact, I’m going to be at sea too.’
‘At sea?’ Now it was Freya’s turn to echo her mum’s words.
‘Yes, Neil has asked me to go on a cruise with him to the Caribbean and the States. His sister is a travel agent and she’s done us a fantastic deal and it’s visiting so many places that are on my bucket list … Miami, Grand Cayman and Mexico … then we fly to the West Coast for a tour of LA, the California desert, and the Grand Canyon. It might be my only chance and I can get loads of photos for my Instagram.’
‘It … certainly sounds incredible.’ Freya was still taking in the news her mother was jetting – and sailing – off with Neil for Christmas. Her mother sounded wildly excited and Freya didn’t blame her with that list of exotic and glamorous destinations.
‘I thought you’d be OK with it? You’ve lots of friends you’ll want to spend time with and it is just this once …’ Her mum’s face fell.
Freya opened her mouth to reassure her but her mum was in full flight.
‘I mean if you feel completely at a loss, I could always see if there’s a single cabin available so you could join us,’ she went on.
‘No!’ Freya blurted out more loudly than she’d thought, horrified at the prospect of playing gooseberry to her mother and Neil. ‘Thanks for the offer, but you go and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be fine.’
Sandra’s shoulders sank in relief. ‘Oh, that’s a relief. I expect Mimi will have you. I can ask her mum for you if you like,’ she suggested, as if she was planning a play date for Freya.
‘No! Mum, please don’t do that. If Mimi invites me that’s fine, but she has her own brood to look after. You know there’s masses of them.’
‘Well, I don’t want you to be on your own. I know Roxanne will be on her honeymoon so you can’t go round to her place. I’m afraid it means I’ll miss the wedding too.’
It was too late to worry about any of that, Freya thought, slightly more hurt than she would dream of letting on. However, her mother had been alone for a long time and had been much been happier since Neil had come onto the scene. ‘I just didn’t realise it was that – so serious – between you and Neil.’
Neil was an inoffensive man, though rather prone to wanting to report people for parking outside his house and other minor infringements of village ‘regulations’. He was a kind man, had his own house and a friendly if slobbery Labrador called Benson.
A knowing smile touched her mother’s lips. ‘I know what you’re thinking but don’t worry. Neil could never replace your dad but he’s very thoughtful, he’s good company and we enjoy the same things. His foxtrot is wonderful too – I’ve learned so much from him. I think it’s time for me to show some commitment, don’t you think?’
‘“Show some commitment”?’ Freya was struck mute.
‘Sorry, darling, that sounded tactless and I didn’t mean it to. I wasn’t referring to you and – well, anyone at all. I meant me.’
‘I know what you meant,’ Freya managed.
‘Phew. Thank goodness for that. You see, now Neil’s asked me to go with him, it feels like crunch time. This holiday will give us the opportunity to spend so much more time together.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘And it will be so lovely to enjoy some sunshine at this gloomy time of year. There’ll be lots of dancing too. It’s one of my biggest regrets: that I didn’t dance more with your father, though he was a New Romantic to be honest, more into Duran Duran and Orange Juice than ballroom. Did I tell you about the time I went backstage with Tony Hadley?’
‘You did, Mum.’ Many times, thought Freya, forestalling yet another re-run of the night her mother had been invited into the Spandau Ballet dressing room – fortunately for nothing more than a glass of fizzy cider and an autograph. ‘It all sounds wonderful. You go and have a fabulous time.’ Freya didn’t dare ask if they’d booked a double cabin … She shuddered. Of course, they would have.
‘I hope so and …’ Her mother wavered, a wary expression spreading over her face. ‘Your dad’s been gone a long time now. I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted me to mope about, being miserable, would he?’
‘It’s been thirty years,’ Freya said softly. Most of her life …
Freya harboured a terrible secret: part of her was relieved that she didn’t remember her father, because it had saved her from the personal pain of loss and grief. Yet she did remember the sympathy – the pity – that had followed her around when she was a little older.
She remembered distant relatives, old schoolfriends and work colleagues of her mother – even the hairdresser and local newsagent – smiling at her, sometimes pressing free sweets and pound coins on her if she were a beggar. They would talk over her head to her mum, their voices hushed and reverent. They meant well: Freya was glad they were kind to her mother but even at five, she knew what pity sounded like. At that age, everyone had had a dad. She didn’t want to be special.
How must her mother have felt, bearing her own loss and knowing her daughter would never know her father? Was it selfish of Freya to be secretly, silently relieved?
As for now, Freya had her whole life ahead of her, if the fates allowed, and many Christmases to spend how she wanted to. Would it be so awful for her mother to dance the night away on a sunshine cruise?
She smiled broadly. ‘You go and have a lovely time. I’ll be fine.’
‘Thank you, love. I knew you’d understand. Now, I’d like your opinion on some bikinis I’ve ordered. I had to get them online at this time of year but you know …’
Her mother had been friends with Neil, who she’d met at her ballroom dance class, for the past few months, but Freya must have missed what was under her nose: that friendship had grown into affection – and maybe more.
Would it be so awful to spend Christmas on her own, lying on the sofa eating her own weight in chocs, drinking Baileys and watching Netflix shows that her mother would never enjoy?
‘Now, look, what do you think of these bikinis?. You don’t think I’m too old for them, do you?’ her mother said, cutting into her thoughts and holding up two flowery bottoms and tops.
‘No, you have a great figure. You’re fully entitled to rock a bikini.’
‘I shan’t appear in them on my feed, though. Not without a cover-up. Remember when Penny and Graham decided to do that naked shot in the hot tub?’
‘Oh, God, how could I forget,’ Freya declared, remembering the photo of two of her mum’s influencer friends who’d been given a freebie by a spa company.
‘I could have told them those bubbles wouldn’t cover all their bits. You could tell they were starkers! I’m surprised they weren’t banned! It broke the internet!’ Sandra said with a giggle.
Freya thought it might break her phone screen if she had to witness such a scene featuring Neil and her mother.
Sandra delved into a box and unearthed more resort wear. ‘I’ve ordered some matching sarongs and a kaftan too – and the company sent me this free nighty. To be honest,’ her mum said, wrinkling her nose, ‘the nighty isn’t really me. Do you want to come up and take a look?’
‘Yes. Sounds exciting …’
A while later, having admired a succession of items of flowery, floaty items of ‘cruisewear’, and having actually rather liked the ‘nighty’ – a silk slip from a designer brand – Freya declined another coffee.
‘Thanks, but I’d better have an early night. I’m on call tomorrow so it’s a long day, then there’s a traders’ association breakfast meeting the morning after. It’s to finalise all the details for the Christmas Fair because Cottage Angels are sponsoring both events.’ There was Roxanne’s wedding rehearsal too, Freya might have added.
Her mother looked suitably impressed. ‘You’ve done very well for yourself,’ she said, inducing a glow of pride in Freya. ‘After all that hard work, you wouldn’t throw it all away, would you?’
The glow vanished and the hairs on Freya’s arms stood on end. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The business. Your life here. You wouldn’t want to – give it all up or go away?’
Freya replaced her coat over the sofa back. ‘Give up the business? Why would I do that? Where’s this come from?’
‘Nowhere. It’s only me, thinking silly thoughts. I know you’d never make a mistake again …’
‘A mistake again?’ She folded her arms, braced for a confrontation. ‘Mum, what are you talking about?’
‘Well, I – can’t help noticing that he’s back.’
‘He?’
‘Yes. Travis Marshall. He’s bought the gallery in the centre of town and I heard he was renting one of your properties. It looks like he’s come back for good.’
‘I have no idea of his long-term plans but yes, he has bought the gallery and he has taken a place on a long-term let, but what’s that got to do with me?’
‘I know you were sweet on him. You were cut up when you decided to end it but it was the right decision. You were far too young and you’d both have regretted tying yourselves down so young, I’m sure of it.’
No, Mum – you persuaded me to end it. ‘Sweet’ on him? What a limp, beige way of describing the feelings she’d had for Travis. Cut up? That was accurate.
She’d felt as if a piece of her heart – and her soul – had been ripped from her body when she’d told Travis she’d had to end their relationship.
‘It was a very long time ago, though …’ her mother said, perhaps picking up on Freya’s stunned silence, though not the thoughts passing through her mind like leaden clouds over the lake.
‘A very long time ago,’ Freya echoed, picking up her coat and pecking her mum on the cheek. ‘Now, I really have to go, Mum. Like I said, I’ve an early start. I’ve no idea what Travis Marshall’s plans are and frankly, I couldn’t care less.’