28

“Nice ears.”

Max’s breath was hot in my own ear, his face close to mine. It took me a moment to register that he was talking about the children’s reindeer ears, bobbing about onstage in front of us as the whole school belted out a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

“Two quid,” I said, feeling proud of myself for both my use of the local vernacular and my frugality.

“Bargain.” He moved his face away, and I let myself breathe again.

We were all in a row, the happy family from Barnsley. Sophia, on the aisle, there under sufferance and only just managing to disguise her disdain; Mrs. Mins in a fawn shearling jacket that I felt sure she wouldn’t have been able to afford on her wage, not if it was anything like mine, anyway; and Max, jolly and proud, and proving that you don’t need your wife or alcohol to have fun. He oscillated between Mrs. Mins and myself, unable to keep still. We were all in a row. Everyone except for Daphne.

It was hot in the hall, and despite this, Max wore a large overcoat buttoned up to his neck, enormous boots sticking out underneath. Even with him rugged up like that, I could feel the approving gazes of many of the surrounding mothers; if he was trying to disguise himself, it wasn’t working. I took my jacket off and jammed it under the seat, next to an enormous carryall Max had also insisted on bringing.

Mrs. Mins swatted him on the thigh with a rolled-up program, and I turned away, determined not to witness any more. I concentrated on the stage. Agatha, at one end, her wheelchair defiantly decorated in tinsel and stars cut out from foil. A little girl, not much taller than the wheelchair, stood behind her and clung protectively to the handles. She was taking her task very seriously. Farther down the row, and up a small bleacher, stood Robbie, wholeheartedly singing along and following the actions, despite the many boys around him who were doing neither.

“What else did you find when you were up in the attic?” I felt Max’s words before I heard them. A strange sweetness in his breath. Deliberately timed during a rather raucous moment in proceedings, at a point where others around were unlikely to hear. I pretended not to, either.

He tried again soon after, repeating the question, placing his hand briefly on my arm to claim my attention. “Did you find anything interesting when you were in the attic?”

“Interesting” was an understatement. There had been all sorts of things in the attic. In fact, I had spent half a morning up there. Trunks of old fabric, seed catalogues, Daphne’s cookbook collection, which, I was surprised to see, included plenty of the clean-living titles I used to find so inspiring. A great deal of time had been lost paging through them, remembering my days of bliss balls and açai bowls. There had been dozens of photographs of racehorses as well as a full jockey kit. Tubes of rolled-up plans, including some that seemed to detail the original layout of the garden. And large boxes, right by the door, filled with contemporary clothing. Also Daphne’s, I presumed.

But anything that seemed relevant to this moment, to the children’s Christmas concert, and urgent enough to necessitate an anxious whisper in the dark? I didn’t think so. “No.”

My answer stopped him in his tracks, and he leaned back in his seat, drumming his program on his leg in agitation. I tried to concentrate on the children on the stage in front of me, but I could feel Mrs. Mins’s eyes on me. Sweat pooled under my arms. I struggled to keep my face impassive, even though my mind was racing at a million miles an hour. I tried smiling at Mrs. Mins, but she set her eyes on a point beyond me, as if she had been looking there all along.

The children stopped singing, and applause filled the hall. I beamed at Agatha, hoping she could see me in the dark room, clapping like mad. Her eyes were searching until finally she saw us and blushed proudly. Max hooted beside me and placed his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, emitting an ear-splitting whistle. I couldn’t help but laugh, and onstage Robbie and Agatha were laughing as well. Robbie shook his head in embarrassment, a token gesture; the smile on his face told another story.

For a moment, the clapping and cheering drowned out everything else. The headmistress stepped up to the lectern, and the hall went quiet. The headmistress started to speak, her tinsel earrings catching the light, giving her a luminous glow. A shout went up at the back of the room, and she stopped talking. Squinted into the stage lights. The children waited expectantly behind her.

For a moment, I thought it was Daphne.

“Max?” Then the voice was undeniable. Max’s grasp tightened on the program, his knuckles translucent in the light. One by one, every head in the hall turned towards the rear.

Every head except Max’s.

“Max?” The voice was coming closer, and the people around us had begun to murmur.

The joy on Agatha’s and Robbie’s faces was replaced by fear. I fixed my eyes on them, determined not to show my panic. Just in case they looked at me, instead of the man and woman crashing their way down the aisle. Max sighed deeply and stood up. “I’m here, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, there you are!” She bustled down the aisle as if she were ten minutes early rather than never even expected. Max gestured for us all to squeeze along. “Those ears,” she said as she crammed into the row, pulling a bewildered-looking Tom behind her, “suit Agatha.” She put her hand up and gestured to the headmistress to indicate she was ready for the show to go on.

A small child appeared from the wings, carrying a rather large novelty cheque, and the headmistress took a deep breath before explaining to the school community the work that had gone into the year’s fund-raising efforts.

“Snore.” Elizabeth leaned forward and rolled her eyes at us. A waft of booze floated down the row. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. Sophia took her aunt’s hand and held it tight, in much the same way you might try to contain a toddler. Tom was no help; in his position at the very end of the row, it took all his attention not to fall off the side of the folding chairs.

“Shhh!” A woman’s voice, exasperated.

I swiveled in my chair to see who was brave enough to silence Elizabeth. Mrs. Mins.

Next to me, Max closed his eyes. A man stepped up from the audience, accepted the cheque on behalf of the St. John’s Family Mission, and spoke about the need for a compassionate community. It may have been my imagination, but it felt as if his eyes were drilling deep into our row. More applause, particularly from those sitting near us.

The band started up again, and my body relaxed. The children were singing along with the others, and Sophia kept a tight hold on her aunt, her gaze not moving from her brother and sister. Perhaps everything would be okay. The song continued.

We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas . . .

And then a voice in the darkness.

“Don’t you shush me,” Elizabeth hissed. Max’s eye twitched slightly. “I’ve more right to be here than you.” Max made a sharp intake of breath.

We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Good tidings we bring to you and your kin . . .

Elizabeth leaned forward and looked at me meaningfully. My heart began to pound, and I turned my attention back to the stage. There was movement beside me, and the feeling of space opening up; someone behind us gasped. Mrs. Mins had gone. The eyes of everyone in the hall were on us and yet still the song continued. The conductor, her back to the audience and having no idea of the kerfuffle behind her, brought her arms out wide, and the children reached a rousing crescendo.

“Elizabeth, that was not necessary,” Max said, and then opened his eyes. Where I expected to see anger, there was only pity. A deep sadness.

Elizabeth looked chastened, on the verge of tears herself. “It’s a time for family, Max.”

My thighs were on the verge of sticking to the seat, even through my jeans. The rest of the Summer family seemed oblivious to the spectacle they were causing, the endless material they were providing for later speculation in the Stag’s Head or Minton.

“Family?” he hissed. “Meryl is more a part of this family than you.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as he continued. “Where have you been the last couple of months? When the children needed you? When I needed you? Out on that bloody island, doing god knows what. In the bloody pub.”

The woman next to me snorted, then tried to disguise it as a cough. I turned my body away from her to build a shield for Max and Elizabeth. Trying to protect them.

Elizabeth was definitely crying now. Not in a hysterical way. In a deeply Elizabeth way, tears streaming down her cheeks in uninterrupted rivers. Silent tears. Her face composed. And then she leaned forward. Leaned back. Counted everyone off along the row, her face stricken as she realized.

“Where is Daphne?”

“Not now, Elizabeth.” Max focused his attention on the stage. Uselessly. Elizabeth knew now, and she would not let it go. Even I could see that.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

“We’ll talk about it at home,” Max replied, his voice tense. “Not here.”

Tom took Elizabeth’s hand in his, hoping to calm her.

Up on the stage, the headmistress was speaking again, but in our row, apart from Sophia, who had sat frozen with her face resolutely facing the stage throughout, we were stuck in a complicated limbo. We needed to leave, but how to extricate the children from the stage without making even more of a fuss than we already had? Around us the hall had grown quiet again, but a different sort of quiet. There was an air of expectation. I looked around, wanting to know what was going on.

The first strains of another familiar song filled the air. “Shit,” Max said, next to me. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” He reached under the chair and dragged out the bag from underneath. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I looked at Elizabeth, but she had rested her head on Tom’s shoulder, tired out from the emotion. Worn out from the booze. A small smile played at the edges of Sophia’s lips, but she still didn’t turn. That child had the composure of someone far older, and I had no idea where she got it from. Meanwhile, her father was losing it as he started to shed his clothes.

Underneath the giant overcoat was a full-blown Santa Claus costume. He reached into the bag and pulled out a hat and beard, and starting to ho-ho-ho, he stood up and waved a bell. He squeezed out past Elizabeth and Tom and Sophia, and as he went past, he bent down to place a kiss on both his sister’s and daughter’s heads. A sack dangled over his shoulder, and from within he pulled out toffees and flung them into the crowd. Delighted squeals followed him as he made his way to the stage, ho-ho-ho-ing and ringing his bell the whole time. By the time he made it up the stairs, he was surrounded by small children, all clutching at him and demanding sweets.

Daphne should have been there to see it, instead of wherever she was. This was the kind of memory a family should treasure—it wasn’t right that she wasn’t there. Nothing was more important than this. Not friends. Not alcohol. Not anything. There was no way Daphne would miss this by choice.

I forced myself to concentrate on the children again. Robbie, Agatha, and even Sophia watched Max with adoration in their eyes, laughing and whispering with their friends. Holding their hands out for sweets like all the others, even though I knew their hearts were heavy with the absence of their mother.

I knew I needed glasses. I knew I should have been wearing them. But even a blind person could see that Max had a better relationship with his children than I had thought. That, despite all their flaws and everything that had come between them, Max and Elizabeth cared deeply about each other. And that no one, not even Elizabeth, knew where Daphne was.