Chloë was trimming the entrance hall with a heavy heart. There was still no word from Alexa and she had no enthusiasm for tarting up the drawing room or the dining room with her elegant collection of Christmas decorations. It felt too soon. The box lay on the marble floor and she wanted to shove it back in the cupboard under the stairs. Every single piece shrieked of past times, with Alexa excitedly decorating the tree. What had she done to upset her? How cruel not even to answer her last email. Simon was no help, whistling away. ‘The choir is back on up at the retreat. Rehearsals are starting again. Ariadne has decided no fire will stop us performing and I think she’s right. There’s a piano there and most of us have copies of the sheet music.’ He stopped mid-flow. ‘You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence. What’s up?’
‘I don’t want to put these silly things up. It’s a waste of time.’
‘But we always have them dangling everywhere.’
‘Not this year. I don’t feel festive.’
‘What you need is a drink. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.’
‘No, it won’t, not without Alexa. I never thought she could be so mean to us.’
‘I expect she has her reasons. Have faith in her, darling. Besides, we’ve always opened our house at Christmas. Think of all the others who have no family to visit.’
‘They can go somewhere else this year. I’m not in the mood.’ Chloë kicked the box away. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
‘I’ll come with you, then.’
‘No, I’d rather go alone.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps I should fly back and demand an explanation.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Simon said. ‘She might not be there.’
‘How do you know? Has she rung you behind my back?’
‘Not at all. Just calm down. Alexa will come to us in her own time, when she’s ready. It’s been a tough year for her. You can’t force confidences.’
‘We should never have come here, leaving her to live hundreds of miles away.’
‘Chloë, just let it go or it’ll make you ill. Have faith in her and all the love you’ve given over the years. She knows you love her and she’s your only child.’
Chloë didn’t want to hear any more of his platitudes: she was in the vilest of moods. She stormed off to find her fleece, for the wind was chilly and the sky was darkening. Taking Bacchus, their rescue mongrel, she strode out into the fields behind their olive grove. The path rose high onto the mountain track where there was a rocky outcrop. Then she saw a flash of colour.
Was it another hiker? It wasn’t the season for tourists to visit the fields. In the spring they were full of poppies, orchids and daisies. Bacchus cocked his ears and, seeing sheep and goats in the distance, she called him back. It was then she noticed wisps of smoke close to the caves. Someone had lit a fire. There seemed to be movement and, for a second, she thought to turn back, in case there was a drug den, but something made her skirt round out of sight and onto a ridge where she could get a better view of what was going on.
A flash of colour again, the distinctive dress of their refugees, the women’s black hair no longer covered with hijabs. They were sitting over a fire, cooking, and Youssef’s brother, Amir, was coming out of the rock. Good God, they were living in one of the caves! Chloë couldn’t believe what she was seeing and bent low to get a better look.
A little child was running around – he belonged to Maryam, Amir’s wife. How could this be happening in the twenty-first century? Those families were sheltering in caves, facing winter winds and storms. That wasn’t right, not with little ones. They might have a wood fire and water from the stream, but once the mountain snows came, what then?