A Merry Little Christmas

Part One

January

Chapter One

Marianne was simmering a lamb stew on the Aga, in the homely country kitchen she and Gabriel had recently renovated in oak, while the twins sat in their high chairs banging spoons on the table, giggling away at each other. It was a deep and abiding relief to her that they were so happy in each other’s company; they kept themselves usefully occupied when she was busy. It was a wintry Monday afternoon and Gabriel had taken Steven over to have a look around Middleminster. Marianne had thought of coming with them as she wasn’t working, but decided that the twins would probably be too distracting, and it might be better for Gabriel to do this with Steven on his own. She also hoped that it might persuade Gabriel that this was really a good idea.

She was just serving the twins’ portions into two identical plastic bowls when an animated Steven burst through the door, followed by Gabriel, looking slightly less than thrilled. Marianne was caught afresh with the realisation of how similar father and son were getting. Steven had grown a lot recently and his hair had darkened, and his eyes, though blue, retained something of his father’s look about them.

‘So what’s it like?’

‘It was fab, Marianne!’ Steven was jumping about with glee. ‘They’ve got a brilliant football pitch and I could get to play cricket too!’

Steven had started playing cricket the previous summer, and been disappointed to learn that the local secondary school hadn’t got cricket on the curriculum.

‘What about the choir?’ laughed Marianne, caught up with his infectious enthusiasm. ‘I mean, that’s the main reason for going.’

‘It was cool, wasn’t it, Dad?’ Steven’s eyes lit up. Unusually for a boy, he loved singing – and had a talent for it too.

‘Very cool,’ agreed Gabriel, ‘but you have to get in first.’

‘We’d better get started on those practice tests, hadn’t we?’ said Marianne, giving Steven a hug. Since the idea of Middleminster had first been mooted in the autumn, she had occasionally run through a past paper with Steven. He was a bright boy, and she saw no reason why he couldn’t get in, but he needed more experience of the entrance tests if he were to stand a chance. Marianne looked at Gabe and gave him an encouraging smile. She knew how hard this was for him. On the one hand, he wanted to give his son the best chance he could have, of course he did. But on the other, Gabe had no desire to lose Steven to a choir school fifty miles away, despite Marianne’s pointing out it was a good opportunity if Steven wanted to take it.

‘Mum says Darren knows someone at the school who might be able to help,’ said Steven.

‘I gathered that,’ said Gabe. ‘If you’re going to get in, I’d rather you did it on your own merits.’

‘So you did like it then?’ Marianne said as Steven disappeared upstairs to play on his Xbox.

‘It’s a great school,’ admitted Gabe. ‘And I could see Steven loved it. Hell, I loved it. You should have seen the facilities they have. I think Steven could do well there.’

‘That’s good isn’t it?’

‘Yes …’ Gabriel had a slightly forlorn look on his face. One she hadn’t seen in a long time.

‘I sense a but here,’ said Marianne.

‘Eleven is very young to be away from us,’ said Gabriel. ‘I hate the thought of him going away. And if Eve does move up here, we won’t even have him every weekend.’

‘I know,’ said Marianne, ‘and I do understand, but if Steven really likes it …’

‘And he does,’ said Gabriel with a rueful smile. ‘I’m being selfish.’

‘No you’re not,’ said Marianne giving him a hug. ‘You love your son. Which is perfectly natural, and is one of many reasons that I love you. And here’s another.’

She handed Gabe Daisy’s bowl, and she took Harry’s, and together they fed the twins. It was one of the most fun parts of a hectically busy domestic routine, and one which always made her happy and grateful that she’d found Gabriel four years ago, when she’d nearly left Hope Christmas after Luke Nicholas had broken her heart. As she’d hoped, five minutes of making aeroplane noises for the twins cheered Gabriel up no end, and his mood was much lighter by the time they were clearing up.

‘Try not to worry about Steven,’ Marianne said, lifting Daisy out of her high chair and popping her into the playpen that sat in the corner of the kitchen. ‘I know it’s hard, but even with a nod from Darren’s mate, he’s not certain to get in.’

‘True,’ said Gabe, carrying Harry to join his sister. ‘And even Eve admitted we can’t afford it if he doesn’t get a scholarship.’

‘There, you see,’ said Marianne, kissing him. ‘No need to waste your energy on ifs and buts. It might never happen. Why don’t we just enjoy what we have?’

Pippa was baking; her kitchen smelling warm, comforting, and safe. It was her default position when stressed. Plus she was part of the volunteer group who kept the local shop open, stocked and supplied with local produce and home baking. The rate she was going today, the shop was going to be well stocked for weeks. She’d spent all morning making chocolate brownies, blueberry muffins, and scones – all to put off facing up to the unpalatable news that Lucy’s social worker, Claire King had given her that morning.

‘I’m sorry,’ had been Claire’s opening gambit, ‘but we’re all having to cut our budgets for the next financial year, and one of my more unpleasant jobs has been working out which services have to be cut. One of the options we’re looking at is reducing our respite care packages. It has to go on level of need, I’m afraid …’

The pause spoke volumes.

‘And ours isn’t great enough,’ Pippa said flatly.

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,’ Claire was clearly floundering a bit, ‘and I’m not saying this is a definite, or that you’ll lose the respite altogether …’

‘But it’s a possibility?’ said Pippa.

‘I think it’s more likely that Lucy will be receiving respite care once a month in the foreseeable future, rather than once a fortnight,’ said Claire, ‘and rest assured we will be working hard to sort out an alternative for you, but …’

But that was no guarantee of help in the long term. Reading between the lines, and given the level of cuts being imposed on social services, it was highly unlikely that Lucy would be having any respite care in a year’s time. Pippa was desperately looking round for alternatives, but as far as she could see there were none. She’d written a letter to her MP, Tom Brooker – without much hope of success, given that it was his party implementing the cuts – and was now trying to drum up support from other parents similarly affected. The trouble was, most of them, like her, were worn down by the years and years of fighting a system that at its best could be brilliant, but at its worst was cold, indifferent and cared little for individual sob stories.

Her next port of call was going to be Cat Tinsall. With her media contacts, Cat might be able to help, not just Lucy, but the other kids who got help from the Sunshine Trust. And Cat, Pippa knew, would understand. When Cat had first moved to Hope Christmas just under four years ago, they had instantly bonded over children, cooking and how hard it was being a carer. Cat’s mother, Louise, suffered from dementia, and Pippa knew how tough she found it. She empathised with the guilt, the feeling that maybe you could do more, be better, be less selfish.

‘Mmm, something smells good. Bad day?’ Dan’s six-foot frame filled the kitchen. He had a way of dominating a room. He’d come fresh from the outhouse where he scrubbed down after milking the cows, before entering the house. He’d been out since dawn and had come back now to have breakfast. Pippa’s heart swelled. However hard life was, she had and always would have Dan. A sudden memory snuck its way into her brain, of her and Dan, lying together in their field at the bottom of the hill on a sunny day, Dan saying quite seriously, ‘Love you forever,’ when Pippa had only just got round to thinking the ‘L’ word. Everything was manageable with Dan by her side.

‘How did you guess?’ asked Pippa, lifting her last batch of scones out of the Aga and putting them on the pine kitchen island in the middle of the kitchen, replacing them with muffins. She took a broom out and swept away the mud Dan had brought in with him.

‘You always bake when you’re in a bad mood,’ said Dan.

‘And you always bring mud in from the farm,’ she said.

‘I did wash up,’ protested Dan.

‘But you forgot to take your boots off, as usual,’ Pippa rolled her eyes at him.

Dan responded by picking up a scone and taking a bite. ‘Delicious.’

‘Oi, they’re not for you,’ said Pippa. ‘But why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa and a fry-up.’

‘No, you sit down,’ said Dan, ‘and tell me all about it. What’s that bloody woman done now?’

‘Nothing more than usual,’ said Pippa, loving him for so perfectly tuning into her mood. ‘She’s wrung her hands as much as she can, but the upshot is we still have respite care for the short term, but monthly not fortnightly.’

‘Well, that’s something at least,’ said Dan.

‘I know,’ said Pippa. ‘But it’s the long term I’m worried about. What happens if we lose it altogether?’

‘We cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said Dan, handing his wife a cup of tea.

‘Why are you always so positive?’ said Pippa. ‘Here I am finding problems, and you go round making out it will all be okay.’ That was Dan all over, her rock, her strength. He always managed to help her see a way through, when she felt overwhelmed.

‘One of us has to be,’ said Dan, ‘and you do enough worrying for the pair of us. Something will turn up, you’ll see.’

‘Oh Dan,’ said Pippa, suddenly feeling a bit teary. ‘Whatever did I do to deserve you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Dan with a grin, ‘but if I’m allowed another one of those scones, you never know, I might even stick around a while.’

Cat was on the set of Cat’s Country Kitchen, her new TV show which was due to air in the autumn, when her phone buzzed. She’d been busy talking to Len Franklin the director about setting up a shot of her chopping onions for her Shropshire hotpot, which she was meant to be doing without crying. The phone buzzed insistently again. Damn. She thought she’d turned it off. Cat took it out of her pocket and saw, to her dismay, the school phone number. Her heart sank. Now what had Mel done?

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said to Len. She hadn’t worked with him before, and found him a little taciturn and unfriendly, so she wasn’t quite sure how he’d take the interruption. ‘Would you mind if I take this?’

‘If you must,’ said Len in long-suffering tones. ‘But please be quick, we’ve got a busy schedule and a lot to get through.’

‘Thanks,’ said Cat, smiling apologetically at the film crew, and wandered to the back of the studio.

‘Hullo, Catherine Tinsall here,’ she said. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. How may I help?’

She dreaded phone calls from school, which seemed to be happening with monotonous regularity of late.

‘Mrs Tinsall?’ The crisp tones of Mrs Reynolds, the school secretary, always made her turn to jelly. ‘It appears that Melanie is absent from school, and we haven’t heard from you. I take it she is ill?’

‘Ill? No of course not,’ said Cat in bewilderment. ‘I saw her off to school myself. Did you send me a text message?’

‘Of course,’ said Mrs Reynolds.

‘Oh,’ Cat checked her messages. She’d missed one. ‘Yes I did get it. I’m at work, and didn’t pick it up. Didn’t Mel come in at all?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Mrs Reynolds frostily. Cat knew it was paranoid, but she always got the impression Mrs Reynolds thought all mothers should stay at home till their children had left school.

‘I am so sorry,’ said Cat. ‘I’ll try and find out what’s happened and where she is.’

She put the phone down, her heart thumping. Bloody hell. She’d had far too many conversations this year with Mel’s form teacher about her bad behaviour, but usually it was about cheeking the teachers, or not working hard enough. She’d even been suspended for a day for being caught smoking. Why on earth would she have skipped school? It was probably because she was due to get her mock results. Mel had been grumpy as hell for the last few days, and judging by how little work she’d done over the Christmas holidays, Cat wasn’t expecting miracles. It was the first time Mel had ever bunked off. That is, if she was bunking off, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. Oh God, Cat thought, what if something had happened to her?

‘Don’t even go there, Cat,’ she muttered to herself, and rang Mel’s mobile. Switched off, of course. She sent a text instead. You’ve been rumbled. RING ME, Mum.

She texted both James and Paige at school, though she knew, technically, they weren’t supposed to have their phones on them.

Do you know where Mel is?

No idea. James’ response was swift and to the point.

Paige took longer to reply.

Saw her talking to Andy outside school.

Andy who?

Dunno was the helpful response.

Great. Thanks for nothing, Paige.

‘Ahem, if we could get on?’ Len was tapping his watch, the film crew were looking bored, and Cat was conscious everyone was looking at her.

‘Yes, of course, nearly done.’ Cat made one last phone call.

‘Noel, I’m really sorry to do this, but Mel’s bunked off. I’ve no idea where she is and I was due on camera five minutes ago. Can you deal with it? I assume she’s in town somewhere. Possibly with a boy named Andy.’

‘Cat–’ began Noel.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ said Cat, ‘I’ll get away as soon as I can, I promise.’

‘Okay, leave it with me,’ said Noel, ‘I’ll go out on a recce.’

‘Thanks,’ said Cat. ‘I owe you.’

‘Again,’ said Noel, who had, she realised guiltily, been picking up more of the domestic slack than her of late. ‘I’ll bloody kill her when I find her.’

‘Not before I do,’ said Cat.

‘When we’re ready,’ interrupted the director, sharply.

‘Ready,’ said Cat, turning her phone off.

She allowed the make-up girl to touch up her face, and stood in front of the shiny hot plates on which she was about to demonstrate making her twist on a traditional Shropshire stew.

‘Hello and welcome to Cat’s Country Kitchen, where I’ll be showing you recipes old and new from Shropshire, the food capital of Great Britain,’ she said, trying with all her might to forget about errant daughters and concentrate instead on cooking. After all, that’s what she got paid for.

Chapter Two

‘And, cut.’ Eventually Len was satisfied. It seemed to have taken ages to get the exact shots he’d wanted, and Cat had been itching to get off the premises for the last half hour. As soon as she decently could, Cat made her excuses and, heart hammering, dashed to the door. She switched her phone back on, to one text message from Noel: Got her. Thank God for that. Cat felt herself unwind slightly. At least Mel wasn’t in danger. But now she knew they were going to have the sort of confrontation Cat always dreaded, with Mel screaming in their faces and her losing her rag. She tried to stay as calm as Noel somehow managed to, but Cat found herself bewildered by their daughter’s unreasonable behaviour. Mel had everything she wanted, why did she have to put them through the mill like this?

Noel was always saying she should try and see it from Mel’s side more. Mel would no doubt say that she had everything but her mum’s time, Cat reflected. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Her default position. They’d left London so Cat could spend more time with the family, so how was it she seemed to spend less? And now there was more guilt, when she discovered Noel had had to leave an important meeting with Ralph Nicholas’ nephew, who had just joined the firm. If it had been Ralph, Noel was sure he would have understood, but Michael Nicholas was still an unknown quantity according to Noel, and while he hadn’t said anything, Noel had felt awkward about curtailing the meeting to deal with an absconding teenager.

‘Next time, it’s your shout,’ said Noel. ‘I can’t keep doing this.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Cat, thinking well, I can’t either. The trouble was she had been so busy filming over the last few months she had dropped lots of balls into Noel’s lap, from dental appointments to meetings with Mel’s teachers. She sighed and wished more than ever Louise hadn’t become ill. Life in Hope Christmas with Louise on hand to help out would have been perfect.

‘So where was she?’ asked Cat while rooting around in her bag for her keys.

‘I found her in the café,’ said Noel. ‘They were a bit dim, really. It wasn’t hard to track them down.’

‘And where’s Mel now?’ said Cat.

‘In her room, sulking,’ said Noel.

‘Oh joy,’ sighed Cat. ‘I’ll be home soon.’

She got in the car and put her foot down, and soon found herself escaping the gloom of Birmingham’s high rises for the snow-capped hills of her adopted county.

‘Blue remembered hills indeed,’ she murmured, as she drove down the main road towards Hope Christmas, seeing the hills she and Noel loved to walk on looming in the distance. It was a grey winter’s day, and shafts of light streamed out underneath the louring clouds, as she sped her way home.

Snow had started to fall as she finally drove into the large gravel driveway in front of their oak-beamed house. Their home in Hope Christmas was so different from their London abode – a converted farmhouse with a fabulous kitchen, its gleaming modern steel apparatus still managing to retain a traditional feel when married to grey flagstones and marble-topped work surfaces; creaking stairs, wooden beams, and a huge wood burning stove in the middle giving it a cosy aspect, particularly on a gloomy January day, like today.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cat as she walked through the door, into their lounge, where the fire was already lit and the sweet smell of wood smoke filled the room, ‘I just couldn’t get away.’

‘No worries,’ said Noel, looking vaguely up from his laptop. He pushed his glasses up his nose in an absentminded gesture and smiled in a way that still made her go weak at the knees. ‘At least I found her.’

‘Did she say why she did it?’

‘Nope,’ said Noel with a sigh, rifling his fingers through his greying hair. ‘I read the riot act, and all that did was produce floods of tears. I couldn’t get her to say a word about what she’s been up to. So I’ve just left her to stew on it. Now might be a good time for some softly softly.’

Okay, time to gird her loins. Cat made her way to the top of the house, and to Mel’s low-beamed bedroom where she spent a huge amount of time in splendid teenage isolation. She disappeared up there for hours, plugged into either her iPod, her phone, or her laptop. (Cat was vaguely aware Mel had an anonymous blog, but she had no idea what it was called and despite her massive curiosity about it, at Noel’s suggestion had kept away – ‘Give her some space,’ Noel was always saying, ‘if you read her blog, it will be the equivalent of your mum reading your diary.’ Except she’d never written anything worth hiding from her mum in her diary. At fifteen, Louise had known all Cat’s secrets.) Mel was only secretive as far as Cat was concerned, hiding anything dodgy on Facebook, and chatting to God knows who on BBM, and for all Cat knew making a bunch of unsuitable friends.

It had been so different when they’d first got to Hope Christmas, four years earlier. Having been bullied at her old school, Mel had been happy to fall in with a bunch of self-confessed geeks, and not felt the need to worry about it. But in the last year Mel had drifted away from them, becoming close to a girl called Karen whose entire raison d’être seemed to be going out and getting as drunk as possible. She hadn’t been a very good influence in Cat’s opinion – but she didn’t dare say so. The more Cat and Noel criticised Karen, the more intransigent Mel got.

‘May I come in?’ Cat poked her head round the door. Mel was lying on her bed looking moody, listening to her iPod.

‘Suppose,’ was the ungracious response. ‘But if you’re going to give me a lecture, it’s okay; Dad’s already done the third degree. And now I’m like, grounded, forever.’

‘Mel, what did you expect?’ said Cat, her hackles rising. ‘You weren’t at school and we were worried about you. You can’t just bunk off because you don’t feel like going in.’

‘I was okay,’ said Mel.

‘Yes, but we didn’t know that,’ said Cat trying to keep her voice level. ‘And besides, until you’re sixteen you have to go to school every day, like it or not.’

Mel just grunted, and shifted awkwardly on the bed.

‘So who’s this boy then?’ said Cat after a pause.

‘A mate,’ said Mel.

‘Does his mum know he’s been bunking off, too?’

‘He’s not at school,’ said Mel.

‘Christ, how old is he?’ Mel was still only fifteen. Cat had visions of her dating a twenty-one-year-old.

‘Nineteen,’ said Mel sulkily. ‘And before you go off on one, he’s got a job.’

‘So why wasn’t he at work?’ said Cat.

‘Day off,’ said Mel.

‘And what does he do?’

‘Farm labourer,’ said Mel. ‘He works for Pippa sometimes.’

At least that was something, Cat supposed, making a mental note to quiz Pippa about him later.

‘Well, I can’t say I’m impressed that you’ve found yourself a boyfriend who’s encouraged you to bunk off,’ said Cat. ‘Tomorrow, I want you to go into school and write a letter of apology to Mrs Carter. And I shall be taking you into school for the rest of the week to make sure you get there.’

‘But, Mum,’ wailed Mel. ‘I’m not a kid anymore.’

‘But Mum, nothing,’ said Cat. ‘I’ll treat you like a grown-up when you learn to behave like one.’

‘That’s so unfair,’ said Mel.

‘That’s as maybe,’ said Cat, ‘but it’s still what’s happening.’

She left Mel still in a strop, no doubt texting the whole world to complain about her lot in life, and made her way downstairs with a heavy heart. Sometimes she felt like her daughter was an alien from another planet. When Mel was little Cat had never imagined that she would ever think it, but life had been so much easier when she was five.

Pippa had just parked on the village square, outside Hope Christmas Community shop – known locally as Vera’s (in tribute to Vera Edwards who ran it with her husband Albert) – to deliver her baking, when she saw Marianne’s slight form struggling with her double buggy in the doorway. Like a lot of buildings in Hope Christmas, it was quaint and old, but not terribly baby friendly. Pippa put down her boxes of cakes and ran over to help. Marianne smiled her thanks as she pushed the twins into the dark interior of the shop. Her dark curls were held up in a loose ponytail, and her blue eyes looked pale and tired.

‘You look done in,’ said Pippa, following her in with the cakes.

‘I am a bit,’ said Marianne. ‘The twins are teething and they keep taking it in turns to wake up. Thank God I’m not teaching today. Otherwise I would have been a zombie.’

‘Have you time for a coffee?’ Vera’s was not only a thriving village shop and post office, but it also housed a café run by volunteers which was the hub of the local community. Thanks to their help, Vera had been able to keep her post office going when it was under threat of closure.

‘That would be great, thanks,’ said Marianne, settling herself down at a creaky table by the window overlooking the village square, which allowed enough room for her to fit the buggy in. Luckily the twins appeared to have dozed off.

‘I’ll just give the cakes to Vera,’ said Pippa, ‘back in a minute.’

She went over to the counter, handed over her cakes and ordered their drinks at the same time, before going back to join Marianne.

‘How are things?’ said Marianne. ‘Sorry I haven’t seen much of you since I’ve been back from London. As soon as I’m back in work mode, I don’t know what happens to the days. And yet when I’m home with the twins I couldn’t tell you what I do all day.’

‘I remember that feeling very well,’ laughed Pippa. ‘The upside of the kids getting bigger is that I do have a bit more time.’

‘Oh, and thanks for looking after Gabe when I was away,’ added Marianne. ‘He and Steven would probably have lived on baked beans if you hadn’t fed them every other night.’

‘Looking after Gabriel is my default position,’ laughed Pippa. ‘I’ve been doing it since he was a baby.’

Though Pippa and Gabriel were cousins, having been brought up on neighbouring farms, they were closer than many siblings. Now that their respective parents had retired, Pippa and Dan ran one farm, and Gabriel the other, and each helped the other out when they could.

‘Have you heard any more about Lucy’s respite care?’ said Marianne. ‘I know you were waiting for a call before I went away.’

Pippa pulled a face. ‘She’s only going to get monthly help instead of fortnightly, but at least they haven’t cancelled it altogether. For the moment the Sunshine Trust is still guaranteeing its respite care, but it’s only a matter of time. It’s a small independent centre which is mainly funded by charitable donations, and the respite care is funded by Social Services. With all the cuts I can see them pulling the plug.’

‘But that’s outrageous,’ said Marianne. ‘What will happen to all those families?’

‘I know,’ said Pippa. ‘It makes me so angry, but what can I do?’

‘Can you get together and find some private support?’

‘In this day and age?’ said Pippa. ‘No one has any money. But if the money could be found to support the respite care package, then maybe the Trust can still provide it. I’m thinking of starting a campaign, but I’m not sure it will make any difference.’

‘That’s not like you,’ said Marianne. ‘Come on, you’re the campaign queen. Look at this place – it wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your help.’

Pippa looked around at the busy shop, bursting with produce from local farms – hers included – and the café, packed as it was with a combination of local mums and the occasional brave winter walker. It was true that without Pippa, the campaign to help save Vera’s livelihood wouldn’t have happened. But that had been four years ago, and there had been a lot of water under the bridge since then.

‘I know,’ said Pippa. ‘But I’m so tired. I’ve been fighting and fighting for every scrap of help I can ever since Lucy’s been born. I’m not sure I have the energy to fight anymore.’

‘Well, let us help you, then,’ said Marianne. ‘Come on, you can’t give up on Lucy now.’

‘Your friend’s right,’ a leather-clad man sitting at the next table suddenly butted in. He was good looking, with dark tousled hair and deep blue eyes, and a captivating voice. Pippa thought she spotted tattoos on his knuckles; not the usual sort you got in Hope Christmas. ‘You owe it to your daughter to keep on fighting.’

‘And what do you know about it?’ Pippa bristled. How dare this stranger tell her what to do?

‘More than you’d think,’ said the stranger, touching his nose and giving her a wink. He got up to go. ‘I’d say nothing’s impossible till you’ve tried it.’

And with that, he was gone.

‘Well of all the–’ said Pippa in disbelief. ‘What business was it of his, the cheeky sod?’

‘Maybe,’ said Marianne, ‘but he did have a point.’

‘I suppose,’ said Pippa gruffly.

‘And did you see how good looking he was?’ grinned Marianne. ‘Ladies of Hope Christmas, beware! Trouble’s coming!’

Pippa laughed. For some reason, she suddenly felt better, as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders for a while.

‘Okay, then,’ she said, ‘what do you think my plan of action should be?’

‘We’re off for a stroll up the hill,’ said Gabriel brightly, to Steven who was crouched over his Nintendo DS. ‘Care to join us?’

‘Do I have to?’ whined Steven. ‘It’s cold out there.’

‘It will be refreshing and good for you,’ said Gabriel. ‘We should make the most of the moment. We haven’t had many opportunities to get out recently.’

‘Come on, Steven,’ said Marianne. ‘It’s been ages since all of us have done anything together.’

‘We can’t do anything with babies,’ grumbled Steven, but Marianne sensed he was weakening. Steven loved his baby siblings, and it was rare for him to moan about them. ‘They don’t do anything.’

‘So, we need you to keep us company,’ cajoled Marianne, she was always careful to make sure Steven knew how important he still was, and that the twins hadn’t replaced him. ‘The twins can’t tell us interesting facts they’ve discovered.’

One of the joys of being in Steven’s company was that he had an encyclopaedic brain and could trot out all manner of fascinating information about anything from astronomy to what really happened to the dinosaurs. But more and more of late he had retreated into himself and wouldn’t tell them anything.

‘Go on,’ said Gabriel. ‘You never know, you might even enjoy it. Plus Patch needs you too. You could bring your sledge, and take it down the valley if you like.’

‘Oh, okay,’ muttered Steven, going off to get ready, while Marianne and Gabriel went to wrap the twins up warmly and put them in their backpacks. It took forever to get sorted, but eventually they set off up the lane.

Having the twins with them meant they couldn’t take the more difficult paths, so they kept to the lower slopes, which had the advantage of meaning Steven didn’t moan quite as much as he might have done if they’d made him climb up the really steep bits.

But Marianne thought wistfully of the walks she used to take before the twins arrived. Then she hadn’t thought twice about heading off up to the top, walking on her own among the heather and the sheep for several hours. She wouldn’t be without the twins for a minute, but she was taken aback sometimes at the feelings of resentment that sometimes came from nowhere. It seemed to have got worse since she’d gone back to work. She had naively thought she’d just slot back into being a teacher, just the way she had done before. No one had told Marianne that it wasn’t that straightforward; no one had prepared her for the feelings of been split in two, feeling she was neither doing the job she loved well, nor wholeheartedly enjoying her babies. She hadn’t figured on feeling that resentful about the loss of her freedom when she was pregnant, and she felt guilty for it. And for the first time Marianne appreciated Eve, Gabriel’s first wife, who, woefully unsuited as she had been to life as a farmer’s wife, had been trapped by being a mother. Marianne loved her country existence, but at times felt stifled by the twins. Thank God for Gabe’s mum, Jean. Without her help, Marianne would have gone nuts by now. And she also felt guilty about Steven, aware she was giving him less attention since the twins arrived. No wonder he was stroppy with them.