For a tiny second he squeezed his eyes shut. They were still here. That must mean something.
He licked his dry lips. ‘I haven’t told you much about my past.’
Her fingers continued to stroke up and down the wine-glass stem. It was almost as if she was using it as a measure of control. ‘No. You haven’t.’
She was wearing those jeans again and a soft woollen jumper. Right now he wanted to reach out and touch her. Right now he wanted to feel some comfort. Saying these words out loud wasn’t easy.
‘My mother died when I was ten.’
There. It was out there. The light in the corner flickered inexplicably and he heard her suck in a breath.
‘She was the heart of our family. I was an only child and my father spent most of his life in the military. When my mother died it was almost as if all the life was just sucked out of us both.’
She turned a little towards him. ‘What did you do?’
He shrugged. ‘What could I do? I was ten. I’d spent most of my time with my mother. We’d shared everything. My relationship with my father had always been a little strained. I just think he didn’t know how to relate to kids.’
As he was talking he’d moved to face her and as he finished his last sentence her eyebrows lifted. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Like father, like son. And he was struck by the realisation that was the last thing he wanted.
He fixed on her blue eyes. ‘My dad sent me to boarding school.’
‘Do those places even exist any more? I thought they only ever existed in Enid Blyton books.’
He shook his head. ‘Oh, they exist all right. And they’re just the place to send a ten-year-old whose mother’s died.’ He couldn’t keep the irony or the bitterness out of his voice. ‘I hated every second of it. The education part was fine. The school activity part was fine. But to go from living with your mother, to living there, with nothing really in between...’ His voice tailed off.
‘Why did he send you there?’
Jacob sighed. ‘There was no one else to look after me. I’m an only child and so were my father and mother. Both sets of grandparents were already dead. My father had another posting abroad with the military and there was no question that he wouldn’t go. He told me later that he’d always planned on sending me to boarding school.’ He pushed up the sleeves of his wet jumper.
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Had your mother stopped that?’
He shook his head. ‘I have no idea.’ He groaned and sagged back against the sofa. ‘There were so many things that I wished I had asked her. So many conversations I wish I could remember. Most of it is just all caught up in here.’ He waved his finger next to his head. ‘Sometimes I think that things I remember I’ve just made up.’
‘How did she die?’
Jacob hesitated, then took a deep breath. ‘Cancer. Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. It was brutal—it sucked the life right out of her.’
She licked her lips. ‘Did you go to your mother’s funeral?’
He nodded. ‘It was full of people I didn’t really know. No one really spoke to me. And because of the time of year it was bitter cold and lashing with rain. We were only at the graveside for around five minutes.’
A little spark of realisation shot across her face. ‘When did your mother die, Jacob?’
This was it. This was the important part. He felt his eyes fill up and was instantly embarrassed. Men didn’t cry. Men shouldn’t cry.
But no matter how hard he tried not to, one tear escaped and slid down his cheek. His voice was hoarse. ‘She died three days before Christmas. I came home to a house we’d decorated together, that would never feel the same again.’
‘Oh, Jacob.’ Bonnie’s tears fell instantly, and she reached up to his cheek to brush his away. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what that felt like.’
Now he’d started he couldn’t stop. He felt safe. He felt safe talking to Bonnie. Someone he’d known only a month and invited into his home. There was nothing superficial about Bonnie Reid. She was all heart and soul. He’d never met anyone like her before. Or if he had, he’d never taken the time to get to know them.
It felt right to tell Bonnie about his mother and why his insides were so messed up about Christmas.
‘I felt like when we buried my mother, we buried a little bit of ourselves. My father was never the same. I can’t remember ever seeing my father smile once my mother died. Our relationship was non-existent. I’m embarrassed by it. I’ve no idea if he just couldn’t cope. If it was all just grief. Or, if my mother had brought out another side of him, and when she died he just reverted back to how he normally was. All I know is that from the age of ten, happiness just didn’t feature in our house.’
Bonnie’s tears were free-flowing. ‘That’s awful. You had no one? No one else you could turn to?’
He shook his head. ‘Christmas felt like a curse after that. That’s why I hate it so much. I try not to be bitter. But it just doesn’t evoke the happy memories in me that it does for others. I do have good memories of Christmases with my mother. But they were so long ago. Sometimes I wonder if they even existed.’
‘Oh, Jacob.’ Bonnie reached over, her hand stroking the top of his. She left it there and squeezed gently, the warm sleeve of her jumper touching his forearm.
It was the touch. The heat of her hand, coupled with the act of compassion. Something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. Or maybe it was the relief?
The relief of reaching thirty-seven and finally being able to share with someone. It was as if a whole dark weight had lifted off his shoulders. He couldn’t rationalise it. It didn’t make any sense. But saying the words out loud, to someone who might actually understand, was a whole new concept for Jacob.
These last fourteen months had been so hard. The next few weeks probably the hardest while he waited for his results. The outcome of whether he’d come out the other side of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, or he’d succumb like his mother. Bonnie and Freya had been good for him. They’d brought some light back into his life at a time when he needed it most.
Bonnie squeezed his hand again. ‘You can’t do that, Jacob. You can’t take your feelings out on my little girl.’
He pulled his hand away and put them both up to his face, cringing. ‘I know that. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just came in, saw the decorations and it brought back a whole host of things I just wasn’t ready for.’ He put his head in his hands for a second. ‘I overreacted. I know I overreacted. I’m sorry, I really am.’ He turned to face her.
She was beautiful. Bonnie Reid was actually beautiful. Even with the harsh light in this stark white room, her dark red hair, bright blue eyes and pale skin made her the most beautiful woman he’d ever been close to. ‘What can I do? What can I do to make it up to her? To make it up to you? I don’t want her to hate me. I don’t want her to be scared of me.’
Bonnie nodded slowly and met his gaze. There was a gentle smile on her lips. ‘I can’t tell you that, Jacob. You’ve got to figure that out for yourself. You’re the adult—she’s the child. You have to take some time to work through how you feel about everything.’
‘How do I do that?’ His voice was low. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch her perfect skin—to join the invisible dots between the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
He wanted Bonnie and Freya to feel safe. To feel safe around him. Just as he’d felt safe to tell her about his past.
‘What happened to your dad?’
He