Fiction Serial: Coming Home For Christmas (Part 1)
WRITTEN BY DELLA GALTON
Enjoy this festive two-part serial! We’ll publish Part 2 on Nov 30.
PART 1: The warmth and happiness of her family home only makes singer Tess’s sense of failure in London more acute…
Tess yawned and tightened her fingers around the steering wheel of her Smart Car as she indicated to take the slip road off the motorway at Cadnam.
It had been a long journey, the car felt stuffy and warm, and the traffic had been horrendous getting out of London. Not all that surprising on Christmas Eve.
But now she was almost home. Or to be more precise, to her family home.
It felt like a hundred years since she’d headed for the city with her guitar in the back of her car and a head full of dreams. Yet it had been just eighteen months ago that she’d moved to London. She’d been back to Lyndhurst, where she’d grown up and where her parents still lived, less than a handful of times since.
It felt bittersweet pulling on to the forest road and swapping the endless Tarmac for trees and gorse and New Forest ponies. Tess felt some of the tension slip out of her as she glanced to either side of her into what she’d always called The Green, even though at this time of year there were more soft browns and muted golds that any actual green.
She yawned again and mindful of the ‘tiredness kills’ messages that flashed up all along the motorway, decided to stop for a few minutes. She was only eight miles from home… But still, better to be safe than sorry.
She pulled into a familiar layby and turned off the ignition. One other car was in situ. It was just before four. Most people were probably doing last-minute Christmas shopping or were already tucked up beside their log fires and Christmas trees, sipping mulled wine and nibbling mince pies.
Tess felt like bursting into tears. This Christmas was so different to the one she’d been looking forward to celebrating.
She got out of the car, enjoying the cool air through her shoulder-length bob, and stretched her legs in the muted half-light. It was just before dusk.
She walked along the track a little way. It was going to be a cold night.
The sky was crisp and clear, dotted with a few early stars, and the faintest shimmer of frost already sparkled on the ground that felt hard beneath the flat boots she’d put on for the drive.
Her mother had said she was impulsive, but she hadn’t gone to London completely on a whim. She’d had a room in a flat sorted out and a friend, Jack, who already played on the pub circuit.
“I’ll get you some work,” Jack had promised, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “There are always opportunities for good backing singers.”
Singing was Tess’s world. She’d learned to sing before she could talk. She’d played the guitar since she was six. And she’d been writing her own songs since she was ten.
She was immersed in music and had known there would never be any other career for her, although she’d heeded her parents’ advice and had got half-decent grades in her GCSEs too.
But Tess hadn’t thought she’d need her back-up plan. She was a practised performer already. She’d been convinced she’d just need a foot in the door – and she’d had that with Jack.
Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she sighed as she crunched along the forest path. She’d been naïve, she realised now. Getting the occasional gig in a country pub was very different from the competitiveness of the London circuit.
She bit her lip as she recalled her friend Siobhan’s warning. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Tess. Are you sure this Jack guy hasn’t got an ulterior motive?
Tess had lost touch with Siobhan lately. They’d had less in common once Tess had moved – and yes, although Tess hated to admit it, Siobhan had been right about Jack.
The sound of a text pinging on her phone brought Tess back to the present. She half expected it to be from Siobhan, tuning in by some weird synchronicity, but it was her mother.
Just checking in. Any idea of your ETA yet, love? X
Feeling slightly guilty, Tess retraced her steps. She should have let them know what time she was leaving London and she’d completely forgotten.
She tapped quickly into her phone. Sorry. ETA 4.30ish.
Twenty minutes later she drew up outside her parents’ house, which was the left-hand side of a pair of semis on a tree-lined road.
The right-hand semi was owned by a family who were big on Christmas lights. A Father Christmas sleigh pulled by reindeer cantered across the front garden and glittery white icicles dangled from the gutters. The word NOEL was written large in pink and green lights on the roof.
Dad had responded to this flamboyant display by draping fairy lights around the front porch. They flashed on and off. Tess smiled. Mum had probably talked him into doing that.
Dad wasn’t a keep-up-with-the-neighbours type of guy. He was heavily into classic cars, which needed maintenance, and was usually immersed in some kind of DIY project too.
Tess wondered what his latest project was as she parked in the space behind his old Triumph, held together with love and perseverance. She could see that her sister’s car was there too, but Mum’s must be on the road somewhere to leave her a space. That was nice.
Last Christmas she’d been full of her new life, the gigs she’d done and the ones she had lined up. She had held court to her parents, her elder sister, Evie, brother-in-law Tom and her niece and nephew, five-year-old Ella and seven-year-old Matt.
Everyone had been so pleased for her. So generous in their praise. She had played them a new song after dinner on Christmas Eve, when they were replete and content. It had been one of the happiest times of her life.
As far as her family were concerned, she was still happy in London. A successful city girl. She’d been too proud to tell them it had all been slowly going wrong this year and that her life had come completely apart at the seams back in October.
They were going to have to know, but Tess had been putting off telling them. It was news that was best given face to face. She was half regretting keeping that secret now – she didn’t want to ruin Christmas for anyone. She would need to pick her moment.
Just as she was getting her bags out of the car, the front door opened. An oblong of welcoming light spilled out onto the path. It was Evie.
“Hey, sis. I thought it might be you. Do you need a hand with your gear? Can I take anything for you?”
“Thanks. You could take the bag of presents. They’re mostly for the kids.”
She smiled. Maybe it would be easier to put on a brave face than she’d thought.
Evie was smiling too. She looked great. She’d put on a tiny bit of weight, which suited her. Like Tess she’d always been ultra-slender. And there was a glow about her that was familiar.
“Evie, are you pregnant?”
The words were out of Tess’s mouth before she could edit them. It looked as though she wasn’t the only one who’d been keeping secrets.
“I am. But we’ve literally only just passed the three-month mark. We haven’t told Mum and Dad yet. We were planning on telling you all together tomorrow after Christmas dinner.” She raised her eyebrows. “So keep it zipped.”
They both giggled as they hugged and Tess said, “Don’t take the presents. They’re a bit heavy. I’ll get you something lighter to take in.”
Moments later the two sisters were inside, and it was instant chaos. Ella and Matt were shrieking with excitement. Frost, the family dog, so named because he was a greyhound with a coat the colour of silver, was wagging his thin tail and whining with joy, Dad was beaming broadly, and Mum was yelling an enthusiastic hello from the kitchen.
“Wow, what a welcome,” Tess said, feeling a little choked as she breathed in the scents of Christmas and home: the pine scent of the huge tree in the lounge and the waft of cinnamon from a pan of mulled wine on the hob in the kitchen.
It felt amazing to be back in the warmth of her family and she could feel the ache of tears in her throat. She wished she hadn’t pretended things were still great. She wished she could add some good news of her own to the news of Evie and Tom’s baby when they shared it tomorrow.
Forty-five minutes later they were all sitting around the lounge table while Mum served up
salmon, with spinach and pine nuts, green beans and dauphinoise potatoes, her signature dish. The room smelled of garlic and Christmas candles and cinnamon. It was heaven.
Illustration: Lauren Rebbeck
For a while the conversation was muted as they ate. Then, after dinner, once the little ones had been persuaded they should head up to bed to hang up their stockings for Father Christmas, the adults drifted back to the table for mince pies and brandies or whatever other after-dinner beverages they fancied.
Tess allowed herself to be wrapped in the buzz of excited chatter that swept over her as they all caught up.
Dad told them about his plans for a new paint job on the Triumph.
“Please tell me you’re not having flames on it,” Evie groaned.
“What’s wrong with flames?” Dad threw her a look of mock outrage, and everyone laughed.
“That’s after he’s finished the bathroom,” Mum said. “It can’t stay half-finished for ever.”
“What? It is finished,” Dad objected.
“It’s not painted. And you promised me a bathroom cabinet.”
The banter went back and forth. Tom told them about his promotion to manager at the rental agency where he worked.
“More money and more flexibility,” he said, and he and Evie exchanged a secret glance.
Tess smiled to herself. She was putting in the occasional comment, but she knew she wouldn’t avoid being the focus of the conversation for ever.
Along one side of the comfy room which never seemed to change that much, stood her piano. The polished mahogany upright had been her first love and although she’d said often enough since she’d left home that her parents didn’t need to keep it, they still did. They obviously still polished it too. It gleamed.
Now, as her gaze rested on it, Tess became aware that the room had grown quiet. When she glanced back at her family she realised that her mother had just cleared her throat.
“So, what’s your news then, my love? How are things?”
Her mother’s voice was curiously gentle. Tess was aware of a slight tension in the room and she realised her family weren’t as oblivious as she’d believed they were. Or maybe she wasn’t as good as she had thought at keeping secrets.
She was about to launch into her cheery rehearsed speech about how things had slowed down, but London was still viable, when suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Things are pretty – er… well, not very good…” She felt her voice crack. She stopped speaking and swallowed hard. No one spoke.
“It’s all gone wrong,” she continued softly, keeping her voice as blank as she could so she didn’t cry. “The band let me go in September. They found a new singer. Someone better.”
Actually, it had been someone Jack had introduced. A girl called Kesia who was very pretty, very starry-eyed and presumably much more willing to share Jack’s bed. But Tess wasn’t ready to confess that to her family.
“It was OK for a while. I had some bar work too, so I was still earning. But then the landlord of the flat I was sharing decided to sell and I couldn’t find anything else in my price range. So I’ve been sleeping on a friend’s sofa.”
“Oh love, why didn’t you come home?” Mum’s dark eyes were worried.
Evie and Tom were nodding sympathetically.
“Because I thought I could turn things around.”
Tess felt a tear roll down her nose. This was even worse than she’d imagined. She rummaged in her bag for a hanky but couldn’t find one.
Evie handed her a minipack of tissues. Evie was always organised.
Her father leaned forward across the table, narrowly missing setting his sleeve on fire on a candle – which caused a temporary diversion – before filling up her glass to a generous level.
“You’re here now,” he said emphatically. “That’s what counts.”
Tess nodded and wiped her face. Telling them was a relief. No more shameful secrets. No more pretending she’d made the successful transition from gauche girl with a guitar to slick urban musician as she’d led them to believe.
And no more denying that she’d failed spectacularly at London living.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do next. But thank you.”
Her parents wisely didn’t push her on this and everyone went up to bed around ten-thirty. Tomorrow was a big day.
It was a four-bedroom house, having once been their childhood home, but Evie and Tom had the biggest of the spare bedrooms, the children had the next biggest and Tess had her mother’s knitting room.
A put-you-up bed had been temporarily squashed in and made up with pretty bedlinen patterned with pink roses. Tess felt displaced, even though it was natural she should have this room, being the only singleton.
Evie came to stand in the doorway.
“Hey, sis, it’ll be OK.” Her dark eyes, so like Tess’s, were soft. “I know you might not want to come back here, but we’ll sort something. You could come to us and stay for a bit, if you like?”
“Thanks, but you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll be fine.”
Evie opened her mouth then hesitated. Tess knew she was about to say something else. Something she hadn’t wanted to say in front of the others.
“What?” she prompted.
“I saw Rupert a couple of weeks ago,” Evie continued, after a slight pause. “He asked after you.”
“Did he?” Tess lowered her eyes.
Rupert Buckingham was the son of Linda and Bill, who were long standing friends of their parents as well as neighbours. They only lived two streets away.
Rupert and Tess had been close once. Not in a childhood sweetheart kind of way, more of an always-there kind of way. He and Tess were the same age – twenty-three – and they’d grown up together. They’d been each other’s wing men, each other’s plus ones at parties, and each other’s confidants.
Rupert was lovely… but he was definitely more Rupert Bear than Rupert Campbell-Black, hero of the Jilly Cooper novels Tess had pinched from her mother’s bookcase when she was young.
Just before Tess had gone to London Rupert had come to see her and he’d laid his cards on the table.
“I’ve always really liked you, Tess and I was wondering if …”
She’d known he was about to ask her out. She’d put a hand on his arm and interrupted.
“I’m moving to London with a friend called Jack. He’s in a band.”
Rupert had stopped speaking and nodded. Nothing else had been said. They’d barely communicated since, rather to Tess’s shame.
“How is Rupert?” she asked Evie now.
“He’s really good. He’s been seeing Charlotte Andrews – do you remember her? Her parents had the Post Office in the village before it got closed.”
Tess had a fleeting image of blonde curls, freckled prettiness and an infectious laugh. She nodded, wondering why it felt painful imagining them together.
“I’m glad he’s happy,” she told Evie. “I bet they make a lovely couple.”
“Yeah, I’m glad he’s settled.” Evie’s anxious eyes belied her words and she touched her sister’s arm. “It’ll all work out. You’ll be happy again too. You’ll see.”
“I know,” Tess said.
But when she finally curled up in the uncomfortable single bed, her heart ached. It was Christmas Day tomorrow. A time of goodwill and peace to all men. And she didn’t think she had ever dreaded a festive season more.
