Page 28 of A Merry Little Christmas

She harrumphed. If he cared that much, she thought, crossly, he’d get on with finishing Meadow View, so his baby had a home to move into. She kept that to herself, because every time she mentioned moving house, everyone leapt on her and said that waiting until the new year was more sensible. She didn’t care about sensible; she cared about wanting to finally feel at home.

‘You’ve neatly deflected my question,’ she said instead. ‘So when does Emily’s new venture get a look-in?’

‘There’s no rush,’ Emily protested. ‘I’m enjoying helping Will set up his business. I can’t teach surfing, obviously – although I’m actually getting quite good now with Will’s help. But I can do the rest. If I was off doing my own thing, it wouldn’t be the same. This way, if I need to, I can manage the business in his absence. I’m enjoying living in the moment. One thing at a time. At some point, we’re going to sort out a room at the cottage for me to spread out and start trading. Maybe in the spring.’

Merry shook her head, bemused. ‘You look blissfully happy, and that’s all that matters. I couldn’t do it. I’d be champing at the bit to get started on my own thing.’

She remembered back to the early days of running Merry and Bright, how she’d worked late into the night at the kitchen table coming up with the perfect combination of essential oils to create exactly the right scent for each type of candle. She’d leapt at every opportunity to grow her business, developing bespoke products and even overcoming her nerves to appear on TV as Hester’s guest. She was proud of what she’d achieved.

As far as Cole was concerned, his money was their money, and they were both open with how much the other brought into the family. But Cole was also of the opinion that if Merry didn’t want to work, he would be perfectly content to look after her. She knew how fortunate she was to be in that position, but the thought of being reliant on someone else for money brought her out in goosebumps. As long as she could work, she would.

‘Sorry about that, ladies,’ said Gail, rejoining them. ‘I was getting an update from the carer who was with your father last night. He had a restless night, and his temperature was spiking. We gave him some medication and it’s come down a little, but we’ll need to keep an eye on him and let the doctors’ surgery know if he deteriorates.’ She hesitated, appearing to consider her next words with care. ‘Flu can be dangerous for dementia patients, but as Ray’s relatively young, I have every faith he’ll get through this.’

Emily’s eyes widened. ‘Dangerous? What do you mean?’

Merry reached for her hand across the bed. She’d made the mistake of googling ‘flu and dementia’ last night, only to find that for dementia patients, flu could be very serious and, in some cases, fatal. She wished she didn’t know herself, and hadn’t planned on mentioning it to Emily.

Gail’s expression softened. ‘For a person whose auto-immune system is already weak, it can be hard to fight off the illness, which can lead to more serious problems.’

‘Oh.’ Emily’s face was a mask of horror. ‘Oh gosh.’

‘But we’re not there yet, and may not be at all,’ Merry countered. Everyone already had enough to worry about, what was the point of heaping more on unnecessarily? ‘Isn’t that right?’

Gail nodded. ‘For now, you’re giving him what he needs, which is your presence – that will be his best medicine.’

Imagine if she’d gone into labour at the Christmas lights switch-on when her waters broke? There was no way she’d have been able to sit at her father’s bedside and risk taking flu home to the baby. She pressed a light hand on her stomach. Stay there, little one, just for a while longer. A feeling of panic rushed up inside her; there was so much to think about, so much to do.

‘Can I open a window?’ Merry begged, fanning her face with a scarf to calm herself.

‘You may not,’ Emily intervened quickly, pressing her sister’s shoulder to ensure she stayed seated. ‘I’ll do it.’

Gail winced. ‘Just a crack please, ladies, we try to maintain a steady temperature. I’ll leave you alone with your father. There’s a pull cord above Ray’s bed if you need anything.’

Emily struggled to open the sash window. Just as well she’d not attempted it herself, thought Merry; despite her habitual ‘can-do’ attitude and refusal to ask for help, she knew she had to be careful physically. She hadn’t told another soul, but her stomach ached as if she’d been overdoing her sit-ups today, and she’d vowed to be sensible.

As if she’d read her mind, Emily slid a stool underneath her feet.

‘There we are, Madam,’ said her sister. ‘Let me know if I can do anything else to enhance your comfort.’

‘A glass of champagne would be nice,’ Merry replied, making herself more comfortable. ‘In my dreams.’

‘Hmm.’ Emily inspected the refreshments on offer. ‘I can do lemon barley water or black tea without milk.’

‘Maybe later, thanks.’

‘Dad taught me how to make tea,’ Emily mused. ‘He used to be so pedantic about it. The water had to be scalding hot, poured the second the kettle boiled. The teabag had to be stirred for at least three minutes. Next, add the sugar, and finally a splash of milk. By the time I moved him in here, he’d forgotten how he liked it. He’d even forgotten how to make it.’

Merry wished she’d known Ray before he’d started to lose his memory. She loved hearing Emily’s childhood stories. Occasionally, she’d feel a tweak of sadness that she hadn’t had a father figure in her own life while growing up, but Ray hadn’t been perfect, and she was mature enough now not to view other people’s lives through rose-tinted glasses.

Ray moaned softly and the sisters stared at each other and then him.

‘I think he’s waking up!’ Merry felt giddy with relief. ‘Thank goodness.’

‘He squeezed my hand!’ Emily whispered.

Ray’s mouth started moving.

‘What is he saying?’ Merry leaned as close as her bump would allow.