Page 22 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Pancakes,’ I settled on. I had eggs, and of course milk, and there was bound to be some flour.

‘Yes!’ Sam punched the air. ‘With syrup?’

‘With syrup,’ I confirmed.

‘And can I play with your iPad while you cook them?’

The iPad. That reminded me.

‘You can help me to make the pancakes,’ I told him. ‘And we need to have a little chat about the iPad after you borrowed it last night. Someone sent Uncle Dylan a message pretending to be me, and inviting him to Merrydown for Christmas. Was that you?’

‘No.’ His face turned red. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sam,’ I gave him a warning look. ‘I don’t think Santa will be very impressed if you’re telling lies.’

His little face crumpled. ‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Inviting someone to stay at Christmas is a big thing, Sam. And a lot of work for Mummy.’

A lot of work. I shuddered at the thought of the extra chores ahead of me. The farmhouse had five bedrooms, three currently not in use. Well, not as bedrooms, at least. Nearly every spare inch of space was full of either Jack’s belongings that I couldn’t bear to part with, or all the baby equipment and clothes that Sam had grown out of, optimistically stored in readiness for the next baby. Plus anything else I hadn’t known where to put. My plan had been to give Mum and Dad my room, and for me to squeeze in with Sam while they were here. Now I was going to have to have a proper sort-out to accommodate Dylan.

There had been a time when hosting visitors was one of my favourite things to do. Preparing bedrooms, planning menus, adding all the little finishing touches to make guests feel welcome. Once upon a time, I’d even thought of running a bed and breakfast business as my own sideline when Sam was a bit older.

We turned in to the track leading to the farm and bumped and splashed our way through the potholes.

‘But I would help.’ He looked at me eagerly. ‘I can make toast and do the fire, and I promise to tidy up my toys.’

I let out a long breath. If only life was that simple.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I replied, ‘but I never want you to do this again, OK?’

‘Sorry, Mummy.’ Sam’s chin dropped to his chest. ‘I just really wanted him to come. Daddy used to clap really loud, and do that whistle with his fingers when I did something good, like ride my bike or swim without armbands.’

‘He did, darling.’ I swallowed the lump in my throat. There was no point telling him that I’d still always be there to cheer my son on. I knew exactly what Sam meant. There was a Jack-shaped whole in his life that I’d never be able to fill.

‘And all the other children in my class will have their daddies watching them in the Nativity, but Daddy won’t be there to see me be Joseph.’ He looked at me, his eyes as blue as the Atlantic Ocean, just as Jack’s had been. ‘Or ever.’

‘Oh Sam.’ My heart ached for my son. ‘Even though we can’t see him, Daddy’s always in our hearts and I know he will be so proud of you.’

‘But he won’t be there,’ Sam persisted. ‘So I thought it would be cool if Uncle Dylan was there instead. That’s all.’

‘I see. It would be cool, I agree.’ I always tried to keep it together in front of Sam, but hearing him talk about Jack never failed to undo me. ‘And I might have some good news for you.’

‘Is Uncle Dylan coming?’ His head whipped up, and he crossed his fingers, chanting under his breath, ‘Please, please, please, please, please.’

I steered the Land Rover as close to the back door as I could to save Sam’s school shoes from getting too muddy and turned off the ignition.

‘He thinks he might be able to,’ I said, wanting to protect Sam from disappointment for as long as possible. ‘But remember, he’s a very busy man.’

My son gasped, his face lighting up with joy. ‘So he’s going to see me be Joseph in the Nativity?’

‘Uhuh,’ I nodded, unable to bring myself to actually say the words.

‘Hurray! Thanks, Mum.’ Sam unclipped his seatbelt and threw himself at me. ‘I’m going to practise my songs. This is going the best merry Christmas ever!’

‘I hope so,’ I agreed and wrapped my arms around my little man, breathing him in, his coconut shampoo, overlain with the musty smell of school.

As he wriggled free and raced inside, I let out a long, shaky breath. I had ten days from now to get ready for a Christmas I hadn’t planned for, ten days to brace myself for Dylan’s arrival … and somehow, ten days to make Sam’s Christmas the very best it could be.