Page 45 of Not Just for Christmas

‘It means that you will always feel at home when you are with people you love,’ I told my son. ‘No matter where you are.’

‘Your mom is right.’ Dylan ruffled up Sam’s hair affectionately.

‘And all the people you love are here.’ Heather poured tea into three mugs. ‘Which means this is where your home is. At Merrydown, where Oakleys have lived for generations.’

Generations.

The word hit me like a sledgehammer. The farm wasn’t mine at all. Not really. Yes, in a court of law, I was the owner. But in the wider sense, I was nothing but a caretaker, guardian of the traditions which had been in place for centuries. This beautiful house, the acres of land, the far-reaching views to the coast were mine only to preserve, to nurture, not just for Sam, but generations to come. I felt a prickle of shame that after only two years of it being in my name, I was considering moving on. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. It was as simple as that.

‘Luce?’ Dylan held out a mug of tea to me. ‘You OK? You look worried.’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I said hurriedly. ‘Just very ready for this.’

I gulped at the hot liquid and gave myself a coughing fit, which almost drowned out the sound of Dylan’s phone ringing.

He looked at the screen and stood up. ‘Excuse me, I better take this, it’s work.’

‘Is it Ariana Grande?’ Sam piped up, making Dylan smile.

‘No, my manager, Will. Here you go …’ He handed Sam his toasting fork. ‘You’re in charge … A nice golden brown, please.’

‘Ariana Grande?’ I said as Dylan left the room.

Sam nodded. ‘She gets nervous on stage. Can I watch TV, please?’

‘You may,’ I said, settling back onto the sofa.

‘My manager,’ Heather mimicked, waggling her head from side to side. ‘Show-off.’

I gave her a warning look for talking like that in front of Sam.

‘Well,’ she muttered crossly, ‘he made this afternoon’s performance all about him. It should be the kiddies’ chance to shine.’

‘The kids did shine.’ I whispered. ‘Dylan saved the day and because of him, the school raised a fortune for the raffle. Plus, it made Sam happy. And that’s my priority.’

‘Hmm.’ Heather didn’t look convinced.

‘I thought you liked him,’ I murmured. ‘He was Jack’s best friend.’

‘I did. I do.’ A single tear ran down Heather’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being silly. But when I look at Dylan with all his health and life and bloody success, all I can think is why was my son taken from me and from you and Sam and the farm?’

‘The accident was the worst thing that could happen to us,’ I said, squeezing her hand. ‘But we can’t take that out on Dylan. It’s not his fault.’

‘But Jack had a purpose,’ Heather sniffed. ‘He was needed, not like that clown, singing and dancing his way through life without a care in the world.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I began before realising something was burning. ‘Sam!’

‘Who’s a clown?’ Sam waved a cremated crumpet around on the end of his fork.

‘You,’ I laughed. ‘I don’t think Dylan’s going to want to eat that, do you?’

‘No.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Perhaps we should eat some of the cookies from Dylan’s basket instead.’

‘OK, put some on a plate …’ I began, but Sam had raced off before I finished. I smiled at Heather. ‘Happy boy. He’s loving having his Uncle Dylan here.’

‘Don’t let him get too attached,’ she warned. ‘Dylan will be off back to America before you know it, and Sam will miss him.’

‘Easier said than done,’ I pointed out.