‘Merry Christmas.’
He smiled, that same warm, crinkly-eyed smile Tatiana remembered from her St Hilda’s Primary School days. Ridiculously, she found herself welling up, and had to bite her lower lip hard to stop the tears from coming.
‘Thank you. And to you.’
‘I understand you and Jason might be buying a place down here. Missing the cut and thrust of Fittlescombe life, are you?’ Max teased her gently.
‘I do miss it,’ said Tati. ‘Terribly. Although I’m not sure many people around here miss me.’
Too honest to correct her, Max said simply ‘Well, I do. I miss you at the school, for one thing. Now that you have an empire to run, I imagine you’re far too busy to teach yourself. But you were very good at it, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tati, touched. It was a sincere compliment, which meant a lot coming from a man like Max Bingley.
‘Your father would have been very proud of you I’m sure,’ added Max, nodding down at Rory’s grave.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’ Tati gave a short, brittle laugh. ‘Pride in me was not something my father was known for.’
‘You were very young when he died, Tatiana,’ Max said kindly. ‘You’ve achieved so much since then. A booming business, a glittering career, a happy marriage.’
Tati felt each word echo emptily inside her. Her life didn’t feel glittering or happy. Looking at Max Bingley, newly engaged, completely content in his work and his life in his modest cottage in Fittlescombe, the truth was that she felt wildly envious. She’d have traded places in a heartbeat. And yet, when she’d lived here herself and taught at the school, she’d felt like a failure, miserable and trapped. She’d built Furlings up over the years as some sort of talisman, the missing piece of the puzzle in her life – if she could just get that house back, she’d be happy. Standing here tonight at her father’s graveside, the crisp night air biting at her face and hands, she realized what nonsense that was. Happiness wasn’t made of bricks and mortar. It must come from within, or not at all.
‘I do miss teaching,’ she told Max, stamping her feet against the cold. ‘I miss the children.’
‘Well,’ he put a paternal arm around her shoulders. ‘I expect you and Jason will have your own one day. Believe me, Tatiana, no matter what you achieve in life, there’s no sense of purpose quite like being a parent. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it,’ he kissed her on the cheeks. ‘I just wanted to say hello and congratulations on everything. Oh … and welcome home!’
He walked off with a cheery wave. Tati watched him rejoin his fiancée and some other villagers outside the church, then head off to his car. He’d been so kind, but their encounter had left her feeling awful, a deep, crushing sadness weighing on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
‘There you are.’ Jason caught up with her. ‘You disappeared on me. Everyone’s waiting in the car. Shall we go?’
‘You go on ahead,’ Tati forced a smile. ‘I’ll stay here for a while and walk back.’
‘Walk?’ Jason frowned. ‘It’s freezing. And pitch-dark.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Tati.
‘You don’t even have a torch.’
‘I know the way. Anyway, I’ve got my phone, I can use that if I need to.’
Jason hesitated. ‘I’ll walk with you. I’ll just go and tell Mum we’re not coming …’
‘No,’ Tati said, more firmly than she’d intended. ‘Thank you, darling, really. But I prefer to be alone. I’ll see you back at the house in half an hour.’
Reluctantly, Jason left. Tati stood and listened as the last of the cars from Live Crib pulled out of the church car park. She watched as the beams of the headlights melted into the night. At last she was alone in the churchyard. Only the moon and the distant lights of the village remained to guide her, but her eyes soon adjusted to her surroundings. An owl hooted twice, then fell silent. Tatiana listened to the crunch of her own feet on the snow as she paced back and forth, examining each of her family graves in turn. She ran her fingertips slowly over each rough stone, like a blind woman trying to read Braille. As if she could somehow find meaning in the dead, in the past.
A terrible emptiness threatened to overwhelm her, numbing her senses, making it hard for her to move or think or do anything. Tears would have been a relief, but they refused to come.