Angela Cranley crunched her way through the deep snow covering Furlings’ lawn towards the apple tree that stood at the top of the drive. The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but it was the sort of bright, joyful winter morning that couldn’t fail to lift the spirits. The cloudless sky glowed as azure blue as a tropical lagoon, and the sun shone brightly, making the carpet of snow sparkle like a billion tiny diamonds. Against the white background, all the colours of nature seemed more pronounced. The green leaves of the holly bush were the deepest, most intense green Angela had ever seen them, and its red berries looked as plump and enticing as cherries.
She would be on her own this Christmas, for the first time ever. Unless you counted Gringo. Even Mrs Worsley had deserted her, to visit her sister (who knew?) in Edinburgh. But the prospect didn’t daunt her. Indeed Angela had turned down numerous offers, from old friends, from Jason and George, even from some of her fellow students on her Masters course to spend the festive season with them.
‘The first Christmas after divorce is always rough,’ people told her. ‘You mustn’t be alone.’
No one seemed to understand Angela’s explanation that Furlings was company enough. Now that the house was hers, really, truly hers, it felt like a fitting celebration to enjoy it by herself. After all, it was here that she had learned how to enjoy her own company. Here that she had discovered a place she truly belonged, a place where she might be alone, but she was never lonely. Unlike during the long years of her marriage to Brett.
Ironically, she and Brett were getting along better than ever now. But not for a moment did she regret their split. At fifty years old, Angela Cranley had at last understood the meaning of the word ‘home’. It was the most wonderful Christmas present she could have asked for.
Clasped in her mittened hands was a large bag of birdseed. A bird feeder hung from the lowest branch of the apple tree. Reaching up, Angela carefully unhooked it and had just begun to refill it when a voice from behind startled her.
‘Hello.’ Max Bingley was wearing a Barbour jacket, teamed with a ridiculously bright, stripy woolly hat and knitted gloves, and a pair of black boots with green frogs on them. It was a ridiculous outfit – children’s television presenter meets lunatic – but teamed with Max’s trademark smile and unfailing bonhomie, it somehow suited him. ‘On a robin rescue mission, are we? Not much fun for the birds, this weather.’
‘I know,’ said Angela, dropping the seeds. ‘Poor things. They look so forlorn.’
She looked at Max and he looked at her, and for some reason she found her heart beating unpleasantly fast and her stomach starting to churn. All sorts of polite, conversational questions formed in her mind.
How are you?
Did you want to see me about something?
Can I get you a cup of tea?
But she couldn’t seem to produce a single syllable. Staring back at her mutely, Max Bingley appeared to be suffering from the same affliction.
‘Stella’s left me,’ he said suddenly, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, like spilled marbles.
‘Oh!’ said Angela.
‘Yep. She’s run off with Dylan Pritchard Jones.’
‘Oh!’ Angela said again. She couldn’t seem to come up with any other response. ‘But isn’t he, you know, a lot younger?’
‘He is indeed.’
‘And married?’
‘Not so as you’d notice.’ Max grinned.
‘You don’t seem awfully upset by it,’ observed Angela. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘I’m not upset, really,’ said Max. ‘Stella and I have been on the skids for a while, to be frank with you. Although I was a little surprised by the Dylan thing. I fear that Pritchard Jones’s interest in my soon-to-be-ex-wife has more to do with the preposterously valuable painting Stella’s just inherited from her Great Uncle Stanley’s estate than with her own, not inconsiderable charms. He’s always been a prize shit.’
‘Well, I’m sorry anyway,’ said Angela. ‘You and Stella always seemed so relaxed together. So content.’
‘Hmmm.’ Max rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Did we? The thing is, I was never in love with her. Not like I was with Susie.’
‘Oh,’ said Angela. She didn’t know why, but she felt suddenly deflated.
‘Stella and I married for companionship,’ Max went on. ‘But I realized after a while that that wasn’t enough. I suppose this fling with Dylan is a pretty clear indication that she realized that too. It’s for the best.’
Not sure what else to say, or do, Angela filled the birdfeeder and hung it back on the branch. As soon as she and Max stepped away, a flurry of sparrows, robins and tits swooped down onto the feast. Angela watched them, trying to regain her former happiness, but it seemed to have floated away on the wind.
She turned to Max. ‘I suppose once you’ve had one true love in your life, it’s hard to settle for less.’
‘Exactly,’ said Max.
‘And two true loves is probably rather too much to ask.’ Angela smiled.
‘Do you think so?’ said Max.
He looked at her, with those lovely eyes of his that Angela had always associated with laughter and fun. But they were deadly serious now. ‘The thing is … I love you, Angela.’
Angela felt her heart drop into her boots with a thud.