“This is where the innkeeper lives.” Hattie led her into the living room. “We have two bedrooms, this room and a small kitchen. We’re a little cramped for space, but it’s cozy.”
It was cozy. The sofa was stacked with cushions, and a soft mohair throw was folded over one of the arms. The coffee table was reclaimed wood, and a vase of eucalyptus sat in the center. Everywhere she looked there were signs of Delphi. Coloring books, a child’s picture of a house in the country complete with snowman. A pair of tiny shoes peeped from under the sofa, and on the table were the remains of a glass of milk and half a cookie. On almost every surface there were photographs of Brent. On his own, looking windblown and handsome on a ski slope. Swinging Delphi above his head. Smiling with his arms wrapped around both Delphi and Hattie. Action man. Family man. The many facets of Brent.
Erica stared at those photos. Growing up, her father hadn’t had a presence. Her mother never talked about him. There were no physical reminders. It was as if he’d been deleted from their lives.
That wasn’t the case here. Brent still had a place in Hattie and Delphi’s life.
She pushed down emotion that she didn’t entirely understand. “It’s a beautiful room.”
“Thank you.” Hattie lifted an armful of clean laundry from one of the sofas and put it on the table. Then she gathered up two soft toys and a plastic dinosaur. “Sit down wherever you can find room. Check you’re not sitting on a toy or anything squishy first.”
Erica settled herself in the armchair. “You were probably looking forward to a few hours off.”
“I don’t know what that is.” Hattie scooped up two paintings and rescued a crayon from the floor. “My priority is always to put Delphi to bed and spend that time with her, and I’ve done that so I’m happy.”
“I thought, maybe, we could have that conversation we should have had earlier.”
Hattie added the crayon to the stack on the table. “I’d like that. Can I get you anything? A drink?”
“I’m fine, but thank you.” Erica kept her hands clasped in her lap. She had no idea how to start the conversation. “You probably—”
“Mommy!” Delphi appeared in the doorway. Cheerful robins danced across her pajamas and she had her dinosaur tucked under her arm. “I can’t sleep.”
Hattie put her glass down and went to her daughter. “That’s because you’re standing in our living room. To sleep you have to be in your bed. I’ll take you back.” She scooped up the child and Delphi buried her head in her shoulder.
“Can I stay here? I want to be near you. And I like the tree and the fire.”
Erica liked the tree and the fire, too. Like the rest of the inn, Hattie had turned her own living accommodation into a sanctuary. She seemed to think she’d added little to the inn, that it was all down to Brent, but it seemed to Erica that her mark was everywhere.
Hattie was patient. “If you don’t go to bed, you’ll be tired.”
“I don’t like my bed.” Delphi’s arms tightened around her neck. “I want to sleep in your bed.”
From the flush on Hattie’s cheeks, Erica assumed that happened a lot.
Erica had never been allowed to sleep anywhere but her own bed. If she was sick, or had a bad dream, her mother would sit with her for a while but she would never allow Erica to curl up next to her, and on the few occasions Erica had crawled into her bed in the night, hoping to remain undetected, her mother had immediately lifted her and carried her back to her own room.
“You’re fine right here,” she would whisper. “If you feel lonely, all you have to do is think comforting thoughts.”
Out of nowhere Erica thought about Jack. About the last time they were together. He’d suggested staying, and she’d been the one to remind him that that wasn’t what they did. That wasn’t how their relationship worked. He hadn’t argued, and she’d watched him dress, pulling on his discarded clothes and shrugging his broad shoulders into his wool coat. It was what she’d wanted—wasn’t it what they both wanted?—but the moment the door of her apartment had closed behind him she’d felt bereft. As if she’d lost something important. Which was ridiculous, because she’d been sleeping through the night on her own since she was an infant. She didn’t need anyone else in her bed to be happy. For the first time in her adult life she’d had to try to find comforting thoughts, but they’d proved elusive.
There was a tap on the door and Hattie sighed and settled Delphi on the sofa next to Erica. “Stay there while I see who that is.” She hurried to the door and Erica heard low voices and then Hattie returned looking stressed.
“That was Chloe. One of the guests has a question I need to deal with.” She crouched down in front of Delphi. “I need to go and help someone. Will you stay here with Aunt Erica? I’ll be quick.”
Erica almost looked over her shoulder to see who else was in the room, but then realized she was Aunt Erica.
It was an uncomfortable thought.
She’d always refused to be Aunt Erica to Anna’s children, but she could hardly object this time, could she? Technically, she was Delphi’s aunt.
Hattie shot her a look of apology. “Do you mind watching her for a moment? I won’t be long. She’s so sleepy she’ll probably crash out. I’ll carry her to bed when I’m back.” There was a soft throw over the arm of the sofa and she tucked it around Delphi. “Close your eyes.”
Delphi closed her eyes, scrunching them up tightly.
“I’ll be just a few minutes.” Hattie grabbed her phone and left the room.
Delphi opened her eyes. “Do you like sharks?”
“I—it’s not something I’ve ever thought about.”
“I like sharks. My favorite shark is a hammerhead. Do you know how many sleeps there are until Santa comes?”
“No. I haven’t counted.”
“It’s sixteen.”
“Oh.” Erica blinked. “Well, thank you.”
“If you don’t go to bed at all on Christmas Eve, it’s fifteen. But if you’re awake, Santa might not come so you have to pretend to be asleep.”
Was she supposed to know all this? She found herself suffering from a major attack of imposter syndrome.
She had virtually no experience with children. Unlike Anna, she wasn’t one of those people who loved children just because they were children. In her opinion children were like any other humans. They had to earn her respect and friendship. Anna’s children were different, not only because they’d turned into interesting people, but also because Erica saw them as an extension of Anna and Pete, whom she already loved.
To steer the conversation onto more familiar ground she thought of the most safe, generic question possible. “Do you know what you’d like for Christmas, Delphi?”
“I’d like a sled. A small one is fine, and also one of Panther’s kittens, but a pet is a big responsibility—” She stumbled over the word, clearly reciting something she’d been told. “You have to care for it and love it always, not just when you feel like it. And you have to feed it and keep it warm and if it’s sick you have to take it to the vet. Also, you have to clean up poop. It’s a lot of work.”