Next to her, Emilia saw June’s eyes fill with pride and fondness. With his hair now white, and his spectacles on the end of his nose, Mick was a million miles from the bright young star she had fallen for, but he could still hold an audience in the palm of his hands as Tennyson’s words resonated around the church.
‘Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more; …’
Emilia felt Marlowe squeeze her arm and loved him for once more just knowing. She looked over at Sarah and wondered how she was feeling. In her pocket she could feel the soft package she was going to give her later. She’d found it in a drawer in the office when she was emptying it out. She knew it was meant for Sarah and that it was her duty to make sure she got it, even though she knew it would mean mixed feelings, both joy and sadness.
She watched Mick leave the lectern and make his way back to June’s side and watched her whisper well done to him, and she loved how he smiled his thanks and appreciation even though he was an Oscar-winning actor who didn’t need to be told he was brilliant. And she felt pride that in some small way she had been responsible for bringing them together at a time of life where they may both have feared they could be alone forever.
And there were Jackson and Mia and Finn, and she knew that amongst all the footballs and skateboards and Nerf guns Finn was going to get the next day, there was also his first Harry Potter, and she hoped that late on Christmas afternoon Jackson and Finn would curl up together and begin the journey to Hogwarts.
Everywhere she looked she saw familiar faces.
Afterwards she and Marlowe went to Peasebrook Manor for Christmas Eve drinks in the great hall. There was the biggest Christmas tree by the stairs, reaching up two floors, and a roaring log fire, and Ralph rushing round with a bottle of wine in each hand making sure everyone was kept topped up.
Emilia slipped away from the party and found Sarah in the kitchen, pulling sausage rolls out of the Aga and tipping them onto a silver tray.
‘I found something,’ she said. ‘In the bureau. I’m certain it’s for you. And I know my father would want me to give it to you.’
Sarah stood up, holding the tray in both hands. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty.
‘Oh,’ was all she said. Then she put the tray down and wiped her hands on a tea towel.
‘I can just leave it here …’ Emilia indicated the kitchen table.
‘No. Please. I’d like you to be here. While I open it.’ Sarah looked around to see if there was anyone listening, but it was quiet here, away from the hubbub of the jollity. She took the little package. Emilia had stuck fresh tape on it after she’d opened it, but she slid her finger under it carefully and took out a scarf: a long devoré scarf in midnight blue and silver grey, with silken tassels.
She nodded, as if in recognition that this was exactly what Julius would have chosen for her. She held it to her face and felt its softness on her cheek.
Her voice was slightly cracked as she spoke. ‘I feel as if he’s going to walk into the room any minute. And tell me he chose it because of my eyes.’
Emilia could imagine her father in the shop, comparing colours and fabrics, holding the scarves up to the light until he had found the right one.
‘He was the most brilliant present chooser.’
‘Thank you for finding it, Emilia. Thank you for bringing it to me.’
‘It’s what Dad would have wanted me to do.’
Sarah folded it back up and tucked it back into the tissue just as Ralph appeared in the doorway.
‘Sausage rolls, darling? Everyone’s ravenous. They need something to soak up all the booze.’
Emilia turned around with a smile and Sarah picked up the tray. ‘Just coming.’
The two of them walked out together into the mêlée, then drifted apart amongst the throngs. They would always have a tie, because of their secret, but it didn’t need to be vocalised. They knew they would be there for each other, if they ever wanted to share a moment’s reflection, or memory, and they would give each other comfort.
It was an unusual situation, thought Emilia, but then – what was usual? The whole point of life was you couldn’t ever be sure what would happen next. Sometimes what happened was good, sometimes not, but there were always surprises. She smiled to herself as she scoped the room, and spotted Marlowe standing by the fire, chatting up a pair of sprightly elderly ladies who were surveying him as a pair of foxes might a chicken who’d escaped its coop.
‘Oh look!’ someone cried. ‘It’s starting to snow!’
Everyone rushed to the windows and gazed out at the almost luminescent snowflakes twirling round in the golden glow of the garden lamps. Faster and faster they fell, tiny ballerinas in the spotlight.
‘Do you think we should go?’ Emilia asked Marlowe. ‘We don’t want to get snowed in.’