I rub my cheek on the collar of his coat. He’s worn the same aftershave for as long as I can remember. Hugging him feels warm and safe and comforting, and I’m suddenly glad I came home.
‘Your lunch is in the oven,’ says Mum, reaching for a pair of oven gloves.
He gives her a guilty smile. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I had lunch at the club.’
‘But you knew Annie was arriving this morning! You could have come home for lunch this once.’
He kisses the top of her head. I’m sorry. I thought she was arriving on the three o’clock train.’
‘That was the original plan,’ I say. ‘But Maggie told me not to bother coming into the office just for the morning. I was already packed, so I decided to take the earlier train.’
‘You can have some crumble and custard,’ says Mum. ‘I’ve never known you to turn that down, however full you were.’
‘Well, perhaps a little bit,’ says Dad.
He sits down next to me. ‘You’re looking very well, my dear. They aren’t working you too hard at that place of yours?’
‘Work’s fine,’ I say. ‘It’s been quite busy. One of our senior managers is leaving next month, and I’m hoping I might get promoted. It’s a bit of a longshot, but I think it’s worth going for.’
‘Of course, it is!’ says Mum. ‘There’s no point in being a shrinking violet. If you don’t blow your own trumpet, no one else will do it for you. That’s what I always say.’
‘That isn’t generally your problem,’ says Dad, helping himself to custard.
‘Why hide your light under a bushel?’ says Mum.
I’m surprised to find I’m enjoying the crumble. ‘Are these your plums?’ I ask Dad.
‘Yes, they’re the last of this year’s crop. Your mother took most of them. She made quite a bit of jam for the village fête.’
‘I took second place for my plum and apple this year,’ says Mum. ‘But I didn’t even place in the most symmetrical vegetable category. I’ve always says that category’s fixed, haven’t I, Graham?’
‘You have, indeed. To hear you tell it, the entire organising committee has come straight out of a Dan Brown novel.’
‘You may laugh,’ she says, ‘but I’m convinced we don’t know the half of it. People go home with rosettes each year who don’t know compost from caviar. Anyway, how’s Robert? Did you beat him?’
He nods. ‘It was a close thing, but I got a fluke birdie on the ninth hole and finished well under par. So, Robert had to buy lunch.’
‘Is that Robert Fielding?’ I ask in what I hope is a casual tone.
‘That’s right,’ says Mum. ‘He and your father play golf every Saturday. It’s got to be quite a thing.’
I force myself to speak again. ‘I had no idea you were so friendly with the Fieldings.’
‘Oh, they’re super people!’ she says. ‘Elaine and I were on the Christmas Bazaar committee together last year, and we got to know each other very well. She’s an absolute hoot! And your father and Robert have hit it off together. It makes such a difference having friends in the village who enjoy the same sorts of things as we do.’
I decide not to ask anything more. Any further discussion is bound to lead to mention of Alex. Even, heaven forbid, suggestions that he and I should get together while we’re here. Mum is convinced that whenever I come home I must be desperate to look up anyone I’ve ever known, however vaguely, and however long ago.
‘Come and sit with me by the fire,’ says Dad, ‘and tell me everything you’ve been doing since we last saw you. Your mother will only unpack and repack the dishwasher all over again if you try to help.’
‘That’s because you don’t have the faintest smidge of spatial awareness,’ she says. ‘Do you know, Annie, I caught him trying to put the fish knives into the dishwasher last week – with their handles up! Did you ever hear of such a thing?’
I settle into an armchair next to the fire. ‘Does she ever sit down?’
‘Hardly ever,’ says Dad. ‘I married a whirlwind.’
‘When is Jamie coming home?’ I ask.
He darts a quick look towards the kitchen. ‘Not until Christmas morning.’