The Yuletide Child

on the tray and he and Suzy looked round. Hurriedly Dylan came forward to put the tray down on a low coffee table.
‘Just looking at your wedding pictures,’ Suzy told her. ‘You made a lovely bride.’ Then she leaned over the album again, staring at one photo, and gave a low, throaty gasp. ‘Who is that? He’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen for years—look at those smouldering eyes! Talk about a turn-on!’
Before she looked down at the photo Dylan knew who it was—who else could it be but Michael, lithe and supple in the dark grey suit he had worn for the wedding? The photo had been taken as the guests arrived for the service. All around him were happy, smiling faces, but the photographer had caught him in grim, bitter mood, glowering at the camera.
Ross glanced at it, scowling. ‘Oh, him! He’s a ballet dancer.’
Suzy groaned. ‘You’re kidding? He oozes machismo! But he’s gay, I suppose? They always are, aren’t they? What a waste!’
Dylan opened her mouth to contradict her, explain that male dancers were no more likely to be gay than the female ones, but Ross talked over her curtly. ‘Is that my sandwich, Dylan? I’d better eat it and go. I’m meeting my boss in half an hour. I’ll take my coffee black, thanks. What about you, Suzy?’
‘Black for me, too, thank you. Are these my sandwiches? They look terrific; I’m starving!’
‘Yes, I hope they’re okay,’ Dylan said, handing her the plate.
Suzy bent her head over them, inhaling. ‘They smell wonderful. I love the smell of fresh salad, don’t you? Did you grow all this, Ross? He’s a great gardener, isn’t he, Dylan? I envy you those rows and rows of vegetables. He plants them the way he plants his saplings—straight as a die! Vegetables taste so much better when they’ve just come out of the garden, don’t you agree?’
It was only later, when Ross had gone off back to work and Suzy had set off for her own home, that Dylan remembered that she had never set Suzy right about Michael’s sexual orientation. Next time she had a chance she must do so, but she would make certain Ross wasn’t in earshot. He hated her to mention Michael, which was typical of a man. He saw nothing wrong in laughing, teasing, almost flirting with Suzy, yet he turned nasty if Michael was mentioned. One law for him, another for her, apparently. Dylan resented that. How would he like it if she started sulking or flying into a rage every time he spoke to Suzy?
The following Friday night there was a bad spring storm in the region; all night long the wind howled around the house. Dylan anxiously watched the trees on the forest edge swaying and bending, and heard on the TV news that houses had suffered serious damage, losing tiles or chimneys, while power lines were brought down and trees toppled. Anxiety kept her awake half the night, but towards dawn the winds died down and she fell into a deep sleep, only to be awoken by the shrilling of the telephone.
Ross moaned something and rolled over to pick up the phone. Sleepily, half believing she was still dreaming, Dylan heard him groan.
‘You’re kidding? Completely blocked? Yes, we’llhave to deal with that at once. Of course. I’ll be there. Okay, Alan. See you in half an hour.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Dylan asked, struggling up in the warm bed as he hung up and started to get out of bed.
‘The storm brought down half a dozen trees in Alan’s section of the forest. A couple of them have blocked a road, and people are having to make a big detour. The police rang Alan, asking him to get the road cleared as soon as possible. He can’t do it on his own; he’ll need help. Sorry, darling. I had hoped we could go out somewhere today, but we’ll have to put that off until tomorrow. I may be busy most of the day.’
She tried to hide her disappointment ‘Oh, well, maybe we could do something special tomorrow! I’ll get up and make your breakfast.’
‘No, don’t bother, darling. I’ll just have a cup of tea and a piece of toast.’ He gathered up his clothes and went off to the bathroom, telling her, ‘You stay in bed. Try to get some more sleep.’
That was impossible, of course! she lay listening to the sound of the shower, then a few moments later his quiet footsteps on the stairs, the muted movements in the kitchen. She was still wide awake when Ross left. Dylan heard the front door close quietly, the engine of his four-wheel drive start up, then the sound of him driving away, fast.
For another half an hour she lay listening to the empty house; clocks ticked, floorboards creaked, electricity hummed, but she was all alone. Gulls pattered on the roof; they must have flown inland to escape the storm. In a line of thornbeams at the back of the garden rooks sat on their rough nest, squawking and arguing.
Further away, she heard the rustling and whisperingof the forest; the wind had died down but it was still blowing among the branches.
The house was immaculate. She had nothing to do and all day to do it in, alone. Turning over, sobbing, she longed for London, for streets noisy with traffic and people, for the comfort and reassurance of being surrounded by others.
She would have liked to ring her sister, but Jenny would think she was nagging for Phil to go to London and collect her car, and Dylan didn’t want her to feel pressured. Saturday was a family day—they all did things together, went shopping, went to the library, had lunch out at some favourite country pub, took the kids cycling on safe country roads, went sailing or walking. So Phil would probably be bringing her car tomorrow.
Dylan wished, though, that he was coming today—bringing Jenny and the kids with him. That would have been something to look forward