Chapter Eleven
Wintersong
After watching Rudy drive off, Trevor went to his room and tried to nap. Suddenly the bed felt too big for one. Time alone only made him stew about cold realities and how tenuous everything stood between him and Rudy. Trevor would be heading back to his tiny two-bedroom house in Kent in a week, to his uncomplicated job as a freelance accountant. Rudy would remain here. After which, was he ever likely to hear from him again? Probably not, even though the mere thought hurt his chest and made his stomach tighten. In all of his twenty-eight years, he’d never had such an instant and intense connection with somebody, had never known someone whose magnetic presence in a room set off currents beneath his skin and cast everybody else in shadow.
And in the bedroom? Right now, he didn’t want to think about how wonderful last night had been. In a fair world, they should have been enjoying more of each other’s bodies.
But the simple unromantic truth was they had different lives, different jobs, and lived at other ends of the British Isles. After tossing and turning for half an hour and hearing soft music from the kitchen, he decided to get up and seek out the company of whoever he found there.
Mrs M stood frozen at the kitchen sink, staring out of the window, the tap running and the dishwasher churning. She hadn’t noticed him, and he observed her for a moment, then felt a wave of concern when she didn’t move. Soundlessly, he went to stand some way off to her left before noticing a tear on her cheek.
“Mrs M?” he said softly.
She came to life with a flinch, then seemed almost embarrassed to have been caught, until she realised the person standing there was Trevor. Looking away from him, she turned the tap off before smearing the palm of one hand across her cheek, then down her apron.
“Are you okay, Mrs M? Is this about what you told Mary?”
She shook her head, chuckled, then let out a deep sigh before turning to him.
“Nothing like that. Don’t mind me, silly old woman. Just having a moment. There I was, all alone a few minutes ago, washing cups and glasses, when Sarah McLachlan’s beautiful voice came on the radio, singing something called Wintersong. Never heard the song before, and I don’t usually listen to the words these days. Most of the time they’re either vulgar or they make no sense. But hers hit me so hard. Could have been singing about Mon and me, especially something about lying awake at night or in the morning and trying to remember how her body felt lying next to me. I do that a lot, you know? Wake up and think she’s still there. But when I reach out, she’s not. Gets me every time. Incredible, isn’t it, how a simple song can sum up what we’re feeling in so few words?”
“Oh, Brenda,” said Trevor, going over and pulling her around. “Give me a hug. I know you miss her. Believe me, we all do. But she was your Mon, first and foremost.”
“She loved you to bits, Trevor,” she murmured. Without making eye contact, she pulled away and wiping something from his shoulder. “I hope you know that. She’d want nothing more than to see you happy.”
Selfless to a fault, Mrs M cared for everyone around her. In turn, Monica had been the one to care for her. Karl had cared for Trevor, but what Mrs M and Monica had was so much more. To break the awkward moment, he threw out an olive branch.
“I have to say, you outdid yourself this year. Lunch was outstanding. Do you need a hand cutting up bread or meats or things for tea?”
Traditionally, they had no sit-down dinner on Christmas night because everyone was usually still overfull from lunch. Mrs M still provided salad, French bread, filled vol-au-vents, plates of cold food including leftover turkey, cold-cut meats, cheeses, heated quiches and flans and pickles. And despite everyone’s protests about having eaten too much and not being able to manage another morsel, most of the food disappeared.
“No need, Trevor. You’ve helped enough already,” she said. “Anyway, Cheryl will be here in a moment. And Mary’s also offered to lend a hand.”
“How about you two?” said Trevor, smiling incredulously. “New best friends?”
“Let’s not go that far, shall we?” said Mrs M, clucking her tongue. “Why don’t you go and have a shower. When you come back, you can sit quietly at the table and enjoy the next episode.”
Trevor laughed. That was more like the old Mrs M.
“Talking of new best friends, where’s Rudy?”
Trevor’s smile dissolved.
“He had to go back to his house. Somebody arrived.”
“Is that his brother and the wife?”
“I don’t know. Why? Did he say something?”
“He told me his brother and sister-in-law usually arrive a day or two early to help him with the arrangements for their New Year’s Eve party.”
Trevor looked away and huffed out a sigh. Why hadn’t Rudy told him?
“He probably forgot to say anything because you’ve had better things to do together,” said Mrs M with a smirk, once again reading his mind. “You really like him, don’t you?”
Trevor nodded and grinned sheepishly.
“And he really likes you?”
