Christmas in the Snow (8 page)

She laughed again – a cold, bitter sound that clattered to the frosted ground like shards of shattered glass – shaking her head slowly from side to side. ‘You just made the
biggest mistake of your career, Sam Kemp.’

They both had.

‘Allegra—’

‘It’s Fisher to you,’ she said, aggressively pointing a finger at him, knowing she was overcompensating as she tried to push him back out of her life – there was no room
for him in it. But he grabbed her by the wrist and the world contracted in a sudden violent pulse to just the two of them on the steps, his hand hot on her skin, his eyes burning into hers.
‘We need to be able to work together,’ he said quietly, but there was strain in his voice.

She swallowed. ‘No. We don’t. What I
need
is for you to be gone from my life. Gone from this company. Gone from this country. And I won’t stop until you
are.’

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression hardening before her. ‘That’s really how you want to play this?’

‘That’s how we’re already playing this.’ And with a sharp tug, she released her wrist and ran down the steps, arm outstretched for a taxi.

Floral carpets – £3,000 a month and still you couldn’t have decent carpets? Her eyes scanned them as she held open the door for a private nurse in a blue
tunic who was pushing a gentleman in a wheelchair. He was wearing a tweed jacket and silk cravat at the neck, a bone-handled walking cane between his knees, the knuckles on his hands swollen and
white.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled with a dignified nod as they passed.

‘My pleasure,’ Allegra murmured, stepping after them into the hall area and wondering where to go. Her mother hadn’t been in her flat, and Barry’s text (when she had
enquired) had told her to find them in the morning room, but she wasn’t clued up yet on the layout of the crescent of low-rise red-brick buildings – only that the block her
mother’s flat was in was opposite the fountain and had an orange front door.

This, though, was the community’s hub, and she saw a sign pointing the way to the laundry room. The morning room had to be around here somewhere. She followed at a distance after the
gentleman and nurse, hearing the ambient noise level pick up. She rounded a corner and stopped in the doorway of a large octagonal room, taking a few deep breaths as she scanned the activity
inside. It was busy, with armchairs positioned in sociable fours and twos, the ones by the fireplace already taken. Some people were sitting alone reading newspapers, others playing board games,
yet others engaged in conversations . . .

She looked around for Barry first, as he was the one who stood out here – his ruddy cheeks and bristly brown beard in stark youthful contrast to the wan complexions and bald pates found
here in abundance – but it was her mother that she found, sitting in a far corner, the shiny crown of her still head – her once-dark hair grey and slightly wiry now – gleaming
under the lights.

It was early evening and condensation had misted the large windows slightly, blurring the landscape, and Allegra knew there would be a slight chill coming from the glass. She picked up a
lambswool tartan blanket from one of the empty chairs as she passed.

She stopped just shy of the chair and swallowed, her heart banging like a drum in her chest. ‘Hi, Mum.’

Her mother looked up – Allegra thirty-five years from now – her hair plaited loosely and positioned over one shoulder, her raisin-dark eyes so enquiring, so curious.

‘Allegra.’ The smile, her name . . . Allegra felt the tension inside her slacken.

‘How are you, Mum?’ she beamed, sinking into the angled chair beside her and automatically opening out the blanket over her mother’s legs. ‘Where’s Barry?
Aren’t you getting a chill from sitting so close to that window?’

‘He’s gone to get my cardigan. You fuss too much,’ she said, but her eyes were soft as Allegra tucked the blanket in around her.

‘Well, you should be in front of the fire. There was a hard frost last night.’

‘Just how I like it. You know I’ve always loved the cold.’

‘Don’t I just! I still haven’t forgiven you for taking eighteen years to install central heating.’

Her mother chuckled, reaching for Allegra’s hand and holding it between both of hers. ‘You look pale, darling.’

‘I just need to get some more fresh air, that’s all. I don’t think I’ve spent even twenty minutes outside this week.’

She refused to dwell on the last of those minutes – out on the steps of the V&A with Sam last night.

‘Don’t tell me – you’re working too hard again.’ Julia patted her hand. ‘I worry about you.’

‘I know you do,’ Allegra nodded. ‘But please don’t. I’m happy, Mum. I’m doing what I love.’

Her mother’s eyes roamed her face, a blend of sadness and pride in her eyes. ‘So what have you been up to, then?’

‘Well, I was in Switzerland earlier this week,’ she said brightly. ‘Zurich. Only for an overnight stay, but . . .’ She shrugged, her voice trailing away. Did all roads
lead back to Kemp? ‘The lake looked so beautiful with all the lights on it. One of these days I’ll actually stay long enough to take a boat out on it.’

‘Aren’t you skiing soon? I get confused with your comings and goings. Barry’s written it down for me, but you’re always on a plane somewhere.’

‘Yes, I’m going to Verbier over the New Year.’

‘With friends?’ Her mother’s voice lifted.

‘Clients.’ She saw her mother’s expression. ‘That I get on with really well. They’re lovely. Almost friends.’ She swallowed. ‘It’ll be
fun.’

‘When did you last see your sister?’

‘Last weekend, actually. We spent Saturday morning together – Isobel and I took Ferdy for a walk in the park.’ She didn’t want to tell her mother how they’d spent
Sunday, closing up their family home for the last time, ridding it of all traces of them.

‘Isobel.’ Her mother’s voice was wistful. ‘I haven’t seen her lately.’

‘Really? She said she was going to come by this morning.’

Julia shook her head. ‘But it’s lovely that
you’re
here. I know how busy you are. What are your plans for this evening?’

She grimaced, already knowing the response she was going to get. ‘I’ve got to go back to the office. I’ve got some work to do.’

‘Allegra! It’s seven o’clock. You should be relaxing. You work long enough hours as it is.’

‘I know, but . . .’ It was pointless trying to explain. ‘You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll go to the gym.’

Julia frowned. ‘Have you lost weight, darling?’

Allegra looked down at her narrow thighs. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘You look thin.’

‘I’m just tired.’ Allegra squeezed her mother’s hand, touched by the maternal concern that so rarely surfaced these days.

‘You need to eat more. You can’t afford to be so thin once the snow comes. What if you got left outside?’

Allegra smiled. ‘I can assure you I never leave my bag anywhere. My keys are on me at all times.’

‘It’s never warm enough in the stables, no matter how much straw you’ve got.’

Allegra fell silent. ‘Well . . . I’ll try to remember that,’ she said. What had it been today? Four minutes, if that? She took a deep breath, trying to pull her mother back,
before she drifted too far to reach again. ‘Listen, why don’t you show me around here? I’d love to see it properly. Isobel said there was a small shop. Perhaps we could get some
bits and make supper in your flat.’

Julia looked at her with an unforgiving, hostile stare, a new opacity to her eyes that hadn’t been there before. ‘You’re not coming to my flat,’ she hissed ominously.
‘Why on earth would I go anywhere with you? I don’t know you.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.’ Allegra’s voice was quieter.

‘Why would you say that? Why would you want me to go outside in these conditions?’

‘I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

‘Who are you? How did you get in here?’ Julia’s voice was climbing, her hands beginning to grip the armrests.

‘I’m Allegra,’ Allegra said quietly, aware of heads beginning to turn, a murmur rustling through the tweeds.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Barry running towards them, Julia’s favourite lilac cardigan slung over one burly arm, his rugby-player thighs chafing in his jeans. His eyes met
Allegra’s in silent communication and she got up out of the chair as he winked and swept past, crouching in front of Julia with kind eyes.

‘Come on, Julia. It’s time for your rest now. Can you stand for me?’ His Welsh accent was lilting, almost like he was singing to her.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her fury and aggression switching to him.

‘I’m Barry, you know that,’ he said in confident tones, a smile that came with double dimples spreading across his face, softening her scowl.

‘Have we met?’

‘Oh yes,’ Barry nodded, immediately beginning to sing the opening lines of ‘Delilah’ as he got his arm under Julia’s and lifted her easily from the chair. It
wasn’t her body that was weak. ‘I just went to get your cardigan for you. You were feeling a bit chilly. See? It’s your favourite one. You asked me to get it because you wanted to
look nice for your daughter.’

‘But I don’t have a daughter,’ she said, her face turned to him in bafflement as he scrunched up one arm of the cardigan.

‘Oh, well then, I must have misheard you – my mistake,’ he replied with an easy smile, sliding the sleeves over her arms and shooting Allegra an apologetic look as she remained
rooted to the spot. Slowly, he began to wheel her round towards the doors as he picked up the tune again.

‘Why’s
she
looking at me like that? Who is she?’ Julia demanded, never taking her eyes off Allegra as he led her away.

‘Come along, Julia, just sing with me,’ Barry said cheerfully, their voices retreating.

Allegra watched in silence as her mother took up the lyrics and they disappeared from sight. The muscles in her neck strained from the effort to remain impassive as she registered the silence in
the room and all the eyes on her. She thrust her chin in the air as she reached for her bag and made her way quickly from the room. She knew the drill – experience had taught her not to move
a muscle, not to say a word. Nothing would have helped. She couldn’t have leaned forward to kiss her goodbye, to put her arms around her in a comforting hug. Julia would have screamed. She
would have screamed like she was being murdered and Barry would have had to pull her off like an aggressor, for her mother was no longer her mother; Allegra was no longer her daughter. They were
strangers again, and both of them were alone.

‘You have to sign this.’ Allegra tapped the paperwork on the table as Isobel tried to lose herself in freezing ice-cube trays of courgette purée. ‘And
I’m not leaving until you do.’

Isobel turned round, a silver spoon in one hand, the green-gunged saucepan in the other. ‘I don’t understand why we have to rush into this now.’

‘This is not rushing.’ That wasn’t strictly true. Allegra had sped straight here from seeing their mother, finally wielding the paperwork her lawyer had drawn up for them
several months ago. ‘We’ve had our heads in the sand for too long now. It’s been nearly three years since diagnosis, six since she started having real problems, and the situation
is deteriorating badly – you know that. Mum had four minutes’ lucidity with me, tops, today. And she had no recollection at all of having seen you this morning.’

Isobel sighed, dropping the spoon into the pan. ‘But I thought the whole point of putting her into that flat and having Barry there twenty-four seven was to avoid this – at least for
a little while longer.’

‘Iz, there is no avoiding this. Barry is an excellent nurse and we’re so lucky to have found him—’

‘We’re so lucky you can afford him, more like.’

Allegra missed a beat. It was true. She had earned good money for a decade, barely dipping into the pot for her work wardrobe or the Poplar flat, and she’d bought the Islington house
almost out of embarrassment that she didn’t have anything to spend it on. Her long business hours precluded a social life or exotic holidays and she didn’t care about ‘toys’
like cars or boats. It was sad to admit that paying for a live-in nurse to share the flat in the sheltered village with Julia was one of her greatest extravagances. She knew Isobel felt guilty that
she couldn’t contribute to their mother’s care equally, in that way. ‘That’s irrelevant. All that matters is Barry knows how to make Mum feel relaxed and safe. He makes her
laugh like no one else can, and he’s the only one who worked out that singing calms her down during an episode. He’s brilliant and she’s happier than she’s been for a long
time. But even
with
all that, there is no way back from here. Mum’s condition will continue to deteriorate, and the bald truth is, she can’t now make the big decisions –
be they legal, medical or financial – that need to be made for her own safety and protection. We have to be her voice now in these matters.’

‘I know, I know. I just . . .’ Isobel sighed again, dumping the pan back on the hob and wiping her hands on her apron as she walked over to where Allegra was sitting and slumped in
the chair opposite. ‘Well, why do we have to split the power of attorney between us?’

‘You mean, why can’t
I
do it all?’ Allegra asked bluntly.

‘No! I mean, isn’t it better if just one person does the property and affairs bit, as well as the health and welfare stuff? Won’t splitting it up just complicate things?’
In the sitting room beyond, they could hear Lloyd cheering as Chelsea scored a goal against Arsenal. He was supposedly bonding with Ferdy, who – having discovered the freedom that came with
crawling – was doing laps of the sitting room before bed.

‘Look, I’m out of the country every week. I work round the clock. Sometimes I go into the office on a Saturday in my suit because I’ve
forgotten
that it’s the
weekend. If something happened to Mum, medically, and a decision had to be made, can you imagine how awful it would be if I wasn’t even in the country? Or contactable? I spend more time on
planes than you do in cafes. But you’re here. You’re an hour down the road if something happens and the doctors need a decision. The property and finances side of things, well, that all
works to scheduled hours. I can cover that easily. Legally, under the terms of the lasting power of attorney, we’ve got to keep Mum’s bank account separate to mine, so I’ve
already set up a standing order to her account for . . . well, more than enough to cover all her expenses, put it that way.’