Well, maybe not that last one. Even the season of miracles had its limits.
But the important thing was they would all be together, having precious family time.
Daisy smiled to herself. There. Everything felt much calmer now she’d focused on what really mattered. She kissed the twins in turn. They scowled back.
‘Right, kids, everyone okay back there?’ she called, back through the seats. No response. ‘Bella?’
Daisy peered further back. Of course. Bella had her phone out and was staring intently at the screen, her headphones clamped over her ears. Jay was already deep into some game or another on his tablet. She glanced at Oliver for some parental support.
Oliver was playing Candy Crush on his phone.
Another deep breath. This one didn’t help nearly so much.
‘Right!’ she snapped, reaching between the front seats and whipping Oliver’s phone from his hand.
‘Hey!’
‘Hand them over.’ She held out a hand for Bella and Jay’s devices, and they both stared at her in horror. ‘This is a family holiday. Time for us to reconnect as a family unit. To talk, share our thoughts, play together. Not stare at individual screens for the next three days then go home again.’
‘So, what? You’re going to lock up our phones?’ Bella raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’ Did she even have somewhere to lock them? Daisy cast her gaze around the car and spotted her mother’s old vanity case that had been turned into a first aid kit, sitting on the floor of the back seat. That would do.
‘But I’ll miss everything!’ Bella wailed. ‘How will I know what’s going on at home, with my friends?’
‘You can ask them when you get back,’ Daisy said. Leaning across the twins’ car seats, ignoring the squeaks from the babies, she plucked the tablet and phone from Bella and Jay. Then she flipped open the vanity case and dropped them and Oliver’s phone on top of the half full packets of plasters and some antiseptic cream that had gone green around the lid.
‘What about your phone, then?’ Bella’s face was thunderous. ‘I mean, if we’re not allowed ours …’
‘Fine!’ Daisy pulled her own phone from her pocket and added it to the pile. She rifled around in the pocket inside the lid of the vanity case to find the key, shut the box and turned the key in the lock. ‘There.’ She decided to ignore the rebellious mutterings from the back seat. ‘Now, is everyone strapped in?’
A downbeat chorus of agreement followed. Daisy manoeuvred herself out of the back of the car, uttering a silent prayer that the twins wouldn’t choose today not to sleep in the car. Or that they would at least stop wailing sometime soon. It was so hard to think with that constant howl of noise.
Shoving the tiny silver key in her jeans pocket, Daisy checked her watch as she reached up with her other hand to slam the car boot, blocking the noise for a moment at least. Damn, they were running late now. Portsmouth was an hour or more’s drive from their leafy Surrey suburb, and the ferry wouldn’t wait for them. She’d have to put her foot down to make it. Belatedly, she glanced at Claude’s black and white coat through the grimy rear windscreen, small beside the absurdly huge gift she’d wrapped for the twins. What had she been thinking? Well, actually, she knew the answer to that. It had been October, and she’d still been thinking she’d be spending Christmas at home for once, instead of traipsing around the country visiting family. She’d thought that, just for once, they could have a peaceful family Christmas, just the six of them. Well, seven if you counted Claude.
She hadn’t been expecting her parents’ phone call with their demand that they all cross the Channel to spend Christmas in France.
Daisy sighed. It would be fine. Claude seemed to be sleeping, at least. She just hoped he didn’t need a toilet stop before they reached Portsmouth …
‘Are we going then?’ Oliver called from the passenger seat. From his tone, Daisy surmised that he was not best pleased to have lost his own entertainment. Well, tough.
‘We are,’ she said, as cheerily as she could manage. Buckling herself into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and turned up the volume on the Christmas CD. ‘Right. Which way do I go?’
Beside her, Oliver shrugged. ‘How should I know? The sat nav is on my phone. Which you locked up.’
God, he was more petulant than Bella, and Daisy hadn’t honestly believed that was possible. But she was not going to let it get to her. She wasn’t.
Daisy reached into the tray under her seat and pulled out the ancient road atlas they hadn’t used since Bella was a baby. ‘We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way then, won’t we?’ she said, smiling sweetly at Oliver as she passed it to him. ‘Now, who wants to play a word game while we drive? I’ll start. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with M.’
‘Muh! Muh! Muh!’ Luca called desperately, and Lara began to wail in response.
‘Misery,’ guessed Bella.
‘My tablet,’ Jay said, sadly.
‘Many, many miles of this,’ Oliver muttered.
Daisy decided a few more deep breaths might be in order between Maple Drive and Portsmouth.
Not to mention a very large gin and tonic once they got on the bloody ferry.
Maple Drive might possibly be the least festive place on his post route, Jack decided, as he took in the sad, token sprig of holly tied to the door knocker of number 13. It was as if they’d all forgotten about Christmas until the last moment, then decided it wasn’t really worth the bother. There was the odd wreath, a glimpse of a fake Christmas tree through a couple of windows, but that was it. Well, apart from the tasteful string of icicle lights hanging along the bedroom windowsill at number 12. And even those looked a little forlorn in the grey, pale, winter sunlight.
It wasn’t that Jack thought that every house needed a light-up Santa on the roof, along with eight creepy glow-in-the-dark reindeer. Still, a little festive cheer wouldn’t go amiss. He’d even taken to humming Christmas carols on his rounds, just to try and raise the street’s spirits.
But apparently Maple Drive was the wrong place to be looking for cheer, festive or otherwise.
‘And will you look at that travesty of a decoration across at number 12? Makes the place look like a red light zone.’ Mrs Templeton, grey haired and sternly disapproving, shook her head. She reminded Jack of a head teacher he’d had when he was five, who had been scarier than all his superiors in the army put together. Who knew that returning to civilian life after ten years in the forces would still hold such opportunities to quake in his boots?
Mrs Templeton pointed forcibly towards number 12 and Jack felt obliged to look, if he had any hope of her signing for her parcel. All he could see was the delicate icicle lights under the windowsill. A small patch of brightness in the dark, winter day.
‘I quite like them, actually,’ he said mildly, earning himself a glare from Mrs Templeton.
‘Well. I suppose you would.’ She looked him up and down, and Jack wondered what she saw. Mild-mannered postman or ex-Corporal Tyler? Some days, he wasn’t sure which one he was any more, either.
Mrs Templeton sniffed. ‘She’s pretty enough, I suppose. In a blowsy, overblown sort of way.’
Ah. That was what she was thinking. Well, she was right, to a point. The occupant of number 12 Maple Drive was pretty. Very pretty, in fact. But in a sad, lonely way, Jack had always thought.
And given the number of parcels he’d delivered to her house over the past few months, he’d had plenty of time to develop that opinion. Holly Starr, 12 Maple Drive, Surrey, seemed to order her entire life online, as far as Jack could tell.
‘And that cat of hers! Look, there it goes now, racing about all over the place!’ Jack turned to look, and saw a fluffy black and white streak flying across the road. Then, falling behind, a small, black and white dog scampering after it, his oversized ears flapping in the breeze. ‘Oh, and don’t get me started on the dogs on this street—’ Mrs Templeton said,
as the dog gave up the chase and slunk back to the pavement and, Jack assumed, home.
‘If I could just get you to sign here …’ Jack interrupted, proffering his electronic pad again, and holding in a sigh when Mrs Templeton sniffed at the very sight of it.
‘Modern gadgets.’ She took the plastic stylus gingerly between two fingers. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with a pen and paper, personally.’
Jack gave her what he hoped was a patient smile. Unfortunately she seemed to take it as encouragement.