Page 3 of A Winter Wish

“Everything OK?” Mikkel asked.

“Yeah. It’s just…” She glanced at her phone again. “I’ll be right back, OK? I have to make a quick call.”

“OK. Hurry back, we’re doing shots.”

Lexie laughed. “I’m not—I have to be up early with the girls.”

Mikkel grinned. “One won’t hurt.”

She made a flapping gesture in his direction as she pulled her coat back on and headed out into the snow. She wouldn’t usually worry so much, but she’d missed the last call from her mum a couple of days ago, and knew she was bound to start getting anxious if she didn’t hear back from Lexie soon. Lexie moved to the quietest point she could find, the sound of Christmas music—which had been playing on repeat for weeks now—rising over her and into the mountains.

The phone didn’t even get to two rings before there was an answer. “Hello, Lexie love.” There was something oddly strained about her usually bright voice.

“Hi, Mum—all OK?”

“No, not really.”

Lexie’s heart lurched. “What is it?” The cold air misted out in front of her in a sharp burst. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…it’s your dad.”

Her stomach settled into a leaden weight. “I don’t want to know,” she said shortly. Which her mum should know, perfectly well.

“Yes, you do,” her mum said, her voice gentle in a way that should have been a warning sign. “He’s…he’s dead, Lexie.”

Chapter Two

The funeral was awful. It was quiet, barely thirty people standing together outside, so few that Lexie had felt the need to hunch over and make herself as small as possible. Her dad hadn’t been religious so there was no church, and the ceremony took place in a woodland burial ground, where you could hear the rustle of animals brave enough to venture out in the cold. Despite the shelter of the trees, icy wind bit at her fingertips, making them numb. The rain held off, but the air was still damp enough to feel suffocating, like everything was too close. And it had been stupid to wear heels. They were only small black ones, ones she’d found hidden in the back of her wardrobe at her mum’s house, but still—they sank into the soft ground underneath her, meaning she had to shift position every few minutes. Then it felt like something was wrong with her because she was worrying about her heels in the mud rather than the fact that her dad was dead.

Her dad was dead. He’d died of a cancer that she hadn’t even known he’d had. A cancer he’d been battling for six months. Liver cancer. She tried repeating it over and over, but still it didn’t feel real. Or if it did feel real, then it was somehow separate to her. She tried to listen to the celebrant’s words as she talked about what a loss this was, about how Richard had been a force of nature, how he’d added vibrancy to those around him, how he would be hugely missed. Lexie couldn’t match the person she’d known to the person who was being described. Who had given the celebrant these words to say?

She wondered if it had been Rachel. Rachel, who was all grown up, a proper adult now. She was still young, really—what was she, twenty-two? But the last time Lexie had seen her, she’d still only been a teenager. She had the same dark curls as Lexie and their dad, and without that, Lexie wasn’t 100 percent sure she’d have recognized her half sister—who was now getting up in front of everyone and speaking about what a wonderful father he’d been. She told a story of her twenty-first birthday, and how Richard had surprised her with a dinner party. Rachel broke down halfway through the story and couldn’t finish, the piece of paper shaking in her hands, until the celebrant went up and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Where is Rachel’s mum? Lexie wondered, as her own mum gripped her hand in silent comfort. She’d expected her stepmother—if you can call a woman Lexie had barely ever interacted with by that title—to be by Rachel’s side. But instead it was a friend of Rachel’s, about her own age—a tall girl with near-black hair—who went over to Rachel, helped her to step back into the crowd. And through all this, Lexie was trying to match what Rachel was saying to the father she’d known. Thinking of her own twenty-first birthday, and how that had been the final straw, the moment she’d decided to give up and cut her dad out of her life completely.

So yes, the funeral was awful. But the wake was worse. It was held in Bath, where her dad had been living—in a dull function room in a middle-of-the-range hotel where everything was white with the exception of the beige carpet. A few Christmas decorations had been put up, with a small tree in the corner and a line of snowflakes—more tasteful than the ones Lexie had done with Bree—hanging along the double doors that led to a courtyard outside. Lexie hated places like this—one of a chain, with a blandness that was impossible to escape. She’d never had much money to stay anywhere fancy, but when she had the choice she tried to stay at places that were part of the local community, and that were independently owned and run. It wasn’t always possible, of course, but she always thought you got a better sense of the area that way, and she liked supporting small businesses.

Lexie’s mum squeezed her shoulder. “Are you OK, love?”

Lexie nodded. Thank God for her mum. She didn’t know what she’d do without her, standing in this room, trying to pay respects to a man she felt she barely knew, whose memory was tainted by disappointment. Her mum hadn’t needed to come—they’d been divorced for over twenty years—but Lexie suspected she’d done it for her sake. What must it be like, for her? She must have loved him, once. Loved him enough to marry him. Loved him enough to cry in her room, over and over, when she thought Lexie couldn’t hear, after he’d left.

“Are you?” Lexie asked, and her mum smiled her reassurance. She had such a pretty smile, all soft and warm. It felt unfair, that Lexie had gotten more of her dad’s looks than her mum’s—her dad’s dark curls, murky brown eyes. Her mum’s frame was somewhat similar to hers, but her features were gentler, her hair a straight honey blond—dyed for years now to stay the same as her natural color, and she had a soft, heart-shaped face that immediately made her look kind—whereas Lexie was all angles, with a too-large forehead.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” her mum said. “Will you be OK for a minute?”

“Of course.” Because what was she supposed to say—No, Mum, don’t leave me? So she watched her head away, already feeling hot around the collar of her high-necked black dress—one of the only black dresses she owned, one that she hadn’t worn since her stint working in an office in London, which had lasted a little over eight months. She helped herself to a sausage roll—comfort food, she supposed—then headed to the small bar and ordered a glass of red.

Had it been Rachel and Jody, Rachel’s mum, who organized this? She risked a quick glance around. Rachel was in the corner, with the black-haired friend she’d brought along, surrounded by people offering her condolences, but Lexie still couldn’t see Jody anywhere. She knew that Richard had left Jody too, a few years ago—so perhaps Jody wasn’t quite as forgiving as Lexie’s own mum, despite the fact that she’d been married to Richard for longer. What had made Richard leave her, in the end? Had he just gotten bored, like with his first family?

She should go over and talk to Rachel, she knew she should. They’d exchanged a brief hello earlier, an awkward hug, but they hadn’t really spoken. She should be polite, ask if she was OK, ask what she was doing these days. Was she still in Wales? Lexie had absolutely no idea. And fine, OK, it wasn’t Rachel’s fault that her dad had decided to go and have another family—Rachel had been caught in the crossfire of that. But it didn’t make it easy, and Lexie wasn’t sure she was emotionally ready enough to have the kind of conversation that would be expected of her right now. Besides, Rachel had avoided eye contact with her, too. There was a seven-year age gap between them—a gap that had made it obvious that Richard had been cheating on Lexie’s mum before he’d actually left—and it had meant they’d never gotten close, the handful of times they’d been shoved together, because as kids that age gap had felt huge. And even though they were both adults now, what did you say to someone who was technically your sister, but who you barely knew at all? What did you say at the funeral of a man who had technically been a father to both of you, but who had arguably only been a dad to one of you?

Lexie gripped her wineglass tighter, trying to bite back the rush of hot fury that rose up seemingly out of nowhere. Then there was guilt, squirming in her stomach. Guilt that she wasn’t a better person, that she couldn’t get through today without feeling angry at her dad, that she couldn’t try to be a real sister to Rachel. She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes, tried to blink them away. Really, she’d lost her dad years ago, so there was no reason to be crying now. She shouldn’t be here. She should have stayed in Austria, with the girls and her friends.

She felt her phone vibrate in her handbag by her side. A message from Fran, one of the few people from home she had remained good friends with after she left for university at eighteen—and made it her mission to keep on the move ever since.

Hope you’re doing ok. Call me after if you want to chat. Xx

Lexie let out a shaky breath. For some reason the message made her want to cry even more. She and Fran had gone to the same secondary school in Frome, near Bath, where Lexie had grown up—where she and her mum had stayed, even after Richard had left for his new family. Fran lived in Bath now and had offered to come today. She’d said she remembered meeting Richard a few times when they were teenagers. But it would have felt weird, bringing a friend along to her dad’s funeral. Still, she should make time for a coffee with Fran before she flew back to Austria.