Page 85 of A Winter Wish

She sat on the end of her single bed, heard it creak under her weight. She hadn’t even taken off her coat yet. Instead she just stared at the pieces of paper, folded up inside the wish jar. Yet unlike last year, she knew what she wanted to wish for.

She thought about Theo saying that maybe wishing for things was about hiding behind them, instead of working to bring about something you wanted. And she thought of what her dad had said, too, all those years ago, as she’d shown him her wish jar. That maybe the wishes wouldn’t come true right away, maybe not in the same year you put them in the jar—but one day, if you wanted the wish hard enough, it would come true. He’d meant if you worked for it, if you tried hard enough, she thought now. And maybe that wasn’t true for everything. No matter how hard she’d tried, how much she’d wanted it, she hadn’t been able to make him come back—just as she couldn’t bring him back now. But some things you could work for. Some things only came true by trying.

She’d been kidding herself, hadn’t she? She’d thought she’d had to leave to keep her identity—because she’d thought she’d have been sacrificing a part of herself to stay in Bath for Theo. But really, it wasn’t that at all. Somewhere along the line, that part of her had grown, had changed—maybe even still was changing—that had become clear almost the moment she got back to the mountains. She’d wanted the flat and her role in the company, not just for him, but for herself too. And that was OK. Maybe that didn’t have to be as scary as she thought. Maybe change was good. And maybe not all relationships had to end up broken. She thought of what her mum had said, sitting on the bed in the flat. Relationships take work. Simple, but it had stuck with her. Yes, sometimes things still didn’t work out, but you had to put the effort in, didn’t you? You had to at least try.

She took a shaky breath as she brought out her phone again. But before she could scroll through the numbers, she saw a message from Ange.

Lexie, you are a superstar. Anna from Vienna LOVES you and everyone is very happy. Thanks for saving our bacon—I knew you were still an R&L girl. And look, I know why you left. But if you find yourself in Bath this Friday, we’re having a sort of anniversary celebration for your dad. To say goodbye, one year on. No pressure, but we’d love to have you there. Xxx

Lexie sat with it for a moment. She thought about sitting around a table, saying goodbye to her dad with a group of people who had loved him. She’d started to understand something, this year, about saying goodbye to someone—that it isn’t always a one-off, that it can be continuous. You could say goodbye over the course of many months, in different ways. And maybe there were parts of a person you never said goodbye to, for better or worse.

She took a deep breath, tapped out a response.

Can I bring a plus one?

Darling, if it means you’re coming, you can bring a plus five. Xxx

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Lexie waited until the plane was in the air and the fasten seatbelt sign was turned off before she got out her dad’s letter. She felt she’d had to wait, to know that she was truly on her way home, before she could read it. Her fingertips trembled a little as she opened the envelope. She still wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he’d thought of her quitting the company. But she also needed to know.

Dear Little Lex,

I know—you’re not so little anymore. And I know I lost the right to call you that, but I still remember you as the little girl who was so proud to show me her wish jar, all those years ago. My biggest regret in life is that I let that little girl down—that I let you down.

If you’re reading this letter, then it means you’ve quit the company.

Lexie’s heart skipped at this, but she kept reading.

And believe me, I understand why. I know I was a terrible dad to you. I know I wasn’t there when I should have been. I don’t think I have an explanation or an apology big enough, or one that would make sense of what I did. I made a mistake. I made several mistakes—it’s as simple as that—and they are mistakes I haven’t been able to rectify. I fell in love with Jody without meaning to, and I chased my happiness at the expense of your happiness. I was stupid, and naive, and I thought I’d be able to keep you and have her too—but I was wrong. Rachel was a result of that marriage, so I can’t be sorry for it—but I am sorry that you got caught in the crossfire. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep you in my life as much as I should have done, and sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to fight for that, as you deserved. Most of all I’m sorry that I made you feel that I didn’t love you, because I promise you, Lexie, the opposite is true.

So I understand, honestly, why you’ve quit. Ange told me I should have talked to you first, before deciding to leave you half the company. But I suppose I could never find the words—and if you’re reading this letter, we both know it’s too late for me to find them now. I know I’ve thrown you into this and I know I’ve made things difficult, by splitting it between you and Theo. And I know you won’t want to be stuck in a city that was my city, a place you didn’t choose for yourself.

But I also think you’re stronger than all that. I might be wrong about this, but I’m pretty sure, as I write this, that you’ll go back. I know why you’ve run—but I think you’re a tougher person than I ever was. So I have faith, Little Lex, that you won’t really quit. That you’ll see this year through. And I hope the company brings you a tiny part of the joy it’s brought me. Even if you sell it in the end—and let’s hope Theo has done enough to ensure the profit on that front, so that there’s a good chunk of money coming in—I hope that you’ll have found something there. Because it’s your company—whether or not you realize that. It was always you I had in mind.

When I left Jody, I felt like a failure. I left for reasons that I won’t go into—because it’s not wholly my story to tell. But despite those reasons, I still felt I’d failed yet again, unable to see a second marriage through. I left because I wanted to support Rachel—but it highlighted how little I’d supported you. Your mum is brilliant. She is one of the kindest people I know—and despite what I did to her, she never tried to drive me out of your life. She made sure I knew I was welcome, and she filled me in on your life when you weren’t ready to. But still, I knew I’d failed.

Do you remember the first time you ever went abroad? You were only three, and we wanted to take you away for Christmas. We chose Germany because we knew it was big on Christmas markets. I had never seen you so excited. There were other kids crying on the plane—but not you. You were looking out the window all wide-eyed. Your mum and I couldn’t believe how easy traveling with a toddler was.

What I’m trying to say here, very ineloquently, is that when I started the company it was because I wanted to re-create that joy I’d seen in you. We had a tradition, I don’t know if you remember that. Every year, at Christmas, we’d go somewhere new. It was the highlight of my year, being able to explore a new place with you. And I wanted to pass a little of that joy on to other people. And as I pulled it together, I realized so many of the holidays were holidays I wished I’d had the chance to take you on.

I also know how much you still love to travel—your mum has told me some of the adventures you’ve been on. I wondered, did we start that love of traveling when you were little, from that very first holiday? Or was it always going to be who you were? Either way—this is a company that will build on that love of travel, I hope.

So it’s your company, if you want it. R&L—it’s a stupid name, isn’t it? Mike—you’ll have met Mike by now, I’m sure—tried to make me change it, in the beginning. But what better legacy than my two daughters? It wouldn’t have been the right fit for Rachel, but I thought it might be right for you, Lexie.

I don’t know what time of year it is, as you read this. Maybe you tried to quit the moment the solicitor told you about it. In which case, I hope this will help you to understand why I left it to you—if you decide to go back. If it’s partway through the year, maybe it’s Theo who’s driving you away. He can take a bit of time to get to know, I realize that. But I’d hoped you might become friends, support each other. I’ll never get the chance to know if I’m right about that—but I’ll hope.

Whatever time of year it is, I have one more thing to leave you with. I know I usually send you a Christmas card with money. I have to get your address from your mum each year—thank her for that, won’t you? I’m not sure if money feels a bit impersonal. I suppose I’ve always been worried that I’ll get the wrong thing—or that you’d return whatever I sent you. Plus, money doesn’t take up space in a suitcase. But for your last Christmas present, there’s one thing I want to give you.

The year I left, we were supposed to go to Iceland. We hadn’t bought plane tickets yet, but your mum had been about to buy them when I told her about Jody. I assumed, stupidly, that there would be another chance—that one day, I’d take you to Iceland myself. I want you to know I never forgot that trip, or the promise I made you. So enclosed within are two plane tickets—in case you want to take someone there to enjoy it with you—and a booking for one of the best places to stay in Iceland, or so my research tells me. I wish I could have gone with you, but I hope it will bring you the same joy I saw on your face as a little girl.

And please know that even if I haven’t been in your life as much as I should have, you have been in my thoughts the whole time. I can’t change the past, much as I wish I could—but maybe, through this, I can be a part of your future.

I’m sorry—and I love you.

Dad

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