Molly finally found her voice. ‘I am so sorry, Mum. I swear I was going to tell you tomorrow – over FaceTime.’

  ‘FaceTime?’ Imogen echoed. ‘I suppose it would have been better than nothing.’

  ‘And Flynn. I tried to message you as soon as I could after Mum arrived.’

  ‘I didn’t look at my phone. I was at the castle at the staff Christmas lunch. I didn’t even think to check my phone because I was late and rushing over here.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to turn out like this.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he soothed his daughter. ‘But I can see it’s a shock for your mum.’

  Imogen stared at him. She was still very like the girl he’d lain with by that lakeside fire, albeit her hair was even darker than it had been then, almost black. She was very tanned, as you’d expect from someone who worked in the sun a lot, and there was something harder-edged about her features than he remembered. Maybe twenty years of working to support a child on her own would have done that, he thought bitterly.

  He wanted to ask her why she’d felt the need but he stopped himself. All in good time. God knows what he looked like to her.

  He dragged his eyes away and smiled at Molly. ‘This is pretty awkward, isn’t it?’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Imogen said. ‘Molly, any chance of a large glass of that pink gin I brought?’

  Molly scurried off to the kitchen and seemed to take a long time making a G&T and finding a zero beer for Flynn. In an ideal world, he would have had several shots of Harvey’s decent whisky to cope with the drama. However, he was stuck here now and there was no escape. He wouldn’t have left anyway, though, because Molly and Esme needed him.

  ‘It’s unfortunate Molly didn’t alert either of us, but it means I have no idea why and how you’re here.’

  ‘I work at Ravendale Castle. Molly heard my name mentioned around and kind of tracked me down. I think that’s something you need to talk to her about, though,’ Flynn replied.

  Brenda came back into the lounge with Esme in her arms. ‘My, she is getting so heavy. Do I need to referee?’

  Flynn almost managed a smile. ‘Not yet, Brenda.’

  Imogen’s eyes flicked from her mother to Flynn, perhaps sensing the glimmer of an in-joke between the two of them. ‘How long has this been going on?’

  Molly re-entered the room, a tissue in her hand.

  ‘Only a few weeks. Well, Flynn’s only known about us for a few weeks. I was kind of stalking him online for a while before that. So were you, Mum, so don’t deny it.’ Molly handed her a gin and tonic.

  ‘Stalking? If you mean I was interested in what the father of my child was doing, then, yes, but I had no intention of contacting him. Jeez, Mum, why didn’t you both tell me before?’

  ‘We didn’t have time. And I wanted to, Immy, I wanted to, but Molly was – Molly was worried and scared.’

  Molly took Esme from Brenda. ‘I was going to tell you tomorrow, Mum. I swear.’

  ‘Hold on. I am here,’ Flynn said. ‘May I suggest we have this conversation when Esme is in bed?’

  ‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ Brenda said, placing Esme on the carpet, where she started to crawl towards the cat, who shot out of the door before its tail was grabbed.

  ‘I can see some presents,’ Molly said, with a forced cheerfulness.

  ‘Yes. Why don’t you open them now?’ Flynn said, wondering what Imogen would make of it all.

  ‘So many presents … You really have got your feet under the table while I’ve been away,’ Imogen said, chilling the mood like a squall of winter sleet. But even though the temperature had nosedived, Flynn was determined to stay as civil as he could.

  At least, he thought, he could leave at the end of the evening. He would not have wanted to be a fly on the wall after he’d gone.

  ‘I’m making up for lost time,’ Flynn shot back.

  ‘It’s a lovely thought,’ Brenda said, with a glare for Imogen.

  ‘I’m going into the kitchen,’ Imogen declared, and didn’t even bother giving a reason. Flynn guessed that she was surprised that her mother had come to his rescue.

  ‘Come on, let’s open them,’ Molly said, ‘before Esme is too tired and decides to get aggy.’

  Flynn decided that the only person in the room who had seemed ‘aggy’ was Imogen and he was relieved she had decided to let them open the gifts in peace, obviously not wanting to be part of the proceedings

  Molly’s eyes widened in surprise when she opened her gift.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ she said, lifting the lid on the luxurious hamper before giving him a shrewd look. ‘Did someone help you choose this?’

  He silently thanked Lara for suggesting he pay the extra to have it gift-wrapped in the shop. Even though he didn’t want to drag her into his dramas, he half-wished she were here now with her calming presence. She seemed to understand him so well, even after such a short time.

  ‘Erm …’

  Flynn was saved from completing the sentence by Esme, who had stuffed the wrapping paper from her new wooden blocks in her mouth. The next ten minutes were taken up by Molly helping Esme open her presents and admiring the Peter Rabbit outfits.

  Brenda opened the chocolates and shared them round, thanking Flynn and telling him that Friars was her favourite shop. ‘They’re lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I got you something,’ Molly said. ‘Actually, Esme made it at nursery.’

  Flynn was taken aback. He had completely overlooked the fact that he might receive a present too.

  Molly handed over a card with a foot-shaped paint splodge that had been turned into a creature Flynn recognised as a reindeer.

  ‘That’s Esme’s footprint,’ she said.

  Flynn opened the card and sucked in a breath. It read:

  to Grandad Flynn, love from Esme xxx

  To see his name written like that: Grandad Flynn. It sounded ancient, and a few weeks ago, he’d have been frankly horrified at the very thought, and yet … he was the opposite of horrified. He felt privileged.

  ‘It’s – it’s brilliant,’ he said, recovering himself and smiling at Esme. ‘I love it. Thank you, Esme.’

  Esme responded with a smile and bashed her blocks on Penguin.

  ‘And there’s this. I think you can guess what it is.’

  Molly handed over a rectangular present, which Flynn unwrapped, even though he could have bet the Harley on what was inside. It was a photograph of Molly and Esme at the Winter Spectacular, Molly pointing at the reindeer on the grotto. It was a photo so full of joy and life that he felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes and struggled to reply.

  ‘It’s at Ravendale. Obviously,’ Molly said, smiling. ‘I thought it was one of the best of us together and, being at the castle, I thought you’d like it, and that you wouldn’t have a photo yet.’

  ‘I do – I – love it. It’s perfect. Thank you.’

  Brenda fetched a tray of mugs and slices of Christmas cake, which Flynn didn’t dare refuse. It was lovely cake and Brenda had made it herself, but he was too full of emotion to eat much.

  After, he helped Molly clear up wrapping paper and packaging from the carpet. Esme was already rubbing her eyes and ready for her bottle and bed.

  Brenda went back into the kitchen, leaving Molly alone with Flynn again while she gave Esme her milk.

  ‘I am sorry about what happened. I honestly was going to tell Mum and I did try to warn you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Would you have come over if you’d found out she was here?’ Molly asked, allowing Esme to hold her own bottle. Her eyes were fixed on Flynn while she was drinking and his heart did that squeeze of love that always took him by surprise by its suddenness and intensity. He already knew he’d die for them both if he had to and that was terrifying.

  ‘I – probably would have waited for a more convenient time,’ he said tactfully.

  ‘I thought so. It’s been a shock for you and Mum, and I’m not looking forward to what she’ll have to say later. I bet you want to talk to her …’

  ‘You could say that. But today isn’t the moment.’

  ‘Nan says she’ll come round.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And that it hasn’t been fair to keep you in the dark about me. I wish I’d asked Mum to get in contact sooner. I never wanted to upset her … but when this one came along, I realised how much being a parent means. I wasn’t even sure if you’d want to get to know us after all this time, but I’m glad you did.’

  ‘So am I,’ Flynn said.

  Molly took Esme to bed, allowing Flynn to kiss her cheek. In the brief moment before Brenda and Imogen returned to the lounge, Flynn looked around, experiencing one of the many ‘pinch-me’ moments he’d had lately. The artificial tree in the window, bedecked with tinsel and baubles, and the cards from people he’d never met but who meant a lot to his new family.

  The card and photo on the sofa next to him: this was his family now.

  Imogen and Brenda returned, but Flynn refused the offer of cheese and sausage rolls, saying he was still stuffed after the Ravendale Christmas dinner. His appetite wasn’t great and he had the feeling he’d outstayed his welcome – with Imogen at least. Brenda wanted him to take a ‘doggy bag’ of buffet snacks, and he didn’t want to offend her, so he accepted it.

  Molly hugged him. Brenda gave him a smile and thanked him for coming warmly enough for him to know she meant it.

  Imogen stood by in the hall, arms folded, like a shaken bottle of pop about to go off.

  Esme had started to cry, so Molly trotted upstairs. Brenda seemed to have conveniently vanished and only Imogen remained.

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ Flynn said, picking up his helmet from the coat rack.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘We both need to talk,’ he said calmly. ‘That’s the understatement of the year, but I thought we’d agreed now wasn’t the best time.’

  ‘Yes, but I want you to know something now.’ Imogen folded her arms. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I tell you about Molly? I bet you hate me.’

  Flynn hesitated. ‘I don’t hate anyone and Molly’s given me some idea why you kept her existence a secret, but, yeah, I’d like to hear it from you. You could have got in touch as soon as you found me on social media. Maybe before then.’

  ‘I could have but I didn’t. I managed to bring up Molly on my own. We were a one-night stand – there was never going to be an ‘us’. We had no future. We were young and our hormones were in overdrive. You were handsome and I fancied you rotten, but let’s face it, you could have been anyone.’

  Flynn snorted. ‘Jesus, Imogen. Don’t hold back!’ Remembering where he was, he lowered his voice. ‘Yeah, I could have been any man but I wasn’t. I’m not. You could have given me the benefit of the doubt and asked me if I wanted to be part of my child’s future.’

  ‘I could have but I decided not to. I had to carry Molly and give birth to her and, once I’d got used to bringing her up on my own – and with Mum’s help – I realised I didn’t need a man in my life.’

  ‘Did you not think Molly might have needed a father in hers?’

  Imogen pressed her lips together. ‘Of course I thought about that, but even after we knew where you were and how to contact you, I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I was scared you’d try to take Molly and Esme away from us. I still am. You can hate me for that if you like, but I love them too much to see them hurt.’

  ‘I’ll never hurt them.’ Flynn could not help his sense of injustice and loss, but his overriding emotion was sadness for the time he’d lost – and despair that Imogen had decided he was the kind of man she could never trust to be a parent to his daughter. ‘I’m part of their lives now and I intend to stick around. And it’s going to take a long time for us all to get used to this – but it’s what Molly wants and I have no intention of missing a moment more of her life or Esme’s.’

  He stomped down the path and got on his bike, revving the engine a bit too hard, knowing it would probably disturb the neighbours. It was childish but he didn’t care: tonight had been way more turbulent than he’d ever imagined. He’d held his emotions together for so long, trying to be the grown-up in the situation, and now the dam had burst. And the one person he wanted to be with right now, the person he knew would soothe and calm him, was Lara.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Lara woke with a dry mouth and fuzzy head despite her restraint the previous day. She got up and dressed, wrapping up warm for the Boxing Day outing with Jazz and her crew. For the umpteenth time since he’d ridden off from the staff lunch, she wondered how Flynn had got on at Molly’s.

  That peck on the cheek under the mistletoe had been so bittersweet, leaving her longing for so much more. She hoped he’d had a great time and had pictured them all laughing and opening their gifts round the tree. Family time was so important and she always looked forward to catching up with hers. Online only made her long to be with her loved ones in person all the more, but, she reminded herself, today would be fun. Jazz’s crew were always up for a laugh and she was always warmly welcomed there.

  Her mobile rang and she scooped it up, expecting to hear Jazz’s voice making arrangements, but it was an unknown caller. She was in two minds whether to answer but, in the end, she risked it.

  ‘Er. Hello. Is that Lara?’ It was a man’s voice.

  ‘Er. Yes …’ she said warily.

  ‘It’s Harvey Sinclair here. You don’t know me but I’m a mate of Flynn’s. You borrowed my wife’s leathers not long back?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Lara was confused and then the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. Flynn’s best friend calling her: his voice weary and unsure.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m calling you with some not very good news. It’s Flynn. He’s been in an accident.’

  Lara collapsed back onto the bed, her heart pounding.

  Bad news. Accident. The words sliced through her.

  ‘Oh my God. Is he OK? Oh, please don’t say he’s—’

  ‘He’s alive,’ Harvey said. ‘I’m sorry to have upset you and I don’t have many details, but he was in a pretty bad way from what I could gather.’

  Tears of shock rolled down her face but she forced herself to ask. ‘How bad?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I think it was nasty. Flynn’s dad phoned me about an hour ago. Understandably, he was upset and not that coherent. The police found Flynn’s parents’ details as the emergency contact on his phone. Apparently he came off the road on a bend, ended up in a ditch, and was airlifted to hospital in the early hours. He’s in Whitehaven General. That’s all I can tell you, but I thought you’d want to know.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Flynn had been watching The Snowman on TV and then he realised he was actually in The Snowman. He was flying like the boy, holding the Snowman’s hand and wearing striped pyjamas and an old-fashioned dressing gown.

  As he soared over the snowy landscape, lights twinkled in the villages below. It was magical and peaceful. Then he found himself alone and falling.

  The descent to earth was rapid and headlong. He twisted over and over until, once again, he was on the road in the dark, speeding along on the bike around twists and turns.

  Something loomed ahead; something that had come off the fells and through the woods. It was a creature … not human. A memory stirred somewhere in the depths of his fractured consciousness … of a horseman riding across the fells and the devil springing up. Where had he heard that story before? He grasped at the memory but it eluded him, and then all he knew was darkness.

  When he woke up, he had no idea where he was. It wasn’t heaven – perhaps some kind of purgatory, because he couldn’t move and the pain in his legs and head was so bad it made him feel sick.

  People were talking but their voices sounded distorted, like a recording in slow motion. He couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Someone in a mask loomed over him. He tried to talk and no sound came out.

  The next thing he knew, he was lying still in a dark room. Eventually the voices started again and he had the sensation of movement. There were lights so bright they hurt his eyes and ahead of him was a dark tunnel. He was paralysed, powerless to escape. The faces of people flashed in front of him; strangers and people he knew and loved. Work colleagues, his mum and dad, Molly, Esme, Harvey – and Lara. The tunnel crept closer and closer, becoming a giant mouth that opened wider, ready to swallow him up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Lara didn’t remember much of the journey to the hospital other than gripping the wheel of the car to stop her hands from shaking. Every dark thought imaginable – and then some – had raced through her mind. She’d managed to text Jazz the news before she left and then rushed out to the car, almost slipping on the ice in her haste.

  Somehow, after what seemed like the longest and worst journey she’d ever made, she arrived in the midst of blue lights, ambulances queuing outside, and people being pushed to and from the entrance in wheelchairs.

  It might be Boxing Day but the festivities were definitely on hold for some people. Her own life felt as if it was on pause too. The walk from the car park to the reception desk consisted of some of the worst minutes of her life.

  For all she knew, Flynn might be dead. That possibility made her feel faint with terror. She wanted to race into the A&E reception, push everyone queuing aside, and scream: is he alive? Please let me see him!

  Instead, she had to force herself to wait in line, digging her nails into her palm with frustration, and wondering what kind of person had devised the exquisite torture known as a casualty reception desk.

  Then came the agony of trying to find out where he was and having to tell a lie that she was Flynn’s fiancée, just in case they wouldn’t give her any information otherwise. And the wait while the receptionist tapped away at her keyboard with all the urgency of a clothes-shop sales assistant checking if a particular pair of jeans were in stock. God, the woman even broke off to accept a colleague’s offer of a cappuccino from the Costa at one point.