‘Cora … my mother is the kind of woman who’s generous with the word love,’ he says quietly. ‘But I use it more sparingly.’

  She catches her breath. He’s still holding her hand to his chest, and she feels the thunder of his heart. Her pulse quickens, an echo of his.

  ‘I love you, Cora Pollen.’ His voice is as certain as his words. ‘I loved you the moment you opened your front door. I’ve never stopped. Never will.’

  ‘I love you too,’ she says.

  And suddenly it doesn’t matter about orange tortes or even whether his parents like her. All that matters is him, and the way he’s pulled her close, their hands entwined. The way he’s looking at her now.

  There are voices outside, one male and one female. They are arguing loudly. Claude starts to bark next door. Jacob raises an eyebrow at Cora. ‘I should have warned you.’ He makes a wincing expression as there’s a scuffling noise. ‘My parents know how to make an entrance.’

  He goes to the front hatch and throws open the door. ‘Ma. Pa. Be careful stepping onto the boat.’ He jumps up the steps. ‘Wait. Let me help you.’

  There are pants and grunts and complaints outside. Cora stands with her hands folded, waiting nervously.

  A woman with a mane of grey hair comes down the narrow steps into the galley, stepping sideways, clinging to the rail. She’s shaking her head. ‘What a place to live,’ she exclaims. ‘I still can’t understand what’s wrong with dry land.’

  She’s adjusting her long floral skirt, but stops when she sees Cora. She gives a beaming smile and holds out her hands. ‘There you are,’ she says, stepping across and taking Cora’s cheeks between her palms. Her touch is dry and warm; her eyes, looking into Cora’s, shine with the same brilliant colours as her son’s, golden flecks around her pupils. ‘You are as beautiful as he said.’ She nods. ‘Maybe a little thin. But lovely.’

  ‘Ma!’ Jacob reprimands her. ‘Don’t start.’

  She waves her hand. ‘I’m on my best behaviour. I’m allowed to be excited to meet the woman my son’s been telling me about for months.’

  ‘And this,’ Jacob says, ‘is my father, Isaac.’

  A short, stocky man with grizzled hair, black-framed spectacles perched on his nose, is regarding her with a stern expression. His small mocha eyes are watchful behind thick glass. He takes off his hat and steps forward, takes her hand, places his other hand over the top. ‘Cora, I’m pleased to meet you,’ he says gravely. He shakes his head. ‘I won’t pretend that you’re the woman I’d hoped my son would choose, but …’ he’s still holding on to her hand, and he squeezes it, ‘man makes plans, and God laughs.’

  Cora’s lips twitch uncertainly. Should she smile? His expression remains serious, focused on her face. She gives a brief nod and he releases her hand.

  ‘Come and sit down. I’ll get everyone drinks,’ Jacob says, ushering them inside to the small table, taking coats, pulling out chairs.

  Cora accepts her glass of Chablis gratefully, and takes a nervous gulp. But the meal is a success. Both his parents eat heartily and compliment Jacob and Cora on the tagine and the cake. Apart from his appreciation of the food, Isaac doesn’t talk much; it’s Rachel asking question after question, listening intently and then, just as Cora prepares to ask her something, launching into another. She wants to know about Cora’s job, about her parents, about Andrew and Fran and Luke.

  ‘Give her a break, sheifale,’ Isaac says gently. ‘You’re wearing her out.’

  ‘Am I?’ Rachel sits back in her chair. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been storing up all my curiosity for so long.’ She puts a finger to her lips. ‘I’ll be quiet now.’

  ‘Nobody wants that, my love.’ Isaac leans over and kisses her cheek. ‘But I will talk now. I have something to say.’ He holds up his glass. ‘First, a toast to Jacob and Cora. Despite my misgivings, I can see they make each other happy.’ He stands up, clearing his throat. ‘Another man says it better than me, and we must all remember his wisdom. He said that the salvation of man is through love and in love.’

  ‘Viktor E. Frankl,’ Rachel says in a whispered aside, beaming. ‘It’s his favourite quote.’ She raises her glass. ‘L’chayim,’ she calls out, with Isaac repeating the toast. They clink all four glasses at the rims, a splash of wine falling onto Cora’s wrist. She licks it off.

  ‘You see, Cora,’ Isaac says, setting his drink back on the table, ‘you must forgive me my early doubts. Jacob is the last in our male line, and I wanted the family to go on. Natan will not have children. I’d hoped for Jacob to meet a nice Jewish girl, and have Jewish children who bear the name da Costa. But,’ his eyes glitter with tears, ‘I see that it’s not meant to be.’

  ‘Papa,’ Jacob says gently. ‘I’ve never wanted children. Ever since Natan’s accident, I knew that he had become my responsibility. I didn’t even think I could have a relationship, let alone a family.’

  ‘And this is what we’d like to talk to you about,’ Rachel says, pushing her hair behind her ears, rolling up her sleeves and beginning to pile up plates.

  ‘Leave it, Ma,’ Jacob says. ‘You’re our guest.’

  ‘You must let go of this guilt of yours,’ Isaac is saying. ‘It does not belong to you.’

  The words are spoken softly, but they slice through the atmosphere. Cora suppresses a gasp, and holds her breath; she feels Jacob and Rachel holding theirs too.

  ‘You are not guilty of anything,’ Isaac carries on, leaning towards his son, his chin jutting. ‘Let it go.’ His fingers strike the tablecloth, his voice wrung tight with emotion.

  Cora shivers at this unexpected order. She glances at Jacob, sees him flinch and sit up. ‘You’re wrong, Pa,’ he says in a low voice. ‘I can never let it go. Because I am guilty. Natan didn’t drop the ball. I threw it. That’s why he ran in front of the car. Because of me.’

  There is silence. Cora hears herself swallow.

  ‘We always wondered what really happened,’ Rachel says gently. She looks at her husband. ‘But we knew you’d never do anything to deliberately hurt your brother. We didn’t want to pry, because you were already in so much pain.’ She shakes her head. ‘Perhaps we should have got the truth out of you sooner. We should have had this conversation long ago.’

  ‘How can you forgive me?’ Jacob’s voice breaks.

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Isaac says gruffly.

  Rachel dabs at her eyes. ‘This isn’t about blame, hayim sheli. It’s about your brother and you. We all love Natan. But you insist on doing so much for him. Too much. You pay for everything.’ She puts a hand to her heart. ‘For which we will always be grateful. But you get up in the middle of the night, rush there when they call you. You feel only you can satisfy his needs, can calm him and reassure him. It is … a kind of selfishness, a kind of ego, to feel only you are good enough.’

  ‘What?’ Jacob’s eyes widen. ‘Is that what you really think?’

  ‘Your mother is right, Jacob. We’ve been worried about you for a long time. We didn’t know how to help … how to tell you what we’re telling you now. We were afraid it would break you.’

  ‘But now you have Cora. You have enough … balance for us to say it,’ Rachel says. ‘You must live your own life. Properly. Not this half-life. Spend time away from the city. Think of yourself, of Cora.’

  ‘Natan needs me.’ Jacob’s voice is very quiet.

  ‘I know, darling,’ Rachel says, gathering his hands to her and kissing his knuckles. ‘He does. But he doesn’t need you to sacrifice everything for him.’

  Jacob’s eyes fill with water; he stands up abruptly, staring at his parents. He tries to speak, and fails, shaking his head. Cora curls her fingers into her palms, wanting to go to him. But she watches him turn and blunder towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. She looks at Rachel and Isaac.

  ‘Give him a minute,’ Rachel says, her mouth trembling. ‘We’ll go now. It’s getting late. You two can talk better without us. I know my words were harsh.’ She wipes her face with a large hanky. ‘But they are true. He’s not the only one who can be there for Natan. While we’re alive, God willing, while we have days on this earth, we want to do more.’

  ‘I think … I think I understand,’ Cora says, getting to her feet and following Rachel and Isaac through the galley.

  ‘It’s not good for anyone to be alone,’ Rachel says. ‘Especially a man. I prayed he would find someone – someone like you.’ She kisses Cora’s cheeks, her lips resting for a moment each time against her skin. ‘Get him out of London if you can. He needs to enjoy himself. God knows, this self-sacrifice has been going on too long. Get him to change his routine. Even if only a little.’

  ‘Zei gezunt.’ Isaac kisses her hand gravely before he puts on his hat and helps Rachel into her coat.

  Cora guides them off the boat, making sure they step safely onto the towpath, and stands with her hand up. She hears them talking loudly as they disappear along the canal, admonishing each other, complaining, teasing, until their voices fade and there is nothing but the plop of a fish rising, the rustle of invisible night creatures.

  Winter

  Woodford

  Cora and Jacob take the Tube to Woodford. It’s raining when they emerge into daylight, and Jacob unfurls a large umbrella over them. Cora links her arm through his.

  ‘It’s only five minutes from here,’ he says.

  She nods, not wanting to talk in case her voice betrays her. Meeting Natan feels like a huge event. Even bigger than meeting his parents.

  The care home is a graceful building covered with a climbing creeper, gnarled and bare now that it’s winter. But Cora can imagine the wisteria flowers in the summer: an abundance of lilac frothing around the windows.

  ‘Such a beautiful house,’ she murmurs as they crunch over wet gravel.

  ‘Apparently, years ago, royalty hunted in Epping Forest,’ Jacob says. ‘So from early on, grand houses have been built here. Some of them have been turned into schools and care homes, like this one.’

  Inside, there’s the usual institutional smell of bleach and cooked food. And Cora sees that the place has been adapted with mobility rails and ramps. But as she and Jacob make their way past the reception desk into the heart of the building, she glimpses private rooms through open doorways, with pictures on the walls and personal ornaments on shelves. They pass smiling staff in the corridor, pushing residents in wheelchairs or helping them make their way along, holding elbows, giving encouragement.

  Jacob turns into a large, airy common room. Cora expected people to be gathered around a TV, but instead there are small groups engaged in art activities or games, and a nurse in the corner is playing a guitar.

  They approach the group gathered around the music.

  ‘Natan,’ Jacob says quietly as he bends to look into the face of a man sitting in a wheelchair. ‘Hey, how are you?’ He squats down. ‘Do you mind if we go somewhere quieter? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

  He stands and nods at one of the nurses as he takes hold of the wheelchair. ‘We’re just going to Natan’s room for a bit.’

  ‘I’ll get someone to bring you all a cup of tea,’ the nurse says.

  Natan’s room is full of colour. A home-made mobile hangs from the ceiling. There are family photos all over the walls. The bed is covered with a crocheted blanket in rainbow shades. Jacob arranges two chairs in a semicircle next to Natan, and Cora slips into one.

  ‘This is Cora,’ he tells his brother. ‘She’s very special to me.’ He smiles at Cora. ‘And this is my brother, who you’ve heard so much about.’

  ‘I certainly have,’ she says, leaning forward to smile at Natan. ‘He never stops talking about you.’

  ‘She actually likes me,’ Jacob says to Natan in a stage whisper. ‘So don’t tell her any of my secrets, okay?’

  A slow grin spreads across Natan’s face and his fingers tremble on the armrests of the chair. Cora can see that he’s happy to be with his brother, but that it’s a struggle for him to listen. He blinks often. Sometimes his eyes slide away, as if he doesn’t have the strength to focus.

  ‘I love your room,’ she says. ‘Did someone make the bedspread? It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Ah, that’s Mum’s work, isn’t it, Nat? She’s the queen of crochet. Blankets. Cushions. Rugs. We had to be quick on our feet to avoid being press-ganged into her latest creations.’ He shakes his head sorrowfully. ‘You can’t get away with orange and brown crocheted trousers when you’re a twelve-year-old boy.’

  Natan’s smile widens, taking over his face.

  Cora laughs. ‘You’re both lucky to have her. She’s a powerful woman. And powerful women make strong sons.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jacob says. ‘That’s true. In Nat’s case, anyway. He’s as strong as a lion. Never known anyone braver, either.’ He takes his brother’s fingers and kisses them.

  Cora blinks, a tear escaping. She brushes it away with her thumb, and takes the opportunity to jump up as a woman bearing a tea tray knocks at the door. She takes the tray with a nod of thanks.

  ‘Shall I pour?’ she asks, as she sets it down on a side table.

  Shepherd’s Bush

  The house smells of Christmas – brandy, pine, spicy cinnamon and cloves, with scents of frankincense and orange zest drifting from the candles in the hall. It reminds Fran of her childhood in Suffolk. They used to gather huge garlands of glossy ivy and red holly berries in the woods with Dad, twist them through the banisters and loop gold-ribboned swags of green across mantelpieces. They had a gigantic glimmering tree in the sitting room in front of the French windows, an angel on top, presents piled beneath. Christmas in London has always been a more subdued affair, with just the three of them, her and Luke squabbling over what to watch on TV and Cora going through the motions of producing the perfect lunch. The small tree perched on a table in the corner always seemed, somehow, apologetic.

  This year is different. For a start, they have a tree whose topmost star nearly touches the ceiling, just as Cora promised, its thick, luxuriant branches loaded with decorations and white lights. Jacob went with them to help choose it and bring it home, and joined in the decorating, even though Christmas isn’t on his calendar. He’s spending today with his brother at the care home, where the residents are having a pre-Christmas party, with a magician and mince pies and carols. ‘Religion doesn’t matter to Natan,’ he explained as he passed Fran silver and red baubles to hang on the branches. ‘It’s human connection and care that make all the difference to him.’

  Zac came to help decorate the tree, too. He’s studying hard on the days he’s not working; he stays up late with textbooks, frowning over pages, chewing the end of his pen. Fran reads novels or scripts while he studies; she lies with her head on his lap, or his head on her lap, both of them with books or screens open in their hands. They feed each other chocolate and biscuits, take it in turns to make cups of strong tea.

  It’s Saturday, two and a half weeks to go till Christmas. Fran sits at the breakfast table with Cora and Luke. The sound of the letter box snapping open makes Cora start. There’s a slide of envelopes onto the mat, Luke leaps up, a piece of toast in his mouth, and goes to fetch them. He comes back, chewing, and dumps a small heap of mail onto the table. ‘I’m off,’ he says. ‘We’ve got a long one today – out to Box Hill.’

  ‘Have a lovely time,’ Cora says. ‘Don’t forget your reflective top.’

  He grabs another slice of toast and waves over his shoulder. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Not if we see you first,’ Fran calls out.

  Cora shakes her head and smiles, pouring more coffee for them both.

  ‘He seems almost back to his usual nerdy self,’ Fran says.

  Cora nods. ‘The sessions with his therapist are really helping – and just being able to step away from the pressure of university for a while has made a difference.’

  ‘So how long are you and Jacob going on this trip for?’ Fran asks, taking a sip of scalding liquid. ‘Your journey up the canal?’ She pretends to shiver. ‘At this time of year! You’re both mad. It’ll be freezing.’

  ‘But the boat’s lovely and toasty inside, and we’ll wrap up. We’ve only got five days,’ Cora says. ‘We’re going to head up the Lee towards Waltham Abbey, see how far we get. It’ll be the first time Jacob’s taken the boat anywhere, so it should be a bit of an adventure.’

  ‘What if you get stuck in a lock?’ Fran teases. ‘Or sink? You’ll miss Christmas Day.’

  ‘I’ll swim back if necessary, with a branch of mistletoe between my teeth,’ Cora laughs. ‘Don’t worry. But I do need to make sure I get everything done before I leave. Lots of jobs to check off the list.’

  ‘Mum,’ Fran says, ‘I … I need to tell you something.’ Her chest is suddenly full of butterfly wings, her mouth dry.

  The smile fades from Cora’s lips, and she puts her head on one side attentively.

  ‘You know when we first met Jacob, and I had a mad crush on him?’ Fran flashes a look at Cora to stop her from interrupting. ‘Then it got awkward and weird when I realised you liked him too. But I … I don’t know … I guess I was a bit crazy. I thought … I thought I could take him away from you—’

  ‘We’ve talked about this before,’ Cora breaks in. ‘None of it matters.’

  ‘No,’ Fran says. ‘It does. Just listen. What you don’t know is that I went to see his parents.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One afternoon, when you were at work, I went to Leytonstone and knocked on their door.’

  ‘You went to see Rachel and Isaac?’

  Fran gives her another look. She has to talk fast. Get it over and done with. ‘I had this stupid idea that I should tell them about you.’ She can’t look at Cora; her shoulders hunch. ‘I knew how upset you were about him hiding you from his family, and I thought … I thought if I just confronted his parents, got it all out in the open, it would help to fix things.’ She balls her fingers into fists. ‘But I should never have tried to interfere. After you split up, I understood how much you loved him, and how wrong I’d been about the two of you in the first place.’