You have broken this family, Lucie.” “That’s not fair!” I swung round at that, but she’d turned her back on me, so our eyes couldn’t meet

The parlour. I make a face. Very grand. I’m not sure what a minister’s daughter is doing here in Fettermore, buried in the country, assisting a cranky old academic. Shouldn’t she be at uni, or something? Too old perhaps; she’s in her mid-twenties, as I recall. Her application mentioned college. Media studies, or another of those Mickey Mouse courses.

She’s worked in an ironmongers too, so that might come in handy, if she knows her way round a hammer and nails.

We’ve come to a natural parting of the ways. I think I’ve covered everything.

Perhaps I should mention the mill. Keep it technical, rather than emotional.

“That’s the mill, obviously.” I wave towards the window.

“It’s for grinding corn. Oats originally, but now we mill – used to mill – wheat.

“It was working right up until... ” I stumble and she looks at me. I can see she is quite sharp, our Lucie.

“It still operates, but no longer on a commercial basis. Yonder, in the dip behind, is Fettermore Burn.

“You’ll notice it runs past the mill, because the water supply we need to power the waterwheel is taken off at the weir half a mile upstream.”

My wave climbs higher. Warming to my theme, I mime channels and ponds.

“The lade brings the water around in a big loop on the high ground, fills up the pond and then drops down to the mill wheel.

“The fall of the land gives it power. Never underestimate the power of water.”

She looks rather anxious, and I quickly adjust my tone.

“And of course it’s a very picturesque walk to the weir and to the pond.”

Lucie remains thoughtful, like a child with too much to digest.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, Any problems, just phone, or pop into the house, but I don’t.

She looks like a girl who has the sort of problems I could well do without.

Lucie

My mother threw me out on Boxing Day. Not physically.

Even in her heels she’d have struggled to make fivetwo, but her sense of reproach filled every room in the manse, like the shadow of a grizzly bear. I knew my days were numbered.

Reuben had joined us for worship, and my father was on top form as he scanned his flock from the pulpit.

At this time of year, he warned, we remember that the rich and the powerful were not willing to give house room to the Christ Child.

They’d kept him at arm’s length. My mother, sitting beside me, nodded so vigorously that the hard pew rocked a little beneath us.

Afterwards, we had cold turkey and salad for lunch, because everyone was complaining of being over-full after all the Christmas day trimmings.

Even then, we’d managed to demolish a whole trifle and Reuben had been up for seconds.

I sat there, remembering the day he’d first been introduced to the family.

There had been trifle that day too, and mother had insisted on giving him the portion with the most cream, lashings of chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top.

That must have been about two years ago. There’d been such a fuss made about meeting Jane’s new boyfriend.

The two of them had rolled up arm in arm, a real couple, Jane looking all smug and entitled. Her grin lit up the hallway.

Confrontation

But this Boxing Day, Mum had landed him a dollop of jelly with such force I thought I heard his bowl crack. Her eyes were as cold as pebbles.

The confrontation came later, as we were clearing the table. I’d taken some plates through to the kitchen.

Dad and Jane and Reuben had gone off to watch some old movie in the parlour.

It was just Mother and me. She closed the kitchen door.

“I’ve been biting my tongue since... since last Sunday.”

“Painful.” I turned my back on her and began to run hot water into the sink.

My heart was thumping oddly.

“Don’t get smart, Lucie. I wanted to get Christmas over. Christmas is such a family time.”

There was a catch in her voice, but I couldn’t look round. I squirted Fairy Liquid into the washing-up bowl and watched the bubbles mount.

“You have broken this family, Lucie.” “That’s not fair!”

I swung round at that, but she’d turned her back on me, so our eyes couldn’t meet.

“Stop it!” She pulled out a chair and sat down heavily at the table.

“It’s always someone else’s fault with you. You’re always in denial, Lucie!

“Well, I can’t unsee what I saw. I will not deny what I saw.”

“Jesus, you sound like one of Dad’s sermons.” I twisted off the tap and reached for a towel. “This is real life. Shit happens.”

“You watch your mouth, young lady!” She got up, and we faced each other.

Disapproval

Her chest was heaving under her pine-green cardigan – she couldn’t unbend enough to wear a novelty Christmas sweater like the rest of us.

“I will not be spoken to like this in my own kitchen.” “Where do you want to go then?” I could feel the heat rising in me, staining my cheeks.

“Where’s the best place to go for a really good row, Mother?

“Oh, I forgot, we don’t do that in this house, do we? We just drown in disapproval.”

“If you don’t like the way we do things in this house, then feel free to leave.”

I’d been twisting the dishtowel in my hands. Now I flung it across the back of a chair.

“I’ve already apologised for what... for what you thought you saw.”

“I know what I saw. Don’t insult me, Lucie. Actions have consequences.”

“Oh, stop it with the sermonising! I’ve had enough!” I stalked back to the sink, glaring at the white foam because I couldn’t bear to witness her disappointment.

“Things have to change.”

Her voice had dropped. In the sink the bubbles popped under their breath.

“I want you gone, Lucie. Get a job. Get your own place. Get out.”

More tomorrow