Thicker Than Water by Anthea Fraser Page A

hasn’t one herself that she doesn’t know what to make of ours.’
    ‘She actually said she hasn’t one?’
    ‘No parents, anyway. She told me that early on, and she’s heard nothing of the others for years.’
    ‘So you don’t know who they are?’
    He shook his head, and they were both silent as their food was laid before them.
    ‘Don’t you think it’s – odd?’ Tina asked, as the waiter moved away.
    James shrugged. ‘Unusual, certainly. But just because we’re a close family doesn’t mean everyone else is. You often hear of families being split and people losing touch.’
    ‘But always with a reason.’ Tina picked up her fork. ‘What about Christmas?’
    Since James had moved to Inchampton, it had become the custom for him to spend the three days of the holiday at Brambles, though Christmas lunch was, as always, at the Old Rectory. He’d even flown home from the States to spend it with them all.
    ‘You will come to us, as usual?’ Tina added.
    He hesitated. ‘It’s sweet of you, sis, but if you remember, it started because you said I shouldn’t be alone in the flat over Christmas. Obviously, I won’t be alone, and of course we’ll go to the parents for lunch as usual, but—’
    ‘Three days with the Rivers would be too much for Abigail’s sensibilities,’ finished Tina tartly.
    ‘I think for our first Christmas together,’ James said peaceably, ‘it might be nice to be at home, that’s all.’
    She made a little face. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
    Unaware that her relations were discussing her, Abigail descended from the loft and went to prepare her lunch, surprised to discover she was hungry. Since the arrival of the postcard two weeks ago, she’d had to force herself to eat, and had frequently skipped lunch altogether. But though, sick with fear, she’d waited daily for developments, none had been forthcoming and she was beginning to breathe more easily. Then, lying awake last night, what now seemed an obvious solution had occurred to her. The sender must be a family member, who, having somehow learned of her marriage, was repaying her for not being invited to the wedding. She should have known that was the logical answer, since who else could it possibly be? She’d not seen the handwriting – James had removed the card – but if she had, she was now sure she’d have recognized it.
    She laughed aloud in sheer relief. So after all that needless worry, she could put it behind her and resume normal life. To prove it, she ran downstairs to collect the mail, no longer fearing it might contain enigmatic warnings, and, having set it out on the table, replayed the answer phone to retrieve three innocent messages. One was from the library, informing her that a book she’d ordered was awaiting her, and she decided to collect it that afternoon. It would be good to be able to walk into town again without looking over her shoulder.
    When James returned that evening, staring in amazement at the neatly sorted mail and quiescent phone, he cursed himself for having confided in Tina. If he’d waited just one more day it would all have blown over, and the hitch in the smooth running of their lives been known only to themselves.
    Later, Abigail further surprised him by suggesting they invite Tina and Ben to supper. ‘We’ve been to them,’ she said. ‘We ought to ask them back.’
    And James, with happiness welling up inside him, caught her round the waist and swung her round. ‘I love you, Mrs Markham!’ he said.
    Since her broken engagement, there’d been an awkwardness between Sylvie and Tina that, despite their efforts, they’d been unable to dispel. The intervening weeks had been hard, having to bear the condolences of family and friends while aware she was the source of gossip among them; but what had upset her most after the loss of James was the apparent loss of his sister also. As November slid into December, she determined that the hiatus had gone on long enough, and one evening,