Author's Note - I hope a part of you connects with this little story which is the sequel to "All I want for Christmas." Most of the characters are my own ... some are established TB characters that have been explored in different ways ... and the rest is just to remind us of how important it is to have the support of a family. My heartfelt thanks to my beta reader Jaimi (Samantha Winchester) for her no nonsense advice, professionalism and encouragement . And now...on with the story
"A MOST INCONVENIENT OBSESSION"
written by "mcj"
PROLOGUE
London ... Christmas morning ...after a "most draining and difficult year"
John Bradley Evans, Chief of the Air Staff RAF, gazed intently out the window and tried to find the strength to smile at the antics of the neighbor's brand new puppy. A Christmas present for the children, he had no doubt. One he hoped lasted a little longer than last year's cheap disaster. Who would ever forget those poor children begging him to climb all over his ice covered roof at half past six on Christmas morning? He still didn't believe he did it, let alone why he and Catherine felt so guilty about their chimney getting in the way of the neighbor's brand new kites.
"Oh Dad, you did it because deep inside you're nothing but a soft touch," she'd laughed through the phone that evening. "What Jeff and I can't believe is you and Mum giving up your Christmas to drive all around London trying to find replacements."
He watched the cute little bundle of fluff race around, hot on the heels of the children. He didn't know about being a soft touch but the dog was certainly a much more resilient gift choice. It had a lot better chance of making it through to January than the kites did; provided they trained it appropriately of course and the no-hoper of a father reinstated the fence.
John Evans shook his head as the no-hoper himself straggled his way into the snow covered yard, a cigarette dangling from one bony hand and a can of something alcoholic in the other.
Ewan Brown. He was thirty-seven now. Hadn't held down a decent job in the whole time he'd known him and that had been the best part of the last fourteen years. John hadn't liked the man from the very first moment that he'd met him and he'd liked him even less when he'd started taking more than a "friendly interest" in his daughter, Lucille.
"Don't be so ridiculous, Dad!" The past came back to haunt him. "You don't have to worry about Ewan Brown asking me over for dinner tonight, tomorrow night or any other night. Every single move he makes can be viewed right from the comfort of your bedroom window."
Two warm brown eyes had filled with mischief and she'd thrown a wink in the direction of her mother. She knew exactly what would raise his blood pressure when it came to involving herself a man he didn't like and she had no hesitation in doing it every single chance she got.
"Until he pulls the curtains across, of course, and leaves you in the dark guessing what we're doing."
A badly suppressed giggle followed by a great big, impulsive hug. Living life every day to the fullest had always been the essence of Lucille's being. Half the time she drove him crazy with worry, yet somehow, even back then, he didn't want life to be any other way.
"So what are you going to do about me and Ewan then, Dad?" the teasing had continued. "Burst through his front door demanding that I come home with you?"
"Lucille, you know that's exactly what I'll do," he'd wanted to growl right back; but no matter how many times he'd tried to say it, the words had simply refused to come out. He could never be stern when it came to his Lucy, no matter what wild or outrageous things she tried. She'd won his heart from the day Catherine had brought her into the world and he'd been a hopelessly indulgent father ever since.
All of a sudden he felt his throat catch.
The day Catherine brought her into the world… her first cry ...he still remembered it… how much he'd longed for it ... lived for it… treasured it... how much it had meant to him to be the father of a child after focusing on his career in the services for so long. He hadn't been able to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks as he'd cradled his baby daughter in his arms for the first time. All he'd wanted to do that day was protect her and be the only man to ever mellow in her sweet innocence.
John Evans swallowed bitterly and returned to the unhappy world of his present. The scene outside the window blurred.
He would never hold his precious Lucy in the safety of his arms again. He would never see her smile at him or be worried sick over something she had only meant to be a joke. All he had left of Lucy was a memory and a pain he had endured in silence, all day, every day, for the past nine months.
"Talk about it," people said to him.
"Open up to someone, John, and try to let it go."
"Share it."
"I'm so sorry to hear about your loss."
"oh John, she was a lovely girl."
Sometimes he wished he could talk about it. Say what he really wanted to say. Share his grief with someone, in the hope that somehow it might help.
But he couldn't.
He couldn't share how he felt about losing Lucy with anyone, not even his beloved Catherine with whom he had always shared everything.
The bitterness continued to rear up.
There wasn't much to say, anyhow. It was over and he knew how he felt.
He should never have allowed Tracy to mellow in Lucy's sweet perfection. He should never have agreed to let her go to Houston to be with him. He should have been stronger in his resolve that the thing she had for Tracy was nothing more than an inconvenient obsession. He knew back then that it would only end up in tears.
But he hadn't been strong enough.
She'd wound him around her finger like she always did until he finally gave in to his reservations about Tracy and agreed to let her go.
And now, courtesy of Tracy, his only daughter was gone.
John tried to curb his resentment and see things Catherine's way. Catherine kept saying how much Tracy had loved her; that they'd had eleven of the most wonderful years together and had given life to five little boys. Catherine said Tracy wasn't to blame for what had happened. Even Lucy's doctor didn't know there was a complication with the unborn child until her labor had gone too far. Catherine said it was Christmas and the very least they could do was to contact "poor Jeff" and see how he was coping with the children.
"John," she'd pleaded. "He must be finding things so hard."
Unlike Catherine, who obviously seemed to have accepted it, he wasn't prepared to give Jeff Tracy the benefit of the doubt about anything. A part of him would always blame Tracy for what had happened to his daughter. Five children; the last two less than thirteen months apart...Tracy should have had more sense...given her time to recover.
But no…
…not Tracy.
Everything had just been so easy for him with Lucille, right from the very beginning.
Tracy had walked in, said a few words, and in less than half an hour had stolen Lucy's heart. Tracy had taken her to the States, where his star-studded career made the headlines while she remained quietly supportive in the background. Tracy had taken her innocence away and replaced it with the responsibility of coping with one child after another after another.
And Tracy had been the one who had called at half past four in the morning last March to tell him that his only daughter had died.
No, he decided, lifting his chin and staring back out the window; not even the season of peace and goodwill could erase how he felt about Jeff Tracy.
The subtle scent of perfume and the brush of gentle fingertips distracted him from his negative thoughts. The light caress to his neck was welcome, even though it meant that he was no longer alone.
"Here you are," she observed in her quiet, gentle tone. "I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, John."
John glanced sideways and acknowledged the slightly built figure of his dear wife, Catherine. Despite his preoccupation with his feelings about Tracy, it was hard not to appreciate how attractive she was for a woman who was almost fifty-eight years old.
He berated himself. Even if Catherine wasn't attractive, there was a beauty inside her that he'd fallen in love with a very long time ago. He supposed he'd been rather remiss of late for failing to notice it. It wasn't as if Catherine had changed at all.
She'd made a special effort for Christmas Day, swapping her signature wardrobe of everything black for a pretty white embroidered dress. The dress was simple and child-like, making her appear much younger than she was. Even her hair, which she always kept tied back so severely, was brushed to tumble loose around her narrow shoulders. It brushed her face and highlighted her features in a delicate chestnut and pepper colored frame. She looked lovely.
Any other Christmas day he'd tweak her chin and tease her. Ask why the wife of such a prominent man chose to hide herself behind "such terribly discreet clothing" every day of the year when she could do so much for his career in something like that.
But not today…
He didn't feel like it today.
He wasn't up to teasing anyone about anything. All he could think about was how he'd lost Lucy.
"You look very nice, dear." He finally struggled out the words. "Your dress ...is it something new?" The question was followed with a faint and half-hearted smile and another glance out the frosty window.
Catherine Evans failed to return the gesture. Her heart sank as she looked down at the dress she had selected that morning from the back of her cluttered wardrobe. All morning she had been hoping John would at least recognize it or try to remember its significance.
She waited a few more minutes in case the realization dawned.
When it didn't, she knew it was time to give up.
It seemed that John had chosen to forget everything about that night ... how happy Lucy had been ... how much she'd clearly loved Jeff... how wrong it had seemed to be to worry that the two of them wanted to be together.
"No, John the dress isn't new," she replied, running her hands over the fabric in disappointment. "It just hasn't been worn in a very long time, that's all."
"Oh? It it still looks very nice on you, Catherine; very nice indeed."
The reply was genuine but distant, and the far-away look in his eyes indicated she had lost him to his thoughts already. It didn't take much these days to lose John to the lonely, grey world of his grieving. He'd distanced himself from everyone since the day of Lucy's funeral and nothing anyone had tried could get him to come back to them.
"Well, my darling … one thing's for sure … you'll have to try everything before you finally decide to give up on him. After all, you did say "I do" against my advice, and you have been married to the man for the best part of thirty seven years."
Abigail Phillips, her mother. She was the one who'd reminded her about the dress.
"John can't help but snap out of it when he remembers what happened when you last wore that," she'd said in her usual matter-of-fact manner. "But you'll need to put a bigger smile on your face, Catherine, and for goodness sake, so something about that hair."
Catherine couldn't believe she'd actually hoped it would work. Wearing a dress that reminded her of happier times had been a ridiculous idea. All she'd managed to do was dredge up her own memories of the daughter that she'd lost and the poor young man on the other side of the world left to cope alone with their five small children.
"John."
"Mmmm?"
"David's downstairs."
"David?"
"Our son."
"Oh, yes, of course. David. He made it back from Oxford, then?"
"Yes, and he's waiting downstairs to see you."
"I'm glad that he could make it."
"Mum's here too. She's brought us over a Christmas cake and a nice bottle of brandy."
Catherine's mother loved a brandy no matter time of the day or night it was and no amount of hinting would ever stop her from bringing along a bottle of the stuff, pretending it was one of the Christmas presents. Catherine had hoped the reference to the brandy might work. John hated it when her mother got a few too many brandies under her belt. He complained she was far too direct the moment the top came off the bottle, and nine times out of ten he seemed to find himself on the receiving end of whatever she was being direct about. Even a little anger would be better than nothing.
"John?" Catherine queried. "Did you hear me about the brandy?"
"No, thank you. I really don't care for any brandy."
"John…"
"You know, Catherine; that dog down there should at least outlast the kites."
"John, please." She began to choke back her own tears of disappointment. "Come down and talk to David…"
"It's a pedigreed dog, you know. Don't know how Brown found the money to pay for it, do you? Drinks way too much…smokes…I don't know what Lucille ever saw in him."
"John…"
"Stole it, most probably. Don't you think I'm right?"
When she'd woken this morning, Catherine had hoped that this would be the day when there were no more tears left to shed. But now as she looked at the vacant expression on the face of her husband, she could feel them making their way to the surface again. Before she knew it, they'd overflowed.
How much longer would she have to feel her way alone through this maze of grief and dreadful sadness? Lucy's death had drained her. She'd lost all contact with her grandchildren. Now John was sailing deeper and deeper into the sea of his own denial and she knew that she was losing him, too.
She wiped her face and moved towards the door. Like her mother had said, she'd been married to John Evans for a very long time and it wasn't fair to give up on him yet.
She would have to think of something else to help him accept that what had happened to Lucy wasn't Jeff's fault. Maybe she could finally convince him to make the call to ask after the children. In the meantime, she would have to find the courage to be happy on Christmas Day. David would understand that his father wasn't "feeling well," and help her in the kitchen with the turkey. Her mother would have no hesitation in polishing off the brandy before falling asleep on the lounge. The only time she supposed she would start to feel vulnerable was at nine o'clock in the evening, when their new vid-phone remained still.
There would be no call this year. Their precious Lucille was gone.
How could John not remember the dress?
How could he have forgotten the way his eyes had held hers?
How could he ignore the memories of how happy Lucy had been, how much in love, how determined she was to make things work?
The night a handsome young astronaut named Tracy came to their home for dinner…