Four Christmases and a Secret

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘Daisy?’

  I nod, then give Stanley a last hug and kiss and whisper in his ear telling him how much I love him, before Carrie eases him back into her arms and he’s carried away from me forever.

  Then I go back to my room. Throw myself on my bed and have a bloody good full-on snotty cry.

  Chapter 13

  3 p.m., 22 April

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I know this is not the usual way to greet visitors, but I’m a bit shocked when I answer the door expecting to see Tarquin, and it is in fact Ollie. ‘Sorry, I mean, hi!’

  We stare at each other. This could be awkward. The last time I saw him was over a glass of bubbly, and then I ran away.

  But then he grins. It’s a bit of a boyish grin, rather than a senior consultant serious grin. ‘Hi to you too! Uncle T told me to come and help you move. Not that I wouldn’t have offered anyway, I mean I didn’t just come because …’

  ‘I’d shut up now if I was you.’

  ‘I will.’ He smiles again, then motions behind me. ‘Can I come in? Hard to help from here.’

  ‘Sure, sure.’

  ‘Which way?’

  I point towards my room, feeling hot and bothered as he squeezes past. ‘I don’t actually need a hand though.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, you’ve got help?’ He looks around, as I obviously haven’t. I don’t need it.

  ‘No.’ I wave a hand indicating all my worldly possessions – most of which are piled on the bed. ‘I’ve got very little to move.’

  ‘Ah. Right. Well, I can help you shift this.’ He lifts up one end of the chest of drawers, and the muscles in his arms bulge slightly. I didn’t expect him to have muscles, in my head he’s never been that type. I’m dying to prod them though, see how hard they are. I would have done if we were still kids, now it would seem odd. ‘I meant to say last time we met and forgot. Also, whilst I’m thinking about it, I want to apologise for Juliet at the Christmas party, she can be a bit of a cow.’

  I didn’t expect to hear him call anybody a cow. We share a smile. His arms are beginning to quiver a bit. ‘Other end?’ He indicates with his head. The quiver is more of a tremble now.

  I can’t believe how fast this is all happening now, it’s a bit like an unstoppable torrent. Once I’d confirmed that I’d be delighted to accept the terms and conditions of the new job, the wheels were set in motion and within what seemed like only hours I’d got a start date, a confirmed salary (much better than my old one, and with a rise after three months!), had agreed with Frankie when I’d move out, and had boxed up my stuff in the office.

  ‘It’s fine, fine.’ Juliet is the least of my worries and I don’t know why he’s brought her up, unless he’s bothered that I’ll be rude to her when she comes to our apartment. ‘I’m sure she’s nice.’ Underneath a heavy layer of sarcasm and bitchiness.

  ‘She was out of order. Nobody wants to hear they’ve lost their job at a Christmas party from a stranger.’ His arms are practically shaking now, from bearing the weight of the furniture, and he’s gritting his teeth a bit.

  ‘Well next party I’ll be able to tell her I’ve got a new much better job!’ I have totally decided I can do this job. I am finally taking charge of my future.

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘Not?’ I frown, does he know something I don’t? How can I have cocked up before I start? Or does he actually have no faith in me doing this job after all?

  ‘We’ve gone our separate ways.’

  ‘Phew. Sorry, not about you and her, phew about something else, phew it’s hot in here.’ Ha-ha. Thank God for that. He wasn’t talking about my shiny new career being in jeopardy, he was talking about Juliet.

  Wow, Juliet! He’s split up with Juliet. He’s a single man. Why am I grinning and have an (almost) uncontrollable urge to run round the flat jumping about with glee? This is weird, and totally out of proportion. It is also a bit mean, he could be heartbroken, but he doesn’t look heartbroken. I tilt my head on one side and study him more closely. ‘Did you know you’ve gone a bit red in the face?’

  ‘Of course, I’ve gone bloody red in the face, woman. This is heavy! Are you going to?’ He tips his head, indicating the other end of the cabinet again. He’s gone very red, I think I spot beads of sweat.

  I fold my arms and smile. ‘Not mine. I don’t own furniture. It came with the room.’

  He drops it, looking embarrassed. Then he starts to chuckle. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me! You did that on purpose!’

  ‘It was you who picked it up, I never asked you to!’

  He shakes his head, still laughing. ‘You always were a bit of a smart arse Daisy Dunkerly!’

  ‘And you always were …’

  ‘Oh my God it’s the pomp—’

  I am going to die. Frankie has just burst into the room and is going to call him a pompous prick. Luckily, she is stopped in her tracks when somebody grabs her from behind. Tarquin.

  ‘Door was open, so I came in, baby!’ He kisses her neck and I roll my eyes. They are just so over the top touchy-feely. It gets obscene at times, depending on where they touch and feel. This is something I am not going to miss.

  ‘Sorry, I think I forgot to shut it.’ I was too busy holding my bits in as Ollie squeezed past.

  Tarquin was so thrilled when he found out I was leaving, that he started to try to move his gear in straight away. It’s been a battle, him dropping stuff in random places in the flat, and Frankie moving them back to the bag on his peg. I’m not sure at this point who is going to win, they’re both pretty determined. And the bag is pretty near bursting point.

  ‘God, I am going to ravish you in every inch of this place you sexy witch.’

  ‘Go!’ I push Frankie back out of my very small room. ‘Both of you, you pervs. You could at least wait until we’ve left!’

  Lordie, this is embarrassing. I glance at Ollie who has grabbed a random cushion and is looking at my OTT flat-mate, and her lust-filled lover with a dazed expression on his face. It’s like when you’re watching a movie with your parents, then the stars unexpectedly strip off and go at it like rabbits. Awkward.

  ‘Right. Well. Just cases then?’ Ollie puts the cushion down, picks up a carrier bag in one hand and is reaching for a case.

  ‘Just cases. And cushions, and my duvet. Stick your arms out.’ I start to pile things on top until he’s stacked up to his nose, so I figure he can still see. ‘Oh, and books, but I’ve already put them in boxes in my car. They’re the most important thing!’

  ‘Where’s Stanley?’

  ‘Gone.’ I say it quickly and turn away, checking there’s nothing left under the bed. Giving my face time to straighten itself out again. Ollie will think I’m ridiculous, crying over a dog.

  Stanley has gone, and I am heartbroken. He was the best furry little buddy I’ve ever had. I’ll also be sad to leave Frankie of course, she’s been my hero and my hand-holder. But not as hot on the cuddles, listening and warming my feet up front.

  I’d been tempted to beg Carrie to let me keep him. But this is going to be my year. I am going to have a bigger room, more money, a new career and, and this is the real biggie: I am going to be organised!

  And I’m sure Stanley’s new home will be much better for him. Even though I’m missing him so much it hurts. The flat has seemed so empty without him, and just looking at the spot where I used to keep his toy box makes me well up. I am heartbroken but I have to think of Stanley. Stanley is lucky. I have done my job and helped him on his way and I must be brave about it.

  I glance round my room for a final time, then pull the door closed. It feels strangely symbolic, as though I am finally shutting the door on a not very successful part of my past.

  Then the thought pops back into my head again, Ollie is single! And I’m pretty sure I’ve got a stupid grin on my face and I’ve just giggled. God knows why!

  4 p.m., 22 April

  Ollie throws the door to the apartment open and I am stunned into silence. Well, not qui
te stunned, or silent.

  ‘Bloody hell, this looks like some kind of show apartment!’

  ‘It is a bit ordered I suppose.’

  ‘Ordered? It’s, it’s unreal.’ I have never really believed minimalistic exists in the real world. It is an illusion, something to aspire to. It is glossy magazine, it is not real life. Well, it is now. It is very smart, very tidy (as in there is nothing that isn’t totally functional) and strangely like the inside of a space capsule. ‘Has your mother never told you about soft furnishings?’ Vera does the lived in and cosy look very well. Smart but welcoming.

  ‘I’m not here much, but I suppose it could do with somebody giving it a bit more of a lived-in look.’ He tosses one of my cushions on to a chair.

  ‘I can make it look lived in.’ I can, I really can. But this is worse than I ever imagined. I still thought underneath it all, Ollie and I were slightly similar. But we’re not. He might as well be an alien from another planet. I think after we left school he must have been abducted and re-programmed.

  He is going to hate living with me.

  ‘I’m sure you can soon put your stamp on it.’ His laugh is slightly nervous.

  Oh yeah. A stamp of dog hairs (Stanley might have gone, but there will be other dogs that need me), books, clothes, cushions and general clobber. He will hate it. He will hate me. Living with Ollie (even if he is never there) will never work.

  ‘You’ll hate my stamp.’

  He shrugs. ‘Try me. I’m tougher than I look,’ then a cheeky grin breaks out, ‘and I can always kiss you again if you annoy me too much.’

  Oh my God, this is awkward. What’s he doing talking about that kiss? I spend a lot of time trying not to think about that kiss. Does he think about it as well? Or is he talking about when we were six years old? Eek this could be awkward. He might have completely forgotten the second time. I swallow hard to dampen my dry throat and try not to squeak. Casual, I need to be casual. ‘Is that why you did it? To shut me up?’

  ‘The first time?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Or the second?’ I blush. He does remember it! This is the closest we’ve ever come to mentioning that drunken kiss, the second kiss. Which is probably best forgotten. Well, I haven’t forgotten it, it has somehow lodged in my memory banks and refuses all efforts to erase it. And pops into my head every now and again when I think about him. Not that I want to erase it, because it was nice, but we shouldn’t have. Not a full-on snog. We’re not like that. We’re friends.

  ‘First!’ I squeak.

  ‘I guess so. It did shut you up, though the violence was a bit uncalled for.’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ It’s okay, he’s not going to dwell on the one-that-shouldn’t-have-happened. Though I wonder what he thought about it? Has he ever been tempted to do it again? ‘I’m even more dangerous these days, I’ve got a much better left hook.’

  ‘I bet.’ He backs off. ‘Guess I better go before you get tempted to try it out. Give me a call if you need anything, or the central heating plays up, cooker doesn’t work.’

  ‘I will. Thanks for the lift.’ This is fine. Not awkward at all. He has brushed off the second kiss like an expert. Which is slightly disappointing if I’m totally honest. But good. Perfect. How it needs to be.

  ‘No probs.’

  ‘Guess you better get back to saving lives.’

  ‘Guess so.’

  ‘I’ll look for my own place as soon as I can, then you can have some peace and quiet.’

  ‘No rush. I’m not here that often, and who knows,’ he shrugs, ‘I might get to like a homely touch.’

  The apartment is strangely quiet when he’s gone. So I rifle through his CD’s, put some music on and start to put my stamp on things.

  8 p.m., 22 April

  ‘Just thought I’d check you know where everything … bloody hell, you’ve made it, er, different.’ Ollie is standing in the middle of the living room and his head is practically spinning 360 degrees.

  ‘What you mean is, I’ve got stuff.’

  ‘Where the hell did all this come from? You didn’t have anything!’

  ‘In my suitcases, I know how to pack.’ I see a small space as a challenge. Well, apart from when I’m expected to live in it. I have tried every variant of packing, from the stuff it in and hope, to the fold it, to the roll and wedge and I can honestly say that a combo wins every time.

  I don’t actually have that much stuff. Ollie is exaggerating. He’s just not used to cushions. And throws.

  ‘You did say you were sure I could put my own stamp on the place. So I have.’

  So now he’s back and is admiring my stamp. Or not.

  ‘Just a few cushions and throws.’

  ‘And flowers, and photos, and,’ he pauses, picks up the framed photo I’d put on the windowsill. ‘Bloody hell, it’s Mary and Joseph, before you gave me a black eye!’ He chuckles, and the laughter reaches his eyes. ‘You kept this, all these years?’

  ‘Well, we had some fun times, and actually my parents framed it for me so I can’t hide it away. It would be rude.’ It is actually quite cute as well, but I’m not going to say that.

  He laughs. ‘We did, even if you were a bossy know it all, and I was,’ there’s a long pause, and he looks me right in the eye. ‘A pompous prick.’

  Oops. Embarrassing. I didn’t realise he’d heard Frankie say that. She can be so mean, and loud, at times. ‘Oh, you weren’t a pompous prick then, you were just a pain in the arse.’

  ‘But I am one now?’ He tilts his head on one side, but his gaze never breaks. Which is making me feel a bit hot and bothered. Awkward.

  All I can do is shrug. ‘Well, in my head you were, cos I hadn’t seen you for years.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you don’t come to Uncle T’s parties!’

  ‘Not that, why was I a pompous prick in your head?’

  ‘Well, it was either that or a demigod.’

  ‘I’d have preferred divine rather than dick.’

  ‘Wasn’t your call. Wine?’ I wave my glass at him, it would seem rude not to, after his help, and drinking alone isn’t brilliant.

  He nods, and follows me to the kitchen, getting a glass out of the cupboard and waiting for me to pour.

  ‘So what’s your problem with me, apart from,’ his eyes are twinkling, our fingers brush as I pass the wine back to him, and I feel a bit hot and bothered again. I’m sure I’m far too young to be menopausal, maybe this place is over heated. Yes, definitely, toasty warm. My body isn’t used to toasty warm. ‘Apart from my perfection?’

  ‘That’s the problem! Have you any idea how much of your brilliance is shoved down my throat by my mum and yours? I think Mum wants to adopt you and disown me.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t, on either count.’

  ‘I flunked my ‘A’ levels, took a crap degree—’ Oh God, I shouldn’t have mentioned that again. He’s giving me a look. That type of look that says it’s going to be hard to get out of explanations this time.

  Would it be rude to grab his glass back off him and push him out of the door? Or at least into his own room. Or make a run for my own? Which might involve a sliding rugby tackle and sliding between his legs, seeing as he’s blocking my exit.

  ‘You always wanted to be a vet, you had it all planned out from the time you were twelve or something daft like that, didn’t you? You pulled your dog’s baby teeth out!’

  I’m surprised he remembers. I can’t remember for the life of me what he wanted to be, apart from rich, popular and sophisticated. Like the rest of his family, apart from his mum who is just plain nice.

  I nod.

  ‘You were always the school swot, you were clever. Bloody hell, in those days it was your brilliance that was shoved down my throat. You win on the pain in the arse stakes.’

  ‘Not any more!’

  ‘Oh, Dais, can’t you tell me what happened? I’m not going to judge you, I’d just like to know.’

  ‘I grew up, fucked up and fu—’ I was going to say fu
cked off, but I didn’t. I stayed right here.

  ‘Come on, Dais! It’s me you’re talking to.’

  I study him for a moment in silence. It’s almost like we’re back in those days when we could say what we liked to each other, try to drown each other, see who could climb the highest up the tree his mum had said we should never climb.

  Almost. Except now he’s not gawky, pale, pimply and with knobbly knees that looked like Bart Simpson’s if you squinted.

  He’s toned, tanned, and well Frankie’s right, he’s hot. Not that I should go there. We’re mates. Always have been, always will be (well apart from for the past thirteen or so years). And not that I know about the state of his knees, not at all. Not seen his knees, don’t want to see his knees. Ever again.

  ‘Well?’

  He’s still bloody annoying though.

  I sigh. ‘Okay then, a poorly horse, daft dog, sex mad boyfriend, take your pick.’ I shrug. ‘End result is the same, didn’t revise, crap results.’

  ‘Really?’ He doesn’t believe me. ‘I thought you just couldn’t concentrate?’

  ‘Stop giving me the evil eye! Really!’

  ‘Okay, so why didn’t you retake? It was what you really wanted to do!’

  I down my wine and top up our glasses. This is one question I’ve never really found an answer to. Well, okay, I’ve never honestly tried. It never occurred to me to do resits. I just accepted my failure. I wasn’t in a fit state to go back and live those few months over again, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

  I’d needed time. Time to come to term with things.

  ‘Didn’t you want to? I mean, it’s okay to not want to, exams aren’t everything.’

  ‘It wasn’t that simple, Ollie.’ I hadn’t been able to get my head around what was happening to me in that winter term after I’d kissed Ollie. It had made it impossible to concentrate, thrown up so many questions about my future. Then, just as I’d thought that maybe I had a plan, it was all thrown up in the air again. And when the pieces came down they fell in a totally different place to where I’d expected.