Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage: A heartwarming and funny Christmas romance
Page 21
‘It’s true,’ Alice replied.
‘The trouble is, even if that’s true, it doesn’t pay the rent and I think I’m going to miss next month’s payment.’
‘Is it really that bad?’ asked Alice, turning from the front seat to see her sister.
Esme rubbed her tired eyes. ‘It is. I can just about make this month, but with Christmas presents to sort out, if I don’t get some cash in, next month might be it and then I’ll have to leave.’
‘You don’t need to get us Christmas presents,’ Alice replied. ‘I might know some mums who want birthday cakes if that’ll help?’
She gave a half smile. ‘I’ll take anything at the moment.’
‘Blimey, honey. Come on, let’s get you a drink. Hair of the dog and all that.’
At the pub, Alice and Esme found a table while Sean went to the bar and bought them all a drink, though Esme refused to be swayed with anything other than water.
‘Is that Joe Holloway over there?’ asked Alice.
Esme peered over. ‘Yeah, it is.’ She gave a wave and turned back to Alice. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Alice, smiling.
‘What?’
Alice giggled. ‘You do know he fancies the pants off you, don’t you?’
‘Don’t be silly. He’s just being nice because I’m clearly a saddo who has no life.’ Esme played with her fingernails.
‘I don’t think that look in his eye means, “I’ll befriend a pathetic saddo”, I think that look means, “Mmm, I’d quite like to party in her pants.”’ She’d deepened her voice to sound like a man and Esme couldn’t help but laugh.
‘I’m sure it doesn’t.’ Esme waited until Alice was talking to Sean and glanced over her shoulder at Joe. A soft golden light shone down and as it caught his face, it cast a gentle shadow under his sharp cheekbones. Esme’s eyes were drawn to his lips and she imagined kissing them. A sudden urge to speak to him and hear his name out loud made her say, ‘I’d better go and tell Joe about the rent.’ And taking her water, she headed over. In the background, the familiar sounds of Christmassy bells intertwined with cheesy lyrics sounded out from the stereo.
The lady with the long dark hair wasn’t around this time and Esme hoped Mark was right, that they’d split up. ‘Hi, Joe.’ She placed her water down on the bar next to his drink.
He spun round. ‘Esme, hi. Nice show last night.’ His smile was wide and there was a twinkle in his green eyes. Esme felt herself blush.
‘You saw it?’
‘Yeah, I saw it. I thought it was great. Were you drunk or just play-acting?’
‘Nope, I was drunk,’ replied Esme, pointing to her water. She tried not to smile but couldn’t stop it.
‘Well, it was very funny – in a good way. And I loved the recipes. I’m going to have a go tomorrow, ready for Christmas Day.’
‘Yeah? That’s amazing.’ Though Joe wouldn’t know it, that was some of the best praise she could have received. It was her whole purpose in doing the blog in the first place.
Then nervously, Joe stared down into his pint. She couldn’t quite figure him out. At times, he was so flirty, kind and genuine, but then there was his reputation and the dark-haired beauty from the other night, not to mention all he’d told her about Clara. Which was the real Joe? Seeing him relax, Esme didn’t want to tell him about the rent. She didn’t want to remove the smile that, for once, had reached his eyes, lifting his face so all his worries vanished. But she had to. And for her, it had already been a terrible day, so she might as well get it over with now. She was just going to have to come straight out and say it. ‘Umm, Joe, listen, I don’t think I’m going to be able to afford next month’s rent. With Christmas presents to buy and stuff, I don’t know how I’m going to do it all.’
‘Oh, all right,’ replied Joe. ‘Well, your rent’s not due for a while, so if after Christmas you still think that’s the case, I’ll tell the landlord.’
‘Will he be okay about it?’
Joe’s brow crinkled in concern. ‘I don’t know. But he owes me one so I’ll do my best for you.’
‘If I can pick up some freelance jobs it won’t be so bad and I could make a few smaller part payments. Alice mentioned some cake-making which should bring in a bit.’ She took a sip of her drink.
Joe nodded. ‘The landlord’s pretty easy-going. I’m sure he’ll be fine as long as you don’t miss another one.’
Relief flooded through Esme. It wasn’t much of a break, but it was still a break. Catching Joe’s eye, she held it. ‘Thank you.’ Esme noticed the thin layer of stubble on his cheeks. He hadn’t shaved for a day or so and it made him even more handsome. Joe dipped his eyes to his shoes like a shy schoolboy.
‘Listen, you will keep going with the blog and the videos and stuff, won’t you?’ he said, suddenly looking at her very seriously. ‘You’re talented and you always look so happy when you’re on camera. You shouldn’t give up.’
Esme’s head shot up, taken aback by his kind words. His opinion mattered more than anyone else’s. ‘Do you think so?’
‘I do.’ He looked her straight in the eye and neither one wanted to look away. The air between them was suddenly tangible and Esme was horribly aware of every movement of her body. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, thanks. I’m sticking to water today and for the foreseeable future.’
‘That sounds … sensible,’ replied Joe, laughing. ‘Boring, but sensible. I don’t blame you, I should probably do the same. Maybe in the New Year.’
Esme hesitated, unsure whether to ask the question that had been burning in her mind or not, but she’d been thinking about it a lot over the last week. Joe seemed so keen to help her she wanted to return the favour.
‘Joe,’ Esme began tentatively. ‘Have you ever thought about seeing someone to talk about Clara?’
‘Why?’ he asked quickly. ‘What have you heard?’
‘Nothing. I was just thinking about some of the things you’ve said and I wondered if it would help. I got really down when my grandma died, and I know a break-up isn’t quite the same thing but, if you were feeling low, sometimes it can really help to talk about it. You can always talk to me, if you like.’
Leo had suggested counselling when a few months after her grandma’s death she was still crying pretty much every day. It had helped a lot. But now she thought back to it, with Leo it seemed more because he hadn’t been able to cope with Esme’s emotions rather than for her benefit.
Joe’s eyes focused on Esme’s, wounded, scared even, and she shrank back wondering what he was thinking now. Did he hate her for prying? With her heart pounding, she waited for him to speak.
*
Under Esme’s kind eyes, Joe felt the slow stranglehold of guilt and fear tighten its fingers around his throat. His mother had suggested therapy. He’d attended a couple of sessions but hadn’t felt that he was making progress, or if he had, the progress had been too slow. He’d wanted a magic pill, or to attend one session and suddenly feel better, but grief, fear, loss, they didn’t fade like that. They were more like a shadow that faded slowly, only his never had. How could he tell her it wasn’t exactly the break-up that had ripped apart his heart? It was so much more than that, so much worse.
He cleared his throat and, locked in her gaze, felt himself opening up, a shard of light piercing the dark cocoon he’d wrapped himself in. ‘Clara was great,’ he began slowly. ‘We just sort of grew apart. We were young at university – all about having fun. We didn’t have any responsibilities, nothing to worry about. But when real life hits, you start changing and … you turn into different people. I guess you have to learn to grow together or grow apart and I don’t think we made enough effort to grow together.’ He swallowed hard, trying to push down the pain in his heart. For the first time he wanted to carry on talking. Who knew what might happen if he bottled it all up again? And Esme wasn’t pushing like others did. She was letting him speak at his own pace, her brow knitted in concern.
Esme’s eyes were suddenly wider and Joe could see the concern in her face, her genuine caring nature. It was like his own pain was reflected back at him, she understood so clearly.
On a normal Saturday morning his life had changed beyond recognition. Joe had been back for about six months and had just started working at the estate agent’s. He had a rare Saturday off and had slept in until his phone started ringing. When he picked it up, he’d thought it was Mr Rigby asking him to come in and cover for someone, but it wasn’t. It was Clara’s mother, distant and sobbing. He leapt out of bed knowing something was wrong and paced his room. There’d been a crash. A terrible car crash on the highway in Melbourne and Clara was dead. Joe’s hand had shaken just holding the phone to his ear. The trembling travelled through his arm, down his body and into his legs, and before long he’d had to grab the door frame for support. She’d been cut from the wreckage and taken to hospital, but there was nothing they could do to save her. She had internal bleeding and though the paramedics had arrived on the scene within minutes and done everything possible, she was dead when they arrived at the emergency department.
Clara’s mother had rung off in a flood of tears and uncontrolled weeping, and he’d paced his bedroom, which was still lined with boxes he hadn’t unpacked. It had taken everything he had to force himself to breath until, unable to contain it any longer, the tears he’d been holding back escaped and he collapsed on the bedroom floor, still clutching his phone. Thinking back on it now, tears welled in his eyes again and he dropped them away from Esme’s, studying the dark swirling pattern of the carpet. The noise of the pub disappeared into the background and silence swallowed him up.
‘Oh, Joe,’ Esme said, softly. ‘Joe, I’m so, so sorry.’
He gripped his pint glass tightly. It had been three years since the accident, three years of carrying around the heavy weight of guilt in his heart. ‘I just can’t help thinking that things could have been different if only I’d …’ His voice trailed off and he rallied. He’d come so far this time. ‘If I could’ve hacked being out there instead of coming home – if we’d stayed together – she might not have been on the motorway at that exact time. If I’d stayed, her future might have been different – our future might have been different. She might not have been on the highway at that time and would still be alive now – we might have worked through the rough patch and been happy. Mum says I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. Every day.’
There. He’d done it. He’d told someone. Finally spoken the words and let some of the pain release. His chest physically hurt from the effort and he felt almost woozy.
‘You can’t think like that, Joe.’ Esme edged nearer to him, resting her hand on his forearm. ‘There are so many things that could have been different that are nothing to do with you. What if she’d lost her keys and left ten minutes later? What if she’d got the flu and not got out of bed that day? A million things could’ve happened. It isn’t your fault.’
People always said that, but there was something about Esme that made it seem real and not just platitudes. ‘I just wish I’d made the funeral.’
‘You didn’t go?’ He’d heard the question before but it was normally said in incredulous or scornful tones. Esme’s voice was clear and there was no judgement in it.
Joe shook his head. ‘No. I tried, but I didn’t think her parents would want me there.’
‘Did they say that? That’s so cruel.’
‘We didn’t speak before the funeral, apart from the call to tell me what had happened. But they must have thought it best I stayed away. Who’d want the ex-boyfriend who’d broken up with their daughter standing at the graveside? And I couldn’t afford the flight. That’s what I told myself anyway.’ He scratched the back of his head; he couldn’t believe he was saying all this after bottling it up for so long. ‘The truth is I couldn’t face their grief on top of my own guilt.’ His parents had offered to pay for the flight, thinking he should go, but the thought of turning up and making things worse had terrified him. The result, he realised, was that he’d never said goodbye to Clara. Not properly. And he’d been a coward. Siobhan and Jackson, Clara’s parents, must think him a coward too and the weight of that shame had been dragging him further down.
‘How long has it been since it happened?’
‘Almost three years.’
Esme placed her hand over his. ‘You should call them and make your peace.’
Fear crept up his spine like an icy cold hand. He wasn’t brave enough to try again and couldn’t admit to how badly it had gone on his recent attempt. ‘No. I’m sure they hate me.’
Esme’s voice was loaded with emotion as she spoke. ‘When I lost Gran I saw someone to talk about my grief and it really helped. I think that’s why I love using her recipe book so much. It still feels like I’m connecting with her, and when I add a recipe, it’s like we’re still talking to each other. If you want to apologise to Clara’s parents, if you think it’ll help, then you should try.’
Joe studied her face. ‘We’re all in this crazy world together,’ she said, with a small sweet smile, ‘bashing into each other, causing things and dealing with consequences of other people’s actions. You can’t blame yourself for the break-up. Relationships fail all the time. And you definitely can’t blame yourself for Clara’s death. It was an accident.’
Joe remembered the therapist he’d seen telling him to write an apology to Clara, just to get the words out of his head and onto paper, hoping it would help rid him of them. He’d never done it, perhaps he could try now? Or could he try one more time to speak to Siobhan? The thought terrified him, and yet, with Esme in front of him it didn’t feel insurmountable. Joe wanted to reach out and take her hand, and just as his arm was lifting, almost of its own accord, Alice came over and offered Esme me a drink.
‘I’d better get back to my crazy family,’ Esme said with a smile. ‘But you know where I am if you need me.’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He stood back, taking a big deep breath. The rest of the weight that had been pressing down on his chest had lifted, and the release sent a rush of energy through him. Smiling, he turned back to the bar and his friends, ignoring the glances of one of his previous one-night stands hoping for a re-run. Somehow, he didn’t feel the need anymore.
*
When Joe left the pub that night, long after Esme had escaped with Alice, it was a clear, cold night and the sky was littered with stars. As he walked to a bench and sat down, the path ahead glistened with the start of a frost. The town was silent and the strings of Christmas lights that littered the streets hung from corner to corner, shining above him. Esme had been amazing. Patient, kind and understanding. A small voice inside him said he deserved someone like her, but what if he ruined her life, just like he’d ruined Clara’s? Before he could even think about a life with Esme, there was something he had to do.
He took his phone from his pocket, strengthened again by the courage Esme had instilled in him. But at finding Siobhan’s number, Joe hesitated. Could he do it? Should he try again? Back then he’d been unable to give counselling a fair try but the advice had remained with him. Esme had stuck with it and it had worked for her. His fingers shook with the impulse sent from his brain. Or maybe it was his heart this time. It would be early morning there now but before he could make an excuse and convince himself not to, he dialled.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi Siobhan, it’s Joe.’ He felt a hand grip his heart and tighten around it.
The other line was silent for a moment and Joe worried she’d hung up again. ‘Hi. Umm, how are you?’
‘I’m o – okay,’ he stuttered. This was a slightly better start than last time. Siobhan was still hesitating.
‘You tried to call the other day?’
‘Yeah, I—’
‘It was kind of weird hearing from you after all this time.’
Joe lifted his
eyes to the skies once more. A bright star shone above and he thought of Clara up there shining down on him. ‘I just wanted to speak to you and you know, say I’m sorry.’ He felt tears sting his eyes and his voice wavered. ‘I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for the funeral.’
Siobhan didn’t speak but he could hear her heavy breathing and a loud sniff. Was she fighting back tears too? After what felt like a long, long time, she said, ‘I thought that might be it.’ He kicked a can on the ground. ‘Joe, we never blamed you for what happened to Clara. It wasn’t your fault. It was just …’ She sniffed again. ‘It was just one of those horrible accidents. Our life was torn apart but it wasn’t your fault. I’m sure your life was torn apart too.’
As tears fell from Joe’s eyes, years of pain and self-hatred were released in a wave of emotion so strong his whole body shook. ‘I’m so sorry I never made it back for the funeral,’ he cried. His words came thick and fast between loud sobs. He didn’t care if anyone could see him. ‘I didn’t have enough money and I knew I could have borrowed some, but I didn’t want to turn up and you hate me even more than I hated myself and—’
‘No, Joe, I’m sorry.’ Siobhan was so calm, and the voice in Joe’s head, so used to beating him up, told him he didn’t deserve it, but she carried on. ‘We should have known you’d be hurting too and made contact before then, to let you know that you were welcome. But when you didn’t come to the funeral, I assumed it was because you’d moved on and it seemed to come so easily that …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have made assumptions about you.’
Joe sat on a bench in the town centre wiping his eyes and searching for a tissue. He settled on the sleeve of his coat. ‘I should have called you and asked if I could come. With everything you were dealing with, it was unfair of me to expect you to call and say it was all right. I should have been braver.’ They sat in silence for a moment, Joe crying tears he had kept locked away for so long and Siobhan, he suspected, doing the same. ‘I did love her, you know. I loved her so much for such a long time. It just didn’t work out for us in the end.’