Fair enough.
‘And I guess the closest partner I’ve had was Victoria. But that was really just a work romance that went on too long.’
‘Oh, I see…?’
I don’t know why it bothers me to think of Christopher working closely with someone else. But it does. I smile and try to hide any awkwardness my face might betray.
‘She’s back at the London office, but we’re not together any more,’ he adds.
‘I’m sorry.’ I tell him, wanting to sound sincere but not entirely convinced on how well that comes across.
‘Don’t be. It wasn’t working. For me. She’s very… controlling. We should have ended things a long time ago, but, well, I kept putting it off, hoping it would get better, hoping for something, anything, to change. But we were wrong for each other, we wanted completely different things… it’s messy. And even though we agreed a clean break, it doesn’t always feel like it. She wants to get back together, give it another go.’
‘Do you think you will?’ I really hope he says no. I mentally cross my fingers.
He purses his lips and shakes his head. ‘I’d rather spend another night in here. Much less terrifying. The thing with Victoria is that she can be great; charming, beautiful, funny, driven. But the rest of the time…’
I raise my eyebrow, unsure of what he’s going to say. I’ve seen her, just that once in the car park, and she is beautiful. If she works at the London office, then she must be really smart and sophisticated and successful too. On paper, these two should be perfect.
‘… she’s impossible. There were signs I tried to ignore, whenever she got jealous or got drunk, she would lose her temper and lash out, throw shoes, cutlery, whatever she could get her hands on, and I realised, I couldn’t be with her any more. So I took this leadership job, I moved out, set up here and tried to start afresh.’
I smile. I know how he feels. ‘Good plan.’
‘She doesn’t think so,’ he raises his finger. ‘She followed me up here, confronted me in the car park on what she knew was my first day, demanded that we got back together, and when I said no, she threatened to ruin my chance at promotion. Told me that nobody walks out on her just like that, that she’d see to it.’
‘Sounds like she didn’t take it too well.’ Which is the nicest way I can find of saying that she sounds a little psycho. ‘Hope she’s not a modern-day Dorothy Shankley.’ I try to lighten the mood.
‘Ha! No, it’s not really about me. She just doesn’t like not getting her way. I’m sure she’s moved on to someone much more eligible already.’ He looks down awkwardly. ‘That’s why my glasses were broken that first morning. She snatched them from my face and flung them on the ground. Let’s just say, she doesn’t take very well to being told “no”.’
‘Oh, my goodness! That’s awful, Christopher.’
‘Yeah, great start to a new job! “Late and tardy,” as McArthur said. Thanks for fixing them up for me though. That was really kind. A glimmer of kindness from a stranger when you’ve been screamed at by someone who says they love you can go a long way.’ Christopher continues after a moment’s pause. ‘I’m just glad I saw the light before I married her. I could have just walked blindly in to that, not questioning if it was really what I wanted at all, just bowing to pressure.’
No truer word said. I know exactly what he means. Rather than looking at how rubbish my wedding day was, I now see that it was the moment I got my life back. Abruptly and painfully, yes, but none the less, a life that is much better than being married to Adam now with him constantly cheating on me. And after what Hannah confessed to me in that ambulance about Adam’s continued infidelity, it kind of comforts me. Makes me realise that the reason it didn’t, couldn’t, work was not because of me, but because of him.
‘How about you? Are you with someone?’ Christopher asks me, snapping me out of probably the biggest realisation of my life to date.
I shake my head. ‘Nope, guess I just haven’t met the right one yet. I thought I did once, but now I’m relieved it didn’t happen, I dodged a bullet too.’
He smiles at me and we wait a moment, the flickering candlelight between us. No screaming, no scratching, no wind whistling. Just us. It’s blissful.
‘It’s funny, when I was growing up, there was this song we used to sing in the playground, “Lily and so and so, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.” And I’m like, okay, that’s it! That’s how you do life. That’s how you do a relationship. Love, marriage, baby carriage. Easy, got it. And then I grew up, met Adam and my life turned out to be… Love, live together, engagement, engagement party, hen party, wedding dress fitting, jilted at the altar, ex-fiancé shacks up with best friend, honeymoon by myself, long, confused dry spell convinced I would never, ever fall for anyone again… you get the picture. It’s slightly more complicated than I’d expected. But for the first time, I’m starting to feel lucky that my wedding didn’t go through. Lucky that I’m not married to him. Not making excuses for his not answering the phone or working late at the office. The problem with all that is that you blame yourself, even though you are not the one doing anything wrong. If I’m completely honest with myself, I had an inkling that he was cheating on me, but I shut it out. He was breaking my heart and I just let him. I was in denial because I didn’t want to start all over again. Put all my energy into fixing the unfixable. He promised to change, but he never did.’ I smile. ‘Yes. For once in my life, I’m glad that I didn’t buy into the fairy tale only to lose the happy ending. Because there would have been no happy ending. I see now that it would never have lasted. So, it ended, and I’m relieved it did.’
He lifts the empty wine bottle and shakes it. ‘I should have brought another bottle. I didn’t plan for us to be up chatting like this into the small hours. It’s nice.’ Christopher drains the glass. ‘If we survive this, will you let me take you out for a drink? Fresh start?’
I remember the little bottles of brandy he said he’s brought with him. ‘Or we could just have another drink now? If you don’t mind sharing your brandy. I mean, I don’t think either of us are going to get much sleep at this stage, do you?’
Christopher taps his fingers together and dips into to his travel bag. ‘Lily Buckley you have some great ideas. Anyone told you that you are a genius?’
‘Not lately.’ I laugh. In fact, no one, ever.
Despite the teeming rain outside and the fact neither of us have had hardly any sleep, we talk. I notice that he tries to keep the conversation light now, far from anything that could make things feel more awkward or intense. He tells me about his plans after Newbridge, that hopefully he’ll have a chance with a bigger company, how much he’d love to travel, get out of London and work abroad.
And as I listen to him talk of this and that, I can tell he’s trying to give me the space he thinks I need, thinks I want. But as I watch him, listen to him, I realise that keeping a distance from him is the furthest thing from my mind.
He sits up on the bed opposite me, and our fingers brush as he hands me a miniature bottle of brandy. He raises his in a toast. ‘To high, strong spirits for broken, lost souls.’
I take a drink and feel it slide down my throat. It’s actually the perfect warming sting to counteract the chill in this big old creaking house. I swallow and set it on my nightstand. Christopher does the same.
Everything about him makes me restless with longing. The shape of his lips, the softness of his dark hair, those green-amber eyes now looking completely different in the flickering candlelight. Those eyes that always seem to reflect what I’m thinking and feeling. Sitting here beside him, within touching distance, I feel the pull of the person he is. And I just want more.
He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face. And then CRACK! The storm unleashes its full fury, thunder crashes outside the window and a long streaking lightning bolt electrifies the room. We both jump into the space between us, m
y hand flies to his arm, grabbing it as I try to catch my breath. The wind gusts, bending the tree branches as they scrape along the brickwork. We stay absolutely still as we listen out beyond the creaking and crashing circling us for anything more sinister, my fingers curled around his forearm. Then, just as we start to blink and breathe again, another deep, thunderous rumble breaks, and we throw ourselves against each other.
And then it’s me and him huddled thigh to thigh on my bed. His face so close to mine. Smiling, and parting his lips ever so slightly, he brushes his hand down my cheek and I can see in his eyes that he’s as nervous and excited and wary and certain, as I am.
He leans in and raises my hand to kiss it. Then I slide backwards towards the headboard and settle against the pillow and we lie there, staring at each other, sharing this unspoken energy that fills the space between us. Nothing creepy or sinister about this. Nope. This energy is very much alive. And very warm, and very welcome.
‘Lily.’
I see the roll of his throat as he pauses to catch his breath, to find the words. ‘I really like you. As in, really like you very much,’ he says, brushing his thumb over mine.
I feel his warmth, the heat from his body, I inhale his scent and I know that I’ll probably regret this in the morning, but right now, the morning feels so, so far away. Everything feels far away. Except him. I thread my fingers through his, leading him towards me.
‘Are you sure you…?’
I place my finger on his lips and whisper back. ‘I am…’
And it’s the most naked truth I’ve spoken in a very long time.
Sixteen
I smell toast. My eyes flick open and the clarity of what happened last night, all that happened last night, smashes down on me with the force of an ice-cold shower. An arm curls around my waist. Christopher breathing into my shoulder. I hear his deep low murmurings that tell me he’s still asleep.
But I am wide awake.
I am fully naked.
And I’m not the only one.
What, what have I done?
I press my fingers into my eyes as I realise that the smell of toast means that breakfast is being served and it’s soon going to be time to get up and face the cold, bright light of day and try to order the thoughts in my head.
Christopher. Yes, this really happened. A flashing image from last night… his lips trailing down my chest to my belly button. Oh, my God! How am I going to face him in the office? How am I going to face him now?
Oh, shit, another image: my arms thrown back behind my head, his hand in the small of my back. And there was that too – my face pressed against his, my fingers wrapped around his wrists. What was I thinking? What got into me? It was like nothing I’ve ever done before, it was so different, it was so… un-me. It was… Heat flushes into my cheeks… What the hell does he think of me now?
He will be as confused as I am. He is my boss. I’ve only known him a few weeks. He must think I do this kind of thing all the time… or at least regularly. Or, worse still, he’ll realise that I don’t do this kind of thing at all.
My head starts to pound at the same rate as my heart. I feel my body stiffen. I can’t wake him up, I can’t let him see me this way… Bedhead like a banshee and panda-eyed, lips swollen from all that kissing… but mostly I can’t mentally face him now with the inevitable awkwardness that will ensue as he realises he has made a huge mistake. All this is real. Real and naked. What am I supposed to do now?
Well, one thing is for sure, I cannot stay for breakfast. Another image flashes up in my mind… Sweet Lord, we did that too? Who was I last night? I mean, what was I on? What happened to me? I’ve never been like that before, not with Adam, not before Adam. Not since Adam. Not until last night. With Christopher.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I need to get out of this bed. Unhook his arm from my waist. Make a break for it.
Slowly and ever so gently, I slip out from under the covers and snatch up my clothes from the ground, tiptoeing my way to the bathroom, cat-burglar style.
I push open the door to the bathroom, then turn around and lock it shut.
I’m relieved I managed that. At least if I do have to talk to him now, I’ll have some clothes on, I’ll have a chance to think of my next move and prepare for his, which will undoubtedly be an excuse to get going, to leave me and this haunted house far behind. Imagine Christopher waking up to find me bent over and scrambling around on the floor for my bra.
Thank God I woke up first. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, wash my hands, throw cold water on my face, repeat the breathing.
He’s probably in there right now staring at the ceiling trying to strategise an escape plan. Bet he’s thinking what the hell happened? Why the hell did he let that happen? We’re colleagues. He’s a high-achieving well-educated city boy. I’ve seen his ex, Victoria, guys like him go for girls like her. Not girls like me. From small, back-end-of-nowhere towns with silly middle names and no academic achievements.
This is a classic rebound fail, he’s fresh from a break-up and got in over his head. I’m under no illusion that last night will be classified as a big mistake on his part; a silly, drunken mistake. If Victoria was an office mistake, I’m a worse one.
But at least no one else was here to witness it. At least we can keep this under wraps between us. We can just bury it, pretend it never happened.
I’m calmer now.
I’ll just go back out there and tell Christopher that I’m not feeling well. I’ll leave and whatever went on between us last night will remain here, our secret, we’ll gloss over it so well that soon we’ll wonder if it ever happened at all. What happens in The Shankley Hotel, stays at The Shankley Hotel – with all the other so-called skeletons in the closet.
A gentle rap on the other side, startles me. Taking a deep breath, I unlock the door, but I don’t pull it open.
‘Lily? Are you in there?’
Christopher gently pushes the door from the other side, so I step back.
‘Hey there, good morning,’ he says as he steps inside the bathroom with me, bed sheet wrapped around his waist, his hair ruffled, rubbing his eyes. He stretches out his arms wide above him, running his hands across his cheeks, squinting towards me. His eyes crinkle and narrow; those eyes, they’re part of the reason we wound up here in the first place. ‘How are you?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Good. Fine. Great.’ So much for saying I was sick and had to shoot off.
He smiles, and I melt.
‘You?’
‘I’m fantastic thanks.’
‘Really?’ Why does he look so calm? so relaxed? Doesn’t he remember? Surely he realises that this is a complete disaster, for both of us.
He laughs, then slides one hand up my arm, under my chin and steps towards me, tilting my head upwards. His other hand feathers my shoulder as he moves my hair away from my neck.
My breath catches. I get flashes of last night again. His smooth, warm skin on mine. His hot, soft mouth on my mouth.
Squeezing my eyes shut, his fingers trace across my chest, over my heart and a shudder runs over my whole body.
His lips meet my skin.
When I open my eyes again, they lock with his.
‘I thought…’ I whisper, trailing off, unsure what to think now.
He kisses me under my ear. It is heavenly, I have no breath.
‘You thought what?’ he whispers back, kissing into my hairline. So soft, so deliberate.
‘I thought you may not want… that you might regret…’
He brings his mouth to my ear again. ‘I think you think too much. Let’s not think.’
And I do just that, I abandon all thought and walk backwards towards the bedroom, pulling his hands forward, not able to wait, not able to believe that we are here, together, like this again.
And that I actually never want to leave this place.
* * *
We just about make last orders for breakfast, where all the other guests c
an talk about is the rogue fire alarm and the hysterical screaming of the girl in the room next to mine. Overhearing us, the chef who was making our fry-up comes into the dining room.
‘What time did you say the fire alarm went off?’ he asks.
When we tell him, he pauses and starts to look a little stressed out.
‘Well, this is an old house, so the wiring isn’t perfect,’ he says. ‘But I would be lying to you if I said this same thing doesn’t happen once every couple of weeks, always around the same time of night. I thought this was going to be an easy job, but I’m not sure how much more I can take.’ And with that, his face blanches of colour and he rushes out of the dining room. I wonder if he plans on coming back.
On our way out, Mr Dean explains how many people who visit the house later contact them to say they believe they’ve taken a spirit home. This time yesterday I’d have laughed at such an absurd suggestion, but after listening to Christopher’s story, I’m not so sure.
‘Now that you’ve had this experience, you might go home and notice things you didn't before – maybe a photo that keeps falling or a sentimental item that turns up out of the blue,’ he says, casting a side-long glance at Christopher and I. ‘But don’t worry, when people call us and say they’ve taken one home, I say “send it back to us in the mail, we need it for business.”’
Whether or not that’s true or he is just trying to scare us even more, I’m ready to go and feel I’ve learnt a lot about Dorothy Shankley and her bitter haunting. And quite a lot about myself and Christopher too. So, we zip up our coats, put our bags in the car, and drive home, without looking back. Because suddenly I can’t help but look forward.
Despite the ghoulish happenings and strange goings-on, I’m feeling on an absolute high, so excited, so hopeful. Last night was incredible; the first night in over three years that I’ve not spent by myself. And it wasn’t with just anyone, but Christopher, a gorgeous man that I like. A man I like more by the minute. A man that’s kind and sensitive and honest and with a smile that makes me melt.
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 18