One Perfect Christmas and Other Stories

by Paige Toon

  This doesn’t mean that I won’t come back to England one day. There’s nothing stopping me.

  Apart from a visa, obviously.

  But it’s something I could look into, once I’ve picked up the broken pieces of my life and attempted to put them back together.

  For the first time since Lachie and I broke up, the world feels full of possibilities.

  A day later, Charlie and Bridget tie the knot. I’m not the only emotional wreck at the wedding – I don’t think there’s a dry eye in the house. The shot I capture of Charlie at the altar, looking down the aisle to see Bridget coming towards him, is one I know they will treasure forever. His golden eyes are glistening with tears, and his face is lit with love and hope. I have no idea how I manage to keep my camera steady.

  Bridget herself looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a cream-coloured, crystal-studded, floor-skimming gown that hugs her stunning figure perfectly. She wanted her hair to be loose and natural, but, after a couple of trial runs, she asked me to braid the front section of her hair so it goes up and over her head, leaving the rest in long, lovely waves. On her feet are dusty-pink flats, which she needs to wear in order to be able to walk down the narrow, bumpy track to the beach where the picnic reception is being held.

  The other sixty or so guests help carry chilled bottles of booze, Tupperware containers full of picnic food, armfuls of pink peonies, white and grey picnic rugs, cushions and camping chairs for those who need them. The children each hold bunches of pink and white helium balloons. It is such a glorious sight, the whole congregation walking down the track beside a babbling brook with dappled sunlight filtering down from the trees overhead. The photos are going to look amazing.

  We come across the occasional set of playground equipment that keeps the children entertained on the long journey. I snap some shots of Bridget helping April to navigate her way across some wooden stepping stones, but rush to her aid when April slips and falls, bursting into tears.

  Bridget scoops her up, and several people watching gasp at the sight of April’s muddy feet streaking brown dirt across Bridget’s dress.

  Her mum loses it. ‘Oh my God, darling, give her to me!’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum, it’s only a bit of mud,’ Bridget replies, completely unfazed.

  ‘But it’s your wedding dress!’ her mum squeals.

  ‘Yeah, and April’s my daughter,’ Bridget replies pointedly, carrying the little girl until she wriggles to get free again.

  I lift up my camera and am just in time to snap off a shot of Charlie glancing sideways at his new wife as he takes her hand in his.

  I think he loves her more, right then, in that moment, than he ever has.

  The day after I wave goodbye to Bridget, Charlie and April, who are off to France in their campervan, Hermie – formerly belonging to Bridget’s dad, but passed down to them as a wedding gift – I travel to London to meet up with Simon, my former boss. I emailed him earlier in the week, hoping to say hello in person, and he asked me to come to his office for a cuppa.

  I’m nervous as I walk into the big, marble-lined lobby, on full alert in case I see Alex. I know it’s unlikely at this time in the morning – it’s eleven o’clock, an unusual hour to be coming in or out.

  Simon now heads up a men’s lifestyle magazine in my old building and I’m taken aback to spy a couple of familiar faces as I walk in: Pete, who used to work on the news desk at Hebe, and Tim, who worked under Alex in the art department. They were both friendly with him years ago, and my pulse races as we all exchange hellos. Will they tell him I’m here?

  ‘Bronte!’ Simon exclaims from the other side of the office. I excuse myself and make my way over to my former boss.

  Simon has worked with Bridget on and off over the years and wants to know all about her wedding while his assistant makes us tea. By the time we’ve moved on to him showing me pictures of his newborn baby, I’m feeling much more relaxed in his company.

  When I’m ready, I take a deep breath and say what I came to say.

  ‘I really am so sorry for letting you down when I left.’

  He pulls a face. ‘That’s way back in the past. I hope you’re not still stressing about it.’

  ‘I do still feel bad,’ I confide.

  ‘Well, don’t. It was a privilege to work with you while I did. In the end, you did what you had to do. And when you told me what had been going on…’ He shakes his head in dismay. ‘I’m not surprised you wanted to jack it all in and go home.’ He pauses. ‘Are you catching up with Alex while you’re here?’

  I’m surprised at his directness. ‘I have no plans to. I saw him in Sydney when he was there last year.’

  He nods. ‘He mentioned it.’

  ‘Do you see much of him?’ I ask in turn.

  ‘We have lunch about once a month. We met up a couple of days ago, funnily enough. He’s been very preoccupied with his new business.’

  My brow creases in confusion. ‘His new business?’

  ‘He set up his own design agency.’ He opens a drawer in his desk. ‘I’ve got a card in here somewhere.’

  I feel a little funny inside as I watch him root around in his drawer, eventually pulling out a business card. ‘Here it is.’ He pushes it over.

  It’s a square-shaped design with a green, grey and yellow colour scheme. I turn it over and read Alex’s name and contact details on the back.

  ‘He’s based in Camden now?’ I glance up at Simon.

  ‘Yep.’

  So there never was any chance of me bumping into him today.

  Rachel has invited me over to hers tonight to go through Bridget and Charlie’s wedding pics – she lives in Golders Green in north London, so it’s an easy trip up the Northern line – but I have hours to kill before then, so I decide to go for a wander around Covent Garden.

  It’s lunchtime and it’s busy, the usual charity workers out in force as they call out to anyone who might have a minute. I look into the windows of shops without really seeing the contents, and, before I know it, I’m heading towards the market and the church where Alex married Zara.

  There are buskers performing outside – two jugglers on unicycles – but I ignore their antics and pass by into the churchyard, coming to an abrupt stop outside the alleyway where best man Ed tried to urge Alex down the aisle.

  I drag my eyes away and walk up the steps to the front door.

  St Paul’s in Covent Garden is a beautiful church – it’s known as the Actors’ Church, its connection to the theatre illustrated by memorials to famous actors and actresses along the walls. My eyes drift up the aisle as I remember the sea of red winter berries and dark-red roses flanked by green pine hanging from the ends of pews. Up at the altar, I can still picture the dozens of pillar candles in tall clear vases, burning and flickering.

  It should have been a beautiful wedding.

  I sink down onto one of the pews and think back to the way his dark-blue eyes seemed to sear into my soul as I waited to photograph his reaction to seeing Zara in her wedding dress.

  It hurt so much.

  I loved him. A part of me still does, even now.

  I feel wrong for even thinking that, considering how raw I am about Lachie, but I haven’t managed to close the door on the past.

  Bridget is right. I did think Alex was my soulmate. But it clearly wasn’t meant to be. Every time fate has launched him into my life, the timing has been terribly wrong.

  I met him at Polly’s hen night, when I was only in the UK for a fortnight from Australia.

  I saw him on the escalators going up when I was heading down, and, even though he didn’t wait for me, our lives collided again that same morning when we discovered we were working together. He was already engaged to Zara.

  And then everything with Zara came crashing down and Alex finally declared his love for me but, by then, Lachie was embedded in my life.

  Now I’m single. Is he?

  The timing is still wrong. I know this.
I’ve just broken up with Lachie and I’m nowhere near over him.

  But still…

  I never did get that closure. My meeting with Alex in Sydney was too brief, too unfulfilling. Am I really going to walk away from another opportunity to lay the past to rest?

  I pull out the card that’s been burning a hole in my bag and scan the address. I could call him, of course, but where’s the fun in that?

  With my heels clicking over the cobblestones, I head towards the tube station.

  Time to kick fate in the balls and take matters into my own hands.

  Alex’s new office block is in a quiet side street off Camden’s hectic market centre. My heart is pounding in my chest as I walk up the stairs and pull on the glass door.

  It doesn’t budge.

  My eyes drift to the intercom. Damn! So much for turning up unannounced. I take a deep breath and press the buzzer.

  ‘Hello?’ a male voice answers.

  ‘Is Alex there?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s just popped out. Is he expecting you?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  ‘Can I ask your name?’

  I hesitate, my finger on the button.

  ‘Bronte?’

  My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around, coming face to face with Alex.

  His eyes are wide, even more blue than usual, it seems.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ He looks shocked. He’s holding two takeaway coffee mugs nestled into a single cardboard tray.

  ‘I’ve just been to see Simon. He gave me your card.’

  ‘So you thought you’d drop by and give me a heart attack?’

  ‘Figured it was payback time,’ I say with a smile that belies how on edge I’m feeling.

  ‘I gave you three weeks’ notice,’ he says weakly, his lips tilting up with the faintest traces of amusement as he joins me on the top step and presses the intercom with his free left hand.

  The crackly voice comes over the speakerphone again. ‘Hello? Sorry, what was your name?’

  ‘It’s alright, Neal, I’ve got her,’ Alex speaks into the receiver. ‘Can you buzz us in?’ He drops his hand and pulls the door open when it clicks. ‘My partner,’ he explains, holding the door back for me. ‘You coming in?’

  ‘If I’m allowed.’ I raise an eyebrow as I pass.

  ‘Yeah, I just wish you’d called: I would’ve got another coffee.’

  ‘I prefer tea, anyway.’

  He flashes me a proper smile and presses the button for the lift. ‘We’re on the top floor.’

  ‘When did you decide to start your own business?’ I ask as the doors close behind us. I decide to try breathing through my mouth.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to,’ he says. ‘But it’s hard to turn away a decent salary.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Really well.’ He nods. ‘Better than I could’ve hoped, to be honest.’

  His black hair is shorter on top now, but a bit longer all over, curling at the nape of his neck. It’s a little scruffy, but it suits him.

  ‘What made you decide to leave Tetlan?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing bad. I just felt like something needed to change. I’d been a bit stuck in a rut.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I say wryly.

  ‘You’re not happy?’

  ‘My new boss is a bit of a nightmare.’

  ‘I’ve heard that about her,’ he comments.

  ‘If her reputation precedes her, why do management promote people who can’t cut it?’ This annoys me immensely.

  ‘Who knows? Politics of a big company. Can’t say I miss it, even if I did like it while I was there.’

  His new office is small but stylish, with big windows and far-reaching views across Camden to central London beyond. A slightly dishevelled-looking Neal jumps up to say hi, giving my hand a firm shake and taking his coffee from Alex with the enthusiasm of a caffeine addict. I find out that their business consists of just the two of them right now, but they’re hoping to employ more staff. They’ve got more work than they can manage, but they know all too well that things could slow down again.

  ‘How long have you got?’ Alex asks me when Neal takes a call on his mobile.

  ‘I’ve got to be at Rachel’s at seven,’ I say.

  ‘In Golders Green?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I shouldn’t be surprised he remembers where Rachel lives – he always was good at stuff like that.

  ‘That’s hours away. Do you want to get a drink?’ he asks.

  I nod at the coffee he still hasn’t touched. ‘You’ve got one.’

  ‘No, I mean a proper drink.’

  ‘You can just leave?’

  ‘It’s Friday,’ he says with a grin. ‘And I’m the boss. One of them, anyway.’ He pats Neal on his back. ‘See you Monday,’ he whispers, grabbing the denim shirt hanging on the back of his chair.

  Neal nods and gives him the thumbs-up, his eyes growing round and his mouth stretching into a goofy grin when Alex places his untouched coffee in front of him. Neal waves a manic little bye at me as we leave. I like him immensely.

  ‘Is there anything else you need to do in Camden while you’re here?’ Alex asks on the way back down in the lift.

  ‘No. What are you thinking?’ I cast him a look.

  ‘Shall we go to Hampstead?’

  ‘Hampstead?’ Random.

  ‘Yeah, it’s not far from Rachel’s. Less hectic than Camden. I brought my car in today and I live that way, so I could drop you to Rachel’s front door.’

  Not random at all, as it turns out.

  ‘Are you sure? You really are finishing up for the day?’

  ‘I can work from home over the weekend.’

  Something that feels a lot like pride bubbles up inside me. He’s so clever and talented.

  Don’t get carried away, Bronte… I need to keep my feelings in check.

  Alex’s car smells overwhelmingly like Alex. It’s almost too much, being so enveloped by him.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I ask.

  ‘West Hampstead,’ he replies. ‘I’ve been there for about three years now.’

  ‘Are your parents still in Crouch End?’

  He glances at me. ‘Yeah, and Jo and Brian are in East Finchley, so we’re all pretty close by.’

  I remember that Jo is his sister, of course, but I’ve never met her. I have met Brian, however. It was at his stag do that I first came across Alex.

  ‘They have a couple of kids now,’ he reveals, making casual conversation.

  ‘Do they? Boys? Girls?’

  ‘One of each. It’s my niece’s first birthday tomorrow, actually.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Yeah. My whole family will be there.’

  I steal a glance at his tanned, toned forearms, his hands resting on the steering wheel. His denim shirt is, typically, rolled up past his elbows.

  I always did think he had sexy forearms.

  Steady on, I warn myself.

  But there’s no ignoring my jitters.

  He scratches his head and glances at me. ‘How’s Lachie?’

  I turn to stare out of my side window. ‘We broke up.’

  The car jolts and I shoot my head around to look at the road, but can’t see why he had to brake. Was it accidental?

  ‘When?’ he asks, stunned.

  ‘Just before I came away.’

  The silence stretches out before us, but his mind is ticking over.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says eventually. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Getting there.’ I look out of my window again and clear my throat. ‘How about you?’ I ask. ‘Any of those blind dates come to fruition?’

  ‘No,’ he replies, and, as I turn to glance at him, he catches my eye.

  The jitters in my stomach intensify.

  He takes me to the Holly Bush in Hampstead, a cosy pub tucked away up the hill and slightly off the beaten track. Luckily, a booth comes free, right by the window, as we walk into the room off
the entrance.

  ‘What are you having?’ he asks as I slide onto the bench seat.

  ‘Cider, maybe?’

  He nods and heads off to the bar in the next room along. I look around, taking in the dark-wooden interior. There’s a fireplace against the opposite wall, but it’s not lit. It is July, after all. There aren’t many people in here, but then again, I realise, as I check my phone, it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon.

  Alex returns after a minute with two pints. ‘Shandy,’ he tells me, nodding at his own drink to let me know he’s not planning on getting blathered and driving.

  We chink glasses and smile across the table at each other.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he says.

  ‘Do you mind? After your initial freak-out?’ I add with a smirk.

  ‘I didn’t freak out,’ he scoffs. ‘But it was a bit bloody strange to come back to work and find you standing there on our doorstep. I thought I was seeing things. What if I’d been out at a meeting?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I probably would’ve emailed you at some point to say hi. I’m flying back to Australia on Sunday, so I doubt we would’ve had another chance to catch up.’

  He swallows and looks down, but not before I’ve seen pain flicker across his features. ‘So soon,’ he says quietly. ‘So you’ve already been to Bridget’s wedding?’ He rests his chin on his palm and stares at me.

  ‘Yeah, a few days ago. I’ve been down in Cornwall for a couple of weeks already.’

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘Amazing,’ I reply with a smile.

  ‘Did you enjoy doing the pics?’

  ‘I loved it,’ I enthuse, lighting up from within.

  His smile is warm and genuine. ‘You always did seem to feel at home behind a camera. What are your plans for the next couple of days?’

  ‘I don’t have any. I’m staying with Polly tonight and at a hotel near Heathrow tomorrow. I fly out first thing Sunday. Polly has to work tomorrow, annoyingly, so I’ll probably go shopping or something.’