I stepped closer. ‘It’s to do with your parents, right?’
He nodded.
‘Tell me, Kit. Please.’
The snow fell heavier.
He sighed. ‘The gambling… it got really bad. I was drinking as well. Reality was skewed. I was taking out loans. I didn’t really care where the money came from. By the end I’d sold everything in my flat to cover what I owed and taken funds from the business. When I left, I didn’t ask for my cut as the amount equalled those funds I’d gambled away. But that’s no excuse. I could have left my mates bankrupt.’
‘How did all this affect your mum and dad?’
He looked away. ‘Like I say, I was losing a grip on reality. My flat was empty. It was a high-end place but I was renting, so it wasn’t any collateral. The debt firm I was using knew this. Therefore when I needed my next loan I put down my parents’ address. The disease convinces you that your next bet will win, so I didn’t really think I was doing anything wrong – I never thought my parents would know. But, of course, I lost and couldn’t even pay back the interest on what I’d borrowed. Before I knew it, Mum was on the phone. Debt collectors had turned up to take their car, the television… and that’s not the worst of it.’ He took his hands away and paced up and down again. Finally, he stopped. ‘Dad’s work wasn’t doing too well – and that was the final straw. He had a heart attack.’
‘Gosh.’ I didn’t say anything for a minute. ‘Kit. I’m so sorry. How is he now?’
‘I heard from my sister just before moving here. She was so angry. Said he was okay but I was to stay away. The reason I hardly ever have money, even now, is that I send as much of my wages as possible to them.’
‘You’ve had contact?’
‘No. I transfer it to their account. I gave the bank strict instructions never to release details of my address. I don’t want my sister thinking I’m doing it as a ploy to encourage them to get in touch.’
‘But Kit, they probably want to… A parent’s love for a child, you can’t compare it to anything else. I can understand your sister being angry, and them too, but I’m sure they’ll have cooled off a little. You’re a decent man, now, and I’ve no doubt you were before all this started. They must understand it was the illness, the gambling that did this.’
‘How can they be sure? How can I? That’s why… it’s why we can never be together. How can I trust myself never to put you or Lily in such danger? So it’s better this way. I walk away now. You need someone more reliable.’ His voice broke. ‘Thanks for everything, Fern. Your friendship – it’s really helped me turn myself around. And whatever you feel, you’ll thank me in the long run when you’ve settled down with someone whose never had these problems.’
He leant forward, kissed me slowly on the cheek before turning around to leave.
39
I stared after him – after a different future disappearing into the distance.
‘I never thought someone like you would become a no-good addict,’ I called after him.
He stopped. Span around. I walked up to him, by the lamp post.
‘That’s what someone once said to Cara’s cousin, Julie. She’s a recovering alcoholic and helped me with an article, back in the spring. But you know what treatment taught her?’
‘What?’
‘There isn’t a type of person who becomes an addict. Addiction makes you into that type. You’re a good man. Julie is a good woman. But addiction turned you both into the type of person people associate with that illness. Julie did things she was ashamed of, but she’s moving on now. Yes, what happened to your mum and dad, it was awful – but that wasn’t Kit, not the man I know now and, I suspect, not the man they loved and brought up.’ I folded my arms. ‘Are you really going to allow this illness of yours, the gambling, to define you forever?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘In fact, this new job of mine – I’m leaving Birchwood Primary to work for a gambling mentoring programme linked to Chesterwood council. I’ll be helping to run sessions in the community centre and forming part of a committee to run education programmes and lobby online gambling companies.’
I stared at him. My face broke into a smile. ‘There. You see. That’s the man your parents must be missing. And you’re making amends, what with sending them money.’
And he wasn’t moving away!
‘You don’t think I’m the worst person in the world,’ he whispered.
My heart broke at his earnest expression.
‘No, Kit. Quite the opposite.’
‘My new job is where I’ve been doing some volunteer work in the evenings. I’ve been offered a permanent position as a paid peer mentor. It timed well with Jim coming back. The money’s better. There are prospects. And it’s doing something I love.’
‘I’m so incredibly proud. You must be too. Please say you are.’
‘Listening to that Christmas story you made up, tonight – in a small way it helped consolidate everything that’s happened over recent months. I know it was aimed at me.’
‘It’s not all about you, you know,’ I said airily and grinned at him through the falling snow.
‘That, along with hearing the others talk about how they’d upset their parents but been forgiven… and how much everyone’s appreciated me helping out with the calendar. And me giving up my free time – it’s like my volunteering… I’d never have done that back in London, unless it raised my profile or brought in money. Then there are the snippets of advice Lily has read out of Adam’s notebook… all of these things, they’ve made me think about life – about what sort of person I really am. It’s made me question whether I’ve really been giving myself too hard a time.’
‘You have. Yet you were still about to run away from me.’
He moved closer and slid his arms around my shoulders. I shivered but that wasn’t to do with the air’s iciness.
‘I’ve been scared, Fern. For months. Ever since we first met. Ever since I started to feel something for someone else again, after months of not giving a toss about anyone but myself. Scared that I’d end up hurting someone I thought the world of.’ His arms slid further around. ‘Yet when I told you about my gambling, in the chip shop, you still wanted to be friends – that helped enormously. You’re the first person I’ve told outside of my friends in recovery. I feared telling you about my past might mean you saw me in a different light.’
‘You know you must ring your parents. For your sake and theirs.’
‘What if they don’t forgive me?’
‘Isn’t that better than never knowing?’ I said, thinking back to Davina’s advice. ‘There’s only one way to find out. I’ll be there for you, Kit – every step of the way.’
The lamp post dug gently into my back as Kit stepped closer to me. I tilted my face upwards. He brushed snowflakes off my nose.
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since we met over the tuna tins,’ Kit said, in a husky voice.
He’d remembered.
‘That kiss after the ice-skating was torture as it confirmed all the feelings I had.’
Kit liked me? Kit liked me. He really did.
‘But pulling away from you – that’s something else I’ve realised recently. The old Kit wouldn’t have done that. He was more impulsive and less thoughtful and would have just ploughed ahead, regardless of any consequences or hurt. Whereas my gambling treatment, the volunteering, my job at the school, and you most of all… these things have made me want to be a better man – the man I used to be.’
I felt as breathless, as if I might faint.
‘I don’t want to lose you, Fern.’
‘You won’t,’ I whispered. ‘About Tinder… dating… I was only being brave. It’s you I want. But I’d given up hope.’
He leant down. Our mouths met. His arms slipped inside my open coat and around my waist. They held me firm until his fingers loosened and tucked beneath the waist of my jeans to stroke my skin. His fingers made my whole body tingle. Not wanting the delicious s
ensation to stop, I pressed against him.
Eventually we parted. I’d been standing on tip-toe, arms around his neck. I felt vulnerable and safe all at the same time. I wanted to laugh and cry. I felt relaxed despite my racing heart and heavy breath.
None of these contradictions mattered because I trusted Kit.
I trusted this man with my life.
‘There has to be a you and me. Like mistletoe and wine. Holly and ivy. Turkey and stuffing.’
‘The writer in me is begging you to stop before those comparisons get any worse,’ I said, and we laughed.
We stood, arms wrapped around each other. Tightly. Not just to keep warm. I could tell he didn’t want to let go. Nor did I. Despite the tumbling snow, I could have stood there forever.
‘It’s thanks to you,’ he said, ‘that maybe I’m ready to stop letting the past define the present.’
‘And that’s something I’m ready to do, too.’
The sound of a key in a lock distracted us and we parted. A door to the right of us opened. Mrs Williams stood in her porch.
‘You two youngsters will catch your death out there. Can I make you a nice cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said and laughed as I took Kit’s hand. ‘We’d better get back to mine.’
She waved.
‘So, holly and ivy,’ I said as we walked up the road. ‘Which am I?’
He squeezed my hand. ‘Neither. You’re Fern. Ferns like humidity so it’s my job to keep things hot.’
‘I won’t disagree with that.’ I grinned. ‘Come on. Lily will wonder where we are.’ I broke free and ran the last bit, tripping and falling onto my knees. Not again!
He came to lift me up but gently I pushed him away and got to my feet myself.
‘I don’t need a superhero – just someone who can mend draughty windows, keep the bed warm at night… and make tinned tuna sandwiches.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, eyes twinkling, ‘because you’ve been making a habit of doing that.’
What, falling for him?
There were worse habits to have.
Acknowledgements
The Christmas Calendar Girls is very much a story about friendship between women and how incredible they can be supporting each other when faced with adversity. I’m lucky enough to have some amazing women in my life on a personal level, and several who’ve made a difference with my career.
Thanks to the terrific, tenacious Clare Wallace, my agent at the Darley Anderson agency, for helping me take a step back from the first draft of this story to see how I could really enhance it. And for enthusiastically supporting my desire to write another contemporary romance after two darker women’s fiction novels – thanks for taking the changing moods of my muse in your stride! I also appreciate your steadfast support and vision.
I’m also grateful to my talented editor, Hannah Smith, who has helped me make this story the very best it can be. My experience at Aria Fiction so far has been fantastic and it’s a real pleasure working with you and the rest of Aria’s ambitious team. Special thanks to efficient digital marketing manager Vicky Joss. It’s brilliant to find someone who enjoys using gifs on Twitter almost as much as I do!
I must thank hardworking and reliable Rachel Gilbey who is a brilliant book blogger and has been incredibly supportive of my career – along with all the other book bloggers who take part in my cover reveal and publication day blitzes. Your generous and enthusiastic support really does mean the world.
Thanks to my lovely author friend, Cass Green, for her advice regarding main character Fern’s career.
I’d also like to mention my wonderful daughter, Immy, a determined young woman who never ceases to inspire me. And I don’t know where I’d be without her advice on current trends and language!
Readers, it means so much that you buy my books or borrow them from libraries. It’s a real honour that you listen to what I have to say, between the lines of a story, and then feed back your reaction. Knowing that one of my novels has cheered someone’s day or touched them, in some way, is one of the things that keeps me going when I’m faced with writing challenges. Thank you for listening and I’m always thrilled to hear from you, via social media or my website.
Whilst this is a book about female friendship, I can’t complete these acknowledgements without thanking two fantastic men in my life, husband Martin and son, Jay. Thanks to both of you for seeing the light in the dark and for always believing in me, even when I don’t.
About the Author
Samantha Tonge lives in Manchester UK with her husband and children. She studied German and French at university and has worked abroad, including a stint at Disneyland Paris. She has travelled widely. When not writing she passes her days cycling, baking and drinking coffee. Samantha has sold many dozens of short stories to women’s magazines. She is represented by the Darley Anderson literary agency. In 2013, she landed a publishing deal for romantic comedy fiction with HQDigital at HarperCollins and in 2014, her bestselling debut, Doubting Abbey, was shortlisted for the Festival of Romantic Fiction best Ebook award. In 2015 her summer novel, Game of Scones, hit #5 in the UK Kindle chart and won the Love Stories Awards Best Romantic Ebook category. In 2018 Forgive Me Not heralded a new direction into darker women’s fiction with publisher Canelo. In 2019 she was shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association romantic comedy award.
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The Christmas Calendar Girls Page 25