by Emma Davies
‘Good, just what you need at Christmas: faith, hope and gluttony.’
‘I’m not sure I should be drinking this,’ said Freya, with a total lack of concern. ‘Are you allowed to drink alcohol with painkillers?’
‘Bit late I think,’ offered Amos. ‘How many glasses is that now?’
‘I haven’t been counting, but more than one.’ She squinted up at him. ‘Oh hell, never mind. I don’t have to go anywhere.’
‘No, but Sam does, I’m not sure it was such a good idea.’
‘It’s only two miles away and at this time of night no-one will be on the road. He’ll be fine.’
Amos frowned at her.
‘I wouldn’t normally say it was ok to drink and drive,’ she said, ‘before you give me a lecture, but if the roads are a bit snowy he’ll have to go at a snail’s pace anyway.’
She hoped she didn’t sound too much like she wanted to get rid of him. She’d rather enjoyed standing side by side with him cooking their tea, the way they’d giggled at silly reminders of their childhood. She’d also enjoyed the way he leaned into her to get her to move along the work surface a bit, and the way his green eyes lit up when he laughed. She’d enjoyed the way his hand brushed against hers as he reached for her wine glass and the affectionate way he teased her during dinner. Then she had enjoyed sneaking little glances at him as he relaxed in the chair, drowsy with wine and food, and the thought of what it might be like if he were there every night; and that was why she very much wanted him to go, because actually she didn’t want him to go at all.
She sneaked a peek at Amos now, wondering just how much of herself she might be giving away, when Sam came back into the room.
‘Um … you might want to come and have a look at this,’ he said, the wool of his coat glistening with snowflakes in the room’s soft light.
Freya pulled herself up out of the chair, giving him a quizzical glance and then following him through into the kitchen, where he went to stand by the back door. She could see the wet imprint of his footprints across the tiled floor.
‘We’ve had the curtains closed all evening, and it’s, well, um, snowed a bit.’ He pulled the door open.
The light was on just outside the back door, throwing a small bright circle out into the night. Against the patch of lit sky a torrent of snow was falling, thick and steady. Of the grass, path and driveway there was no sign. Even the car was just a muffled outline.
Freya peered out into the whiteness and then back at Sam. ‘Holy Mother of God, how the hell did that happen?’ she exclaimed, turning to look at Amos.’
‘Why are you looking at me,’ he grinned.
Freya and Sam exchanged glances. ‘No reason, no reason at all,’ sighed Sam. ‘I could walk, I suppose?’
‘You could, if you were stark raving mad,’ she replied, firmly closing the door, and turning the key in the lock. ‘If I show you where the spare bed linen is, could you help me make the spare bed up?’ Keep it business-like, she thought to herself, it’s the only way.
Sam trailed after her, the corners of his mouth curling upwards no matter how hard he tried to keep them down.
‘It’ll be cold in here I expect, the room hasn’t been used for a while, but if we put the radiator on and make the bed up now and turn it back that should give it time to air before you go to bed.’
‘Listen, don’t worry, I’ll have another glass of wine and then I won’t feel the cold anyway.’
‘I’ve got plenty of blankets if you need extra,’ said Freya, hating herself for sounding like a Blackpool boarding house landlady. ‘They’re all in this drawer here, and the sheets and duvet cover. Bit pink I’m afraid.’
Sam crossed the room and looked out through the window for a moment before closing the curtains. ‘No problem. I tend to sleep with my eyes closed and the light off, so I won’t notice what colour they are.’
Freya snorted before she could stop herself. Oh my God, was she drunk? It wasn’t even that funny. She struggled to pull the drawer open.
‘Here, let me do that,’ said Sam, his hand brushing against hers, again.
‘Thank you … I should just go and get you the spare duvet, it’s in the airing cupboard, and if you want any more pillows they’re in the wardrobe there.’
She walked back down the landing, blowing out her cheeks in an effort to relax her face which currently felt like she’d had ten botox injections. She felt stiff and wooden yet strangely liquid all at the same time, and reminded herself that Sam had been in her house now for the best part of a month on and off with no problem whatsoever. That was it, she must be drunk, or hormonal, or both.
Trying to contain the duvet under one arm she kicked open the bedroom door once more. ‘Do you need anything –’ she started, and then she stopped because standing in the middle of the room was Sam, holding a wedding dress. Her wedding dress.
She hadn’t a clue what to say so she just stood there looking at Sam, looking at her dress, looking at her.
After what seemed like an age Sam started to apologise. ‘I went to get a pillow … I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was in there.’
Freya rubbed her forehead distractedly. ‘No … I’d forgotten it was. It’s my fault.’ She could feel her eyes filling with tears, and she couldn’t breathe. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, turning to run.
And then Sam was there, holding her, pulling her to him, stroking her hair. ‘You don’t have to run Freya,’ he murmured. ‘Not anymore. Please don’t run.’
She wished with all her heart that she could believe him.
Mistletoe Day
Sam woke the next morning to the sound of hammering on the back door. He raised a bleary eye to the clock, suddenly sitting up as he realised the time. Pulling on his jeans he grabbed his fleece from the chair and went to investigate. He could tell from the white glow behind the curtains that the snow was still around, so there couldn’t be that many people up and about, even if it was ten o’clock.
He winced as his feet met the cold quarry tiles in the kitchen. Someone was obviously up, as the blinds had been raised and through the windows, he could see the snow still blowing into huge drifts. He hadn’t expected there to be quite so much; even as he pulled the door open a small pile slumped inward and onto the floor. And he certainly hadn’t expected to see the person who was standing there either.
His brother looked dreadful. He was obviously cold, his face looked pinched and mottled in places, his nose bright red; but his eyes were wild, bloodshot and staring. He practically fell into the kitchen.
‘Why the hell aren’t you answering your bloody phone?’ he snarled. ‘I’ve been ringing you all morning.’
Sam’s gaze fell to the table where his phone lay exactly where he had left it last night.
‘I’ve only just got up.’ He said flatly, not in the mood for one of his brother’s arguments. ‘How did you get here anyway?’
‘I followed the sodding snow plough, it’s taken me nearly an hour.’ Stephen looked around the kitchen which still smelled faintly of last night’s mulled wine. ‘Can I at least have a cup of coffee?’
Sam filled the kettle, feeling a little uneasy about doing so in Freya’s absence, but reasoning that it might be the quickest way to get rid of Stephen. He slid it back onto the Aga’s hotplate, and turned to face his brother.
‘So where’s the fire?’ he said evenly.
‘Don’t bloody joke about. Is she here?’
Sam could feel his anger rising and did his best to stay calm. ‘If you mean Freya, I haven’t seen her yet this morning.’
‘Oh, like I believe that. From where I’m standing it looks as though your slippers are well and truly under the bed.’
‘Yeah well that’s what you would see when you’re standing in the gutter, Stephen. For your information I stayed last night because I’d had a drink or two and the snow came down too heavy. It wasn’t safe to go anywhere. Besides which the company here was rather more pleasant that at home.’
Stephen glared at him. ‘Stop being such a snide little fucker Sam, I’m not in the mood for pissing about.’
Sam glared back at him, tempted to simply throw him out; but as he stared at his brother he was astonished to see something else in his eyes which he couldn’t ever recall having seen there before. Aside from the habitual arrogant defiance there was a glimmer of fear and it made a shiver run down Sam’s spine. He threw some coffee into a mug and stood drumming his fingers against the Aga while he waited for the kettle to boil.
‘So, do you want to sit down and tell me what this is all about, or will you carry on playing the big I am, because if it’s the latter I’m going to throw you out now and save us all the bother.’
Sam could see that Stephen was treading a knife-edge here. His natural instinct would be to shout and bully to get his own way, but instead he was trying to choose his words carefully, and moderate his behaviour. It didn’t come naturally to him; in his view it was tantamount to admitting he was wrong. Whatever it was must be very important, or worse, something that he needed Sam’s help with.
‘I wondered whether Freya had heard from her solicitor, that’s all. The timing’s getting critical on the sale and they seem to be dragging their feet.’
‘Well she hasn’t mentioned it, but then it’s not something we’ve discussed. Under the circumstances I don’t think she feels it’s a subject she can bring up.’
‘Perhaps you could have a word with her, ask her to give him a ring and check that everything is in place. They’ll shut down for Christmas tomorrow and we could really do with getting it moving today.’
Sam moved the kettle off the hotplate. ‘Do you really think that solicitors are going to be interested in anything today? Besides drinking sherry and eating Quality Street with their staff that is. Stephen, everything’s pretty much shut down already.’ He watered the coffee and handed it to Stephen.
‘But you don’t know that. There’s a lot riding on this Sam. I thought you might be more interested.’
‘Not particularly,’ shrugged Sam, ‘Not anymore.’ He held his brother’s look for a moment, trying to read him. ‘What exactly is riding on this Stephen? It’s only a house sale, they happen every day; and some of them don’t happen, but it’s not worth getting hysterical over.’
‘Are you being deliberately obtuse? For Christ’s sake Sam I’m your brother, try to remember whose side you’re on. I just need to know if the money is the only thing holding the sale up. I need her solicitor to confirm that and I need it today.’
Sam smiled then, the penny finally dropping. ‘So you’re having trouble getting the mortgage through then Stephen. But why is that? You shouldn’t have any problems at all I’d have thought, especially not when you’re using our place as collateral.’
Stephen’s gaze was fixed at the level of the table, but Sam could see his jaw working in anger. Slowly he looked up, his face red and blotchy. ‘You smug little shit,’ he hissed.
Sam ignored him. ‘How much Stephen? Eh? Just how much do you owe?’
Stephen shifted slightly in his chair. ‘It’s just a few gambling debts, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘Jesus Stephen, when will you stop? When will you ever learn that enough is enough? How much is it? Twenty grand? Fifty grand? … A hundred grand…?’
‘I won’t owe anything if I can get this house, don’t you get it?’
Sam sat down at the table, leaning closer to his brother. ‘Then you’d better tell me, hadn’t you,’ he said, shoving his face closer still.
Something crumpled behind the façade then, and Stephen clung to the table before lowering himself onto a chair. He ran shaky hands through his hair, and closed his eyes.
‘I met a bloke in the pub a while back. We had a few beers and then a few more and before I knew it he’d suggested we had a game of cards. He was an arrogant bastard, but he knew what he was doing, and at the end of the night I owed him five hundred quid.’
‘Oh, and let me guess, you thought you could beat him? Just one more game eh?’
‘They were serious guys Sam, you wouldn’t understand. They didn’t just play for a few pounds, they played for big bucks, and not just cards either. It wasn’t unusual to win or lose twenty grand during a night.’
‘So you gambled your inheritance to get the better of some bloke down the pub. Nice one Stephen. What did you do? Re-mortgage the house?’
‘So what if I did? None of this will matter if I can get this place, everything will be okay.’
‘Explain.’
Stephen rolled his eyes. ‘I’m not as stupid as you think, little brother. While you were out there slaving away picking bloody apples for peanuts I was making connections, and a couple of months ago I hit the jackpot; a property developer who was looking for a new investment project. Two houses, two orchards, a lot of land; it’s a desirable venture for an astute businessman with money to spare.’
‘Except that you don’t have two houses and two orchards do you? Only the one, and a whole shit heap of debt.’
‘Which is why I need your bloody help. I need to get the sale though on this place otherwise I’m going to lose my buyer. This is small fry for him, he won’t hang around. Don’t you get it Sam? When you have that kind of money it’s just a game and he’s getting impatient.’
‘But you just said you can’t get a mortgage?’
‘I need the funds Sam, that’s all. You could lend me the money couldn’t you? It would only be for a short while, until the sale of the whole lot goes through, and then you’ll get it back two-fold, I promise.’
Sam jerked his chair away from the table as he stood up sharply. ‘No,’ he said coldly, his mouth a thin line. ‘It’s about time you learned to stop playing with people’s lives Stephen. You can’t have everything just because you want it; life doesn’t work that way.’
‘Oh, but it does, doesn’t it?’ bit back Stephen, his bravado returning. ‘I can have everything I want, can’t I? Anything of yours, that is. I can take what I like, remember?’
‘Don’t you dare bring Freya into this!’
‘Why not? I’m not the only one making plans around here. Don’t think your knight-in-shining-armour routine is fooling anyone, not for one minute.’
‘And neither is your big-man, I-can-do-anything routine. You’ve lost this one Stephen. Accept it.’
Stephen lurched up from the table, his face contorted with rage. ‘So what the fuck am I supposed to do?’
‘What other people do,’ replied Sam mildly. ‘Act like a grown up, get a proper job, pay your way. Take responsibility for once in your life.’
‘But the people I owe money to won’t take no for an answer. How am I going to pay them off now?’
‘Sell the house. Settle your debts, start over.’
‘Look I don’t even need your cash. You could act as guarantor on the mortgage or something. Just have a chat to the bank Sam, please. They’re the ones that have caused all this mess. It would only be for a short while and –’
‘The answer’s still no Stephen. The banks have had their fingers burned too. They won’t lend you the money no matter how hard you beg them to, and neither will I.’
The back door opened then, catching them both by surprise as Amos came through, stamping his feet on the mat to release the snow from his boots.
‘Merry mistletoe!’ he grinned at them both, holding aloft a glistening sprig. ‘Morning Stephen. I hope you’re on your way back home soon. The snow’s coming down again and by the look of the sky there’s a heap more on its way. In a short while nothing will be moving.’
Stephen glared at them both then flung his chair back under the table with such force that the whole thing rocked, slopping undrunk coffee everywhere. With a final glare at Amos he stormed out of the door, leaving it wide open.
Sam went to close it gently. ‘Well that was good timing.’
‘Wasn’t it?’ agreed Amos. ‘I’ve been standing outside the door for the last five
minutes just to make sure,’ he grinned. ‘My feet are freezing!’
Sam wiggled his own bare toes, ‘Yeah, mine too. I wasn’t expecting to have a long conversation when I answered the door. Where have you been anyway?’
‘Where do you think?’ he said, waving the green sprig in the air. ‘It’s Mistletoe Day; that stuff doesn’t get picked all by itself.’
‘You’ve been out harvesting in this weather? Amos that’s downright dangerous!’
‘Well I wasn’t sure you softies would like being turned out of your nice warm beds to come and help. Besides which I’ve got nine lives me, and as you can see I’m perfectly fine. Tradition dictates that the mistletoe is freshly picked for her special day; it’s not my place to argue with that. It’s all in the barn anyway, plus a little extra surprise,’ he winked, ‘so when we’ve had some breakfast you can give me a hand to bring it in.’
‘Ah,’ said Sam slowly. ‘I think the agenda for today might have changed a little. I’m assuming you heard some of the conversation with Stephen?’
Amos nodded. ‘I did, but that doesn’t necessarily change anything. I’m not surprised of course.’
‘But it changes everything. Freya will have lost the sale on the house. I know she didn’t want to sell it to Stephen, but she did want to sell it.’
‘Admittedly, but I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you,’ he replied, giving Sam a direct stare. ‘I had rather thought that she was selling it to both of you as it happens, but it would appear not. That’s the only bit I’ve not quite understood as yet, perhaps you could fill me in.’
‘Over a bacon sandwich?’
‘That will do nicely.’
Freya sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to come to terms with quite how late it was, but also the events of the day before, which she was even more unsure how to come to terms with. She hadn’t said a word to Sam about the wedding dress, and he hadn’t asked her either, just held her close, telling her everything was going to be okay. For quite some time it felt like it might be, but now in that annoying morning after the night before kind of way she wasn’t so sure. How could it be?