One Snowy Week in Springhollow

by Lucy Knott

  ‘So, what was Devon like as a child? What did you guys do together, besides take baths?’ I don’t even have to glance at the bathroom doorway to know that Hope is wearing a coy grin; I can hear it in her voice.

  ‘We did the same as every other kid who lives in a small town, rode our skateboards round the square, played at the park, nothing out of the ordinary,’ I say casually turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around me.

  Hope flings a pair of underwear at me – my lacy set of matching bra and knickers from my date drawer. ‘And played Superman and Lois Lane?’ She winks.

  ‘Hope,’ I gasp. ‘That’s my good set – I don’t need them tonight.’

  Hope tuts and taps at her watch. ‘Scarlett Davis, you put them on now. We’re late. Stop dawdling and complaining. Wearing pretty underwear should not be saved for special occasions; life is a special occasion. Every single day is an occasion to celebrate. Now chop, chop,’ she says, clapping her hands.

  I throw her a sarcastic smile and shut the door in her face. I sigh at the underwear, thinking of my silly drawer of what I deemed “sexy underwear” appropriate for dates. Why did I feel the need to wear uncomfortable clothing to impress the people in my life and feel worth it? It’s not like the men stuck around after they saw me in lace. Another sigh comes out a little heavier this time, but I do as I’m told, before raking serum through my short hair.

  ‘I thought you said you were going to let me think about all this, go at my own pace an’ all,’ I shout through the doorway, hopping on each foot as I step into my knickers.

  ‘I am. That’s why I thought it would be good to have a group hang-out, take it slow, have me and Jess there for support. I’ll wait downstairs,’ Hope says through the door, gleefully, and strategically ending the conversation so I can’t argue with her reasoning.

  Twenty minutes later, after a quick layer of foundation, a dab of lip-gloss, a sweep of rosy pink blush and a swipe of mascara, I’m ready to go. When I reach the bottom of the stairs it occurs to me again that in the whirlwind of Hope arriving, me trying to hide my art room and getting caught up in conversation and arguing over underwear, that the plan is to meet up with Devon tonight and I’m a grown woman. I don’t have to go, no matter what my best friend says. I really don’t know if I’m ready to see him again.

  As I walk through the corridor, I spot my excuse on the dining room table; all my gingerbread house supplies I had left out earlier.

  ‘Oh shoot, why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll catch up. I completely forgot I’d left everything out after baking. Oh, dear and I left the butter out an’ all.’ I go to step into the kitchen when Hope grabs my wrist with one hand and holds my coat out with the other.

  ‘I already put the butter away. I think the rest will be fine,’ she says, her green eyes boring into mine suspiciously, telling me she can read me like a book.

  I take my coat and grab my Doc Martens, when the smile vanishes from Hope’s face and she pauses, her hand hovering over the door handle.

  ‘Tell me, did Devon do something horrible to you?’ Hope asks. I can feel her pointed glare on the back of my neck as I bend down to lace up my boots.

  ‘What? Other than move to New York at the tender age of sixteen, leaving me best-friendless and then proceeding to enjoy his life without me and becoming a bloody superhero? No,’ I say, not hiding my sarcasm as I stand up straight, brushing my bob behind my ears.

  ‘Did you have a thing for him, or did he have a thing for you? Did one of you try it on with the other but get rejected, making all this awkward?’ she says, gasping all dramatically at the end.

  ‘What? God no. Hope, we were sixteen and we were utter nerds. I never liked him in that way,’ I say, screwing up my face in disgust.

  Hope shrugs looking pleased with herself, like she’s Bruce Banner and she’s just figured out an equation. ‘Well then, that’s good. I see no reason why you can’t come out tonight, loosen up a bit and catch up with an old friend. Maybe tonight you can find closure – plus we never go out anymore. Tonight, I don’t want to think about work. Let’s just hang out with our men, I mean my man and your friend,’ she says clutching my forearm as she shoves me out of my front door.

  It’s hard to say no to her when she sneaks in comments like that. She works so damn hard; she needs to let her hair down every once in a while. The “men” comment, I skim over, not taking her bait. ‘And remember, I’m here for you,’ she adds, beaming at me, but her eyes grow too wide and I don’t believe her innocent look; I’m pretty sure she’s the one who’s white-lying now.

  I believe my current best friend is getting lost in her own fantasy of the man that is Devon Wood. I think she might need time to process my being former friends with him too and stop envisioning him suddenly slipping into our group. It’s called “The Three Musketeers” for a reason; there are only three of us, I think to myself, but I don’t want to burst her bubble this evening. She had asked me earlier to let her and Jess have this moment. I’m not about to be a spoilsport and ruin their own personal Comic Con.

  8

  The giant spruce tree lights up the square as we make our way towards the village pub. The twinkling multi-coloured bulbs that have been strung around it bounce off the shop windows, illuminating the library steps and the flowers on the lawn by the florist. It’s my favourite time of year here in Springhollow. Sparkly bunting is hung between shops, garlands drape from streetlamp to streetlamp. Every house proudly displays a homemade wreath on their front door, some of which I helped make at our stall last year.

  I look up at the deepening navy sky and cross my fingers for snow as we cut across the village green, which surrounds the beautiful Christmas tree, crafted presents and reindeer.

  At the door of the village pub Jess ambushes us, causing both Hope and I to jump. He rakes a hand through his curly black locks and begins pacing right in front of me. ‘Scarlett, what should I do? How should I act? I’m cool right? I’m hip, I’m fly, it’s all good, yeah it’s all good,’ Jess stammers, grabbing my biceps, his words reaching me on his cold breath that fills the space between us. He’s twitching nervously and does some awkward attempt at a confident shrug. His brow is damp with sweat; it’s freezing out here.

  ‘Dude, did you just say “I’m hip, I’m cool”?’ I ask, barely containing my chuckle.

  Hope splutters, trying to swallow down her laughter, before prising Jess’s hands off me. Jess is giving me a pleading look, fear in his eyes, a look that says to go easy on him.

  ‘Scarlett, if you want a loaf of cinnamon bread for Christmas morning or someone to fix your radiators ever again, you’ll be nice to me – not to mention that I’m not mad at you for hiding your love of comics from us all these years,’ Jess mutters as Hope hooks her arm through his. Touché, Jess, touché, I muse to myself. I feel that little ball of guilt in my stomach. I do appreciate with all my heart that Hope and Jess have been more excited than angry about my lie, so I will myself to behave, plus Jess makes cinnamon loaf better than Mrs Rolph at the bakery and that is no easy feat; it has become my Christmas morning tradition over the years, and as far as those pesky old-fashioned radiators, they remain the only thing in my house I struggle to get my head around and fix.

  ‘OK, OK, just don’t be a dork – or be a dork. Devon loves dorks – or maybe he doesn’t. Ooh which one was it?’ I really can’t help but tease Jess, even with my cinnamon loaf at risk. I raise my eyebrows at Jess playfully but jokes tonight are going completely over his head. Hope shoves me hard towards the door but not before giving me a stern “stop making Jess hyperventilate” glare and warns, ‘You two, stop it now. Jess, hon, be yourself; he’ll love you the way you are.’

  Inside the pub it seems like fairies visited overnight as more decorations have adorned every surface. Red and green paper chains now link each wooden beam, comical Santas drinking beer sit along the bar and the famous gold and white Christmas tree proudly stands by the fireplace, which tonight is sending its warm and cosy s
mell of burning logs throughout the pub.

  I automatically go to make my way to the corner booth, near the fire, when I spot Devon out of the corner of my eye by the bar. He’s dressed far more casually than the suit and tie combo he wore for yesterday’s press and how he had been this morning before his interviews. Now he sports a long-sleeved denim shirt with a few open buttons at the top showing a white cotton tee underneath. He has the same bright smile that I remember so well that causes my own lips to curve into a grin, but his posture is more confident and rugged.

  ‘Wow, he looks handsome dressed a little more casual,’ Hope notes.

  ‘Hmm, yeah, I mean no, whatever,’ I mumble in a daze, unable to take my eyes off him.

  ‘Tell me again why you never tried to kiss him?’ Hope queries, pulling me right out of my daydream.

  ‘Don’t do that, Hope. It’s Devon. It’s still just Devon. He doesn’t see me like that,’ I tell her in a hushed but firm whisper.

  ‘I’m just putting this out there but maybe if your friendship is on the rocks you could try something else,’ she suggests.

  I turn to her, incredulous, my eyebrows have shot into my hairline. She wiggles hers at me.

  ‘One, that’s gross and I told you to stop it and two, did you really just suggest a relationship built on anger and lies?’ I retort.

  ‘He’s too cool for us,’ Jess pipes up. He’s ogling worse than I was, but his words sting and hit a nerve that makes me feel queasy. Devon is talking to Ryan and a group of other boys we never spoke to when we were at school, and he looks relaxed and at ease in their presence. I can’t just walk up to them. I never fitted into that crowd, but new Devon looks like he’s fitting in just fine.

  And then like a sucker punch to the gut all the air is knocked out of me as I witness Ruby saunter up to Devon, wrap him in a hug and kiss both of his cheeks.

  If I had thought life couldn’t possibly throw anything worse at me after Devon left, Ruby stepped in to challenge any shred of optimism and prove me wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t be blaming Devon for my failed GCSEs and for my locking my dreams in a cupboard and throwing away the key; maybe Ruby deserved that title.

  *

  ‘Oh my God, what the heck is that? It’s so gross. No one in their right mind would want to look at that,’ Ruby says from over my shoulder with a cackle.

  I’m sitting on the field in the playground flicking through my unfinished comic strip, my hand and arm itching in my cast. I haven’t been able to draw for weeks and it all seems pointless now anyway.

  ‘Leave me alone, Ruby,’ I try, keeping my head down.

  ‘No guy is ever going to want to go out with an alien-loving freak like you,’ she adds, stepping on my book bag that’s resting by my feet and walking away.

  *

  My mouth drops open as I watch Ruby’s five foot seven, curvy and stunning frame lean into Devon. Her hand moves over his forearm as she throws her head back and laughs at something he just said. Ruby is girlie to a T and her tight-fitting dress that clings to her body perfectly is pressing up way too close against Devon. I find myself looking down at my favourite olive-green dress and black Doc Martens and feel my insecurities bubble in my gut. What was I even thinking coming here? I suddenly feel foolish and vulnerable.

  ‘We should go,’ I say, turning back towards the door, but Hope grabs my wrist.

  ‘You are not leaving because of her,’ she says seriously, all the humour in her voice from before having disappeared. ‘We don’t have to say hi yet. Look there’s a space over there where Autumn is serving,’ Hope points out, linking one arm around Jess and one arm around me as she guides us towards the other end of the bar, away from Devon and Ruby. Just thinking their names together causes my chest to tighten. I do my best not to look at them while we walk but it’s hard not to keep glancing their way, especially when Ruby lets out another cackle. I can’t believe Devon is fraternising with a supervillain.

  ‘Sup, gang, what can I get for you?’ Autumn asks in her soft, dreamlike tone when we reach the bar. I’m distracted for a moment by her outfit of a long black skirt and white turtleneck combo. It suits her beautifully and I find myself wishing I could wear more clothes like that.

  ‘I love your outfit tonight, Scarlett,’ she says, catching me looking at her. ‘I think you should wear that more often,’ she adds, making me blush. I’m occasionally told I look nice at the office, but it feels different when someone says it when I’m wearing something that I picked out and not my mum. It means more so I’m never quite sure how to handle it. I just end up feeling anxious, like they’re seeing a piece of me that I’ve been keeping buried for years.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘Can we get the usual, please,’ I add, feeling better when my attention is on Autumn and her pretty outfit. I’ve always liked Autumn; she was the bookworm at school, always had her head buried in a book. She’d sometimes join in with mine and Devon’s games in primary school or we’d sit together while she read the latest in fiction as Devon and I pulled out our comics. She’s as sweet as they come, a natural beauty on the inside and out. I wish she had gone to the same high school as us, then maybe I would have had an ally when Devon left. She works during the week at the library, then helps Ryan out here over the weekend when it gets busy.

  ‘Have you seen Devon since he’s been back?’ Autumn asks as she prepares our drinks.

  ‘We have and we’ve said our hellos – lovely man,’ Hope answers for me, waving the question away casually, like the awesome best friend that she is. ‘How are things at the library? Have you and Mrs Bride had chance to think about my suggestion? I know it’s a busy time, but I’d love to hear your thoughts,’ Hope says, changing the subject smoothly, though now I feel bad because she’s thinking about work. She had mentioned something about our magazine distribution and finding more ways to sell it and make it visible. I know she had been talking to Mrs Bride a lot on the phone last week.

  ‘What’s on your Christmas list this year, Autumn?’ I ask, making both Autumn and Hope chuckle. Hope shakes her head at me, as I make a mental note to pop in to see Autumn and Mrs Bride before the holidays and go over ideas with them, so it’s one thing Hope doesn’t have to worry about, though I must also focus on the gingerbread project if I want it to be ready in time for the fair on Saturday.

  ‘What? We’re letting our hair down. No talking about work – least of all when we can talk about Christmas,’ I remind Hope as Autumn places our drinks in front of us.

  Hope’s eyes flicker with a little fear. I can tell she’s anxious to hear what Mrs Bride thinks but she doesn’t want to appear desperate for an answer and spill the magazine’s secret. I wink at her and raise my glass to signal I’ve got her back and we’re in this together. Her shoulders visibly relax.

  ‘I’m thinking of giving myself a holiday, maybe surprising Willow with a cosy cottage somewhere. And just to put your mind at ease, Hope, I’ve read through your idea and think it’s great. I just have to go through it with Mrs Bride,’ Autumn tells us with a kind smile and then she does a zipping motion across her lips signalling no more talk of work.

  ‘Thank you,’ Hope mouths, squeezing Autumn’s hand.

  ‘A cottage sounds gorgeous; Willow will love that. No hustle and bustle of the holidays – just you, her and nature.’ I nod my approval.

  ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Autumn replies, flashing a giddy smile, in between serving a couple of Guinnesses to a few locals.

  ‘We’re getting a dog,’ Jess chimes in and almost the second he finishes his sentence Hope says, ‘No we are not.’ Causing me to choke on my gin.

  Autumn chuckles. ‘Aww finally.’

  ‘Don’t encourage him, Autumn,’ Hope warns.

  ‘I shall say no more,’ Autumn adds, winking at Jess before she gets caught up serving the growing crowd. The village pub is the place to be on weekends. Hope, Jess and I have spent many an evening here after long days at the office winding down with a glass of gin and joining in with
the pub quizzes. My general knowledge isn’t too shabby for someone who failed her GCSEs.

  ‘What are you going to call him or her?’ I take over from Autumn, teasing Hope. Jess has wanted a dog for the longest time, but a dog doesn’t quite fit into Hope’s organised and clean living space or their busy schedules.

  ‘I’m not sure. It depends if he or she already has a name and likes it. I want to adopt from the shelter. They’ve just put an add out that they are desperate for more families to give some pups a home this Christmas and to think we have such a warm, cosy home and good jobs that would allow us to look after and support them in the best way. It just feels right, you know,’ Jess tells me, casually draping his arm around Hope’s shoulders and dropping a kiss on her temple. I’m finding it really difficult not to choke on my gin as I try and keep in my giggles watching Hope roll her eyes as Jess squeezes her shoulders tight. ‘Hope would be such a great dog mum. She’s so kind and loving and nurturing.’

  ‘You’re laying it on thick tonight; you can stop anytime,’ Hope says, turning to face Jess, who gives her a huge puppy-dog stare. ‘Stop it,’ she says affectionately before giving him a kiss. The two of them truly make a cute pair.

  ‘When did I say it was OK for you two to become an item?’ I joke, fiddling with my straw when someone clears their throat behind me. Hope and Jess stop their canoodling and when Jess looks up, he looks as though Thanos has just collected the last of the infinity stones and Hope is smiling encouragingly at me.