Every time I’d felt like I was drowning, though, Charlee’s Chocolates seemed to throw me a lifeline. The shop was always full of fun and laughter and we already had several regular customers who felt like friends. Jodie had been amazing, as always, understanding my whirr of emotions when I’d drift into a moment of melancholy about Christmases past.
Ricky had also been a lifeline. When we’d put the tree up, we’d chatted about childhood Christmases and I’d shed a few tears. He’d been so lovely, acknowledging how hard my first Christmas without my family was going to be. He’d reassured me that he’d always be there for me; that he was my new family and we’d face everything together. What a joke that had turned out to be.
He’d promised to spoil me in the run-up to Christmas so that I wouldn’t feel so sad, and he had done. I’d arrived home from work on a couple of occasions to find a candlelit bath ready for me. He’d organised dinner a few times, too. Granted, it was a ready meal twice and fish and chips from the local takeaway on the other occasion, but it was the thought that counted. The ice-skating had been a complete surprise too, although I’d ended up paying for that, of course. What I’d appreciated even more than all those things was how attentive he’d been towards me, always hugging, kissing me and telling me how much he loved me.
And all that time, he’d been shagging BJ.
I opened the door to let Ashleigh out after a busy day and was surprised to see Matt outside.
‘Libby’s gone to a gig in Leeds with Gina and, with Jodie being away, I thought you might be at a loose end too. Fancy a drink?’
I stepped back to let him in. ‘Sounds great. I need to get cleared up a bit. I can meet you in the pub—’
‘Or I can help if I won’t be under your feet.’
‘Some help would be great.’
Twenty minutes later, we sat in Minty’s – a bar at the top of town – with a couple of lagers. It was tastefully decorated with an elegant tree hung with black, silver and pale blue baubles, and garlands swathed across the bar in a matching colour scheme. Ricky had never liked Minty’s, saying it was pretentious. It wasn’t. It just wasn’t rough like the pubs the lads favoured; the same ones they’d frequented for years.
‘How are you holding up?’ Matt asked gently.
‘I’ve been better. I’m annoyed more than anything.’
‘Has he said sorry yet?’
‘Not a word. In his twisted mind, he probably thinks I’m the one who owes him an apology for spilling the beans to Smurf…’
Matt listened as I told him about the lies Ricky had spun Smurf about me and what Smurf had discovered about how long it had been going on.
‘It sounds like Ricky and this BJ woman deserve each other,’ he said. ‘I hope they’ll be very miserable together.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ I said, clinking my bottle against his.
‘Does this mean you’re on your own for Christmas?’ he asked.
‘For the first time ever, yes.’
‘Then you’re invited to the farm for Christmas dinner with my family.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s very kind of you but I can’t accept.’
‘Why not?’
I raised my eyebrows at him and he shook his head. ‘Libby won’t be there. She goes to her grandma’s for lunch.’
‘Even so, I won’t be the cause of any niggles between you, especially not on Christmas Day. Thanks but no thanks. It’s just one day and it’ll soon be over.’
‘But Charlee, you can’t—’
‘I can and I will,’ I said firmly. ‘And I don’t want us to niggle about it so let’s drop the subject. Tell me about Christmas in the Richards house when you were kids. Was it exciting having Christmas on a farm?’
For the next couple of hours, we reminisced about Christmases past and the best and worst gifts we’d received and it was lovely. My heart felt warm again as I spoke about my grandparents and told Matt about the photo album I’d found in the attic. But my heart also felt warm because of my present company. That crush was still there and, without Ricky in my life, it had sprouted wings. I just hoped the wings would grow big enough for it to fly away because all Matt could offer me was friendship and, so long as Libby was in his life, I needed to make sure I never said or did anything to make him believe I’d like something more.
20
One of the things I’ve always loved about Christmas is that moment when I wake up and it sinks in that Christmas morning has finally arrived. Every year, I dash to the window to see if it has snowed because, to me, nothing feels more magical than a white Christmas. I don’t remember many of them, but having even a slight sprinkling of snow on Christmas Day or Christmas Eve would make me believe that magic could happen.
Not this year, though. When Christmas morning arrived, I didn’t believe in magic. Having spent all night on the sofa, wrapped in my duvet, unable to sleep, there wasn’t that special waking up moment. Instead, I had a vague acknowledgement that it was 6.00 a.m. and that, all round the country, people would be celebrating. Not me.
I found myself wondering how Smurf would be spending today now that he wouldn’t be getting down on bended knee. I hoped he had family he could be around and wasn’t all alone.
Sighing, I shifted position on the sofa. ‘Happy Christmas,’ I muttered to myself, pulling the duvet more tightly round me. ‘It’s going to be a fun one.’
My phone beeped with a text from Jodie:
✉︎ From Jodie
How are you holding up? Feel so guilty being away. Thinking of you xxx
* * *
✉︎ To Jodie
I’m fine, thanks. Hope you’re having an amazing time. Happy Christmas xx
* * *
✉︎ From Jodie
Why don’t I believe you? I repeat my first question: How are you holding up?
Did she really want to know? To be fair to her, she could probably guess the truth:
✉︎ To Jodie
My arse is welded to the sofa and has been since I got home yesterday. If I watch another Christmas film, my head might explode, and there are no tissues left in the corner shop. Other than that, it’s all good ;-)
A WhatsApp message and photo came through a few minutes later of Jodie with her head inside an enormous turkey. The turkey was wearing a party hat and giant sunglasses. The caption read:
And you thought you had problems? xx
I had to give Jodie her due; that really made me smile. I could always rely on her to brighten my darkest moments.
Tossing back the duvet, I decided I might feel better after a shower and a coffee. It didn’t work. I felt fresher, but still lonely and still miserable. I’m usually content in my own company but Christmas Day was not a day to be spent alone. My heart went out to anyone else who was on their own today and wished they weren’t.
Matt rang shortly after 8 a.m. I toyed with ignoring his call in case I turned into a blubbering mess.
‘Hi, Matt, happy Christmas!’ I hoped I’d managed to pull off bright and breezy instead of hysterical.
‘Same to you. I bet you can guess why I’ve called.’
‘Christmas dinner?’
‘Come on, Charlee. Please say yes. I can’t bear the thought of you spending the day on your own.’
‘It’s still a no. Sorry. I don’t want Libby to—’
‘I’ve already told you she won’t be there,’ he interrupted.
‘I know, but I don’t want Libby to hear that I’ve been there and get funny about it. I’m not having your Christmas ruined by an argument caused by me. And don’t say you won’t tell her because that’s not you. You’ll confess and there’ll be consequences. Am I right?’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘I’m happy to face those consequences, though. Please come.’
I thought about it for a moment, but the reality was that Libby was an easy excuse. I wasn’t in the mood for faking joviality and I didn’t want to be the person who got over-emotional after a couple of drinks and
ruin everyone’s day. ‘It’s still a no, but thanks for trying. You’re a good friend.’
Matt sighed. ‘What will you do?’
‘There’s a cheeky bottle of red with my name on it, a chilled turkey dinner for one, and Netflix. What more can I girl ask for?’
‘Call me if you change your mind. I can come and pick you up. I don’t drink on Christmas Day because we give Nigel the day off while Dad and I see to the animals, so I can collect you even if you’ve already necked that cheeky bottle of red.’
‘Thanks, Matt, but I won’t change my mind. Have a fantastic day and maybe we can meet up in the New Year.’
‘I’d like that. Take care, Charlee.’
I hadn’t realised that I’d started crying again at some point during the conversation. Looking round the flat at the soggy tissues strewn everywhere, I shook my head. What the hell was I going to do all day? Paperwork. Accounts. Tidying. Hardly Christmas Day activities, but ideal for taking my mind off how lost and lonely I was. Plus, it would stop me opening that bottle of red and drowning my sorrows.
By lunchtime, a pile of Charlee’s Chocolates paperwork had been dealt with and/or filed and my accounts were up to date. I’d ordered Valentine’s Day and Easter moulds and a couple of extra pieces of equipment for the shop. All that remained was tidying.
The bedroom had fitted wardrobes stretching wall to wall across one side of the room with the bed nestled between them. Ricky’s belongings had barely filled half the wardrobe on his side of the bed so I’d filled the rest of the space. With his stuff gone, it was time to spread my clothes out. I could be super organised and have winter clothes in one wardrobe and summer in the other.
I put on some loud non-Christmas music and spent the next hour or so reorganising my clothes, trying not to even think about what day it was. When I’d finished, I looked at the cupboards above the bed. I hadn’t actually opened them since moving in which suggested that, whatever I’d stored in there, I probably didn’t need anymore. Standing in the middle of the bed, I pulled out carrier bags and small boxes, checking their contents. There was a bag of flip flops and sandals and another containing swimwear and suntan lotion, which I pushed to the back. I dropped a carrier bag full of stationery items onto the bed to sort through. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for another bag and my heart leapt. Crudely wrapped in thin Christmas paper was what felt like a large cardboard box. Could it be the Ugg boots that Ricky had hinted he’d bought me? Ripping off the paper, my heart sank again. Yes, it was a pair of boots. Cheap imitation Ugg-style boots with a large sale sticker across the box. £15 reduced to £7.50. I used to have a pair just like them and they’d been more like expensive fluffy slippers than boots, providing no support to my feet, soaking up even the slightest drop of rain, and ripping at the seams. I’d specifically told Ricky about that pair of boots and why it had to be Uggs instead. I knew Uggs were expensive but with all that overtime … I shook my head. He hadn’t done any overtime, had he? I knew that now.
I pulled out another bag containing more gifts. Sighing, I sat down on the bed and ripped off the paper one by one. It looked like Ricky had gone on a shopping spree in the pound shop: talc (when had I ever used talc?), a memo block, a pack of cheap biros, a chocolate orange, a pair of plain sports socks, and a very basic desk calendar with no pictures on it. I stared at the random selection of gifts spread across the duvet, blinking back the tears. I wasn’t one for extravagance, I really wasn’t, but as Jodie had predicted, what the hell said, ‘I saw this and thought of you,’ about Ricky’s choices? It wasn’t the money as much as the lack of thought. I’d rather he hadn’t bought me anything or that he’d bought me one gift for a fiver that really showed consideration, like the sketchpad and pencil (if it hadn’t been accompanied by the lies). It was probably just as well it was over with Ricky because this morning would have been an awkward gift exchange otherwise. With the refunds on everything I’d bought for him, I could buy myself a lovely pair of Uggs and a few other treats in the January sales.
Grabbing the chocolate orange, I ripped off the outer wrapping, gave it a few hard taps against the bedside drawers, then shoved a piece into my mouth. Of all the gifts, it was probably the best. It might be mass-produced but I was quite partial to a chocolate orange.
I shivered suddenly. The heating had switched off and a chill had settled in the flat. Opening one of the wardrobes, I pulled on the cream fluffy cardigan I’d given to Nanna, stroking the fabric and trying to smell her perfume, but there wasn’t any trace left. My throat burned, making it hard to swallow the remnants of chocolate, and my eyes stung. I couldn’t start crying again. Got to keep busy.
Standing on the bed once more, I continued my rummage, pulling out a bag of paperbacks and a couple of soft toys. Ricky hadn’t liked cuddlies round the flat. Tough. He wasn’t here anymore so my cuddly Eeyore and Pipkin the bear were coming out of hiding and would keep me warm at night. My throat burned once more as I looked at them. Pipkin had been my christening gift from Nanna and Grandpa, and Eeyore had been a gift for passing my GCSEs as I was obsessed with classic Winnie the Pooh characters at the time. A tear slipped down my cheek as I hugged them to me. Stop crying! Be strong! Cuddling them under one of my arms, I reached into the cupboard again, and pulled out the red Christmas album Nanna had made. I slumped onto the bed, sobbing. I couldn’t be strong anymore.
A noise woke me up. I gazed round the gloomy room, feeling completely disorientated. The curtains were wide open and I could see that it was dark outside, so it had to be at least late afternoon. I reached my hand out and flicked the switch on the bedside light, squinting at the clock. 6.10 p.m. Nanna’s Christmas album lay beside me on the bed, open, surrounded by crumpled tissues. A couple of pieces of chocolate orange were part smeared across the duvet suggesting that I’d rolled onto them at some point and my head felt fuzzy. I remembered opening that bottle of red after I dug out the album, drinking it straight from the bottle, flicking through the photographs and crying. A lot. I put my hand to my aching head. It felt strange. I rubbed at my forehead then looked at my fingers. Chocolate. Ew!
I heard the noise again. Was that someone knocking on my door? On the flat door? It couldn’t be. I’d just been asleep so I certainly hadn’t buzzed anyone up. But the knocking came again.
I staggered into the hallway. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me.’
‘Ricky?’
‘No. Matt. Will you open the door?’
I squinted at the peephole to make sure and my heart leapt. Even the distorted version of Matt through the glass was downright gorgeous.
I opened the door and smiled as I clocked his Christmas jumper; a pug wearing illuminated antlers.
‘Happy… oh.’ His face fell.
‘What’s up?’
‘What’s that on your top?’
I glanced down. ‘Shit! Chocolate orange.’
Matt laughed. ‘That’s a relief. For a moment, it looked like the first thing you said.’
I pulled the cardigan across my chest to hide the mess. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Someone was leaving as I was about to buzz you so they let me in. Can I come in?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve brought you something.’ I noticed he was holding a carrier bag.
‘I didn’t get you a present.’
‘It’s not a present.’
I sighed and stood back. ‘Go through. I need the loo.’
I had the fright of my life when I looked in the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, I had red wine stains round my mouth, my hair was sticking up on end and was that …? Yep, I’d got chocolate in my hair. Attractive. No wonder Matt’s face had fallen. I tried my best to run a brush through my hair but I was going to need a shower to dislodge the chocolate properly so it would have to do. I brushed my teeth, wiped the chocolate from my forehead, splashed some cold water onto my face, squirted myself with deodorant and nipped into the bedroom to change my top before joining Matt.
He was in the kitchen, removing plastic food containers from the bag. The kettle was on and mugs were at the ready.
‘I’ve changed my top but I still have chocolate in my hair. I might have got drunk and fallen asleep on a chocolate orange.’
He laughed. ‘It happens to the best of us at Christmas.’
‘What’s in the containers?’
‘Your Christmas dinner. You wouldn’t come to us so it’s come to you.’
It smelled delicious and my stomach growled in anticipation. A bottle of Merlot and three quarters of a chocolate orange weren’t exactly filling. ‘You didn’t have to.’
‘I wanted to. And my mum insisted as a thank you for all those chocolates you gave me when the shop first opened. How about I make the drinks and you plate up whatever you want? I don’t know if you’re a sprout person or not.’
I shuddered. ‘Not!’
‘Me neither. Evil little buggers. Mum, Dad and Tim all love them. I don’t get it.’
‘Grandpa loved them but Nanna hated them.’ I smiled wistfully, recalling the hilarious debate they had about them every Christmas. ‘I think it was the only thing they ever disagreed on.’
‘When we were kids, Tim and I went through this phase of daring each other to do stupid things. He challenged me to a sprout-eating contest. I couldn’t refuse because he’d met my challenge of eating dog food. I remember sitting there with about eight of them in my mouth, the smell and taste making me retch. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.’
Christmas Wishes at the Chocolate Shop Page 14