‘Ow. Mary, where’s your female solidarity?’
‘Every woman for herself,’ Mary returned.
‘Right, miss. You asked for it.’
Jack and Luke scrambled to their feet, began to make snowballs and launch them at any human target. The air was thick with missiles and squeals and groans as the snow burst on shoulders, exploding into eyes and mouths. They all seemed to collapse from exhaustion together, breathless from the cold, the laughter, the effort.
‘I’m absolutely pooped,’ said Robin, checking how Charlie was, and discovering he seemed to be the most alive out of all of them.
‘We can’t go inside without building a snowman,’ said Mary, remembering that Charlie had professed a wish to do this and a thaw was on its way. ‘Come on, folks. Loser makes dinner.’
‘Help me up, Bridge.’ Luke held his hand out and Bridge pulled back, her hand slipped and she ended up splatting backwards in the snow herself. She was laughing too much to get up and for a while she and Luke lay there like a pair of overturned turtles.
Jack and Mary were already well advanced, rolling up a snowman head and body when they did eventually manage to achieve a standing position. Luke sprang into action, scraped together a ball and began to push it forwards.
‘Stop copying our technique,’ called Jack.
‘Sue me for copyright, you posh arse,’ Luke called back.
‘Wouldn’t it be ironic if we went home and forgot to sign the divorce papers,’ said Luke to Bridge, as she began to shape some shoulders into the white mass of snow.
‘It would. We should do it tonight and get it over with. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’
‘Yes, okay.’
‘I’m just glad we got there in the end,’ said Luke, hefting the snowman’s too-large round head onto his body.
‘Football head,’ mused Bridge, standing back to admire it. ‘Remind you of anyone?’ Then she punched it straight in the middle where the nose should be and made a fist-shaped hollow.
‘I didn’t, you know,’ said Luke, suddenly serious. ‘Tina lied. I didn’t even touch her.’
‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Yes it does. I need you to believe me because it’s the truth.’
‘If I do that, it makes what I did to get back at you totally unforgivable.’
‘Forget it, Bridge. You were right about her, she was poisonous. We were both played like cheap guitars.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Okay, I believe you.’ It was hard for her to say and he knew that, because it meant her shoulders were weighted with more blame.
‘Good. Thank you.’
Bridge fashioned ‘Football Head’ the snowman a very fat nose.
‘They stuck together you know, Tina and James,’ said Luke.
‘No fucking way.’ Bridge’s jaw dropped to her knees.
‘I don’t keep in touch with them, in case you’re wondering. I heard from a mutual friend. They renewed their vows to wipe the slate clean and ended up having a full-on fight in the church. The police had to be called.’
Bridge tried to close up her gloaty smile, but didn’t put that much effort into it. ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple. I hope they stay together forever. I can’t think of a worse punishment.’
‘Me neither.’
Bridge fashioned a pair of inflated snow lips for Football Head.
‘Some things you can’t stick back together again,’ she said. ‘So why bother trying?’
She said it but she doubted her own words. If this Bridge were single and this Luke were single, maybe, just maybe, the glue that once held them might have been reactivated.
* * *
‘Does our snowman remind you of anyone?’ asked Jack.
Thin flat line of a mouth, piggy little eyes, nose like a blob of Play-Doh, pair of pneumatic boobs. ‘Nope,’ Mary replied. Subconsciously she’d been sculpting a snow Kimberley, but she would deny it if asked.
Jack coughed, prepared to say something that the cider had loosened from its holdings.
‘Mary, I would just like to say that I truly appreciate all you’ve done for the company. I know that the vegan scones were your idea and I never gave you credit for them.’
Mary paused from smoothing down the snowwoman’s neck, then carried on. It was only the cider talking, she decided.
‘Thank you,’ she said eventually.
‘And for so many other suggestions you’ve made that have helped the business. Helped me.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘I was thinking that er… when we get back, maybe… you might er… consider…’
Mary’s breath went into suspension. Her heart literally stopped beating.
The length of the pause was ridiculous, tantamount to the length of pause when the host of Love Island was about to announce who was getting chucked off.
‘…a pay rise.’
Mary’s heart started up again, a heavy compacted thump, like a racehorse landing on the turf after flying over Becher’s Brook. Disappointment rumbled through every cell and sinew in her body, before quickly segueing into annoyance, then it gathered speed and galloped on into full-blown anger.
‘Jack, there’s something I have to tell you,’ she said. ‘I’m not coming back. I’ve been offered another job and I’m going to take it.’
The cider had loosened her tongue too.
* * *
‘Talk about the abominable snowman,’ said Robin, stepping back to admire their handiwork. Their snowman was hideous, with a shrunken head and a scrawny neck, but at least classily dressed with Charlie’s Chanel scarf knotted loosely at his throat. ‘Who does he remind me of, I wonder?’
‘He looks not unlike Daniel. My possible replacement,’ said Charlie, tilting his head to study their creation.
‘He’s got much more personality than Daniel,’ said Robin. ‘And at least he’s not boring us to death with his comparisons between the present prime minister and Ted Heath.’
Charlie bent, fashioned a snow sausage and stuck it on the snowman’s groin, adding a snowball at either side.
‘Better?’
‘Yes, he’s slightly more attractive now.’
‘Don’t be lonely, Robin,’ said Charlie.
‘Very kind of you to think about me, but I’m exploring the possibility of becoming a celibate. I think I’d look fetching in a nun’s habit. A wimple would frame my face beautifully.’
Charlie chuckled.
‘I’m so glad we didn’t go to Aviemore.’
Robin smiled. ‘I agree with you, for once. How are we going to better it for New Year? Shall I invite them all down for a party? I will ask for their addresses before we go to bed tonight.’
‘Yes, do keep in touch with them,’ said Charlie. ‘I’d like them to come to my funeral.’
Robin opened his mouth to retaliate with a ‘shut up’, but he felt Charlie needed to be listened to now.
‘I’m sure we could run to a few extra Gregg’s sausage rolls.’
‘Thank you.’
* * *
‘Right, right,’ said Jack, trying to process this shock of new information.
‘I’ve written you a letter. I was going to give it to you when we got back home. I’ve been at Butterly’s since I left college and I think it’s time for pastures new and I’d like to start as soon as possible.’ Mary thumped a lump out of the snowman’s back, her actions channelling all the feelings that her calm voice wasn’t.
‘I see.’ Jack’s thoughts were racing in panic mode, like motorcycles around a Wall of Death. Could he honestly blame Mary for seeking pastures new after he’d treated her so much less appreciatively than he should have? She was young and clever and lovely and all he’d done to her for four years was to treat her like his father treated people. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in him romantically. Of course she wouldn’t want him to wine and dine her in Firenze. What had he been thinking of, writing his invitation in the diary? He trusted she hadn’t seen it ye
t. What an idiot he was. He had stepped out of his comfort zone, got burned and now it was time to retreat, hopefully with a little dignity.
‘Well, the very best of luck to you, Mary. I’ll agree to your terms, it’s the least I can do,’ Jack said and held out his hand to shake hers.
His grip was firm; her hand sat inside it as limp as a dead fish.
Chapter 32
‘Robin, will you add five pounds to the money we owe the landlord, I’m going to take this book home with me,’ said Charlie, holding up the copy of Persuasion.
‘If you want,’ said Robin, changing into a dry pair of trousers. ‘It’s a bit worse for wear though. You could buy a new one for that.’
‘No, I want this one,’ said Charlie. ‘I have plans for it.’
‘Sounds very Secret Seven. Am I allowed to ask?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Charlie, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I have enjoyed dipping into it again. It’s brought back some very happy memories for me. Everyone should read this book, it’s full of life lessons.’
‘You and your life lessons! Like what?’
‘Well, no one should ever settle for anything less than their Anne Elliot or their Captain Wentworth.’
‘Granted.’
‘And that you can have a happy ending, even when you’ve given up hope of it. As I had.’
‘If you’re lucky,’ said Robin. Charlie was more of a romantic than he was.
‘Do you think Jack knows Mary is carrying a torch for him? Should we tell him, Robin?’
‘Absolutely not,’ came the firm answer. ‘If ever there was a strong woman who needed a strong man it’s our little Mary; someone worthy of success and notice, which I’m not convinced she’d get from Jack. Not at the moment anyway. He needs firming up a bit.’
‘I do like Jack and I think he feels something for Mary too,’ said Charlie, dropping his volume to deliver his next words, ‘but, sadly, he is more of a Corporal Wet-Wipe than a Captain Wentworth, isn’t he?’
‘Precisely, so no, let neither of us be persuaded to interfere, excuse the pun. Look what happened in the book when Lady Whatsername stuck her nose in. Jack’s mid-thirties, not mid-teens. Who wants a Wentworth with no balls?’
‘You’re right, of course,’ said Charlie.
‘Again,’ said Robin. ‘Now let’s go downstairs and feed you. It must be ten minutes since you last ate.’
* * *
‘He said what?’ Bridge asked Mary, as they were changing out of their snow-wet clothes upstairs in the bedroom.
‘He wished me luck and shook my hand,’ said Mary. ‘After I turned down his pay rise.’ She imbued the two words with all the contempt that they could carry.
‘I have no words. Well, I have a few, but I wouldn’t want to shatter your eardrums,’ said Bridge. She had really started to take to Jack, but he was such a limp lettuce.
Mary shrugged. ‘C’est la vie,’ she said, her voice wavery. She sat down on the bed, wiped a flurry of involuntary tears from her eyes, beyond annoyed at their appearance. ‘I’m dreading the journey home. It’ll be filled with awkward, horrible silence.’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ said Bridge. ‘It would only be a short detour for me. No arguments, it’s settled.’
Mary wasn’t even going to put up any resistance. ‘He said I didn’t need to work my notice if I didn’t want to.’
‘Oh, Jack, you fucking arsehole,’ said Bridge to the wall, as if the words would travel through it and into his posh twit earhole.
‘I’m not expecting you to set me on as soon as we get back, Bridge, I just said I wanted to start straight away because it came out of my mouth before I could stop it.’
‘Mary, when you’re ready. My PA will welcome you with open arms because you’ll take loads of pressure off her. And you can always stay with me for a while until you’re sure you want to move permanently; try us out, so to speak. I’ve got six bedrooms in the house. I don’t want to push you and yet at the same time I do, because I think you’d be a marvellous addition to my team.’
‘Thank you, Bridge.’ Despite her grateful smile, Mary both looked and sounded as felled as a spruce cut down for Christmas.
* * *
Bridge and Luke were designated cooks for the evening. Their snowman was by no means the ugliest, which had to be snow-Kimberley with the icy knockers and slit mouth, but Bridge volunteered them to save Mary being trapped in the tiny kitchen with Jack. Before they commenced cooking, there was one job to do upstairs, in private. The signing of the letters of intent so their divorce could go through uncontested. They had both agreed to a no-fault split, neither was claiming anything from the other.
‘I thought you’d shaft me somehow in the eleventh hour,’ said Luke, handing over his signed sheet with one hand, taking Bridge’s from her with the other.
‘I have. I signed it Donald Duck,’ said Bridge.
Luke’s head jerked and Bridge laughed, ‘As if,’ she said and Luke patted his heart in relief, grinned back at her.
They both looked down at the signatures on the forms. After five long years of a tornado-grade war, the winds of rage had softened to a gust, a breeze, a mere ruffle in the air. They were here, at the end of the ride. The end of an era.
‘The deed is done,’ said Bridge. She felt inexplicably sad, empty. A fat teardrop plopped out of her right eye and ran down her cheek. She flicked it away, aware that he’d seen it. ‘Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.’
‘I feel it too,’ said Luke, snapping a pale pastel tissue out of the box on his dressing table and handing it to her. ‘We’ve been part of each other for so long.’
‘The first cut is the deepest and all that.’
‘Precisely.’
Bridge blew her nose. ‘Thank you for all the love you gave me.’
‘Thank you for kicking me up the bum,’ said Luke, which made Bridge laugh. ‘We are where we are now because of who we were then.’
‘We are the manure on each other’s prize-winning orchids.’
Luke took Bridge’s hand, held it between his own. It felt so small, delicate, fragile.
‘Bridge.’ A sigh. ‘I’m going to be a dad. No one knows yet. Well, obviously I do and Carmen and probably her family by now because we were going to make the big announcement yesterday. I wanted to tell you to your face before the news got out.’
Bridge smiled, a fresh flurry of tears falling at the same time. ‘Ah, that is the best news, Luke. You will make a… a brilliant father. I’ve always thought so. Even when you didn’t. I couldn’t be happier for you both.’
She felt something give inside her, something shift, as if a door stuck in the ajar position, in hope, had finally closed.
Luke pulled her towards him, his arms circled her. She felt a different shape, softer, more pliant than he remembered.
‘Don’t say no to thinking about adopting a child one day, Bridge. You’d make a fabulous mum.’
‘You think?’ said Bridge.
‘I really do think. Some kid like we were would be so lucky to have you loving them. Promise me you won’t rule it out.’
That hit her right in the chest cavity, bullseye in the heart. ‘Thank you, that means a lot,’ she said.
‘And thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being with me on part of my journey. Thank you for sharing plum tomatoes with me, throwing the broccoli at me, loving a dog with me, giving me the name Plant Boy and earning me enough to buy my gorgeous green Aston Martin.’ He felt Bridge laugh into his shoulder. ‘Thank you for it all. Be happy, Bridge.’
‘And you, Plant Boy,’ said Bridge.
They pulled apart, the gap between them small and at the same time as wide as a canyon.
He loved her still, a different love, a grateful love. The lazy gawky kid and the girl with fire for hair had burned each other up, and from the ashes came the people they were now. They were stepping stones in each other’s lives to the Bridge and Luke of today. A Bridge and Luke who
didn’t belong together any more.
* * *
Radio Brian was grieving the end of Christmas.
‘Of course it isn’t over really until Twelfth Night, which is when you eat the last of the Quality Streets, the ones that you try and avoid when you’ve got a choice. In my case it’s the Coffee Cream but my wife always leaves the Peanut Cracknel.’
‘Blimey, it must be a while since they’ve had a tin,’ Robin commented. ‘Those flavours haven’t been around for years.’
‘…but I think most people these days wave goodbye to Christmas when Boxing Day is over and done with. The holiday adverts will be on the telly in a couple of days and I know that when we go shopping next, there will be Creme Eggs on the shelves. And did you know we have had them in our shops for twenty-three years?’ Brian went on.
‘Must be well over that,’ said Jack. ‘I remember buying them from the school tuck shop when I was ten and that’s twenty-five years ago.’
‘It’s starting to thaw out there,’ said Robin, standing by the window. He could see water drips making holes in the snow.
‘No signal yet though,’ said Mary, checking her mobile, which she’d left on the bar. The first chance it sparked into life, she would ring her brother, let him know she was okay. She picked up the landline phone, but it was still playing dead.
‘For anyone who needs to follow the snow, it’s heading to Scotland,’ said Radio Brian. ‘Night temperatures of five degrees are forecast for the area. I’ll put this record on for the last time because it’s one of my favourites. My wife and I have had such a lovely Christmas this year that I’d like it to go on for a bit longer. Thank you for listening. This is Radio Brian playing “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday”.’
A cash register sound, cow bells, children’s voices, those all too familiar lyrics.
‘Our last night together then, from the sounds of it,’ said Mary.
‘It’s been a blast,’ said Charlie, beaming. ‘Our past Christmases in Austria would take some beating, but this one has been my favourite of all time.’
I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day Page 27