‘Carter has asked me to go with him and the children on the trip that I’ve organised for them.’
‘I take it that you’ve agreed.’
I sit on the sofa next to Jim. He turns off the football.
‘How could I not?’ is my argument. ‘He is my best client, Jim. I didn’t feel that I could refuse.’
‘This is your busiest time, Cassie. There’s a million things in the diary. How are you going to deal with all that?’ He huffs at me. ‘Are you simply going to let your other clients down?’
‘I don’t know. It’s only four days.’
‘Have you even looked at the stuff that’s backing up?’
I admit that I haven’t. That was going to be my very next job. ‘I thought that you and the boys could still help out. And Gaby.’
‘Oh, that’s nice. You swan off to Lapland with a handsome millionaire and leave me here to pick up the pieces.’
I start to formulate an argument, but I simply can’t come up with a valid one.
‘You’re right,’ I say. All the fight goes out of me. ‘It was a really crap idea. I’ll call Carter and tell him that I can’t possibly go. It was madness to think that I could. All this stuff can go straight back to Snow + Rock.’
I shake my head to clear it. What was I thinking? Of course I knew that Jim would be pissed off. Even a saint has his limits.
‘It was stupid of me to agree to go. I just got caught up in the moment and Carter’s paying me an extraordinary amount of money to accompany them. It would have been very lucrative.’
‘Plus you’re going on a private jet.’
‘Yes.’ I grimace. ‘Am I really that shallow?’
He risks a smile. ‘Yes.’
‘I can’t help it.’ I tut at myself. ‘This trip will be fantastic. I know because I’ve booked it all. It literally will be the trip of a lifetime. I might never have another chance like this. But I’ll ring Carter now. I’ll have to find him a nanny for the kids.’
‘Is that why you’re going?’
‘Yes. I met them today and they’re so sweet. They’re really missing their mum and wanted me to go with them. You’re right though, it’s idiotic. I need to be here.’ I find my mobile in my pocket and pull it out. My eyes fill with tears.
‘Wait,’ Jim says. ‘Let’s go through the diary. See if we can work round it.’
‘We can’t,’ I insist. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘Don’t be hasty,’ Jim says. ‘I’m sure we can cope. You should go. Of course you should.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘We’ll look at the bookings. If the lads and I can manage, then we will. You’re right, Cassie, from what little I know of it, the whole trip sounds fantastic. You’ve had such a terrible year that you deserve a treat.’
‘Really?’ I search his face. ‘Are you sure this is really how you feel?’
‘I’d rather be coming with you,’ Jim admits. ‘But you’ve been so good with helping the lads out too that I can’t deny you an opportunity like this.’
‘Oh, you are brilliant.’ I throw my arms round him and let my tears roll down my cheeks.
‘It would help if Carter Randall wasn’t such a handsome millionaire,’ Jim confesses. ‘But I can live with that if you promise me that you’ll come home safely.’
‘I will. Of course I will. And I’ll work twice as hard the minute I get back.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
‘Let’s have our romantic dinner before I go,’ I suggest.
‘I’ve got a heavy week of shifts.’
‘We’ll have it when you get home one night. I’ll do everything. I’ll cook something special and we can exchange our Christmas cards. No presents, though,’ I reiterate. ‘If we’re going to be really busy, then we might not have another chance. It will be my thank-you to you for being so wonderful.’ I snuggle in next to him.
‘OK,’ Jim says with a contented shrug. ‘Romantic dinner it is.’
‘I’m just so lucky,’ I say, resting my head on his shoulder. ‘I’ll never forget that.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
So another week goes by in a blur with Jim and me both working like mad things. As a bit of a breather before I head off to Lapland, our romantic dinner is scheduled for tonight. I’d like to take the day off to relax, pamper myself and spend a ridiculously leisurely time preparing the meal as I feel as if I haven’t stopped for a minute recently. But I can’t. There’s too much to do and Christmas is getting ever closer.
I can feel the excitement rising inside me and it’s not just because of my impending trip. More than ever, I’ve really got the whole Christmas bug this year – which is just as well, as our entire lives are revolving around it.
Instead, I have a quick soak in the bath, run the razor over my legs and, when I’m dry, splot some nail varnish on my toes. You never know, good food might put Jim in the mood for good love. It’s not yet ten o’clock in the morning but I’m marinating chicken to make a Spanish dish that I found on the internet. I’m going to have to shoot out to get the rest of the ingredients and I want to make a nice dessert too as Jim has a sweet tooth. I’ve some cupcakes to make and decorate for an upcoming event and I want to check that Gaby’s on the case when it comes to the mince pies.
Carter and the children have been away all week. Carter’s jetting round the world being an entrepreneur and the children are with their mother in London. Which means that Randall Court is empty. I’m hoping that Jim and I can go up there and get started on their Christmas decorations. The Randalls are meeting me at Luton International Airport tomorrow evening. Carter is sending a car to whisk me straight to our waiting private jet. I cannot believe just how fabulous that sounds. I would like to say it out loud to a lot of people but, as there’s only me here, I am thwarted in my attempts to show off. The joys of exclusive travel mean that, with good luck and a following wind, we should be in the small town of Kiruna, deep inside the Arctic Circle, a few hours later.
I’ve ordered some fabulous decorations for Carter, and I need to collect those today too. Which all adds up to no slacking for me. I get dressed and am out of the door, grabbing a cereal bar as a breakfast substitute on the way.
The weather here has taken a turn for the worse and, after the mild autumn we’ve enjoyed, the sharp slap of frost is a shock to the system. I scrape my car windscreen, hoping that, one day, we’ll have enough money behind us to move out of the flat and into a house with a garden and a garage so I can put my car away at night.
First stop is the Christmas warehouse where I load up the back of the car with my purchases. For the outside of the Randall mansion I’ve gone for a very classy look – in a completely over-the-top way – but for the interior, I’ve decided to be more playful. After all, Carter wanted the house to look nice for the children, so I’ve taken that into account.
Next I stop off at the supermarket and buy the rest of the ingredients for my romantic dinner with Jim. I’m going to do a sticky toffee pudding for dessert as that’s his favourite and it’s just the sort of weather for a big, fat comfort pudding. When I’ve got all the food, including a gorgeous box of chocolates, I browse the greetings-card aisle.
I want something lovely to reinforce to Jim just how special he is to me. When you’ve been together as long as we have, it’s sometimes easy to let the romance slide and I never want that to happen to us. I choose a suitably soppy card and pop it in my basket. It would be great to be able to treat Jim to something nice and perhaps I will for Christmas. We’ll have to see how the money goes, but it certainly looks as if the business is set to turn a decent profit and I’m so relieved that my crazy idea wasn’t just pie in the sky.
With the car stuffed to the gills, I head home, singing along to the Christmas tunes on the radio. Then, as I pass through Boxmoor, on the way back to the flat, I get the urge to call in on Mrs Ledbury, to see how she’s doing.
I don’t text in advance, I just roll up outside. If she’s got s
omething else on, then I’ll go home. Minutes later, I’m ringing her doorbell and, as I do, I wonder why it never occurs to me to pop in and see my own mum like this. Gaby does and she’s always nagging me that I should too. But when I don’t even really have five minutes to spare, I’d still prefer to call in on a stranger. Perhaps it’s because I’ve always felt as if I got in the way of my mother’s life rather than being an integral part of it. I know that Mrs Ledbury will be delighted to see me, whereas with my own mum I’m never quite sure.
As I’m beating myself up, Mrs Ledbury answers the door and, of course, her eyes light up. ‘Come in, my dear,’ she cries as I knew she would. ‘How lovely to see you.’
‘I’ve only dropped by on the off chance that the kettle is on. If you have time.’
‘I have all the time in the world,’ she tells me. ‘Do come in.’
I follow her through to her living room.
‘The tree is looking wonderful.’ She indicates my handiwork. ‘If only there were more people here to appreciate it.’
The delicate angel is still there in pride of place. ‘Did your son’s family like it?’
‘Oh, they didn’t make it in the end and they haven’t had time to come yet,’ she says, a catch in her voice. ‘They’re so busy. So very busy.’
I feel my guilt towards my own mother ratchet up. But at least my mother isn’t old and frail and doesn’t sit at home waiting for me to call. My mother’s young and vibrant and is, generally, too busy out having a good time to think of me or Gaby or her wonderful grandchildren at all. In fact, Mrs Ledbury looks much more like a grandmother should. She wears A-line skirts and cardigans, not low-cut T-shirts emblazoned with the word ‘SEXY’ picked out in hot pink sequins, teamed with five-inch heels. Mrs Ledbury has white hair in tight curls whereas my mother’s long red hair is plumped up with extensions. She dresses as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge that she is a mother and a grandmother to boot. But then Mrs Ledbury is old enough to be a mother to my mum. Perhaps, one day, my mum will grow into her role.
I daren’t stay long at Mrs Ledbury’s as I’m already running behind myself. So I down my tea, have a few more minutes of chit-chat and then I’m on my way with a cheery wave. Mind you, I still find a few extra minutes to go back to the flat the long way round so that I don’t have to pass my own mother’s house.
At home, I finish off the chicken recipe, put that in the oven on low to slow cook and then whip up the sticky toffee pudding for later.
While I’m watching a video on YouTube, instructing me in the art of creating Christmas garlands for banisters and mantelpieces, I get a text from Carter. Without me wanting it to, my heart skips a beat.
‘Did u get all ur ski gear?’
‘Yes. So excited,’ I text back.
‘Me 2.’
‘Will be up @ house decorating tree, etc.’
‘Shame I’m not there. CU tomorrow. T says kids r totally hyper.’
I’ll bet they are. The furthest I ever went as a kid was to Brighton for a day trip. Holidays weren’t high on my mother’s agenda. It’s only since she discovered the delights of married men with villas in Spain that she likes to travel. I snap my messages off, then sit and wonder how Tamara feels about someone else taking her kids on holiday. I know that Carter and I aren’t romantically involved but it must be weird for her nevertheless. If they were my kids, I’d want to be with them.
I finish watching my YouTube clips, write Jim’s card, set the table including posh candle and check on dinner. When I’m sure it’s not going to burn, I slip through to the bedroom and change into something more slinky. Well, more slinky than trackie bottoms and a sweatshirt. I check myself in the mirror and am glad to see that I don’t scrub up too badly. There were times this year when I couldn’t face getting out of bed or showering or washing my hair. I feel that this is the start of me getting my life back on track again.
Jim and I have certainly got something to celebrate this Christmas. Now, everything’s ready. All I have to do is wait for my loved one to come home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
There had been tension on the unit all morning. A dozen different punch-ups had broken out, most of them gang related. All Jim had done was fight fires since he’d started his shift. To try to quell it, all the lads were on lock-down in their cells. Now it was fast approaching lunchtime and they were all going to have to come out peaceably or go hungry. And, of course, that was against Home Office rules and probably infringed their human rights too.
Thankfully, there were very few days when this job made him weary down to his bones, but this was one of them. Perhaps if Cassie made a go of her business, he could give up the prison service and, instead, have a career that involved writing Christmas cards and dressing up as Santa to entertain giggly pensioners. There were a lot worse ways to spend your days.
He only hoped that Smudge and Rozzer had stayed clear of the trouble. They shouldn’t be doing anything to jeopardise their release. Not now that they were so close. But he hadn’t seen them in the middle of any of the brawls and he was grateful for that, at least.
The siren sounded so he knew they were going to do a roll-call, just to make sure that all of the lads were present and correct. All the officers went round checking the cells. This was one of the more tiresome rituals of prison life. Everything stopped until the final call-out came of ‘Roll correct!’ and the day could start up again. Jim was instructed to take the top level and made his way up there. He worked his way along the landing with his big bunch of keys, unlocking the cells and recording the presence of the occupants. They were all pissed off this morning and even Jim, who was normally considered one of the more respected screws, was subjected to regular torrents of abuse.
He opened one of the cells and found Rozzer in there. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in your own cell?’
‘Smudge is having a total mare today,’ he said. ‘He just needed to be on his own.’
‘Not a luxury you can have in here, lad,’ Jim pointed out. ‘It’s not a bed and breakfast establishment. Come on, back to your own place.’
Rozzer pulled a face. ‘Not for much longer.’
The lad stood up wearily and Jim escorted him along the landing. ‘Remember this,’ he said. ‘Remember all that you hate about this and you won’t be visiting us again any time soon.’
‘I’m not coming back. No way. Not this time.’ Rozzer fell into step beside Jim. ‘But I’m worried about Smudge,’ he confided. ‘He’s finding it hard that I’m going without him.’
‘If there was another place at Vincent’s Halfway House, I might be able to make a special case for him. He’s kept his nose clean in here. You both have. Model prisoners. I’m sure the governor would look on it favourably. But, as it is, there’s nowhere for him to go. I’d rather that he stayed here where I can keep an eye on him until we can get him into Vincent’s place with you.’
‘I hope it won’t be long,’ Rozzer admitted.
‘Vincent will come through. I’m sure of it.’
He wanted to tell the lad how much they had both come to mean to him, but it wouldn’t do to let his professional barrier down totally. With all the things they’d been doing together for Cassie’s Christmas business, it was hard to maintain the necessary distance that the prison service quite rightly advised. Still, there was only a short time to go and then he could, hopefully, be the mentor to them that he wanted to be.
They walked the remaining few yards to the cell in silence and Jim unlocked the door. As it swung open, Rozzer gasped out loud.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ Jim breathed.
Smudge was slumped on the floor of the cell, his arms held out in front of him, blood dripping down his hands. It was instantly clear to Jim that he had slashed his wrists. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen it happen and, God help him, it wouldn’t be the last. The regular cell searches that stripped out everything usually found sharpened sticks or bits of razor blades, anything that could be made
into weapons, but there was always the chance that they’d miss something.
Rozzer slumped to the floor next to him. ‘You stupid fucker!’ he sobbed. ‘Why did you do this? We could have sorted it out. You didn’t need to do this.’
Jim was already on his radio, calling for medical assistance from Healthcare. Having done that, he too dropped to his knees next to Smudge and went into autopilot, checking his airways, breathing and circulation.
The lad opened eyes dull with pain. He was slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
‘Hang on,’ Jim said. ‘Help’s on its way.’ He knew that, in minutes, he’d hear the medics’ feet pounding down the corridor as they ran to respond.
‘What can we do?’ Rozzer said.
Calling Mrs Christmas Page 16