One Day in December: The Christmas read you won't want to put down

by Shari Low

  Kenneth took the opportunity to have another rant. ‘I’m not standing here, listening to…’

  ‘Shut up, Kenneth!’ Again Bernadette heard the sound, then realised a split second later that it had come from her. Well, well, well. It had taken thirty years but she had finally found the balls to shut him down. Somewhere inside her, her ego was doing a celebratory conga. ‘You’re his girlfriend,’ Bernadette said, like a police officer repeating the facts to a witness. ‘For how long?’

  ‘Bernadette!’

  ‘Kenneth, shut up. The lady is speaking. Go on dear.’

  Lila paused, as if this wasn’t playing out the way she expected and she was unsure as to how to proceed.

  Eventually, she found her voice, and – all credit to her, Bernadette thought – there was still an edge of courage and defiance in there.

  ‘Seven years.’

  ‘Holy fuck.’ Nina this time. ‘You’ve been shagging my dad for seven years?’

  ‘It’s not just shagging. I’ve loved him for seven years. He loves me too.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake.’ That was Kenneth.

  ‘And he wants to be with me, but he didn’t think you could cope on your own, so he’s stayed with you, all these years, sacrificing his own happiness. I can’t let him do it anymore. We want to be together.’

  She was welling up now and Bernadette felt a twinge of sympathy for her, swiftly followed by an avalanche of rage at Kenneth.

  ‘You bastard,’ she said, swearing in front of the kids for the first time in her life. If they were scarred by it, she’d arrange the therapy. ‘All these years you were shagging this poor woman and feeding her a whole lot of lies?’

  ‘He never lied to me!’ Lila protested.

  ‘Oh. love, you have no idea.’

  ‘Kenneth, tell them!’ Lila wailed.

  Bernadette could see that she was getting upset now. Kenneth had really done a number on her, yet Bernadette didn’t quite understand it. Her husband’s mistress – for she absolutely believed her – was young, and stunning, and clearly adored him, yet he’d stayed with her all these years in a loveless marriage. Why? Did it really all come down to the fact that he enjoyed the control so much that he wouldn’t let it go?

  ‘Yep, tell us, Dad,’ Nina prompted, her gaze deadly.

  It was no use – he stood there, stony-faced, refusing to be drawn in to it.

  ‘Tell them you love me,’ Lila demanded, and Bernadette had a flashback to when the kids were small and throwing a tantrum in the supermarket because they weren’t getting what they wanted.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Lila, of course I don’t love you. That’s not what this ever was. It was danger, a bit of excitement. Did you really think I was going to divorce my wife and show up at hospital dinners with a young blonde, looking like the poster boy for a midlife bloody crisis? I’d have been a bloody laughing stock.’

  That was Bernadette’s answer right there. It was vanity. While some might think that having a beautiful young trophy wife was an ego boost, Kenneth wasn’t cut from that cloth. His mother, the old crone, hadn’t believed in divorce and she’d drummed into him the importance of reputation and perception. Thus, he ate in the right restaurants. Courted the right alliances. There was absolutely no way that he would allow his career, his reputation or his standing in the community to be tainted by a scandalous affair or by people pointing fingers and perceiving him as a silly old fool with a hot bit of stuff on his arm. This was all about him. His vanity. His pride. His narcissism.

  She had never hated him more.

  Her thoughts were halted by a whimper from Lila, who was staring at him, eyes blazing, enraged by his words.

  ‘You don’t mean that! Is that why you like me to tell you what underwear I’m wearing every day? Is that why you fucked me at the hotel yesterday? Is that why you let me suck your dick on your desk before surgery?’

  ‘Eeeeeew!’ Stuart and Nina reacted in perfect sync.

  Bernadette realised it was time to intervene.

  ‘Lila!’ she exclaimed, loud enough to shock her to her senses. As soon as she was mute, Bernadette continued, using years of training in de-escalation and handling hysteria. ‘I can see he’s hurt you, and trust me I know what he’s capable of, so here’s what I’m going to do.’

  Lila was looking at her now, and Bernadette could see she was close to unravelling. Poor woman. If anyone did this to her Nina she’d have their balls for it.

  ‘I’m going to tell you where all this stands right now and then I’m going to leave you to it.’

  Lila’s face was shadowed by wariness.

  ‘I haven’t loved him for longer than I can remember. He’s an arrogant, controlling, vile specimen of a man… sorry kids, but it’s true…. And I wouldn’t wish him on anyone. Every night since my children here were small, I’ve gone to bed and prayed he wouldn’t be there when I woke up. He always was. He could have left me at any point. Nina and Stuart have been out of the house for a long time, ten years in Nina’s case, and yet, still Kenneth is here. That should tell you something about his intentions. As for me, I’ve finally had enough. I told him tonight I was leaving him and I am. When I walk out of that door it will be for the last time, and I’m never, ever, coming back because he’s a despicable human being. What you decide to do with that information is up to you. I can’t think why any woman would want him because, trust me, what you see is not what you get. It sounds like he’s been mistreating you and lying to you for years, and I promise you that will continue. He cares nothing about anyone but himself. He won’t give you a shred of tenderness or care. And it’ll be no time at all until you’re lying there, same way as I have, praying that you were with anyone but him. That said, if you ignore everything I’ve told you, and pursue him anyway, then hell mend you, you were warned. The moment I walk out of here will be one of the happiest of my life. And by the way, when I told him tonight that I was leaving, he begged me – absolutely begged me – to stay with him. I’ve been with the man for thirty years and I know every bit of him. If you’re arrogant enough to think you can change him, then….’ She looked at Lila, looked at Kenneth, ‘…then you two deserve each other. I’ve got nothing else to say. Goodnight. Kenneth, you lying, cheating bastard. Have a good life.’

  With that, Bernadette Manson strutted out of her old life, with her children behind her and her dignity, self-esteem and sheer bloody zest for life restored.

  And as she’d promised herself every time she’d thought about this moment, she didn’t look back.

  Chapter 32

  Lila

  ‘You bitch.’

  Lila stared at him, horrified, stunned into silence.

  ‘You absolute bitch,’ he repeated, just in case she hadn’t quite caught him the first time.

  An unstoppable wave of nausea rose from her twisted gut, and she buckled over and vomited right there on his hall carpet.

  If she thought his sneer couldn’t be any more venomous, she was wrong.

  ‘What the fuck…?’

  His clenched fists told her that he was fighting to control his temper, as he turned on his heel and stormed back into the room behind him. Lila followed him and when she got there she saw that it was the kitchen and Ken, her Ken, the love of her life, was now pacing up and down.

  He rounded on her. ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’

  Lila was on a different wavelength altogether. There was no way his boot of a wife was telling the truth. No way. Was there?

  ‘You begged her to stay? She was leaving you and you begged her to stay?’

  ‘Of course I did. Didn’t you hear everything I just said?’

  ‘You couldn’t have meant that.’

  Full-scale, epic level self-preservation and denial kicked in. She’d heard. Of course she had. But those weren’t the words of her Ken. Her Ken loved her. He wanted to be with her. Surely he’d just been saying all that to placate his daughter and son, to try to salvage his relationship with them by convinc
ing them that he really wanted to stay with their mother. Well, it didn’t work. She was gone. Finally, his wife had got the message. And now he was going to fold Lila into his arms, tell her that he hadn’t meant any of it, that he loved her, that of course he wanted to be with her, and that now their time had finally come. This was it. A tiny white flag of triumph raised itself above the parapet…

  ‘Of course I bloody meant it.’

  It wasn’t triumph. It was surrender. Game over. Battle lost.

  All her life, her mother had waited for a man and she’d got him. Lila was so sure that the same would happen to her. He’d be worth the wait. The end would justify the means. What was meant to be would be.

  Until it wasn’t.

  However, she had to check one more time that she wasn’t getting the fairy tale ending she’d been dreaming of since the first time he kissed her. ‘You don’t love me? Because I can forget everything you said out there. I know you were just trying to save face. This could be our time Ken. We could be together, share our lives, make love every day, build a new future together. This is the chance to have everything we’ve ever talked about…’

  ‘You’ve talked about!’

  ‘No! Don’t you dare say this was all me. You were every bit as desperate to be with me as I was with you!’ Even as she said it she knew, somewhere deep inside, that it wasn’t true. How many times over the years had he called it off. How many times had it been her who’d engineered a ‘chance’ meeting to rekindle their relationship. The reality of everything that had happened today was sinking in, seeping into her pores, and the nausea was back. She forced it down. There was no way she was giving into it a second time. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said, like a puppy, waiting to be kicked again. ‘You don’t love me?’

  He stopped pacing, ran his fingers through his hair, his exasperation bubbling like lava in a volcano that was just about to blow. ‘Of course I don’t fucking love you,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Lila knew then, actually believed it. He didn’t. It was over. She’d wasted seven years of her life on a man for whom she’d always been just a shag.

  How could she have been so stupid? She retreated out of the kitchen, taking several steps before she felt able to turn her back on him. In every sense.

  Stepping over the pool of vomit on the hall carpet, she paused, before a fit of petulance compelled her to drop his cardigan on top of it, and followed the path taken by Bernadette only minutes before.

  By the time she got to the car, the shaking had started.

  What had she done? She’d lost Ken. She’d lost Cammy. She was on the verge of losing her job. She’d lost everything. Everything!

  Why hadn’t this worked out for her? It was so tragically unfair. Hadn’t she done everything he wanted, moulded herself into his perfect woman and still he didn’t want her? How could that be? How could he live with that… that… frump for all these years and then not choose to be with Lila?

  None of this made sense. She wanted to scream. And then she wanted to go back in there and persuade him to change his mind, but she wouldn’t. If he didn’t appreciate her worth, that was his problem. She wasn’t going to beg. He’d regret it tomorrow. He’d wake up and grasp what he’d done and he’d want her back, she knew it.

  But in the meantime…

  She realised, to her complete devastation, that she didn’t know where to go. She couldn’t go back to the flat because she couldn’t face Cammy. How could Cammy have done this to her? How could he have been so deluded that he actually thought she might say yes? Hadn’t he noticed that she’d been off with him for weeks, that whatever they had was fizzling out? What a fool. No, the flat was definitely out.

  She couldn’t go to her mum and dad’s house either, because no doubt she’d be interrupting them and lately she’d been feeling decidedly unwelcome when she landed on them without warning. Besides, they were probably furious with her for running out of the restaurant and then rejecting at least a dozen calls from her mum. And she was still absolutely seething with them for failing to warn her about Cammy’s plan to propose. Traitors.

  She had nowhere to go. She pressed the ignition button and started driving, heading back into the city. The first building she saw was the Hilton, where she’d changed earlier, a place of familiarity. It was all she needed.

  She veered off the motorway, onto the street that took her up the ramp to reception, then stopped, grabbed her handbag, laptop, phone, and her ever-ready toiletries, before she jumped out and handed the keys to the concierge to park the car.

  The doorman gave her a smile of recognition. She was a regular here. Everyone knew her, at least by sight, so she was always treated with the respect she deserved. Even the receptionist went out of his way for her.

  ‘I’d like a room for tonight please?’

  He checked the screen. ‘I’m afraid we’re full…’

  She was a split second away from going full-scale diva-strop, when he quickly remedied the situation.

  ‘…But we’ve just had a phone call from a guest to say they’ve been called away and asking us to check her out, so if you don’t mind waiting…’ he checked his watch, ‘maybe half an hour, we’ll get the room turned around and ready for you. Perhaps you could have a drink in the bar?’

  She’d heard worse ideas. Picking up her phone, her laptop case and her bag, she crossed the lobby, aware as always that she was gathering admiring glances from at least half of the guests enjoying a late night chat or drink. Not an attractive one among them.

  In the bar, she ordered a glass of champagne, then parked herself at a corner table and opened her laptop. She was immediately assaulted by a succession of high-pitched pings, and watched, uncomprehending, as the notifications flashed up on her Facebook and Twitter accounts.

  What the hell was going on?

  She ran her eye down the list.

  ‘Lila, is that you in this clip?’

  ‘Damn, she whipped his ass.’

  ‘That has to be @LoveLila – would recognise those tits anywhere.’

  ‘OMG, his face though!!!!!’

  What the…? She clicked through to the post they were referring to and her heart felt like it had actually stopped.

  The setting, even on the still frame at the beginning of the video, was instantly recognisable. Grilled.

  There was Cammy. Her mum. Her dad. Her.

  With a shaking finger, she pressed play.

  Whoever had taken the footage had obviously been nearby, perhaps at the next table, and had been mighty swift when Cammy got down on one knee, because there he was, holding that pathetic ring up, all bloody misty eyes and hopeful.

  Her toes curled so tight her Louboutins began to pinch.

  ‘Lila, I love you – and I want to love you every day of our lives…’ Oh, crap, there was sound too. This was a nightmare. A nightmare. The most humiliating moment of her life and it was caught on film.

  She watched as the Lila on the video looked at the ring, at him, back at the ring, then him, clearly in shock.

  ‘Lila, will you marry me?’ he said.

  The nausea threatened to rise once again. The horror. The sheer mortification. How could she not have known he was planning that?

  ‘No… I can’t… I…’ Lila-on-video didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she grabbed her bag, jumped to her feet and rushed to the door.

  This was awful. For years her life had been played out on social media and she’d relished every like, share, and comment, but not this. This was her worst moment, out there for the whole world to see. She wanted to die. She actually wanted to die. Until she played it again and realised that, embarrassment aside, she looked pretty hot. Scrap that, she looked sensational. That dress was definitely the right choice, and when she’d ran out of the restaurant, the back view… well, those endless squats at the gym had definitely paid off.

  It might be a moment of mortification but at least she looked incredible. If she didn’t get a free Cava
lli dress out of this she’d be furious.

  So anyway, silver lining, she was gorgeous.

  The figure below the video drew her attention then, and she realised that there was another silver lining.

  One hundred and six thousand views and increasing by the second. Holy shit. One hundred and six thousand people had watched her video. One hundred and six thousand! Now, one hundred and seven thousand. And climbing rapidly.

  ‘Elle est magnifique.’

  ‘Man, I so would.’

  ‘Mignonette!’

  ‘Well, fuck me sideways (that is actually a request – call me).’

  ‘J'aurais eu le sexe avec elle toute la nuit.’

  Lila wasn’t one hundred per cent sure of the literal translations of the French comments but she got the gist. They loved her. Thought she was gorgeous. Wanted to make love to her. She felt her breasts swell and butterflies of sheer glee push every negative emotion out of the way. A bolt of realisation. The name of the person who had posted the clip was French. Jean Pascal. She quickly googled him. Twenty-seven years old. French team captain. Single. Gorgeous. Played for Paris St Germain. National hero. He was modern day, Gallic equivalent of David Beckham and as soon as she saw his face she recognised him. He was the most gorgeous of them, the one she’d spoken to first, when she asked him to take a selfie with her. No wonder the thing had gone viral. He had over half a million followers, and many of them, it seemed, now adored her.

  One hundred and eight thousand views now.

  This was unbelievable! Incredible.

  The champagne arrived and she knocked half of it back in one go.

  More pings, and this time she saw that her Facebook personal messages were in treble figures, as were the DMs on her Twitter feed.

  She scrolled through them, and saw that – be still her heart – there were messages from at least half a dozen newspapers, magazines, and media blogs, and the video had only been up for an hour and a half. Hang on, one of them was saying that he was… he was… she had to stop herself from punching the air. A producer on This Morning! He wanted to talk to her. Aaaaaaaaaagh, she was going to be on a sofa with Holly and Phil!