Please cheer me up and tell me what colour underwear you’re wearing.
It was quickly followed by another text.
This is Owen by the way.
And another.
I shouldn’t need to tell you that. I hope no other men are asking you similar questions.
Her chest tightened painfully and instead of texting back, she pressed the call button, needing the connection.
‘It’s black. And lace,’ she added for good measure.
She heard a long, deep sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you’d send me a picture.’
‘No way. I’ve heard of men like you. Before I know it, you’ll have it plastered all over the noticeboard at work.’
‘You think I’d share you with anyone else?’
He sounded so disgusted, she had to smile. ‘And there was me thinking you’d take offence at my lack of trust.’
‘Yeah, there’s that as well.’ She heard a voice in the background, and then a ripe oath from Owen. ‘Hang on a sec. I’ve just got to rescue Dad. He’s got his walker jammed against the table leg.’ A few minutes later he was back. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise looking after a post- op pensioner would be like having a toddler.’
He sounded so frustrated, in a selfish way it made Gabby feel better. ‘Is he doing okay though?’
There was a pause before he answered. ‘Yeah. He’s getting there.’ Before she had a chance to question him further, he turned the tables. ‘How are you doing? You know I miss you, right?’
‘I do now.’ As a wave of pleasure spread through her, she sank back against the sofa. Be brave. ‘I miss you, too.’
She could feel his smile down the phone. ‘Bet that was hard to admit, huh?’
‘Don’t rub it in or I’ll take it back.’ It was her turn to hesitate. So far he’d been the one to chase, to set up their next date. ‘Would you like to come over for a meal? You can bring your dad. Or I can come to you?’
During the unnerving beat of silence that followed her offer, Gabby began to feel sick. He didn’t want to see her. But hadn’t he just told her he missed her?
Oh God, he didn’t want her to meet his dad.
‘Thanks, but I don’t think Dad’s up to going out for the evening just yet. Or to visitors.’
‘Of course.’ Damn it, why had she been so stupid? Meeting the parents was a big step, one they clearly weren’t ready for, which was fine. Absolutely fine. She felt an absurd prick of tears and squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Hey, don’t put the phone down on me just yet.’ His voice held an almost desperate edge. ‘Give it a few more days. I’ll work something out.’ She heard him inhale a sharp breath. ‘I really, really want to see you.’
Then why not invite me over? Wasn’t she more than an unwanted visitor? Wasn’t she supposed to be his girlfriend? ‘Are you going to be in work?’
‘I’ve cleared my schedule so I can work from home. But it’s the sales team Christmas lunch on Friday so I might catch you before we go if you’ll be around?’
He could drag himself away from his dad for a lunch, but not to see her? Anger burned through her. Anger and a heavy dose of hurt. This was why she didn’t do relationships. She no longer felt in control of her emotions and she bloody hated that feeling; the insecurity, the irrational thoughts. The swings in mood between joy and misery. It was exactly how she’d felt as a teenage girl, waiting for her mother to phone, to come home.
How much simpler life had been once she’d cut the emotional ties and admitted her mother didn’t care.
‘Gabby?’
The concern in his voice took some of the heat from her anger. Owen and her mother weren’t the same. She needed to cut him some slack. He was looking after his father. And her mother had been looking after kids far less fortunate than she’d been.
Following a silent curse, she spoke into the phone. ‘Yes. I’m in the office on Friday. I’ll see you then.’
Owen sighed long and hard when he heard the line disconnect. She’d put herself out there, offering to cook for them, to come round. In turning her down, he knew he’d hurt her. Just as she’d been tentatively starting to trust him, too.
Damn it.
He winced as he heard a crash, looking up to see the mug his dad had been holding, presumably filled with tea, now in bits on the floor.
‘I told you I’d make it.’
His father looked over at him, red stains on his cheeks. ‘I can make my own blasted cup of tea.’
‘Clearly not.’ Owen regretted the words the moment they were out. His dad was having a tough enough time as it was. He didn’t need his son making him feel like a burden. His heart ached as he watched him struggle to make his way back to the armchair. When they’d left the hospital, Owen had blithely believed that after a few days convalescing his dad would be fine going back to his home. And then to France.
Three days on, and he was starting to wonder if his dad would ever be fine. It was like he’d totally given up. How the hell was he going to get him fit enough, both physically and mentally, to go to France in five days?
It was why he’d turned down Gabby’s offer. She’d have taken one look at him and known the holiday was off, but Owen wasn’t ready to admit that yet. She’d been let down by her mother her whole life. He desperately didn’t want to let her down, too.
‘Here, let me give you a hand.’ He reached to help his dad navigate the sofa, but received an angry glare in return.
‘I can manage.’
‘Sure you can. Just as I can manage to cook tonight’s tea. Doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate some help.’
His father grunted as he fell into the armchair. In a cage next to the chair, Clarissa bowed her head and started to chirp. His dad opened the door and scratched the back of her head. ‘There you go, lass.’
‘She likes that.’
For a moment he thought his dad wasn’t going to say anything. But then he accepted the verbal olive branch. ‘Aye, she does. We’ve come to an understanding, over the last few years. She wriggles her tail, means she’s happy. She bows her head, she wants a scratch. She ruffles her feathers and moves side to side, she’s upset about something.’
‘If only human females were that easy to read.’
His dad carefully closed the cage door. ‘The signs are usually there. You just have to look carefully.’ He gave Owen a searching look. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘No.’ It was instinctive, yet shutting his dad out wasn’t going to help re-build a relationship that seemed to be rolling downhill faster than a medicine ball. ‘It’s been tough, not seeing her these last few days.’
Immediately his father’s back turned rigid. ‘You don’t have to stay in on my account. I can—’
‘Manage. I know.’ Owen sighed and went to sit down on the sofa opposite him. ‘But while you’re finding your sea legs again, I’d worry about you.’
‘Then invite her here. I’ll make myself scarce.’
‘I don’t want you to do that. In fact, I want you to meet her.’ Yep, that had definitely shocked the old guy. ‘If Mum was around she’d have been grilling me for weeks. And putting a date in the diary.’
Sadness crept into his dad’s eyes. ‘She would that.’ There was a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of Clarissa ruffling her wings. ‘Your mum always worried about that Stella woman. Felt she looked at you as a father for her kid, and a source of income, rather than the love of her life.’
Surprised, Owen leant forward. ‘She never said.’
‘She would have done, if it had gone any further.’ He gave Owen the ghost of a smile. ‘You know your mum. Spoke her mind.’
‘She’d have liked Gabby.’ He knew it instinctively. ‘She speaks her mind, too. And she’s a marketing director, so she’s no need for my money.’
‘If she’s prepared to spend her weekend helping you decorate, she’s not afraid of hard work, either.’
Taking it as a sign that his dad was interested,
Owen continued. ‘Gabby’s got dark hair and deep brown eyes. Exotic. Bloody gorgeous, actually.’ The answering glimmer of a smile was enough to encourage Owen further. ‘She’s opposite to me in so many ways; she’s organised, tidy, thinks before she talks. Actually enjoys sifting through the details. And she’s got a fiercely sharp mind. But she’s also a real softie, beneath the bluster.’ He dragged a hand through his hair, realising he was no longer doing this for his father’s benefit. He wanted to talk about Gabby to someone. ‘She’s never known her dad, and her mum’s been … absent a lot in her life, so she’s got a few trust issues.’
‘Doesn’t explain why you haven’t invited her over.’
It was time to put his cards on the table. He used to have a good relationship with his dad. They’d always been honest with each other. He wanted that back. ‘I’m booked to go on holiday with her on Christmas Eve. If she sees you now, she’s going to assume you won’t be well enough to go to France.’
Grey eyes pierced his. ‘And?’
Owen swallowed, guilt swimming through him. ‘She’s been let down by her mum so many times in her life. I don’t want to be another person who lets her down.’
Understanding spread across his dad’s face. ‘You think I’m going to stop you going with her?’
‘No. I think you’ll insist you’re fine and either go to see Alice as planned, even though you feel like crap, or spend Christmas Day alone.’ He pinned his dad with a glare of his own. ‘Neither of which I’m going to let happen.’
His father let out a bark of unamused laughter. ‘I’ll do what I bloody well want. I’m not a geriatric. You’ll go on holiday with your woman.’
Owen hung his head, running his hands up and down his face, realising he’d used the wrong tone. Again. Shit, this was hard. ‘I hope so.’
Immediately another dose of guilt snaked through him. What was he doing, trying to palm his sick dad off on his sister, so he could selfishly bugger off with his girlfriend?
Chapter Fifteen
Six days before Christmas
Gabby was eating lunch at her desk – the glamorous life of a marketing director – when her phone lit up with a call.
‘This is a surprise.’
‘Am I not allowed to phone my daughter?’
For a second Gabby wished she’d let the call go to voicemail. She was feeling grumpy enough as it was, missing a man she wasn’t supposed to be growing attached to. Wondering if the holiday she was supposed to be going on with him would still happen. What she needed was cheering up; cocktails for lunch, a spa session. Not a fight with her mother. ‘Of course you are. I just wasn’t expecting another call from you.’ Because it isn’t my birthday, it isn’t Christmas Day and you’ve never phoned three times in the space of a few weeks.
Silence stretched down the phone, until finally her mother sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m not at my best today.’
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No, no.’
Gabby wasn’t convinced. Her voice sounded odd. She’d have said lonely, if it wasn’t her mother. ‘Where are you calling from?’
‘Haiti. The last hurricane did a huge amount of damage. I’ve been here for several months.’
Gabby cursed silently and leant back in her chair, feeling like a proper bitch. Why couldn’t she admire her mother for what she did, instead of always playing the poor-little-me card? Here she was in her cosy life, with her well-paid job, centrally heated house and well-stocked fridge. Her mum was working in areas devastated by disasters. Helping people. ‘It’s a good thing you do.’
Another pause, and Gabby wished she could see her mother’s face. Something wasn’t right, she could sense it. ‘Perhaps, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay? You sound a bit down.’ And for all her faults, her mother was usually upbeat.
‘I’m right as rain.’ She wasn’t. Gabby didn’t need to hear the tremor in her voice to know it. ‘Just … feeling a bit homesick, I think.’
The heart she thought was hardened against her mum gave a small, telltale squeeze. ‘Then go home.’ She still owned a house in Oxford. One that was empty most weeks of the year.
‘I might do.’
‘I’m going away for Christmas again.’ Immediately Gabby winced, realising how that sounded. Go home, Mum, but don’t think you’ll be seeing me.
‘That’s getting to be quite the habit.’
‘There’s little point spending it sitting here alone.’ And there they went again. Dig for dig.
Instead of the usual sharp retort though, her mother sighed. ‘I can understand that. Where are you heading off to?’
‘Florida, on Christmas Eve. With a … friend.’ Crap, why had she added that? Gabby wasn’t even convinced Owen was going to come, despite his reassurances. And she was nowhere near ready to discuss him with her mother yet. Not when she still hadn’t worked out how she felt.
‘I take it from the way you hesitated that the friend is male.’
‘He is.’
‘That’s all you’re going to say?’
‘For the moment, yes.’
Another pause, and Gabby could hear what sounded like waves rolling onto the beach in the background. ‘Then I won’t pry. But perhaps you’ll tell me a little more about him if I decide to come and visit you.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
‘I might even meet him?’
She felt the inevitable bubble of panic, but this time it wasn’t so acute. She even began to wonder what her mother would make of Owen.
Good God, did she want her mother’s blessing? Just as the crazy idea began to take hold, it fizzled away as she remembered who she was talking to. ‘You might,’ she replied, secure in the knowledge that there would be no meeting. History suggested her mother wouldn’t be visiting any time soon.
An hour after the surprise call from her mother, Gabby had another surprise.
‘What on earth have you got there?’
Cindy popped her head out from behind a huge bouquet of assorted red flowers; roses, chrysanthemums, carnations, red berries and Gerber daisies. ‘Flowers?’
‘I can see that. Are they from Joel?’
Cindy shrieked with laughter. ‘Now why would my husband be sending me flowers when it’s not my birthday?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a mystery to me why any man sends flowers. They cost a fortune and die within a few days.’ Though the memory of the rose Owen had left on her desk sent a pulse of pleasure through her. Did it make her soft that she’d pressed it between the pages of her favourite book?
‘Maybe Owen can tell you.’
With that she placed the bouquet on the desk in front of her, smirked, and walked out.
Gingerly Gabby reached for the envelope nestled within the flowers. On the front was written:
This is me, romancing you. xx
Heart in her mouth, she ripped it open only to find a handmade advent card inside, counting down the next few days. And because it was hastily made, there were no actual doors to the windows, so she could see inside every one.
Window 21 was the picture of a bikini: three days before I see you in this.
Window 22 had two cocktails: two days before we drink these … I’ll ration you to two.
Window 23 was a beach: one day before we walk together on the sand.
Window 24 was a plane: flying off into the sunset together (too corny?).
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Alarmed, Gabby reached into her drawer for her box of tissues. How was she supposed to protect herself from him, when he did things like this?
Clutching at her phone she typed out a quick text.
I told you before, I don’t need romancing. But thank you, the flowers are lovely. Yes, the card was corny, and yes, it made me smile. Gabby x
Within seconds her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
‘If I want to romance my girlfriend, I will.’
At the word girlfriend, she unconsciously smile
d. ‘Then if you want to waste your money on flowers, and your time on corny but sweet cards, I’ll happily accept both.’
‘If they make you think of me, the time and money isn’t wasted.’
She wanted to tell him she’d been thinking of him anyway, but self-preservation kicked in. Their relationship felt more unsure than it had a week ago. She needed to see him, she realised. Needed him to look her in the eye and tell her he’d missed her. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘Driving me mad.’
It didn’t tell her anything, but again she had no chance to quiz him further because he cursed, saying, ‘Got to go, I’m afraid. That’s Hilda at the door.’
‘Hilda?’
‘Yeah, she’s come to help me with some admin. I’ll see you tomorrow just before the lunch?’
‘I’ll be here.’
She punched the call end, feeling ridiculously jealous that his middle-aged admin was allowed to meet his father, yet she wasn’t.
Owen shoved his phone on the sideboard with a hiss of frustration and went to let Hilda in. Why the hell had he phoned Gabby when he’d known Hilda was arriving any minute? A hurried call was worse than no call. It sent all the wrong messages.
But damn it, he’d just wanted to hear her voice.
And that’s what he should have said, he realised, rather than making her feel like an item he’d just ticked off his to-do list.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Cooper … Owen,’ Hilda corrected.
‘Thanks for coming over.’ He ushered her into the hallway. ‘I hope you’re not allergic to birds? Or mess come to that, because I’ve not got round to tidying up yet.’
‘I can cope with either in short bursts.’
‘Then come and meet my dad and Clarissa. His budgie.’
Owen hadn’t just invited Hilda over to help with his admin – she could quite easily have done that at the end of the phone. His reasons were more personal. When she’d reminded him about the sales team Christmas lunch tomorrow – an event he’d embarrassingly forgotten about – he’d had to admit he might have to cancel because he couldn’t leave his dad alone all afternoon.
He’d been flabbergasted when she’d offered to check in on him. Not wanting to take liberties, he’d declined, insisting she’d have a better time eating lunch with him and a bunch of charming salesmen than being stuck with a surly pensioner. She’d looked him straight in the eye and replied. ‘I rather think your father is more my speed.’
A Little Christmas Charm Page 11