‘Just because you really care about someone doesn’t mean they’re going to love you back.’ He looks across at me with a sad smile. ‘But you know, it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. It could just mean there’s someone out there that you haven’t met yet …’
I gaze into his green eyes and feel the familiar tug at my insides. Maybe I’ve drunk too much whisky because I’m struggling to understand his meaning.
He tries again. ‘Look, I know you really like Jasper but I’m just saying that maybe you’d be better remaining friends.’
I stare at him. Still haven’t a clue what he’s talking about. ‘Look, could you just spit it out?’ I demand. ‘Has Jasper said something to you about me?’
He shrugs. ‘Just that he had a great time when you went out together but that he felt you’d be better staying friends.’
‘So Jasper doesn’t think there’s a spark between us?’
That’s good. We’re in agreement, then.
Seb shakes his head. ‘Sorry if it’s hard to hear. It’s just I don’t want you building your hopes up.’
‘But I wouldn’t be. I’ve never really …’ I tail off, not quite knowing how to word it. It seems a bit harsh saying I’ve never fancied Jasper, however true it might be.
I sigh. All this talk of love is playing havoc with my emotions. I feel like another whisky, but even in the perilous state I’m in, I instinctively know that more alcohol is not the answer.
I’m looking at Seb and something is becoming blindingly clear to me. I’ve probably known it, deep down, for weeks now. But I’ve been too afraid of the consequences to face up to it.
I’ve fallen in love with Seb.
He thinks I still care about Jasper but he couldn’t be more wrong.
All I want to do is get up and walk over to him, curl my body into his and kiss him.
But I can’t.
The pain, if he were to reject me, would be much too hard to bear.
I lurch to my feet. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. See you in the morning.’
I’ve got to get out of here before the aching lump in my throat turns into tears. Because once they start falling, there’s a distinct possibility they might never ever stop.
Christmas Eve
FESTIVE HOT CHOCOLATE
This is simple to make but utterly irresistible.
You will need:
Powdered hot chocolate
Hot milk or water
Irish cream
Whipped cream (optional)
Marshmallows (optional)
•Just make your hot chocolate in the usual way and add a dash of Irish Cream.
•Try topping with whipped cream or marshmallows.
•Cheers!
Chapter Twenty-Six
Next morning, I’m dreading going down to the flat.
I’ve got to break the news about Dad to Mum and she’s going to be absolutely inconsolable.
I take my time showering and getting dressed, thankful that Seb left early for a meeting.
When I let myself in, the first thing I hear is Josh shouting ‘Yay!’ and Rosie shushing him because Auntie Justine and Uncle Rob are still asleep. I’m guessing he’s on the PlayStation.
Sure enough, when I walk in to the living room, he’s on the floor, eyes fixed on the screen.
What I’m not prepared for, though, is the sight of Mum sitting on the very edge of an easy chair beside him, fumbling with the buttons on the spare controller. She looks up at me and announces, with a certain amount of pride, ‘Josh is teaching me how to play Mining Craft.’
‘Minecraft’, corrects Josh without tearing his eyes from the screen.
‘Fantastic!’ I glance in astonishment at Rosie and she shrugs in puzzled wonder, then leaps up and offers to put the kettle on.
We leave Josh trouncing Mum mercilessly and retreat to the kitchen.
‘She’s got clothes on. When did this happen?’ I demand.
Rosie laughs. ‘She came through an hour ago, all showered and in her pearls, and apologised for being so horrible about Dad. She said she’d had a chat with you yesterday.’
‘Oh, God. I feel terrible now.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t. Your little chat obviously hit a nerve.’ She shakes her head. ‘Haven’t I been saying for ages this family needs to talk to each other?’
I smile at her. ‘You have, oh wondrous guru.’
Rosie slings a tea towel at me and I catch it.
A gloomy thought occurs.
‘We’ll be back to square one, though, once she knows Dad’s moving out.’
‘What was that?’
We swing round. Mum is standing in the doorway, looking from me to Rosie and back to me.
Oh, bugger!
‘Think you’d better sit down, Mum,’ says Rosie, while I fuss around nervously, making a pot of tea.
‘The thing is, Mum,’ I say at last, sitting beside her and taking her hand. ‘I went to see Dad yesterday and he told me he needs some time alone. So he’s going to move into a B&B. Just for now, until he’s sorted his head out.’
She takes the news better than I imagined she would.
‘I had a feeling that’s what he would do.’ She gives me a brave smile. ‘You can’t be married to someone for all those years and not develop an ability to second guess their actions. The poor man must have been at his wits’ end to walk out like that.’
‘I think he was,’ murmurs Rosie. ‘But it wasn’t just because of you.’
‘I know. It was Jack’s birthday.’ She shakes her head. ‘Do you know, I was so wrapped up in my own misery, I never even worked out that my darling Jack would have been twenty-one.’
‘Neither did we.’ I press her hand. ‘It’s going to be okay, Mum. We’ll look after you.’
She turns to me, and a single tear slides down her carefully powdered cheek. ‘I know you will, my love. You always have.’
‘How do you fancy having Josh and I to stay with you for a week?’ says Rosie. ‘Just until Josh has to go back to school?’
Mum smiles. ‘I’d love that.’
‘You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you, Joshie?’ Rosie calls through to the living room. ‘To stay with your grandma for a bit?’
‘Yes please! Can we go to Santa’s Grotto now?’
Rosie laughs. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘I’ll just go and get him ready,’ says Mum.
I gaze after her in amazement. ‘I think we’ve just witnessed a Christmas miracle.’
Rosie nods. ‘I can’t believe she mentioned Jack’s name. As Josh would say: Yay!’
Once they’ve departed for the grotto, I make some tea and Mum and I sit chatting on the sofa.
Incredibly, the subject is Jack. And Mum is the one who initiates it.
‘He was so cheeky and full of life, wasn’t he? And ooh, wouldn’t he have loved that Christmas tree.’
‘He would.’ I smile. ‘Remember his pirate ship?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Her eyes light up. ‘We lost it that time and he was heartbroken.’
I feel the tears well up and decide not to mention Dad’s matchstick model of the ship. Mum’s putting on a brave front just now, but who knows how long it will last?
‘I felt so guilty, you know,’ she murmurs, staring at the tree.
‘Guilty about losing the pirate ship?’
There’s a faraway look on her face.
‘Mum?’
She turns.
‘Why did you feel guilty?’
‘Oh. Because I left you and Jack that day. I nipped next door to borrow that knitting pattern and Jack escaped into the garden. I should never have done that. It’s always bothered me.’ She takes my arm and leans closer. ‘I used to think Jack’s death was a punishment.’
‘Oh, Mum, no. Of course it wasn’t,’ I whisper, horrified.
She squeezes my arm. ‘I realise that now. But, at the time, I really believed I was a terrible person.’
My heart is banging uncomfortably against my
ribcage. How ironic that Mum should imagine she was to blame for Jack’s death. When all along, it was me.
I swallow with difficulty.
Forming the words is the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I have to say it. I have to tell her.
‘You weren’t to blame. It was all my fault Jack died.’ Her face swims in front of me, blurred by tears. ‘You’ve never said anything. But surely you must have blamed me?’
‘Blamed you?’ She sounds bewildered. ‘Why would I blame you, Lola?’
I take a deep breath, and it all comes out in a rush. ‘Because if I hadn’t forgotten about Jack and left him out there in the rain, he wouldn’t have caught measles the next day. And he wouldn’t have died.’
A strangled noise escapes and suddenly I’m sobbing my heart out, unable to stop.
Mum puts her arms round me and pulls me close and I cry even harder, all the pent-up guilt and emotion of the years since Jack died pouring out of me.
Mum keeps repeating something but I’m crying too loudly to hear her. I keep catching the words, ‘measles’.
After a while, I calm down and Mum hands me a tissue.
I give my nose an angry blow.
‘Did you hear what I was saying, Lola?’
I shake my head.
She holds my chin gently so I’m facing her. ‘Lola, Jack catching measles was nothing at all to do with him being outside in the cold that day. The disease would have been incubating in his system by then anyway. There was nothing anyone could have done to stop it.’
I stare at her. Could it be true?
Mum strokes my hair. ‘Grief plays tricks on our emotions, my love. You were only ten years old. You convinced yourself that you were guilty and that belief has stayed with you. You’ve punished yourself for too long, love. You absolutely weren’t to blame.’
The Christmas Eve shopping frenzy is reaching a climax.
I’m sitting at a corner table in the Lemon Tree Café, just off Pottersdale High Street, waiting for my cake and chamomile tea.
After Mum dropped her bombshell, I had to get away to think.
I couldn’t quite take in what she was telling me and, at first, I was pretty sure she was just trying to make me feel better. So I washed my face and told her I had some last-minute gifts to buy and that I’d see her and Rosie and Josh at home later.
I could tell she was worried about me. But she could see I needed time to think, so she let me go.
I caught the bus into Pottersdale, plunging myself into the sparkly Christmas wonderland of the snowy High Street, just wanting to melt in with the crowds.
I wandered around the streets, not really knowing where I was going, dodging passers-by in a weird sort of daze. I felt like I was dreaming. Floating, even.
And then I realised what the feeling was.
Relief.
I wasn’t responsible for Jack’s death.
A great swell of emotion rose up inside me, and I felt like laughing out loud.
All these years, I’d blamed myself for not looking after Jack when I should have been. Punishing myself for my selfishness. But I wasn’t guilty after all …
My chamomile beverage arrives in a little white teapot.
It reminds me of the tea set I had as a child. I used to pretend I was the café owner and I’d make ‘fairy tea’ for Jack, who was always my one and only customer. Fairy tea was just sugar and water but Jack always played his part and drank it.
I smile to myself.
That’s one of my precious memories of him.
Suddenly, I can’t wait to share it with Mum; to talk to her about Jack and find out what she remembers about him.
I glance at the door, wondering if I should go home now to see Mum.
There’s a woman standing just outside the café.
She has long, rather straggly black hair and massive sunglasses that seem to cover most of her face. Her cape is dark and so voluminous, she could be anything from a size six to a size twenty-six under there.
Weird.
I sip some of my chamomile tea. And then a voice I recognise says, ‘Lola!’
I look up.
It’s Trudy from the choir, beaming down at me. ‘I was sitting over there,’ she points, ‘but you didn’t notice. You were so deep in thought.’
I gulp. Trudy can probably read minds from a distance. She’s probably got a door-stop book on the subject.
‘Can I join you for a minute?’ She points at the chair opposite.
I push the seat out with my foot. ‘Of course.’
I smile at her guardedly. (If I smile too widely, she’ll think I’m hiding something … Christ, it’s exhausting.)
She sits down and peers at me. ‘You look pale. Have you had a shock?’
‘Er, you could say that.’
Mum’s bombshell revelation was definitely a stunner.
‘I’m guessing it wasn’t a bad shock.’
I stare at her, feeling mildly exasperated. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
She points over my head. ‘A bad shock would have taken your appetite away.’
A waitress sets a large slab of lemon drizzle cake in front of me.
I laugh, splitting the cake in two and offering her a piece. ‘Trudy, you scare people. Do you know that?’
She shrugs happily. ‘So how’s Seb?’
‘Er, fine?’
‘Don’t be so suspicious!’ laughs Trudy. ‘I was just wondering if you’d got together yet.’
I bark out a laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Well, you make it sound like us getting together is a foregone conclusion.’
‘But it is!’
‘And how do you make that out?’
She shrugs and takes a bite of cake. ‘It’s obvious.’
‘What’s obvious?’
‘The sexual chemistry.’
I splutter chamomile tea over the table.
My bright red complexion is a gift. I might as well have blurted out, Yes, you’re right, Trudy, I fancy the pants off him.
‘It’s not just sexual, of course,’ she’s pointing out confidently. ‘It’s also clear you really like each other. And once you stop thinking you’re not worthy of him, everything will turn out perfectly.’
I stare at her in disbelief. ‘Are you a witch or something?’
‘No. Just observant. Most people spend so much time worrying about stupid things, they can’t see what’s right in front of their noses.’ She pops the rest of the cake in her mouth. ‘Anyway, need to get on. Christmas shopping to do.’
I smile at her. ‘Hope you’re in fine voice for the carol singing finale tonight?’
‘Town hall, here we come!” She clears her throat and launches into ‘Ding Dong Merrily On High’.
Everyone turns to stare.
Luckily she stops after the second line.
‘See you later!’ She whisks off, brushing past the black-haired stranger who’s still lingering just outside the door.
I watch as the woman pops her head out into the street and darts back again.
She must be waiting for someone.
When I leave five minutes later, she’s still there, blocking the entrance.
‘Excuse me.’ I touch her arm.
‘Oh, sorry.’
The voice is familiar.
I do a double-take. ‘Crystal?’
‘Ye—I mean, no!’ she yelps. ‘Who the hell’s Crystal?’
I tug the black hair.
It slips, giving her a wonky fringe.
‘Get off!’ she hisses, angrily rearranging the wig.
‘Is that really you under there?’
Without the use of a mirror, she’s settled the fringe far too high, which makes her look a bit like a monk in drag.
‘Of course it’s bloody me. I’m sweating like a pig under this ridiculous garb.’
She darts her head out, mutters, ‘Shit!’ and darts back, trying to hide behind me.
I look out. Just in ti
me to see Nathan, in full running gear, sprint past, a statuesque blonde puffing along three seconds later in his wake.
‘Wait up, Nathan,’ the blonde whimpers. ‘These blisters are killing me.’
Crystal leans out and peers after them, over her unfeasibly large sunglasses.
‘Good disguise,’ I say admiringly. ‘So Nathan’s up to his old tricks again, is he?’
I’m surprised to find I feel quite sympathetic towards her. Perhaps I should buy her a chamomile tea or something.
‘Piss off, Lola.’
‘Righto. But I’m telling you something for nothing. You’re better off without that health freak nutter.’
Her glum expression says she’s not about to argue with that.
She sighs. ‘Did he make you do the lake swim?’
‘Oh, God, that lake swim. Worst three hours of my entire life. I once had a tooth abscess that needed bursting. That was almost as painful.’
‘Mountaineering?’
I groan in sympathy. ‘Every bloody Saturday.’
‘And what about the beansprouts?’
‘He eats them at every meal.’
‘Even made a fruity version once.’
‘Lucky you.’
She nods.
‘And that sheep’s curd spread he makes?’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘What the hell’s that about?’
‘Yeah, it’s beyond horrible.’
We each ruminate a while on the total revoltingness of it.
Then Crystal says thoughtfully, ‘The other one’s not so bad.’
‘What other one?’
‘The creamy white spread? I quite like that one.’
I frown at her. ‘In the Tupperware with the red lid?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. It’s fine on crispbread.’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head. ‘That’s to smear on his athlete’s foot. It’s Nathan’s own concoction. He keeps it in the fridge to stop it going off.’
Her eyes widen. She stares at me, horrified.
Then she does a very realistic vomiting mime.
I press her arm kindly. ‘You’re far better off without him.’
I leave her standing there, stupefied, no doubt calculating how many times she’s had Nathan’s foot cream on toast.
I head for the bus station, my head a whirl of conflicting thoughts.
It’s great that Mum is up and about, joining in with everything again, but how she’ll cope without Dad fills me with dread. I’m not sure she’s absorbed the fact that he won’t be there at the house when she returns after Christmas.
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 26