***
The snow appeared to have no intention of relenting. Checking our diary it looked like Bernice didn’t have any clients this afternoon so I knew she would be getting back to the office soon. I gave her a call.
‘Hi Kate! I just got back and was about to call you. How did it go last night?’
‘Fine. Everyone seemed to really like him.’
Including his ex-wife.
‘Right,’ Bernice said slowly, and I could practically see her frowning down the phone. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I was getting at.’
‘Oh?’
‘Come on Kate! You, super hot ex Grinch, twinkly Christmas lights, open bar, good food… You can’t tell me nothing happened.’
‘Nothing happened.’
‘I just said you couldn’t tell me that.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, I just called to tell you to go home now. This weather’s getting ridiculous and I don’t want you stuck out somewhere.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. It’s fine. There’s nothing that can’t wait.’
‘I didn’t mean about work. I meant are you sure nothing happened, between you and him.’
I let out a sigh. ‘I think it’s safe to say that any woman would remember if something happened between her and Michael O’Farrell.’
‘You sure you didn’t have a few too many glasses of champers?’
‘Bernice. Really. Nothing happened. I actually left a little earlier than him in the end anyway.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes, alone. Now please, can we just move on?’
‘Of course. Are you seeing him again?’
So much for moving on.
‘No. There’s no need. The house is all done. I’d said something about helping him decorate the tree and stuff, but I’m pretty sure he’s got that covered now, so he’s all ready to go for Christmas.’
‘Right,’ she said again.
‘Just before you go, there’s a little something for you in my bottom drawer. You know where the keys are.’
‘Oh Kate. You shouldn’t have.’ It was one of those phrases that trips off the tongue, but in this case, I knew it was meant. It was one of the things I loved about my colleague and friend: Her honesty. Even when it meant she enquired a little further than I might have liked, it was all done with the best intentions and came from a good place.
‘You mustn’t open them until Christmas Day though!’
I heard a squeak. ‘That’s ages!’
‘It’s a few days!’ I replied, laughing at the level of excitement for the season Bernice still managed to achieve. When it came to Christmas, it was like she’d never got past aged five. In a good way. And I loved that.
She let out a sigh and I heard background noises as she found the key and opened my drawer. The deep file drawer held a bag full of goodies.
‘Not all of these?’
‘It’s just a few bits.’
‘Kate! It’s too much!’ Her voice was serious now.
‘No, it’s not. I’m not always the greatest at saying…stuff. And I just want you to know how much I value you and the huge contribution you’ve made towards the business and its success.’
‘Thank you.’ Bernice’s voice was soft and I could tell she had tears in her eyes. Admittedly, that was pretty easy to make happen. She was soft as a brush. Another thing I loved her for.
‘You’re welcome. Now go home to that lovely fiancé of yours and have a wonderful Christmas.’
‘Thank you Kate. You’re a very special person. I hope you know that.’
We said our goodbyes and I headed in the direction of the office, pulling my hat down further against the weather and making a couple of stops on the way for some food. I stood in the queue, glancing at the other shoppers with their trolleys piled high with festive fare. Placing my basket down on the self-service till, I scanned the few ready meals I’d chosen and prayed that today was the one time there wasn’t an ‘unexpected item in bagging area’ because right now, I really wasn’t in the mood.
When I finally got in, the office was quiet, most of our neighbouring businesses having closed for Christmas already or perhaps headed out for festive drinks. I switched on the little pre lit tree by the door, its glow casting enough light for me to do the things I needed to – grab some paperwork to work on over Christmas, collect the exquisitely wrapped gift Bernice had left for me and update our client spreadsheet. Quickly, I fired up the computer, opened the programme and scanned down to find Michael’s name. In the end column I put a tick: Project Completed. I hit ‘save’, made sure it updated and then closed everything down. As I left the office, I unplugged the tree, then shut and locked the door.
I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I wandered up and down Oxford Street and then made my way to Piccadilly and the huge bookshop in which I could quite happily spend an entire day. Or more, given the opportunity. Aimlessly wandering between the different genres, I ended up with an eclectic handful of reading matter. My phone beeped for the third time, notifying a missed call. Knowing Michael, he wouldn’t give up until he’d said what he had to say. Except that nothing he could say mattered now. I didn’t blame him for wanting to give things another go with his ex. They had history. Watching them last night, it was easy to see that familiarity, how well they fit together, how easily they remembered what they’d had. Yes, he’d flirted with me, but it was harmless. How was he to know what I felt for him? I hadn’t even known it for sure until I’d seen his ex standing there and realised that I’d left it too late.
My phone cheeped a text alert.
Katie. Just answer the damn phone, will you? Please! I need to talk to you!
I didn’t want to talk to him. I had no intention of embarrassing myself in front of him again and, if I actually spoke to him, I wasn’t entirely sure that wouldn’t happen but clearly I had to do something so I opted for another tactic. Settling into a bench seat in the basement café, I popped my books next to me. A sweet man brought my tray of tea and cake – needs must – out to me, laying it gently on the low table in front of me. I thanked him and pulled the phone from my bag. Opening my email account, I chose ‘new message’.
Dear Michael,
I’m sorry not to have got back to you today. It’s all been a bit of a rush with one thing and another.
This was sort of true. Besides, telling him that I didn’t get back to him because I might end up saying something I couldn’t take back and cause myself mortifying embarrassment as a result, wasn’t really the tone I wanted to go for.
Thanks for a lovely evening last night. As I said in the text, it seemed to be going well from what I saw, which was great! I know from your texts you feel bad that you didn’t see me home, but it was no problem. It’s not like we were on a date or anything so you have nothing to feel bad about. I had a lovely meal and met some very nice people – and I may have even got some work out of it, so I must thank you for that too.
I hope you are happy with how everything turned out at home and that you can now enjoy your beautiful house. I sincerely hope that your grandfather approves too when he visits you over the holidays. I’m sure he will. We were both a little (a lot!) sceptical at the beginning of this project – you as to how it all worked and me as to whether you would actually commit to it. But I think that we have both been pleasantly surprised – at least I know I have been. I’d like to say how much I enjoyed working on this project with you and helping you bring the house back to a place you love to be again.
I’d also like to thank you for giving Pilot a wonderful home. Please give him a hug from me.
And lastly, although this may not be my place to say, and perhaps I am overstepping the mark, but I saw the way your ex-wife looked at you last night and how you were together. I know she hurt you before but it’s clear that she wants to try again. I wish you all the luck and happiness in the world with this and for a wonderful, family Christmas in your ‘new’ home – as well as for the New Year and beyond.
Of course the next question was how I signed off. ‘Yours sincerely’ seemed way too formal, but ‘lots of love’, although nearer to the truth, was a definite no-no. I settled on ‘Best Wishes, Kate’.
My finger hovered over the send button. Goodbye Michael. The thought ran around in my head as I lowered my thumb onto the button and the message shot off into the ether.
Pouring my tea, I plopped in some milk, took a big forkful of lemon cake and picked up one of the books and started reading. Another pot and another slice of cake later and I thought I’d probably better start heading home. I took the books to the counter, paid and got my loyalty points, feeling slightly guilty but reasoning that they were Christmas gifts to myself. And if the festive TV schedule turned out to be a bit naff I at least had these and Netflix to disappear into as others around the country contemplated the wisdom of having eaten that ninth sausage roll.
The snow was still falling as I plodded down the stairs of the nearby Underground entrance, entering the swarming flow of humanity down there. A woman next to me slipped on the wet floor and I automatically put out a hand out to steady her.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled. I returned it, unable to dismiss the flash of joy at the thought that the Christmas spirit was apparently even permeating the depths of the Victorian tunnels, and causing a break in that cardinal sin of strangers actually talking on the Tube.
After arriving at my station, I marched carefully up the pavement, enjoying the sound of my boots crunching and squeaking on the freshly fallen snow. But no matter how much I tried to push them away, thoughts of Michael kept barrelling back in: his voice, his laugh, the way he’d pulled me closer to his body as he’d bent to talk to me last night. Tears pricked at my eyes and I knew that this time it wasn’t just from the cold weather.
Turning up the pathway of the flats, a gust of wind blew tiny shards of icicles and snowflakes across my face. Lowering my head against it, I shoved my hand into my bag to grab my keys. As I lifted my head back up, keys now gripped in one hand, I jumped. Sat on the front step of the building, looking decidedly damp, cold and serious – not to mention, wantonly gorgeous – was Michael. He stood as he saw me approach.
‘What are you doing out here?’ I asked. ‘You’ll catch your death!’
‘Waiting for you.’ He reached out and took the bags from me. ‘You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts so I came in person.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
I plugged the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door as another gust of wind practically blew us both in the door.
‘I did answer them.’
Sort of.
Michael frowned as he closed the door against the wind, putting some effort behind it. ‘Even when you were pissed off at me that first time I called, having sent Bernice back, you picked up the phone. You’ve never avoided me before, even when you hated me. But now you do?’
‘I told you I was busy. I wasn’t…specifically avoiding you.’
Nice one, Pinocchio.
‘And I never hated you.’
‘There was a rumour you wanted to hit me with a snow shovel.’
‘Yes. Well. All right. There were moments that might have crossed my mind.’
A ghost of a smile played on his lips and I wanted to catch it with my own and trap it there. I looked away.
‘And like I said, I did reply to you.’ I cast a glance back out of the glass doors. ‘That snow’s not letting up. You should get –’
‘This is the reply you’re referring to?’ He held up his phone, the email I had sent from the bookshop open on it.
I headed towards the stairs, avoiding the lift as I always did. And having just snarfed two pieces of cake, probably the best option anyway.
‘Yes. See? Not ignoring you at all.’ I turned on the stair and leant to take the bags back from him.
He inched them back out of my reach. ‘I’ll bring them. We’re not done talking yet.’
I lifted my gaze to his and he met it evenly. The green eyes softened for a moment and he lifted his free hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin.
‘You’ve been crying. I thought it was just the wind blowing at you out there, making your eyes water.’
‘It was. Is.’ I turned, causing his hand to drop as I moved quickly up the flights of stairs and on towards my flat. Unlocking it, I thought about trying again to get rid of Michael. A quick glance revealed he was still studying me and I knew that look: He wasn’t going anywhere until he was done. I let out a sigh, stood back to let him in and closed the door. Best just to get it over with. I pulled off my hat, shucked my coat and hung everything up.
‘Jesus, what did you do?’ Michael’s hand caught my chin and he tilted my face to the light a little more.
‘What?’ And then I remembered. ‘Oh, that,’ I said, my fingers automatically going to the apparently noticeable bump on my forehead. I winced as I touched it. Bloody hell. I really hope it didn’t look as big as it felt. ‘I sort of head butted a pole on the Tube.’ I met his eyes. ‘Accidentally. Obviously.’
A flicker of a smile played around the corners of his luscious mouth at my clarification. ‘Get some ice on it. It’ll help take the swelling down.’
My eyes ran over him.
‘Talking of ice, you look frozen.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Do you want a hot drink? I can – ’
‘Katie. Stop. Please. Just talk to me.’ His hand was encircling my wrist, just lightly, keeping me from turning my back again.
‘What is it you want me to say that I haven’t said?’ I’d planned that to come out as strong and neutral. But my voice betrayed me, cracking on the last words.
He shook his head, the hint of smile back on his lips, but tinged this time with a sadness I couldn’t explain. ‘Oh Katie, there’s so much I want you to say.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Michael took a couple of steps backward, lowering himself so that he was resting on the arm of my couch. As he hadn’t let go, I had no alternative but to follow. And now I was looking directly into those captivating eyes.
‘You once accused me of not knowing anything about you and making a judgement anyway. I was wrong to do that and I promised myself I’d never do that again. But now you’re doing the same thing.’
‘No…I’m…’
He reached around and undid the clip that had been securing my hair. It tumbled down my back and gently, distractedly, he took a length and wrapped it around his fingers, letting it slide between them. Part of me wanted him to stop and part of me wanted him never to.
‘I had no idea Angeline was going to be there last night.’
‘I know. That was obvious from your face.’
‘Apparently she didn’t just “happen” to be there, like she said. She wangled a ticket from someone, because she wanted to talk to me. If she’d have come to the house, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. So she wanted it to be on neutral ground, to catch me off guard. Which she did.’
I nodded, having forcibly unlocked my gaze from the tractor beam of his.
‘You’re right. She does want to get back together.’
I knew it. Of course I did. But having him confirm it, with his hand resting on my wrist, his fingers playing with my hair…
I pushed away. ‘That’s great Michael. Like I said in the email, I’m really happy for you. But I do kind of have some stuff to do so…’
When I looked up his face was tense, the chiselled features setting back into hard lines. He ran a hand over his now short hair.
‘Katie I got hurt before and I swore I’d never go through that again.’
‘I’m sure she’s realised that and – ’
‘Jesus, woman. Will you just let me say what I’m trying to say?’ Exasperation broke in his voice, as, with two strides, he closed the space between us.
I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again. Michael’s han
ds cupped my face and he lowered his head, his lips brushing mine, soft at first, and then deepening into something more as he pulled me towards him, his arms wrapping around me, crushing me against him, as his lips moved from my mouth to my throat.
‘Michael?’ I forced out, using every bit of willpower I had to interrupt his touch.
He pulled away, his eyes searching mine. ‘Katie, I don’t want Angeline. For a moment last night I thought maybe there was a chance. But it literally only lasted a moment. It was like a flash of something from before. Something that’s gone and can never be brought back.’
‘Do you wish it could?’ As painful as the answer might be, I had to know.
‘No,’ he answered. There was no hesitation. He tipped my chin up. ‘No, I don’t. Angeline is the same as she ever was. And once I thought that was what I wanted. That she was what I wanted. But she’s not. She was never right for me. Everyone tried to tell me but I was young and stupid and I thought I knew better. Now I do know better. She’s bored with her banker now. He makes a tonne of money, but he can’t make her laugh. So now she’s thinking maybe the grass wasn’t so green over there after all. But it’s too late, because, to keep up with the metaphor, I’ve moved onto pastures new.’ He bent slowly and kissed my cheekbone. ‘At least I’d like to.’
I frowned.
‘What?’ he asked, pulling away and standing up straighter.
‘If I’m the new pasture, that gives a distinct whiff of me sounding like cattle.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you did to me but until you came along, I had the gift of the gab with women. Then you ruined it all.’
I grinned. ‘Good.’
He shook his head at me, the half-smile teasing his face. ‘OK. Let’s put this out there clearly: I am not referring to you as anything remotely bovine.’
‘Good,’ I repeated.
‘I do, in fact, think you are the most beautiful, funny, intelligent, witty, talented and loving woman I have ever met. I’ve been in love with you since about five minutes into your first visit. A situation which frankly frightened the bloody life out of me and I had no idea what to do with that for a while. It scared me to feel what I did, what I do for you. But I couldn’t bear not to see you again. And I’m forever grateful that you didn’t just tell me to bugger off. And if you feel even a fraction for me of what I feel for you, I’d be happy until the end of my days. Katie I don’t want someone who’s just a pretty face any more. I want someone who drives me crazy in all ways, good and bad, someone who knows the meaning of family, and values it as much as I do, and someone who can flat out tell me when I’m being an arse, which with your help, will hopefully get a lot less often.’
Christmas Project, The Page 28