Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

by Fiona Harper

  All the sloshing and splashing stopped. She didn’t alter the angle of her head, but somehow he could tell that her focus was no longer off in the distance. She was aware of him. And, somehow, that made him aware of her too.

  Suddenly, she started washing the plate she was holding again. When it must have been scrubbed clean of every last speck of food, she placed it on the drying rack with exquisite care, then turned to face him wiping the bubbles off her hands with a tea towel.

  ‘All finished?’

  He nodded.

  A million snatches of small talk whizzed round his head, but meaningless words weren’t his forte. And Louise didn’t seem to require any. She gave him a look—not quite a smile, more an expression of openness, of welcome—and reached for a large brown teapot.

  When he’d been married to Megan, he’d got used to having an arsenal of such phrases for the moment when he walked through the door. She always needed him to say something, to pay her attention, to make her feel noticed. Not that he hadn’t noticed her or hadn’t loved her. It was just that he was better at showing rather than saying. But Megan had never been able to understand that. When he’d tried to do nice things for her, she’d hardly noticed, like he’d been speaking a foreign language. So, he’d adapted, because she was his wife, and it had been what she’d needed from him.

  Louise motioned for him to sit at the chunky kitchen table and started rummaging in a cupboard. After what he’d seen the other day, he wouldn’t have been surprised if this woman was thoroughly fed up of being noticed, so he did nothing to break the wonderful stillness that surrounded her. He just drank it in and slowly felt his muscles relax. She handed him a mug of tea, sweetened to perfection, then pottered round the kitchen.

  Rampaging children, however, could not be counted on to be so restful. Jas and Jack stormed into the kitchen just as the last knot was about to ease from his shoulders.

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry!’

  Even when she smiled, wide and full, as she was doing now, she still had a sense of elegance and poise that he’d rarely seen. At first he’d labelled it standoffishness, but he’d been wrong. She was merely reserved, shy even. But he could understand how people who didn’t know her better, people who’d probably decided she was an attention hungry bimbo, could misinterpret it as snootiness. Louise Thornton was indeed an intriguing mix of contradictions.

  But she didn’t look very snooty now, smiling down at her son. ‘You’re always hungry,’ she said.

  ‘Can we have some cake? Please? After all, we’ve got guests.’ Jack looked hopefully at Ben and Jasmine, and Ben chuckled. Having been a hollow-legged boy once himself, he was pretty sure Jack’s request wasn’t entirely altruistic. However, he wasn’t about to talk himself out of a nice piece of cake, so he watched for Louise’s reaction.

  She rolled her eyes and pulled a large tin off the counter—the item she’d been rummaging for earlier. Clever woman. She’d been prepared.

  When she opened the lid the most delicious smell hit his nostrils: treacle and walnuts and warm November evenings by the fire. He almost had to wipe the drool from his mouth with his sleeve by the time a large chunk was handed to him on a plate. He didn’t waste any time doing it justice.

  Now, he could make a decent casserole and a great roast dinner, but baking evaded him entirely. This must have been a prize-winning, locally-made example. As he bit into it, he was almost tempted to growl with pleasure. Light moist cake with dense spicy flavours and the earthiness of walnuts teased his taste buds. Almost half the slice was gone already. Would it be rude to ask for another one? He looked over at Jack, who had cleaned his plate, but was wearing a significant amount of crumbs over his face and down his front. Now, there was a lad who could be counted on to ask for more. All Ben had to do was hop on the bandwagon when the opportunity came.

  Jack opened his mouth and Ben swallowed his last mouthful, confident that his plate would not lay desolate for long.

  ‘So, can we go to the fireworks, Mum? Please?’

  Louise frowned and put the lid on the cake tin. Ben felt taste buds whimper in protest.

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. I thought we could watch from upstairs. That way we might get to see more than one display.’

  Jack pursed his lips. ‘Jas says there’s going to be hot dogs on the village green. Can’t we go and have hot dogs?’

  She looked pained as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, darling. After the way that photographer … Well, it’s just better we stay here where no one will see us.’

  Jack’s face fell and Louise’s was a mirror image of misery. Ben wished there was something he could do. It was criminal that a mother and son couldn’t do something as simple as watch a firework display without being hounded. He remembered only too well how hard he’d had to work not to stay inside every evening and mope when his divorce had been fresh and raw. With the extra pressures on Louise, he could see her turning into a hermit. And that wouldn’t be good for her son, either.

  Jack slumped forward on the kitchen table, his chin in his hands and his bottom lip sticking out. Ben stared at the wall straight in front of him, racking his brain for a solution. Slowly, the pegs containing hats and coats and scarves near the back door came sharply into focus. He stood up.

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  The other three stopped talking and looked at him. He grinned, walked over to the row of pegs and pulled off a fluffy, knitted hat and matching scarf. ‘Come with me,’ he said as he walked back towards Louise, whose eyes were wide and round, then he linked the tips of his fingers with hers and pulled her up to stand.

  Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

  He tugged her in the direction of the hallway, to the large gilt mirror he’d seen hanging there on his very first visit after Louise had moved in. He stood behind her and, while she continued to stare at him in the mirror, he pulled the dusky purple hat over her head. It was one of those tight-fitting ones with no embellishment or bobbles, and the crocheted hem came down level with her eyebrows.

  Better. But she still looked like Louise Thornton. He scowled at her reflection and her eyebrows raised so they disappeared under the hat. It was the hair. That long, glossy dark hair was her trademark—instantly recognizable, indefinably her.

  He brushed the hair framing her face back behind her ears and twisted the strands into a loose plait, something he’d done countless times with Jas. When his gaze flicked up to the mirror again, she was staring at their reflections, her mouth slightly open, and then she shivered and shook his hands away from her shoulders. He broke eye contact and busied himself wrapping the scarf once, twice, around her neck, letting it stand up so it covered the lower half of her face. Somehow his hands had made their own way back on to her shoulders with the flimsy pretence of keeping the scarf in place.

  Only the eyes gave her away now, but there wasn’t much he could do to diminish their impact. She could hardly wear sunglasses on a chilly autumn evening. That would only draw more attention to her.

  ‘There.’

  She was motionless, the only movement her eyes as they flicked between her own reflection and his. ‘I’m wearing a hat and scarf. Is that your stunning plan?’

  ‘No one will be able to pick you out of a crowd in this. It’s going to be almost pitch-dark, after all. Top it off with a big, dark coat and you’ll look just like the rest of us.’

  ‘I am like the rest of you.’

  He knew celebrities weren’t a different breed of human being, so he could almost agree. But there was something about Louise Thornton that defied explanation, that made her unlike anyone he had ever met before. And he really hoped he didn’t feel that way because she was famous. He didn’t want to be that shallow.

  They stared at each other in the mirror a good long time. Her shoulders rose and fell beneath his hands.

  ‘Mum, look!’

  The stillness was shattered and suddenly he was moving away and Jack and Jasmine were running into the hallway, bundled up in
coats and hats and jumping up and down. Jack was tall for his age, and Jasmine petite, making them almost the same height. It took a few seconds for him to realise that Jack’s over-excited squeaking was coming from underneath Jasmine’s hat and scarf. Louise looked from one child to the other and burst out laughing. She pulled the fluffy hat with ear-flaps up by its bobble until she could see her son’s eyes.

  ‘If you’d have kept quiet, I’d have had no idea that you two had switched coats!’

  Jack jumped up and down. ‘Can we go? Can we?’

  Louise rolled her eyes again. ‘Okay, we’ll go.’

  Their cheers echoed round the tall hallway and up the elegant sweep of the stairs. Pounding footsteps followed as they raced back into the kitchen. ‘You can wear your own coats and hats, though,’ Louise called after them.

  When the silence returned, she looked at him. ‘Do you really think it’ll work?’

  ‘Of course, everyone is going to be craning their necks and looking up at the sky. They won’t even pay attention to who’s standing next to them. And, let’s face it, it has to be a better disguise than your last attempt!’

  She pulled the hat off her head and spent a few seconds de-fluffing her hair. ‘You don’t beat around the bush much, do you?’

  He shook his head. Why waste time using inefficient words when you could use a few that hit straight to the heart of the matter?

  Louise unwound the scarf and held it, together with the hat. ‘Was it really that bad?’

  He nodded, and tried very hard not to smile. ‘You looked like a celebrity trying very hard to not look like a celebrity. I mean, a pink tracksuit with the word “juicy” splashed all over the … um … back.’

  She gave him a knowing look. ‘Oh, you noticed that, did you?’

  He knew he shouldn’t, but he grinned back at her. ‘It was hard not to.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  25th June, 1952

  I know I wrote at length about how I wasn’t going to attend the blasted party in London, but in the end I couldn’t stop myself. It was another chance to see Dominic. How could I have stayed away?

  But after the events of this evening I wish I had.

  I realise now that I’d been holding on to some foolish hope that fate would intervene somehow, that all the very real obstacles to our being together would just melt away, and that I’d finally be able to have him. Perhaps Alex is right. Perhaps my job means that I do spend much of my time living in a fantasy land. Well, reality hit home this evening, and it was a stinging and unpleasant slap.

  Alex came with me, and Dominic brought Jean. There was an awful moment when we met in the hotel foyer and exchanged pleasantries. I had rush of feeling at seeing him again, but it was instantly dashed away by a horrible sense of discomfort. I felt as if something was climbing around inside, clawing away at me.

  It’s wrong, I thought, to be standing here beside my husband, watching your wife with her arm linked through yours, and to want you so desperately I can’t see straight.

  I hated her. I know it’s awful to admit it, she’s done nothing to me—nothing!—and I am the witch in this scenario, but I really hated her at that moment. I hated her for meeting him first, for tricking him into loving her. I hated her for being able to touch him when I couldn’t.

  Most of all I hated myself.

  Alex has been lovely since I’ve come home. He’s seen me moping around and thought it was something to do with him, all the travelling he’s been doing. And he’s tried, really tried. He’s even changed his mind about trying for a baby.

  It’s so unfair. Why couldn’t he have done this before? It’s too late now. I can never go back to how I was before Dominic. Even if he was the most perfect husband in the world to me now, I could never be the perfect wife to him.

  I thought seeing Dominic would stop me feeling so wretched, but I was wrong. I felt much more wretched after seeing him with his wife all night, being courteous and attentive, keeping his distance from me.

  Maybe it would have been better if I’d seen him look at her the way he’d looked at me down at Whitehaven, if I’d had a sense that I had just been a momentary madness on his part, but I didn’t.

  Once, just once, our eyes met across the top of the crowd, and it was all still there. Everything I’ve been dreaming about, plucking from my memories. I hadn’t exaggerated it at all in the week we’d been apart.

  But she saw me. Jean saw me look at Dominic, and I saw her eyes narrow and her hand clasp his arm more firmly. I saw her steer him away to another part of the room. They left shortly after that.

  I went out onto the terrace overlooking Park Lane and stood there on my own for a bit. There was a chill in the air that had been missing these last few months. Summer was finally over.

  I know I’ll never see him again.

  I could. If I wanted to. I could track him down, arrange to bump into him somewhere … But I won’t.

  As I stood there, I thought about all those times I’d ached for Alex to notice me more—to really see me. How I’d wanted him to speak or show his love somewhere other than the bedroom. I know what that’s like. How can I do to Jean what I know would have crushed me a few months ago? I can’t. And I can’t make Alex a laughing stock in front of the whole world. I might be emotional and impulsive, but I’m not heartless.

  So there’s only one thing left to do. I will stay with Alex. I will try to be a good wife to him, and I will have those babies I’ve always longed for. I’ve been working too hard these last few years. It’s time to take a break. And maybe, just maybe, with some time away from the madness of my profession, and a child to adore, I can build something with Alex that will last, even if it never will touch me to the depths of my soul.

  So, there’s only one thing I can do now. Only one thing left I can say …

  Goodbye, my darling Dominic.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘When are the fireworks going to start?’

  Louise looked first to the left and then to the right and clung a little harder on to the rope strung between rusting metal poles in front of her. Lower Hadwell’s village green bordered the river just upstream from the main jetty and the fireworks had been set up on the stony beach with a clear boundary marked out to stop excited children getting too close.

  ‘Twenty minutes.’ Ben’s voice was calm and reassuring, but it did nothing to soothe her. ‘Don’t worry.’ His hand rested lightly on her shoulder and she jumped.

  Don’t worry. That was easy enough to him to say. Every time he let his guard down, someone didn’t jump out in front of him a with a digital camera in hand. So, in recent years, Louise had just stopped letting her guard down at all in public, and when things had started going downhill with Toby, she’d kept it up at home too. Pretty soon it had become a habit that had been hard to break. As a result, the tabloids labelled her ‘stuck-up’ and ‘fake’.

  She sighed and, as her warm breath flowed out of her mouth, cool night air laced with wood smoke and sulphur filled her nostrils. She smiled.

  Her family had always attended the little firework display in the local park each November. The fireworks themselves hadn’t been all that spectacular, but her memories were of cosiness, laughter and a feeling of belonging.

  Then she’d met Toby and all that had changed.

  ‘Mum? Can I have a hot dog?’

  Louise blinked and then focused on Jack, who was tugging on one of her arms.

  ‘Pardon, sweetheart?’

  He tugged so hard she thought her shoulder would work loose from its socket. ‘I’m really hungry. Can I have a hot dog?’

  The smell of onions, caramelising as they cooked on the makeshift grill on the far corner of the green reached her nostrils. Hot on its tail was the aroma of herbs and meat. Her nose told her that, when Jack said ‘hot dogs’ he didn’t mean skinny little frankfurters but bulging meaty local sausages, bursting out of their skins and warming the soft, floury bread that surrounded them. Her mouth filled with saliva
.

  ‘Jack, you’re going to pull my arm off! Give me a second to think!’

  She was safe here at the front of the crowd. No one could see her face, only half-lit from the bonfire on her left. But over there by the grill, a generator grumbled as it provided power for a couple of harsh floodlights, making it bright as any catwalk she’d ever walked down when she’d been modelling.

  ‘Um …’

  Ben took hold of Jack’s hand, his eyebrows raised in a question as he searched her face. ‘Why don’t we let your mum save our spot here and we can go and get the hot dogs? If that’s okay with you …’ he added, a little more quietly as he leaned towards Louise.

  Her face relaxed and she breathed out. She nodded and almost sighed her response. ‘Thank you.’

  It was only when Ben and the two kids had disappeared through the crowd that she realised she should have asked him to get one for her too. She opened her mouth to yell, but stopped herself and pulled the hem of her hat down until it was touching the bridge of her nose. Too many faces.

  There were always too many faces these days. Yes, back in the beginning, she’d loved that aspect of her golden life with Toby. Dad had needed a lot of help when she’d been finishing secondary school and, after being in class so infrequently that some of the kids in her year hadn’t even known who she was, it had been nice to be recognised. But she’d underestimated just how addictive being noticed could be.

  Her first hit had been the adrenaline rush she’d had when that talent scout for a modelling agency had come up to her when she’d been working in the supermarket one Saturday afternoon. Within weeks she’d been flying round Europe for photo shoots, attending industry parties, meeting famous people …

  Dad had been so proud of her. And she’d ignored the guilt she’d felt at letting Sarah, the next oldest, slip into her Cinderella role whilst her big sister had danced away in an imaginary world where the clock never seemed to strike midnight.