by Fiona Harper
She ran a hand across her forehead. ‘Most of them, probably. But I was referring to what I said in the summer, about the giant stick and your...posterior.’
That hadn’t been the word she’d used at the time, of course. His lips twitched. ‘Thank you. I didn’t know you’ve been paying it enough attention to reconsider the matter.’
Gemma blinked. That hadn’t just been an acceptance of an apology. That had sounded suspiciously like flirting.
Her cheeks reddened, even though she was a champion flirt, and hadn’t got tongue-tied around men for over thirty years. ‘Neither did I. But obviously I must have.’
Alrighty, then... And that sounded suspiciously like flirting back. Not what she’d planned to say at all. She should probably just usher him out the door and close it behind him. Firmly.
But instead she said, ‘Listen, there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge and I think if any evening qualified a calming drink, it’s this one. Would you—’ she gestured towards the kitchen ‘—care to join me?’
* * *
SHE POURED A GENEROUS amount of wine into Will’s glass, then her own, and sat down at the kitchen table. Just the lights under the cabinets were on. Juliet had hung little handmade tree ornaments from the cupboard handles—little gingham hearts and felt stars—and it all looked very cosy and Christmassy. She wished she had some mulled wine to sip or a mince pie to eat, but she had only managed to find two boxes at the local supermarket and she was saving them for tomorrow.
Or today, she realised, as the hand on the kitchen clock swept towards one.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she said to Will, raising her glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’
He looked steadily at her. ‘A truce?’
Gemma laughed. ‘I suppose so...seeing as it’s already crept up on us.’
Will just smiled. ‘How have the Christmas preparations been going?’
‘It’s been a nightmare,’ she said, taking a slurp of her drink. ‘After going to the supermarket this morning I tidied up the house—up to “Juliet” standards, mind you! —and then I realised I didn’t know where she’d hidden the kids’ Christmas presents. It took me two hours to find where she’d stashed them, and when I’d finished tearing the place apart I had to tidy the whole house a second time.’
‘And what about the food? Did you come up with any more solutions?’
Gemma sighed. ‘Yes, sort of.’ It had put her full set of improvisational and creative skills to use. Catering for crowds was not something she was used to, especially not when the whole menu had gone out the window. ‘I had to phone the two au pairs from Juliet’s church and put them off, but I couldn’t do that to Mrs Waterman or Uncle Tony and his girlfriend, so they’ll just have to eat what they’re given. We’ll have food, but it won’t be Juliet’s planned-to-perfection menu. It’ll be a little more...’
‘Ad hoc?’ Will suggested.
Gemma chuckled. ‘I was going to go with inedible, but your word is definitely better.’
She was aware that his feet were now much closer to hers and tucked hers back under her chair. ‘I tried at the greengrocer’s but I couldn’t find the other veggies I wanted for love nor money. It’s a pity about the parsnips, but I don’t really mind about the Brussels sprouts, seeing as everyone hates them.’
Will just grimaced.
Gemma looked at him in horror. ‘You like them, don’t you?’
‘Fraid so,’ he replied, shrugging one shoulder. ‘Don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
‘Weirdo,’ she said.
‘Freak,’ he countered.
She picked up a satsuma from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table and lobbed it half-heartedly at him. He didn’t even need to dodge it, because it flew right past him and rolled along the kitchen floor until it hit the skirting board.
‘I thought we’d declared a truce,’ he said, looking totally unconcerned.
‘We have. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep you on your toes,’ she said airily. ‘Anyway... Aside from the chicken, I’m going to cook one dish from scratch, but it’s going to have to be the bread sauce, because that’s all I’ve got the ingredients for.’
‘Christmas isn’t Christmas without bread sauce,’ Will said very seriously.
Gemma gave him a look.
‘What? You think I’m a freak for liking bread sauce too?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I love bread sauce. I was just taken aback by the fact we’ve finally found something we agree on.’
He didn’t reply and he didn’t smile, but that rusty warmth came back into his brown eyes. Gemma suddenly found the inside of her wine glass very fascinating. And while she was looking at the Chardonnay, a thought crept up on her. One that she hadn’t entertained before, because—frankly—she hadn’t wanted to.
‘Will...?’ she said, looking up at him from under her lashes. ‘Do you have plans for tomorrow?’
She knew the answer, of course.
He shrugged. ‘I do.’
‘Spending the day in front of the TV with a Chinese feast for one and a bottle of red wine doesn’t count,’ she told him.
He looked away. ‘It would be a very peaceful way to spend the day after all the blown fuse boxes, missing turkeys, kamikaze shopping trips and runaway teenagers.’
‘I know Juliet invited you,’ she said, tapping the notebook, which was lying in the middle of the kitchen table. ‘But you never mentioned it.’
‘Ah.’
She didn’t press for a more verbose answer. She knew what he’d been doing. He’d been being gallant and keeping out of her way. She’d assumed they’d come to a silent agreement that it just wouldn’t be a good idea, but now it seemed mean. And petty.
‘Please come,’ she said, lifting her head and looking at him properly now, asking him with her eyes long after her mouth had stopped moving. ‘Juliet wanted it that way, and without your help we’d all be eating in the dark after cooking the chicken by candlelight, or trawling the local woods for a lost teenager. You deserve to come.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want the pity invite because you think I’ve earned it.’
Gemma’s shoulders sagged and she looked heavenward. Okay, a truce meant no outright warfare, but obviously the pair of them still had issues. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
He raised just one eyebrow, a trick she’d always wanted to be able to pull off and had never been able to. ‘Then what did you mean?’
‘I meant...’ She took a deep breath. There was no point being slick or clever with this man; he spotted all her tricks a mile off. So she decided the simple truth would just have to do. ‘I meant that I want you to come.’
There. She’d said it. Admitted it out loud. To both him and herself.
The eyebrow sank down into its normal position. ‘Then I would be delighted to join you. And I have a chicken in my freezer I could defrost overnight. Two birds have to be better than one. We could cook them together...’
For some reason Gemma flushed. ‘No, it’s okay. I told Juliet I’d handle the cooking and I will.’ For some reason that was very important now.
His mouth curved up on one side. ‘I meant in the same oven.’
‘Oh.’ Great. Now she was sounding like a flustered schoolgirl. ‘Oh, okay. Marvellous idea.’ She searched the room, looking for something to hang the next thread of conversation on, and her eyes fell on the bottle of wine on the counter. ‘Top up?’
She didn’t wait for his answer, but jumped up and filled both their glasses anyway. Neither of them spoke for a few moments; they just sipped their wine, and although Gemma tried to avoid eye contact she found she couldn’t help glancing his way every few seconds.
Will put his glass down and looked intently at her. ‘I had the wrong idea about you, d
idn’t I?’
‘A lot of people do,’ she replied grudgingly. ‘And I know where they get it from—my sister.’ Gemma pushed her chair back and stood up, taking her wine glass with her. For some reason she needed to walk, to pace, as she thought this one out. ‘I know I deserve some of the stuff she says about me, but I’m not as bad as she thinks I am.’
‘It’s a sibling thing,’ Will said sympathetically.
She stopped walking and looked at him. ‘Have you got brothers and sisters?’
He nodded. ‘One of each, but it’s my sister who’s the worst. She’s younger than me, but she’s a psychologist, so not only is she always analysing me, she’s always trying to fix me too.’
Gemma smiled. ‘Welcome to the club.’ And they both grinned at each other.
‘Juliet thinks I was the favourite,’ she told him sadly. ‘And I suppose it must have looked that way, because Mum and Dad did dote on me, but I know my parents loved her.’ She frowned. ‘For some reason, Mum was always harder on her than me, but I never understood why. She would get told off over the slightest things and I got away with blue murder. Looking back, I can see how unfair it was. But they were unfair to me too...’
Will stood up and leaned against the kitchen counter across from her. ‘Really?’
‘They kept secrets from me,’ she said, the corners of her mouth pulling down. ‘Juliet told me as much, and it makes sense of why, even though my parents were wonderful, sometimes I felt a bit...removed...from everything, like I was an outsider.’
He didn’t say anything, but his expression told her he was ready to hear what she wanted to say. That struck a chord deep down inside. When did Juliet ever really listen to her? She always filtered everything Gemma did through her own perceptions, hearing what she wanted to hear, seeing what she wanted to see.
‘I know why they did it,’ she said quietly and looked away. ‘They didn’t think I was strong enough or capable enough to deal with them.’ That had always been Juliet’s assigned role. She glanced back over at him. ‘And I am, you know. Look at the job I do! It’s really demanding and I’m really good at it, but my family could never see that. To them I’ve always been little Gemma—all fluff and no substance...’
She shook her head and turned away, reaching for the wine bottle and topping herself up a bit to give herself something to do, then she let out a long sigh. ‘Whatever... I’m used to it now. I don’t care.’
When she turned round, rested her bum against the counter and mirrored Will’s pose, he was watching her. Yes, you do, his eyes seemed to say. ‘Have you ever told Juliet any of this?’
She shook her head. ‘I tried to before Christmas, but you know what it’s like with families, you get so used to a certain dynamic, especially when you grow up with it, that you forget that maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.’ She sighed. ‘We ended up having a huge row about the same old things and not resolving anything.’
She stared into her wine glass. ‘I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better. I am who I am, Will. No matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to live up to Juliet’s high standards. She won’t even relax them for herself, so what chance do I have? It’s easier to just...’
‘Run away?’ he said. His tone was light, but the warmth had left his eyes. ‘You sound like someone else I used to know.’
‘I don’t run away,’ she said, her voice dropping lower. Not unless she was pushed, anyway.
‘No? Then how many relationships have you had that lasted more than six months?’ Gone was the receptive silence. He was starting to sound like Juliet again.
‘Not many.’ But that didn’t mean anything. ‘What are you trying to say?’
She could feel his eyes boring into her. ‘That you’re one of those people.’
Gemma stopped resting on the counter and stood up taller. ‘What kind of people?’
He shook his head slightly. ‘The kind who never lets anyone close.’
Gemma opened her mouth to disagree, to say that was Juliet’s problem, not hers, but never made it to the words and syllables stage. Wasn’t that exactly what Michael had said to her, that she held part of herself back from him? It had been such a shock at the time and she’d instantly dismissed the comment as untrue.
Will must have seen a flicker of agreement in her expression, because he carried on. ‘The kind who runs if anyone even tries to get close.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not true. Yes, I’ve had a lot of relationships that fizzled out after a few months, but it wasn’t all me. In fact, most of the time, they bailed before I did.’
Before I did.
The words hung between them in the air.
Those flaky men she always seemed to conveniently pick... The ones who were guaranteed to give up quickly, who’d never ask too much of her.
Gemma ignored the little nugget of truth she’d stumbled onto and barrelled on. ‘For your information, I thought the last serious boyfriend I had was The One, but he dumped me, so your little theory is wrong, okay?’ And she turned away and drank her wine so he couldn’t see the sheen on her eyeballs.
And what was so wrong with not letting people get close too quickly? She thought it was a pretty sensible reaction when the people closest to you were always judging you and finding you wanting.
She put her wine glass down on the counter and glared at him. ‘With Michael I tried and he still left. I wouldn’t have run from him, not if he’d give me the chance not to.’ Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence and she filled with shame.
She’d expected to see that same condemning frown Will often wore, but instead the stiffness had gone from his features. He was looking at her like he understood every word she was saying.
Ah.
‘Who was she?’ she asked quietly, and watched him flinch in surprise.
‘Who was who?’ He said it so lightly, so nonchalantly. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who could gloss over the truth and pretend she didn’t care.
‘The woman who ran from you?’
Will went very still. He didn’t say anything and his expression glazed over.
‘Come on,’ Gemma said. ‘I’ve spilled my guts, now it’s your turn.’
He stayed that way for a long time, but then he inhaled sharply and his eyes focused on her once again. ‘Her name was Samantha. We were together for three years, and when I asked her to marry me, she disappeared in the middle of the night and never came back.’
Ouch.
Gemma found she didn’t have a glib retort. Not when she could see the bleakness in his eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, meaning it, even though it sounded like the sort of throwaway comment people said when they didn’t know how to respond.
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t you.’
And that wasn’t a throwaway response, either. The way he was looking at her told her he understood that she’d done some stupid—and some downright insensitive—things in her time, but she’d never done that. Never would.
It made her feel warm all over.
She blamed it on the wine.
Things were getting too serious here. Too uncomfortable.
Too close.
She deliberately looked at the clock. Christmas Day was well underway. ‘I’d better call it a night,’ she said, draining her glass. ‘I’ve got an insane amount of things to get done in the morning.’
Will nodded, accepting the out she’d offered him, even though he didn’t take his eyes from her as he put down his glass and walked across the kitchen. She followed him to the front door. As he turned to go, she realised she had one more thing she needed from this evening, one more truth, and Will seemed to be the only person who was willing to give that to her.
She took a deep breath and asked, ‘Does it seem like I “hold back” to y
ou?’
Much to her surprise Will started to laugh. ‘If this is you holding back, I think I ought to start running now.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BARELY A FEW HOURS after she’d said goodbye to Will, Gemma was in a deep sleep. Her dreams were filled with all the Christmas preparations of the last week—coloured Christmas lights that slithered around the house like snakes, Brussels sprouts falling from the sky like snow, and a turkey she was chasing round an empty supermarket, but every time she dived for it, it scooted away on its plump little plucked drumsticks, laughing.
She heard a pounding noise behind her and turned. It was getting louder, coming closer, and it sounded very much like...reindeer hooves?
Then she was back in bed, the fluorescent lights of the supermarket gone and something akin to a large sack landed on her chest. Then a second sack dropped, almost winding her.
Santa?
But now the sacks had knees and elbows and they were giggling and whispering at a level that was closer to shouting. Gemma opened her eyes and lifted her head. The bedroom door was half open, and in the gloom she could see two identical smiles, Cheshire Cat-like in their brilliance, and two pairs of beady, glittering eyes.
‘Merry Christmas, boys,’ she croaked, and flopped her head back down onto the pillow, letting her eyelids slide closed.
‘Santa’s been! Santa’s been!’ they chorused, and the mattress began to reverberate with their barely contained excitement.
‘No bouncing!’ She still had the bruises from last time.
The twins stop moving up and down, but they started poking her instead. Her eyelids sprung open.
‘Can we open our stockings, Auntie Gemma?’ Josh said.
She propped herself up on one elbow and twisted to look at the alarm clock. Ugh. Five thirty. Still, she supposed she was lucky they lasted this long. An instinct told her there was no point sending these two back to bed to get more sleep.
‘We always open our stockings on Mummy’s bed,’ Jake explained. ‘She likes to see what Santa brought us.’
Gemma smiled. She already knew exactly what was in each parcel, as Juliet must have done in previous years. It wasn’t the presents she’d wanted to see, but the delight on her children’s faces, and since Gemma had been responsible for buying at least half the contents, she discovered she was looking forward to that too, despite the fact dawn was still hours away.