‘Are there any tickets left?’ he asked.
‘Hope so,’ Marc said, pushing himself into an upright position. ‘I’m going to need a couple myself.’
Stephen spun his chair round to look at Marc, who winked before disappearing behind his own computer screen.
‘How come he knows so much about women?’ George asked after we had left Marc’s office. ‘All that about still seeing her as a woman and not just the mother of his child. Where’d he learn that from?’
‘He’s a modern man,’ I explained. ‘He’s in touch with his feminine side.’
‘His what?’
‘Modern men are different,’ I said.
George didn’t disagree.
‘Bit early for this, isn’t it?’ George said as he looked around the hall that was decked to the rafters with garlands and balloons. In the corner, a six-foot Christmas tree was decorated in red and gold. Beautifully wrapped boxes were stacked at the base.
‘They always have it on the first Saturday in December,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know why.’
Waitresses moved around the tables, serving a traditional turkey dinner to the merrymakers. George and I wandered around the room, searching out the table that Marc and Amy sat at. George pointed them out to me. Their heads were close as they spoke to each other in between mouthfuls.
I watched them for a moment.
‘See her?’ I pointed out a brunette in a low-cut red dress. ‘Last year she got rolling drunk and showed everyone her knickers when she was dancing.’
George nodded and probably wished that he had been there to see it.
‘And him.’ I squinted to see a man raising a pint glass to his mouth. ‘I think he’s the bloke who started a fight with someone he thought was ogling his wife.’
‘What are we doing here?’ George asked before I could start telling him about the Production Manager’s wife.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that if you came to see Marc and Amy, they’re over there.’
‘I know.’
With the speeches over it was time for dancing. It started slowly with just a few brave souls on the dance floor. Gradually, as the night progressed, more joined the brave. After half an hour, the party was in full swing. Never much of a dancer Marc stayed firmly in his seat until Suggs yelled the immortal words.
‘One step beyond …’
I nudged George. ‘He’ll be up now.’
We looked and sure enough, there were Marc and Stephen racing their way to the dance floor along with practically every other man in the room. Linda and Amy giggled as they followed.
I laughed. I mimicked the dance that nearly everyone was doing.
‘What’s that?’ George asked.
‘The Sand Dance,’ I said. He laughed at me, spinning on the ball of his foot so he could follow my movements.
‘If you say so.’
‘It’s Madness,’ I shouted above the music.
‘I know.’ George shouted back without realising the joke he was making. He lifted the collar of his jacket and copied my moves.
It was followed by a slow one and the men were obliged to shuffle awkwardly with wives and girlfriends.
George followed their lead and drew me towards him. I liked to dance and he took tiny steps that led me in a gentle circle. He was a good dancer.
I glanced at Marc and Amy doing the side to side shuffle and smiled. Amy was resting her head against Marc’s chest and his cheek lay on the top of her head. I was surprised to realise I felt happy for him. Even a week ago I couldn’t have imagined feeling that way if I saw him with another woman in his arms. I allowed George to lead me, but somehow my eyes always found Marc.
Then suddenly, I think Marc found me and our eyes met. Marc lifted his head. Amy looked up to see what had caused his movement and she followed Marc’s gaze. She said something. He shook his head and after a few seconds they resumed their position.
The music stopped and the lights went up. The DJ wished everyone a Merry Christmas and told them to take care on the way home. George and I stood amidst the bustle of people preparing to leave. Some were putting on coats, others searching for handbags, and more than one was draining the dregs from their glasses.
Marc was holding out Amy’s coat and she was climbing inside it. Marc moved his head towards hers as he lifted the coat onto her shoulders. He said something and she laughed.
I felt George’s breath on my cheek as he spoke. ‘You alright?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ I gave a nod without taking my eyes from Marc and Amy.
He looked at them. ‘Sure?’
‘Yes,’ I insisted, pulling my eyes from them. ‘I am.’ I patted George’s chest to reinforce my point but I didn’t meet his eyes.
‘He looked happy,’ I said.
George and I sat among the debris of the Christmas party. Everyone had gone home a long time ago.
‘Yeah, he did,’ George said as he flicked a stray balloon away. He waited a second before adding, ‘They both did.’
I stood up and kicked balloons and party hats out of the way. I walked for ten or fifteen feet before I turned to look at George.
‘He’s part of a couple again, isn’t he?’ I took a few backward steps. ‘They’re a couple.’ I spun around and continued taking a turn of the room. Eventually, I made it back to my starting point and returned to my seat. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ I dropped my hands and lifted my head. ‘I mean, she seems very nice.’ I laughed, to myself as much as anything. ‘Thank God he didn’t fall for Rosie.’
George laughed too. ‘Oh I don’t know,’ he said with a smile. ‘Rosie’s a very pretty girl.’
I gave him a glare, grabbed a discarded paper napkin, screwed it into a ball, and threw it at him. He ducked and it flew over his shoulder.
‘Come on,’ he said, pushing his chair back and standing up. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘For a walk.’
Which is what we did, we walked and walked and then we walked some more. All the while we walked, we were silent.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
There was no reply and I wasn’t sure if George had heard me so I asked again.
George looked startled, as if he’d forgotten I was there. He gave me a soulful look and tried to force a smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said almost under his breath.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ I said, closing the gap between us. ‘Just tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’
‘So why have we walked for the last hour without saying anything?’
‘It’s not been that long.’ He started to walk again.
‘I know there’s something wrong,’ I insisted.
He looked like he was going to say something, but the words failed him. He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said again. He gestured down the street with a nod of his head. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’ I let him take hold of my hand and fell into step beside him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Although it was only five o’clock, the sky was as black as midnight. The streets were busy with people rushing around, most of them carrying bulging bags.
It was raining again and the drops formed miniature rainbows as the lights from the Christmas decorations passed through them on their way to the ground. I’d never noticed anything like it before, and the people rushing around seemed oblivious to its beauty. Maybe they couldn’t see it the way I did. Maybe it was one of the perks of being dead.
My walk became a trudge as we milled with the happy and not so happy shoppers and George got ahead of me. He must have noticed because he stopped to look for me and as he did I was stopped in my tracks by a woman loaded with bags and struggling to control an umbrella. A box fell from one of her bags but she carried on, leaving the box lying on the damp floor.
‘Excuse me,’ I shouted. ‘You’ve dropped something.’ Of course
it was no good and the woman disappeared into the crowd. The box was kicked by a man, then by another, and finally a woman before coming to a halt in the gutter.
I crouched down and fingered the box where a porcelain face with blonde curls looked out from a now-broken plastic window. The rain fell through the gap and landed on the doll’s face, making it look like she was crying. I felt like crying with her.
I saw George’s shoes appear by my side and stood up slowly.
‘I love … loved Christmas,’ I said, giving the doll a final glance before crossing the road.
I stood before the window and looked in. Row after row of earrings, brooches, and bracelets shone under the lights. Marc had bought me a Christmas gift from this jeweller every year we had been married. The old man that used to own it had done us a deal on our wedding rings because he said we reminded him of him and his late wife. The old man had retired now and the business had been passed on to his son but buying my gift from here was one of those traditions that made Christmas so special.
But not this year.
I hoped they wouldn’t go out of business because of the lost trade. I doubted they would if the queue was anything to go by.
Another of our traditions was taking Naomi to see Santa in his grotto.
I stood at the back and watched as Naomi climbed onto the fat man’s knee. Marc was standing beside the chubby elf and I noticed a hint of a smile that rested on his face. He looked happy and relaxed as he stood with his hands pushed into the back pockets of his jeans.
‘Have you been a good girl this year?’ Santa asked.
‘Yes,’ Naomi replied earnestly.
‘Has she, Daddy?’ Santa turned to look at Marc, who nodded his head. ‘Good.’ He turned back to Naomi. ‘So what would you like me to bring you on Christmas morning? No, let me guess. A doll?’ Naomi shook her head. ‘A game?’ Again she shook her head. Santa looked to one side, as if he was thinking hard. I was impressed, he was much better than last year’s Santa. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you’re going to have to give me a clue.’
‘I want my mummy to not be dead.’
Marc sat across the table from Naomi and stared into his coffee cup. Naomi was sipping orange juice through a curly straw.
‘Naomi,’ Marc said cautiously. ‘What you asked Santa for, you know he can’t bring you that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said with the straw between her teeth. ‘But he asked me what I wanted and I told him.’ She didn’t take her eyes off her glass.
Marc had taken Naomi home and George and I browsed through the department store. We were like any other couple searching for Christmas presents except we were dead and the store had been closed for two hours. The only other people here were the security guards, who had done a cursory tour of the store before disappearing to a secret place where they probably spent the night drinking coffee and playing cards.
I stroked the teddies in the toy department. I stopped by a chocolate-coloured bear. ‘This is the one Naomi wants,’ I said. George seemed unimpressed. ‘It talks,’ I told him.
‘Does it?’ He wasn’t really paying any attention to the bear, he was more interested in the train track set up in the centre of the room.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it tells you stories, and helps you to read if you buy the accessories.’
‘Good.’ I doubted he heard a word I had said. I moved to the train track. ‘What is it about boys and train sets?’ I asked.
‘Same as girls and teddy bears,’ he said.
I walked off, letting my fingertips touch whatever was sitting on the shelves that I passed.
Marc was standing in almost the same spot I had stood in the night before. He was stood in front of a teddy two along from the one I had told George was the one Naomi wanted. He picked up the one in front of him.
‘That’s not the right one,’ I told him.
Marc was examining the underside of the bear for a reason that only he knew. He put it down and picked up the one beside it.
‘That’s not the right one either,’ I said.
Marc examined it in the same way. He put it back and picked up the first one again. He started to make his way to the cash desk.
‘It’s the wrong one,’ I shouted as I ran after him. When I was a couple of steps ahead of him I turned and walked at his pace. ‘It’s the wrong one,’ I said again. ‘Oh, what’s the point?’ I said, peeling away. I watched as Marc put the bear on the counter beside the till and reached in his pocket for his wallet.
‘You give up too easily,’ George said.
Behind Marc was a man with a small boy. The man was carrying a large box. ‘Let me hold it, Dad,’ the boy said and put the bottle he had been holding onto the counter so he could take the box in both hands.
George stood beside the bottle and leaned down so his eyes were inches from it. I was about to ask what he was doing when the bottle flipped and fell.
‘Sorry,’ the boy’s dad said, quickly righting the bottle. However it was too late to stop the river of fizzy liquid from running along the counter top. Marc took a step back to avoid the waterfall that it became and the assistant reached under the counter for a wad of tissue to dry it up with. The man and his son looked embarrassed.
With the damage cleaned up, the assistant threw away the wet tissues and turned her attention to Marc.
‘Sorry.’ She smiled and picked up the bear. As she did, drops of whatever had been in the bottle dripped from it. The assistant turned the bear over and a soggy brown patch covered its base. She put it to one side. ‘I’ll get you another,’ she said.
‘That was the last one on the shelf,’ Marc told her.
I hadn’t noticed but I hoped he was right.
‘Oh,’ the assistant said. ‘I’m really sorry then, that means we’re out of stock until we get our delivery tomorrow.’ She stood on her tiptoes and looked to where the rest of the bears sat. ‘I see we have the white one,’ she said, ‘or I could put one of the tan ones away for you tomorrow if you’d like.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ Marc said, ‘one of the others will do.’ The assistant moved from behind the till to fetch it. ‘But not the white one,’ Marc said. ‘I don’t like the white one. I’ll take the dark one instead.’
‘The chocolate one?’
‘Yes,’ Marc and I said in unison.
With the right teddy paid for and in his bag, Marc left the shop. I threw my arms around George’s neck and hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
We were both a little embarrassed by my outburst.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
With Naomi staying with my parents overnight, Marc took the chance to wrap the presents he had bought.
He held his hand in the air and looked at the ribbon of sticky tape that had wrapped itself around his finger.
He ripped the tape off and screwed it into a ball, which he tossed towards an already overflowing bin. He pulled another piece free from the roll. He held it at arm’s length and looked horrified as it started to curl at the bottom.
George stood behind Marc, watching his struggles from over his shoulder. George scratched his head and I laughed.
Marc dropped the roll of tape as he bolted upright. He looked around like an animal that had heard a strange noise. Had he heard my laughter?
After a few seconds, he sat on the edge of the sofa. I reached out my hand and it rested just inches from his shoulder.
Slowly, Marc bent down and picked up the tape. He turned it round in his hand, trying to find the end.
‘I don’t believe this,’ he said, tossing the tape away. ‘Now I know why I left wrapping the presents to you. That stuffs bloody ridiculous.’ He slouched back on the sofa.
Marc sat like that for ten minutes before collecting the presents and wrapping paper together. His tread sounded heavy on the stairs. I wondered if he would hide Naomi’s presents in his wardrobe this year.
Shortly after, I heard him switch the shower on, and fifteen minutes after that he closed the front door behind
him.
‘Nice,’ I said as I looked around Amy’s living room. The truth was I meant it. There wasn’t a lot of furniture but what there was looked as if it belonged there. Everything was in the right place and the soft furnishings perfectly complimented the decoration. It was a bit too perfect, the sort of room that I had always aspired to but had never been able to achieve.
‘I don’t know what we’re doing here,’ George said.
Neither did I, I just knew it had seemed like a good idea. I’d finally realised what my issues were and if I was to ever move on I had to deal with them.
This was my way of dealing with the issue of Amy, or rather of Marc and Amy. When he’d left the house after the present-wrapping fiasco I’d known instinctively where Marc had been going and it was clear Amy was expecting someone. I just hoped for his sake that Marc was that someone.
There was a knock at the door and she almost ran to answer it.
‘She’s keen,’ I said before I could stop myself.
George didn’t say anything. He just put his arm around my shoulders.
She welcomed Marc with a light kiss on the lips and he followed her into the room. He took a seat without being asked, and clearly felt comfortable. Amy poured two glasses of wine and gave one to Marc.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. I noticed that Amy looked nervous.
‘I was surprised when you rang,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t expected to hear from you today. What was it you needed to tell me?’
Marc took a drink from the glass he’d spent those minutes looking into.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said.
Another period of silence followed.
‘Marc, please.’ She inched forward on her seat. ‘On the phone you said you had to see me, that there was something that you had to tell me. What is it?’
‘I can’t,’ he laughed. Amy looked hurt. ‘You’ll think I’m mad,’ he explained.
‘What is it?’
He drained his glass. ‘OK, you asked for it,’ he said. ‘Ellen was laughing at me.’
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