The Great Christmas Breakup

by Fonteroy, Geraldine

  ‘Really?’ This from Lucinda. ‘Hugo Boss?’ she added, indicating his grey flecked suit just visible beneath a heavy wool overcoat with a velvet collar.

  I looked at his face and noted his eyes were bluer than I thought. Contact lenses?

  Surely not? What man would wear colored contacts? Carson wouldn’t even wear boxers to comply with fashion, let alone poke a different hue onto his eyeballs.

  ‘Zegna,’ Robert replied to Lucinda proudly.

  ‘Oooo,’ Lolly and Lucinda duly nodded their appreciation.

  Carson would never know one brand from another; at that moment in time he couldn’t tell his own wife from a piece of furniture.

  An awkward silence followed, broken only by a brunette even shorter than me shoving into the shop and demanding someone sell her one of those ‘darling sheepy things in the window, immediately!’

  ‘Shall we?’ Robert said to me, holding open the glass door.

  Behind us, Lolly was tactfully telling the woman that the sheep weren’t for sale, but the jumper it was wearing would look great on her.

  Following Robert into the street, I was hit by two thoughts. One: this could be the start of a great new career; and two: I’d left my coat behind and a thin layer of silk and a bra provided absolutely no protection from the elements.

  Ironically, similar thoughts had run through my head on my very first date with Carson.

  - Cue cute first date story:

  I’d arranged to meet Carson in midtown because I had to get something decent for my parents for Christmas. Every year I sent a homemade item from the stall, but I suspected that there were only so many puce berets Royal Mail would deliver before it reported me to the local constabulary for parental neglect.

  So I stood looking in the huge glass-fronted windows on Fifth Avenue, wondering who on earth could afford to pay three hundred dollars for a weird box with a couple of stones on top, or many hundreds more for a pen set from Switzerland.

  New York City was at its best at Christmas. Even though I couldn’t afford to skate myself, it was magical watching people who could whizzing about on the rink at the Rockefeller Centre. Even jumping up and down to see over the crowds to catch sight of Tiffany’s window displays was now part of the delights of the festive season for me.

  I couldn’t image being back in Bath, with its sedate decorations, and quiet peace.

  And its secrets: Mum baking treats lovingly while all the while Dad wasted his cash on his ‘bit on the side’.

  Pushing thoughts of Bath aside, I spied a delicate little candlestick on special for forty dollars.

  Reduced from one fifty.

  Mum would love that, and she had the perfect spot for it: the corner table near the downstairs’ loo.

  Walking into the store I was hit by the blast of hot air from the heating system. Immediately, I began to swelter – how was it possible to ramp up the heat to such an extent that you could comfortably get about in a bikini?

  Not wanting to ruin my first date with a Harvard graduate by smelling of dried sweat, I slipped out of my coat.

  ‘Hey, love that!’ the sales assistant said, coming over and taking up the thick brocade coat lined with fox fur. The boy had thick black glasses, a round cheery face and the tightest trousers I’d ever seen on a man – or woman.

  ‘Real fur, but recycled,’ I told him. ‘No foxes were recently killed in the making of this coat.’

  He fingered the brocade lovingly. ‘I’ve got someone who’d love this for Christmas – will you sell it?’

  ‘How much did you have in mind?’ I had no attachment to it. The coat had been hanging about on the stall for over a month, and no one had so much sniffed at it.

  ‘Two hundred,’ the assistant said, stroking the collar. ‘Cash’.

  It took all of a second for me to respond. The rent was due, plus we were only asking one hundred for it on the stall.

  ‘It’s yours.’

  The transaction complete, I headed outside, purse full, into a blizzard. Ten minutes later, when I met Carson and saw his beaming smile and his curls peeking out from under his woolen cap, I thought two things.

  One: I was freezing and completely inappropriately dressed.

  And two: this night might be the turning point in my life.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Monday, November 27, p.m.

  ‘No one should blame a partner for one solitary indiscretion. Two, maybe, but not one.’

  Jocelyn Priestly.

  I THOUGHT ABOUT THAT quote as we neared the café. Dear, deluded Jocelyn might have point, I had to admit, as rain pounded me. For once I wasn’t completely repulsed by her advice. Carson was up to something, and while I hoped it wasn’t what I thought it was – an affair – I figured that me having dinner with an old crush didn’t constitute more than a minor blip on any average morality scale.

  That first conversation with Cecily about law – and the law student that Carson had given up a glittering career for – more than occasionally crossed my mind. There had never been any reason to doubt his commitment, not in a physical sense. Even my increased weight hadn’t put him off wanting me.

  Unlike his pathetic attitude to our home life, which definitely put me off him.

  But that law student was always there, in the back of my mind.

  What if they’d hooked up?

  People found their way back to each other, didn’t they?

  Like Robert and me.

  ‘Scarlet? You okay?’

  Robert was holding the door to the eatery open, watching me with one eyebrow cocked, amused that I was daydreaming in the rain.

  ‘Sorry, just remembered something about Lolly’s window.’

  ‘How conscientious.’

  ‘Always work, work, work with me.’

  ‘Right.’

  Stop acting like a freak, Scarlet and get inside.

  ‘Look,’ Robert pointed. ‘There’s a table. Why not grab it and I’ll round up a couple of menus?’

  As I sank, squelching, into the overly designed high-backed leather chair, I took a better look at my coffee date. Robert Simpson appeared to be different to what I remembered, and not in bad way.

  More like in a bed way.

  The thought, clearly channeled by the foul-mouthed Cecily 2, was instantly pushed aside.

  I am married.

  Unhappily and, considering my family-in-law, unsafely, but still, I was married.

  Robert was clearly one of those men who had grown into his looks, shrugging off the geekiness of youth and replacing it with a six pack and gently graying movie-star hair.

  Lolly was right, he was definitely in the George Clooney mould.

  I’d thought he was completely out of my league when I was in my early twenties and ogling him from afar. Even when he asked me out I kind of suspected Lolly might have put him up to it – sort of like a pity date.

  Even now, it was still as if he was playing premier league and I was coaching the under 2s.

  Pulling my gaze from Robert, I considered my surroundings. The café was one of those trendy places where a coffee was an espresso and cost eight dollars. I was starving, having been put off my ‘con-flakes’ by Hammertro and Cecily 2’s gross behavior, but I suspected a sandwich in the slick diner cost more than I earned working a whole day at Flindes.

  Robert would probably pay – his suit looked to be worth more than our yearly rent – but I didn’t want to be obliged to him.

  Returning with the coffees and, joy, a little plate of pastries, he immediately said, ‘You look as stunning as I remember.’

  That was more than a little forward. He did know I was married, didn’t he?

  I suddenly hoped that this wasn’t some one-night stand thing. Perhaps he was married too and needed some recreational sex? Well, he wasn’t going to get it from me.

  My idea of recreation was a cream donut in front of Homeland.

  ‘I’m not sure your wife would approve of you chatting up women in cafes,’ I said,
in an attempt to confirm my suspicion.

  ‘No, she wouldn’t. He grinned. ‘If I had one.’

  So then I felt like an over-reactive fool.

  Time to get things back on a track I was comfortable with.

  ‘Let’s talk business. This chain of shops . . .’

  I rested my chin on my palm, trying to look businesslike and intense, but I missed and my elbow slid off the molded glass table top and my chin cracked into the shiny surface.

  ‘Doof,’ I spluttered.

  Robert sprang up. ‘Christ, Scarlet? What happened? Are you hurt? Is that blood?’

  I saw the drops on the table. People were looking our way, and one of the waitresses was signaling Robert, asking if we needed help.

  I grabbed my purse and pulled out my compact. Surveying the damage, it seemed the blood was coming from my mouth. I’d bitten into my tongue.

  ‘Scarlet, do you want me to call someone?’ Robert’s face was close – his aftershave smelled amazing.

  ‘Just my tongue, it’ll heal. Looks worse than it is.’

  Relieved, Robert sank back into his chair, and the waitress appeared with some napkins and a dish of warm water so that I could clean myself up.

  When I was fairly confident I’d got all the blood off my chin, I gingerly took a drink and tried not to flinch.

  What a moron I was.

  As if someone like Robert Simpson would do business with a ditz like me?

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to run to the pharmacy for you? Get something for your tongue?’

  ‘No, ‘at’s o’kah,’ I tried to say, but my tongue had swelled up and I could hardly form words.

  Wondering what to do, Robert decided there was no other option but to discuss the shop windows he’d mentioned.

  ‘I don’t know how many retail food windows you’ve done . . .’ He looked at me questioningly.

  Might as well tell the truth, he probably wasn’t going to recommend me for the job now, was he?

  ‘Nown.’

  ‘A number, did you say? Good, that’s great. Well, my, er friend owns those Chocolato places.’

  A shiver of anticipation crept up my spine. Those shops were famous for their tiny chocolate animals. People queued for hours, or so my kids told me. A box of chocolate frogs around thirty dollars though, so naturally, we Teesons weren’t frequent visitors.

  ‘And it needs a Christmas makeover – something clever like you did with LollyBliss. Can you manage that?’

  ‘I ‘dow now.’

  ‘Start now? Gosh, Scarlet, you are amazing. Lolly said you did her window in an afternoon, including sourcing all the materials, but I didn’t really believe it.’

  ‘’At’s ‘oo.’

  ‘This job might take a bit longer, of course. There are three stores. Now, how about I give you a float of one thousand dollars for materials, and the balance on completion of the windows?’

  He was giving me the job?

  Pushing a sheet with some addresses and names on it over to me, he smiled.

  That was it?

  I’d got the job?

  Maybe Robert felt sorry for me, after witnessing the sorry spectacle of me bashing my face into the table like a complete loser?

  ‘Those are the managers’ names and the locations,’ he continued. ‘Is a week long enough?’

  A week?

  How was I going to get time off work, to say nothing of dealing with the kids and Cecily 2.

  That was, if I still had my job after failing to turn up today.

  Dan Phillit was probably making voodoos of me as I sat there – I could feel the twinges in my back.

  ‘I’ ‘igh’ ‘ee’ ‘onger.’

  ‘You don’t need that long? I suppose you’ve got a lot on? Lolly says you’re in high demand. Three days, then?’

  ‘Oo, ‘at’s ‘ot ‘ossible.’

  ‘Not impossible? Brilliant. I’ll call you in a couple of days to make sure it’s going okay. And maybe when the windows are done, I can take you out to dinner to celebrate?’

  The innuendo was as discreet as Hammertro might try on an aging beauty queen at a bus stop, but I was still flattered.

  If Robert found me attractive, there was still hope for me, one way or another.

  I nodded instead of replying, in case he mistook what I said for something x-rated, and let him help me up and lead me back to LollyBliss.

  *

  Lolly and Lucinda were waiting breathlessly at the shop. As I entered, both of them literally stepped back in unison upon seeing the state of me.

  ‘My God, did he punch you?’ Lolly looked at me, face pinched with concern.

  ‘Are you into that,’ Lucinda asked, ‘because some women are?’

  ‘’Oo! ‘E ‘idn’t.’

  ‘He hit you?’ Lolly translated.

  ‘Hit, punch, not much in it,’ Lucinda said.

  Making my way through customers and the racks of new stock that were in front of the counter, I took up Lolly’s curly tipped pen and wrote on the back of one of her politically correct brown paper carry bags.

  I did this to myself. An accident. I feel like a moron.

  ‘You look a bit like one too, with that lip,’ Lucinda noted.

  ‘Lucinda. Completely inappropriate’ said Lolly tiredly. ‘Go and put those clothes out before one of the customers has a slip and trip and I get sued.’

  ‘I’m only trying to help,’ Lucinda replied sulkily.

  Lolly turned back to me. ‘Let’s get out of here, Serendipity? Perfect time of year for one of their frozen salted caramels. And it couldn’t hurt that lip.’

  ‘O ’ay,’ I said, glancing at my watch. It was still early and the kids had sports after school. If I didn’t want to be landed with Cecily 2 – having to discuss the Jerry Springer ‘stars’ who lived in their mobile home park and, obscenely, all the cats her own cat Spor had shagged – I needed stay away until I had backup in the form of the kids or Carson.

  Lolly sprung for a cab, and hopped out halfway to get be something for my swollen tongue. By the time we reached the iconic ice cream parlor, normal speech had been resumed.

  ‘Thank you. You don’t know how idiotic I feel.’

  ‘It’s not the end of the world, Scar,’ Lolly said, spying a table and barging through inexperienced tourists to bag it.

  I pushed through the crowds after her. ‘You don’t know what rubbish that man believes about me, though.’

  Lolly went white.

  ‘What? Lolly? Are you okay? Do you feel ill?’

  Lolly stared pointedly behind me. I turned to find, for the second time that day, Robert Simpson standing directly behind me.

  ‘Robert. What are you doing here?’ Lolly asked brightly, hoping he hadn’t heard.

  ‘Business. Around the corner.’

  He looked at me. ‘Having dinner with the husband?’

  It sounded like an accusation – but no, why should it be?

  The more important question was, why would he think I was meeting Carson?

  ‘If you mean Carson, we’re not. Just us,’ Lolly said.

  Robert frowned. ‘I just passed a man in the street I could have sworn was Scarlet’s husband.’

  Lolly and I were flabbergasted. ‘But Robert, how do you know what Carson looks like?’ she asked.

  There was the slightest reddening of his left cheek. ‘From the old days, when he and Scarlet began dating. They always sat in the same corner of Grando’s, didn’t they? In fact, I’d remember him anywhere, with that hair.’

  Was it my imagination or was Robert slightly out of order with respect to Carson?

  Lolly tried to keep things light. ‘Gosh, yes, that revolting stained sofa with the round purple patches. Why on earth didn’t the authorities make them take it away? Definite health hazard.’

  Robert was quick was a reply, ‘Well, it didn’t worry Scarlet and er, Carson.’

  His voice was taking on a sing-songy pitch that hurt my ears. It must be a nervous thing.<
br />
  I wasn’t one to comment though, was I? I’d managed to almost bite off my tongue by trying to cover up my nerves.

  ‘Join us?’ I asked, eager to sit down – the shoes Lolly had loaned me were gnawing at my ankles.

  ‘Sorry, love to, but I need to fly – business awaits.’

  Shooting me one final awkward glance, Robert pulled his collar up against the rain and dashed through the door as a drenched teenage couple entered.

  ‘What’s with him?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  We might have discussed it further but the iced drinks my friend had ordered moments ago, with the casual flick of a hand, arrived. Lolly was obviously a regular there.

  She handed me a spoon. ‘Enough about men, this is what life should be about.’

  And even though the cold ice made my tongue sting, I couldn’t disagree.

  Eventually, the food was gone and we moved on to coffee.

  ‘What was Carson doing in town?’ I wondered aloud.

  ‘It probably wasn’t him. No offence, but Carson doesn’t look like the man you first met, does it? His hair is totally different, for one thing.’

  ‘True.’ Lolly was right. Carson’s hair had gone from a mad, curly affair just like mine to a whisper of what it once was – now it was short, fine and delicately arranged for maximum coverage.

  ‘I suppose I don’t look the same, either, do I?’

  She shrugged. ‘So what? You’ve got a life, and you’ve had two kids.’

  Watching Lolly, model-like in her slick Burberry mac, shiny Versace boots, together with that sheet of unbelievable blonde hair, I wondered why she hadn’t dated recently.

  If she had, she never spoke of it.

  I thought back. There’d been a few boyfriends over the years, but no one who’d lasted more than a month or so.

  ‘What about you, Lol? The business is taking off. Isn’t it time to make babies?’

  Instead of scrunching her face up like she always did at the mention of pregnancy, Lolly’s eyes fogged with sadness.

  I grabbed her hand. It was freezing, despite the hot coffee she was clutching.

  ‘Lolly, what’s up?’