Humbugs and Heartstrings

by Catherine Ferguson

  ‘I saw your designs at that Christmas Fayre a few weeks ago.’

  ‘You did?’ Now it’s my turn to feel breathless.

  She smiles. ‘Those baubles would fly off the shelves, believe me. Do you make anything else we could exhibit? Vases? Beads? Snow globes?’

  ‘Um – yes.’ I beam back at her, a little bubble of emotion rising up in my chest. ‘All of the above.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ She looks genuinely delighted. ‘Could you bring in some examples to show us? The sooner the better, really, what with the Christmas season in full flood.’

  I’ll have to pinch myself as soon as I’m alone, I think in a daze, as I write down my details and promise to return the next day.

  We shake hands and as I go to catch my bus, I suddenly know what it means to feel like you’re walking on air.

  I’m so dazed on the journey home, I almost miss my stop.

  It’s Christmas Eve and I bump into Fez and Shona holding hands in the supermarket. Even from a distance I can see they’re wrapped in an aura of love.

  They fall on me with delight and affection, demanding to know why I haven’t been in touch, and I start to realise how silly it is, to shut people out the way I do.

  Shona digs me in the rubs. ‘We call you Bridget now.’

  ‘Bridget?’ The fog clears. ‘Oh, Bridget Jones!’ I laugh. ‘I did feel fairly triumphant walking out of there.’

  ‘The Boss was distraught.’ Shona’s eyes are wide with the drama of it. ‘She didn’t come back to the office for nearly a week. Then she gave us her parents’ number and said we could contact her there.’

  ‘Her parents?’ My mouth is hanging open.

  Shona laughs. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  I tell them about the gallery and Fez slings an arm around me. ‘So you finally took my advice. About time, too. I knew you were wasted.’

  ‘My stuff is selling.’ Just saying it makes my heart give a little ping of pride. ‘They’ve asked for more. I’m going in later.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Shona beams. ‘Oh, by the way, sorry about the payday mix-up.’

  ‘Mix-up?’

  ‘Yeah, the money went into people’s accounts a day late what with Carol not being there.’

  A jolt of relief goes through me.

  Tim will get his watch, after all. Another month’s salary will really take the pressure off. For all Mum’s protestations, I’m still not convinced moving back in with her is the right thing for us.

  I can sense the talk is about to turn to plans for Christmas, so I tell them I need to dash to get to the gallery, wish them a happy Christmas and head for the checkout.

  I stand in line and watch them arguing playfully over which biscuits to buy.

  There’s a lump in my throat.

  Shona and Fez deserve this.

  They really do.

  I have tears in my eyes and the girl on the checkout kindly pretends she hasn’t noticed.

  The baubles are selling.

  And so are the vases and the snow globes.

  I sit on the bus, travelling back from the gallery, with a warm glow inside.

  As soon as the holidays are over, I will bring my equipment out of moth balls and get back to glass-blowing full-time.

  It hardly seems possible. I keep having to pinch myself.

  We’re coming into town so I gather my things and get up for my stop.

  The bus halts at traffic lights and I stand at the front, waiting for it to move, looking out at the throng of people doing last-minute Christmas shopping.

  I’m looking up a nearby side street when I spot a familiar vehicle.

  My heart lurches.

  It’s Charlie’s BMW – and he’s parked outside the oyster restaurant.

  Suddenly, I’m filled with longing for everything about him. Our daft jokes, the way his eyes crinkle when I’m making him smile, his kiss …

  I want him to know that my work is selling – that there’s a real chance I can forge a successful career doing this thing that I love.

  The lights change and the bus starts to move. And at that moment, the door to the restaurant opens and Charlie comes out.

  I duck down and peer out. He’s smiling broadly and chatting to someone behind him.

  Then I see who it is.

  Carol.

  She’s laughing, too. She’s wearing a long, mint green coat and the wintry sun is catching her white blonde crop, making it gleam. She looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her.

  So does Charlie.

  I recall his bleak expression when he saw me in the department store; the harsh set of his jaw as he turned back to the assistant.

  Today, with Carol, he looks … happy.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I wake at eight on Christmas morning.

  It always feels different, the twenty-fifth of December. I suppose it’s the accumulation of magical memories, gathered over the years, that makes it special.

  I look outside, expecting it to be snowing, purely because it’s Christmas Day.

  It’s not, of course. The sky is a watery blue and there’s a touch of frost on the pavement. Not a single soul is out on the street. Everyone will be waking up, I think, and opening their presents.

  Suddenly I long to be at Mum’s, watching Tim open his. What was I thinking, telling her I’d come over later, at lunchtime?

  I pick up the phone. It’s never too early to ring on Christmas Day with a pre-teen in the house.

  ‘Oh hi, love.’ She sounds a little bit flustered. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mum. Is Tim up?’

  She laughs. ‘Two hours at least. He loves the watch.’

  ‘Good. I thought I might get ready and come straight over. Help you cook lunch?’

  There’s a brief pause.

  ‘Well, the thing is, love,’ she says slowly, as if she’s wondering how to tell me. ‘I’ve cocked things up. Good and proper.’

  ‘Why? What have you done?’ I ask, alarmed.

  ‘It’s the turkey. Frozen solid.’ She sighs. ‘Idiot that I am, I was so busy organising everything for the party last night, I forgot to get it out of the freezer.’

  ‘Oh.’ I laugh. ‘Well, never mind. I’ve got some chicken breasts. I’ll bring them over.’

  ‘No! Don’t do that! You said you fancied a lazy morning. Don’t spoil it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not that bothered—’

  ‘No, really, I can manage.’ She cuts across me. ‘Look, love, why don’t you have a nice leisurely bath and a lazy breakfast then toddle over here about one, okay? I’ll have sorted everything out by then. There may even be food on the table.’

  I hang up, feeling slightly bewildered.

  Mum’s normally so laid-back. But this turkey disaster seems to have thrown her completely.

  Leisurely bath it is, then.

  I’m lying there in the hot, perfumed water, idly wondering what my life will be like next Christmas, when someone bangs on the door.

  ‘Bobbie? Are you in there?’

  I slip down in the bath and water splashes everywhere.

  It’s Carol!

  What the fuck is she doing here?

  There’s more hammering and she shouts, ‘Open up! I’ve got your Christmas present!’

  My heart sinks.

  Oh, God.

  Here we go again.

  I had to buy my good friend a Christmas gift! The company’s going to do really well and you’d be an idiot, Bobbie, not to be there with me, to share in the success … you’re the one person I can really trust to help me … please come back to work … blah, blah, blah …

  She must think I was born yesterday.

  ‘Bobbie! Come on! I’ve got some news you won’t believe!’

  What’s she on about?

  It’s probably just a trick to get me to open up. But if I don’t, she’s going to wake the entire block, banging like that.

  I get out of the bath, wrap myself in my towelling robe and
fling the door open. I’m not in the mood for any of her sly conniving – today or any day.

  I glare at her and stand back to let her in.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me what happened?’ she laughs, bouncing into the kitchen with a bottle of fizz, displaying way too much joie de vivre for my liking.

  I stand at the door as she puts it in the fridge. Then I give her a stern look. ‘So what’s all this in aid of exactly? Persuading me to come back to work?’

  She saunters through to the living room, calling back, ‘There wouldn’t be much point in that.’

  ‘Oh, really.’ I follow her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m selling the business.’ She picks up the snow globe Charlie gave me, shakes it and holds it up to the light. ‘Well, the client list, anyway. There’s not exactly much else to sell.’

  I stare at her in bewilderment.

  She’s losing her livelihood – yet she’s beaming away at me like a Cheshire cat.

  ‘Carol, what’s going on?’

  She goes to the window and stares down into the street. Then she flumps on the sofa with a sigh and pats the cushion next to her. ‘Get your arse over here and I’ll tell you.’

  Still feeling I have to be on my guard, I join her on the sofa.

  I look at her curiously. Her eyes are clear and calm and she hasn’t even reached for her fags.

  ‘After you resigned, I started really thinking about my life.’ She flings back her arms and stares up at the ceiling. ‘And I realised what a terrible, soul-destroying rut I’d got into, soldiering on single-mindedly with a business that was quite obviously going down the tubes, terrified my father would find out. I was consumed by fear and you were the casualty.’

  ‘Me?’

  She sits up. ‘You and Shona and Ella and all the girls. I treated you like shit. I know I did. And I’m sorry. It was like I had to behave like that in order to survive.’ She shakes her head. ‘But there’s no excuse.’

  ‘Well—’ I’m about to say it’s great she’s realised all of this. But she cuts across me.

  ‘No, it’s true, Bobbie. I’ve been a cow.’

  I give her a tiny smile. ‘I wasn’t going to argue, actually.’

  She folds her arms and gives me that stony look. And I think, Ah, here we go. The real Carol.

  Then she laughs. ‘That’s my ‘bitch boss from hell’ look. But now I’m no longer a boss, I don’t have to do it any more. I’m selling our client list to the Sparkle Sisters on one condition; that they keep on all my girls.’

  ‘Wow, that’s decent of you.’

  She laughs. ‘I’m learning. From you. You always were ‘the nice one’.’

  ‘So how did your father take it?’

  She smiles, remembering. ‘Surprisingly well, actually. He bawled me out, of course, for not coming to him sooner and admitting it was all a disaster. And he went off on a bit of a diatribe, comparing me with my genius of a brother. And my sister, who rubs shoulders with the stars. But then he said everyone has different strengths and he was sure I’d find my niche sooner or later.’

  I nod. ‘So he didn’t kill you, after all.’

  She grins. ‘No. Although he did threaten to murder me if I didn’t start going home to visit them more often.’

  ‘That’s not too much of a sacrifice, though, is it?’

  She frowns. ‘Well … I suppose not. To be honest, it’s nice to know the old buggers actually care.’

  She leaps up, goes to the window again and stares out. ‘I’ve decided it’s time I took a gap year.’

  ‘What?’

  This just gets weirder and weirder.

  She shrugs. ‘I’m a bit long in the tooth for it, I know. But I like the idea of back-packing. The total freedom of it.’

  ‘But where will you go?’ I stare at her in amazement. Next she’ll be telling me that after the back-packing she’s going to become a nun and help out at a homeless shelter.

  She shrugs. ‘Not sure yet. Maybe Thailand. Or Australia. Dad even offered to pay for it.’

  ‘That’s nice of him.’

  She sits back down. ‘It is. But I said, “No, Dad, it’s high time I stood on my own two feet and survived without your help. I’ll get jobs as I go, to finance the trip.”’

  ‘Did you? Wow. Well done, you.’

  I’m a bit freaked out, to be honest. This is one extreme transformation.

  She grins at me. ‘Stupid cow, of course I didn’t refuse his money! As if! No, I actually took his hand off. Although I did promise to pay him back once my vintage clothes emporium goes large!’

  I smile with relief.

  Not quite such an extreme transformation after all, then.

  ‘Carol, what are you looking at?’ She’s up at the window again.

  ‘Nothing. So aren’t you going home for Christmas lunch?’

  ‘Well. Funny story. Mum forgot to take the turkey out and it’s still frozen solid.’

  She gives an incredulous laugh. ‘God, that’s so weird because I actually have a friend who’s got a fresh turkey going spare!’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Yeah, seriously. My friend, Stan, he delivers them and he’s been left with a spare. He’s driving all the way back to Chichester and he wants to offload it before he goes.’ She glances out of the window again. ‘Do you want it? Because if you do, it’s down there.’

  Mystified, I join her at the window and peer down.

  There’s a van parked on the other side but it says ‘Flora the Florist’ along the side.

  ‘Not over there. Down below.’

  I look where she’s pointing and sure enough, there’s a red car parked right outside my building with something on the roof that looks suspiciously like a large turkey in a roasting tin.

  ‘It’s my way of saying sorry.’ She grins. ‘And also can I come for lunch? The folks are in Barbados but I didn’t feel like joining them.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ I hoot with laughter. ‘You turn down an exotic holiday on the off-chance you might get an invitation to lunch at Mum’s?’

  She shrugs. ‘You never forget the Christmasses of your childhood. And your Mum was always part of mine.’

  ‘You soppy bugger.’

  She laughs. ‘I know. So go on. Go get your turkey before it catches salmonella.’

  I shake my head slowly at the weirdness, then retreat to the bedroom and get into the dress I’d laid out to wear today.

  Carol shouts through. ‘You might want to put on a bit of make-up.’

  ‘Why? Will Stan refuse to hand over the turkey if I’m not wearing lipstick?’

  ‘Just do it. You’ll thank me for it later. And hurry up!’

  I do as she says then wander back through to the living room, thinking, Stan? From Chichester?

  Carol holds the front door wide. ‘Go!’

  I click down the stairs in my heels and as I emerge into the fresh, frosty air, the door of the red car opens.

  Charlie steps out.

  I swallow hard.

  He’s wearing jeans and a strange orange T-shirt under his coat. His face has a creased look, as if he hasn’t slept properly for weeks.

  I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in my life.

  My heart starts bumping fast.

  He looks at me and I see a flash of uncertainty in his intense blue eyes. Then he walks over and holds out his hand. ‘Stan from Chichester. Pleased to meet you.’

  I put my hand in his, loving the feel of it, and smile shyly up at him. ‘I thought it rang a bell. Stan from Chichester. But you can’t fool me. You’re that guy who won the lottery!’

  I can’t quite believe he’s here.

  My heart performs a series of triple somersaults as my mouth stretches into a big, goofy smile.

  He pushes a hand through his hair and grins. ‘I could be Ollie from Blaenavon, if you prefer.’

  ‘Stan is fine. More than fine.’ I give him a coy look, under my lashes. ‘Unless you’ve got any other secret identities u
p your sleeve?’

  He holds up his arms. ‘Nope. Look. Not an alias in sight. Gone for good, in fact.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘Yes.’ He bridges the small gap between us and finds my mouth.

  I mould myself to him, wrapping my arms around him under his jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin through the T-shirt, and we’re kissing right there, oblivious to everything else. A tiny qualm nudges at my brain – we’re doing this in the middle of a public highway – but I ignore it and it floats away. I push my hands into his hair and the kiss deepens.

  I’m vaguely aware of a voice calling from above, but it takes me a moment to realise it’s Carol. She’s shouting down from my second-floor window. ‘Get a room!’

  Charlie and I break apart, laughing and holding onto each other, not wanting to let go.

  Carol disappears from view for a minute then pokes her head out again.

  ‘Have some snow!’

  Next second, a shower of white confetti-type stuff drifts down and lands in our hair and on the pavement around us.

  ‘You can’t have a happy ending on Christmas Day without some of the white stuff floating about.’

  I grin up at her. ‘Perfect. Come to lunch. There’s plenty for everyone.’ I nod at the big bird sitting on the car roof.

  Her smile grows wider and she stretches out her arms and yells, ‘It’s Chri-i-i-i-i-i-stmas!’

  I glance anxiously around, noticing a few curtains twitching. ‘I’d better go in before she gets done for disturbing the peace.’

  I glance at Charlie, still not quite convinced he’s here just for me. ‘Will you come for lunch, too?’

  His arm is tight round my waist. ‘If you want me.’

  ‘I want you.’

  He touches my dimple. ‘I’m there.’

  He draws me against him and I nestle in with a happy sigh.

  Then I pull back and look up at him. ‘Have you forgiven me?’

  His mouth twists at the corner. ‘When I found out you knew about the accounts but hadn’t told me, I’ll admit I was angry. I’d thought I could trust you. But once again, I’d been let down—’

  ‘But you can trust me—’

  Gently, he places a finger on my lips. ‘I know that. And I soon regretted walking away from you at the party. I had a long chat with Carol about what she’d done and she made it clear you were going to tell me about the accounts being fake.’ He grins up at the window. ‘She’s not a bad person. As you know. Just a bit – erm – misguided sometimes.’