Cold Feet at Christmas

by Debbie Johnson

  “I didn’t come here to fight with you Leah. I came to see if I could help.”

  “Very noble, as usual, Rob. And how exactly do you think you could help – not that I’ve asked you to?” No, she thought, you’ve done quite enough. You and your super-powered sperm.

  “Well I’ve been discussing the situation with Marco. He might be able to sort it out, but he’s not sure – there’s not enough time. He says…he says the simplest way to fix this mess would be for you to get married to a US citizen.”

  “Bloody hell, Rob – you look like you’re constipated! And what a stupid idea! It’s not that simple, is it – what am I supposed to do, ask the bloke in the coffee shop to get hitched? Ask Rick to give up his life of sex and super models just so I can carry on living this ridiculous fantasy of making it here? Propose to the homeless guy who pushes trollies full of milk cartons through the park? What on earth are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking,” he said, slowly and deliberately, rubbing the frown at the top of his nose as though he was trying to get rid of a headache, “that I could marry you. Purely for convenience. So you could stay, establish your career. We wouldn’t even really need to see each other, and in a while, we could get divorced and never see each other again.”

  Leah fell down onto the sofa, looking up at his looming presence, the way he filled the whole room. God, how she thought she would have loved those words. Rob asking her to marry him. A fleeting fantasy of a wedding, of a life together, or raising their baby. Of rediscovering the Rob she’d known in Scotland.

  Except that’s all it was – a fantasy. That wasn’t the man standing before her. He looked the same – glorious – but he was a different human being. One who was married only to his own grief.

  “Wow. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, sarcastically, meeting his distressed gaze head on. “I feel quite dizzy with it all.”

  “Don’t be so stupid, Leah – it’s not romance you need, it’s a visa! And I’m willing to do it – just say you will. It’s my fault you’re—”

  “Stop right there, mister!” she said, interrupting him and earning a glare in return. “I don’t want to hear the whole ‘it’s my fault you’re here’ speech. It’s not your fault. It’s not Doug’s. It’s not anybody’s but mine. And as for what I need, I don’t think you have a clue about that. You remember our last night together, Rob?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, his voice quiet and pained. He screwed up his eyes, and she wondered for a moment if he felt as tearful as she did. At least she had crazy hormones to blame it on.

  “And do you remember what I told you?”

  He nodded, lips clenched tightly, as though the thought upset him. It probably did, she knew.

  “Look at me, Rob,” she said, standing up and walking over to him. She reached up, stroked the side of his face. Felt it lean into her palm, like a puppy seeking comfort, then pull away. He looked at her, and she felt her heart cracking all over again.

  “I told you I loved you, Rob. I still love you, despite all your best efforts. And now here you are, standing in my apartment, looking like you’ve just eaten your own liver, asking me to marry you. I can tell from that look that you will never be able to say that back to me. Maybe you’ll never be able to say it to anyone. And I pity you for that, I really do.

  “But I’m worth more than a fake marriage for the sake of a visa. I’m worth more than committing my life to a man who can never love me. I’m worth more than all of that. So thank you, Rob, for being willing to make such a sacrifice. But no – not unless there is any way you convince me I’m wrong about all of this.”

  She waited, barely able to breathe. It all came down to this one moment. Forget the visa, forget the marriage, forget the deportation. This was it: the moment where she would decide whether to tell him about the baby or not. The moment where she may have to face up to life as a single mother. The way he reacted now would decide all of that.

  He reached down, stroked stray tendrils of blonde hair away from her face. Traced the contours of her lips with the tips of his fingers. Looked long and hard into the glowing amber of her eyes. Gave her the only answer he felt capable of: “I’m sorry Leah. About everything. But you’re right.”

  She placed her hand on his, stood up on tiptoes, and kissed him briefly, feeling the tears well up.

  “I thought so. It’s time for you to leave, Rob – and this time, don’t come back.”

  Chapter 20

  Rob looked around him, then back at the A-Z he held in his hands. Someone had told him the UK would be cold in autumn, so he was wearing black leather gloves. Ha. It was positively tropical compared to Chicago; a crisp, clear day, sunlight sparkling from frost, reddening leaves lining the sidewalks. Pretty.

  He stared again at the map, trying to figure out exactly where he was. He’d been wandering around for ten minutes after getting off the Tube at St John’s Wood. He could have used his driver – should have, in fact, bearing in mind he was lost – but he’d wanted the walk. Wanted to clear his head.

  That, he realised, had been ambitious, as he was suffering from a severe case of jet lag and anxiety. A fantastic combination that was threatening to choke the breath out of him, and which had definitely retarded his map-reading ability.

  He’d left Chicago yesterday, after his whole family ganged up on him. Marco, Dorothea, and even Melissa – Meredith’s sister. They’d held an intervention, pinning him down in his apartment while he had nowhere to run. He’d felt it coming from Marco and his mom for months, in their silent disapproval, their not-so-subtle concern, the way they watched everything he did as though he were a nuclear bomb about to go mushroom cloud on them. But seeing Melissa, Meredith’s sister? That had been a shock, one that hit him like a punch in the gut.

  He hadn’t seen her for four long years. Melissa, who he’d shamefully cut out of his life at a time when they could both have supported each other. Melissa, who looked so much like Meredith that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her. It just hurt too much. Every year she’d reached out to him, and every year he’d ignored her – worse than that, he’d had Felicia send her a standard, pre-signed Cavelli Inc. Christmas card. What an asshole.

  Despite all of that, despite his rudeness and his selfish attitude, she’d come to Cavelli Tower. All the way from Miami, flying in from the Sunshine State just to kick his ass. Dorothea and Marco hadn’t had to travel as far, but they certainly joined in with the ass kicking.

  He couldn’t say that he blamed them. It was his first night at home after a five-day bender that had started with the Thanksgiving turkey, and ended with him waking up on the floor of a jail cell, wearing lederhosen and a pair of bunny ears. Not a good look for a grown man. Not a straight one, at least.

  Marco had bailed him out, and they’d driven home in silence. There’d been none of the ribbing he expected. None of the mockery his brother excelled at. Just a stern gaze, and barely a spare word.

  He’d been deposited outside his room, and told to sleep it off, leaving Rob with a deep sense of shame and desperation. For once, he’d have welcomed Marco’s incessant pushing; his persistent attempts to make him talk about Meredith. Make him talk about Leah. Make him talk about anything. Instead, it was like he’d given up. Given up on talking, given up on Rob.

  Maybe he was right. Five days, for Christ’s sake. Most of which he couldn’t even remember. Anything could have happened, anything at all. He was lucky he’d only woken up with bunny ears and not a wedding ring; lord knows he had the money for a Vegas run. He could have been killed, or injured, or ended up in hospital with blood poisoning.

  Instead, he’d ended up in the lock-up, where a kinder-hearted member of Chicago’s finest had taken pity on him, throwing him in a cell to sober up before he did himself any damage. The last time he’d been in jail, it had been because of Leah. And, if he wanted to be bitter about it, this time was as well.

  Hell, not just her. Everything. Everyt
hing that was wrong with his pathetic, screwed up life. Including the fact that she’d left, disappeared off the face of the planet without so much as a goodbye.

  Marco and his mother had been furious with him, for giving up without a fight. For letting her go. For allowing her to get kicked out of the country.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Marco had yelled at him, as angry as he’d ever seen him. “It’s obvious you’re in love with the woman – why didn’t you just ask her to marry you?”

  “I did,” Rob had replied, looking his brother straight in the eye. “And she said no, okay?”

  Not only had she said no, she’d done it in style. Left him broken, and bruised, and wondering if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. She hadn’t contacted any of them ever again.

  She’d disappeared off the face of the planet, or at least Chicago. All debts paid, no forwarding address, no way to trace her. She could be anywhere. New York. New Delhi. New Guinea. She was gone. She hadn’t contested the deportation – just left, without a word to any of them. He’d spoken to the landlord, to the guys in the coffee shop, to her neighbours. None of them had a clue where she’d gone – or even when. She’d cancelled all arrangements she had with them, thanked them for their help, and pulled a major league vanishing act.

  After that, Rob had retreated in on himself again. Never mentioned her name. Had Marco and his mother half demented with worry. They’d both seen it before – the way he’d behaved after Meredith died.

  His eyes were lined with sleepless nights, his forehead creased with a permanent headache.

  He’d been drinking heavily, working stupid hours, and locking himself in his rooms for the rest of the time. Even Dorothea threatening to spank him hadn’t worked. He’d backed far away, and they’d started to fear he’d never come out the other side.

  They were, Rob knew, right. For months he’d behaved like an ass. A self-destructive ass with a death wish he wasn’t even honest enough to acknowledge. Leah living in Andersonville had been hard, but at least he’d been able to see her. Pick up the phone and hear her voice. Find an excuse to bump into her. Feed the sad addiction he suspected he’d have for the rest of his days. But life without her at all was impossible. It might have been what he claimed he wanted, but the reality of it was like a kick in the nuts with steel-toed boots.

  It wasn’t just that she’d gone, but that she’d gone without even saying goodbye. That despite the declarations of love, he’d meant so little to her in the end that she could abandon it all so easily, burn her bridges so brutally. Again, he couldn’t blame her. Why wouldn’t she? She’d done everything she could to make things right. And in return, he’d done everything he could to push her away – why was he so surprised when she took the hint?

  After she’d gone, things got really bad. He was losing whole weekends to drinking, often alone, in bars where he knew nobody. Making the casual friends people made in such sad, dark corners of the city, where first names were the only names and buying a guy a drink was as intimate as it got. Until the week before, of course. Until the Thanksgiving incident, when he’d clearly made some very different friends. Friends who liked him enough to loan him lederhosen two sizes too small and pink bunny ears. That flashed. At least, he’d thought, sobering up in the jail cell, he still had both his lungs.

  He’d woken up at home the next day still suffering from the hangover from hell, and faced by the daunting triumvirate. Marco, his mom, and Melissa. He’d choked when he’d seen her face; her kind brown eyes, her full lips. The caramel curls that were exactly the same as her sister’s. The sweet smile the two had always shared. The way she touched his hand as he shivered and shook, filled with grief and shame.

  He couldn’t refuse Melissa, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to tell her to take a hike, to leave him alone with his booze and his misery. She was part of Meredith, part of his past. She shared DNA with the woman he’d once loved.

  So when she sat on the edge of his bed, Marco and Dorothea hovering in the background, and took his hand, he couldn’t resist her. And when she’d wiped away his tears, and calmed his trembling, he had to listen.

  Had to listen when she told him: “Rob, it’s time for you to move on with your life. You can’t love a ghost forever. From what these guys tell me, Leah is an amazing woman. Someone you could make a life with. Don’t you think that’s what Meredith would have wanted?”

  “I don’t know, Melissa,” he’d replied. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Well it is – I know it is, Rob. I know you loved Meredith. So did I, and we’ll both always grieve for her. But you didn’t die in that crash with them, no matter how many times since you might have wished you did.”

  He’d stared up at her in astonishment at that, amazed that he’d been so transparent. Melissa had simply smiled, and held his hand.

  “And I ask you this now, Rob – if Leah was back in your life, would you still want that? Would you still be wishing it was all over?”

  He turned the thought over in his mind, feeling the rawness of emotion stabbing and shearing and tearing holes in his already fragile soul. He held Melissa’s hand tight, and looked into her eyes.

  “No, if Leah was here, I wouldn’t be wishing that.”

  “Why?” she asked, pushing him to put it into words. To make it real.

  “Because,” he said, “I love her.”

  God, he’d hated himself for so much right then: not just for his part in Meredith’s death, but for abandoning Melissa afterwards. For letting Leah slip through his fingers. For losing himself in booze and self-pity for so long. For making a terrible situation so much worse. But all he could do now was try and make it right.

  “But I don’t know where she is,” he’d said, his voice shaky. “I tried to find her when she first left, but I couldn’t. Then I figured she didn’t want to be found, and decided to leave her to it. Decided I’d messed her life up enough already.”

  “Well you didn’t try hard enough, Rob Cavelli, did you?” Dorothea had piped in, waving a bony finger at him. “Good job I’m made of sterner stuff. She’s in London. It wasn’t that hard, and if you’d really wanted to find her instead of wallowing in self pity, you’d have hired a private investigator, like I did. I have the address, and you’re booked on a flight to Heathrow tonight. Either you’re on it, young man, or you’re out of my life – for good.”

  He recognised the ultimatum for what it was: fraudulent. His mother would never disown him. Like she said, she was made of sterner stuff. But he also recognised it for something else – a second chance. A chance to redeem himself. To man up. To become the person Meredith would have wanted him to become, not some bunny-ear wearing barfly.

  So now, here he was. Standing on St John’s Wood High Street. Looking at chintzy chocolate shops and swish cafes and shop windows full of blingtastic clothes. Watching dark-haired women in glamorous outfits walking glamorous dogs. Searching for the corner that would lead to the street. The street where she lived.

  He walked on, against the swell of shoppers, further towards the intersection he needed. Took the steps he needed to take, to the doorway of the bistro, with its fake French lettering on the hanging wooden sign.

  It was tucked between a bookshop and a beauty salon, with wooden-framed windows and flowers in tubs outside the door, standing like sentries. It was just after lunch time, and he could see staff inside cleaning up, leaning on mop handles as they chatted, moving tables and chairs aside.

  He paused for a moment; gathered his courage, fought of the very last vestiges of his hangover. God, he could kill for a drink right now.

  He finally took the plunge, and walked in. His eyes scanned the room, wondering. Wondering if she was there. If she’d emerge from behind the bar with a towel over her shoulder, or if he’d hear her voice, her laugh. If she’d see him first and do a runner through the back door. If his mother was even right, and he wasn’t on a wild goose chase. Maybe it was
another Leah Harvey. Maybe he should just back out and leave.

  A man walked up to him, tall, thin, sandy brown hair thinning on top. Attractive in that harmless looking way some women found appealing. He was wearing a black apron and a wary smile as he approached.

  “Hi there – can I help you?” the man asked when he drew close. He smelled vaguely of red wine and garlic, the remnants of a lunchtime special wafting around the dining hall. It was all dark wood, candles in bottles, chalked up specials lined up at the bar. Atmospheric, nice. Scary as hell.

  “Uh – yeah. I’m looking for Leah Harvey. Is she around?”

  “And who would I say is calling?” the man asked as he wiped his hands on his apron. He stood back, looked Rob up and down appraisingly, taking in the American accent. The expensive cashmere coat. The soft leather gloves. The dark Italian eyes. The smile fell from his face as he realised who this visitor was.

  “Rob Cavelli,” Rob answered, staring back at him with equal hostility. Because a few things were starting to fall into place for him as well. Leah had never talked much about her previous life, but he knew enough to take an educated guess. To guess that this was the bistro she used to work in, and that this was Doug. Hide-the-sausage-Doug, in the not very substantial flesh. He felt his heart plunge to the soles of his boots. Were they back together? Had she left him, left Chicago, to make up with Doug? He couldn’t believe it. She’d said so many times that Doug didn’t matter to her. She’d said so many times that she loved him, loved Rob…but maybe, not enough?