by Rosie Blake
Gerald was there, dressed in a Christmas jumper that Eve congratulated him on, realising too late it was not worn in irony. She scuttled away just before she heard him strike up a reluctant conversation with Raj. It was only when Raj announced he was leaving in the New Year to teach pottery classes to children in Spain that Gerald really perked up.
Danny was there too, chatting to Aisha and Mark, and Eve wandered over to wish them all a Happy Christmas.
Aisha turned as she approached, her hair even glossier in the light from a nearby candle. ‘Eve, I saw all your pots, they’re brilliant. You are such a talented artist.’
Eve felt her cheeks warm as Aisha continued to compliment her.
‘No one does deranged geese better than you.’ Danny smiled, winking at her.
‘Thanks. Quite a niche market, though,’ Eve replied, hoping she might be able to draw Danny to one side and talk to him. She didn’t want to embarrass herself, hoping they might get a chance to speak before she had to leave.
‘Eve, we were actually wondering,’ Aisha said, turning to hold Mark’s hand, ‘whether you would mind doing some sketches for our wedding invitations? Would you be interested?’
‘Oh, I…’
‘We wanted something hand-drawn and we were hoping you might be able to design us something.’
‘Wow!’ Eve said, temporarily at a loss for words, the request blindsiding her. ‘Yes, of course, I’d love to,’ she gushed, feeling a warmth spread through her.
‘I saw Raj’s business cards, they were fantastic,’ Mark commented, an arm round Aisha’s shoulders.
‘Thanks,’ said Eve, feeling absurdly happy. ‘And, Aisha, I’m, um, I was hoping I could get you to put a word in for me, at the agency.’ She was gratified to see Aisha clap her hands together. She could start to see herself in the village, had friends here now. Maybe it was time to do something completely new with her life. She wanted options, an opportunity to start afresh.
She was running out of time to speak to Danny. He was talking to Mark about the football matches over Christmas and Eve didn’t want to drag him away or ask him anything too private in front of other people. It worried her, though, that he seemed to have bags under his eyes. He gave her a quick grin when he noticed her looking over at him and she mouthed ‘Happy Christmas’ as she left, knowing she didn’t have all day. She almost told him where she was headed but couldn’t bring herself to in front of other people. He would probably only have laughed.
She was going to see Greg. She wanted to see him before she left, felt this desperate urge to tell him that she was sorry about his mum and everything that had happened. Seeing Danny taut and worried, hiding his fears behind smiles, only made her want to see Greg more. She didn’t give herself time to change her mind, but headed back to the boat to drop off her bag of pottery, removing one piece from it. Throwing a moth-eaten bottle-green jumper over her dungarees and pulling her plimsolls on, she locked up hastily, almost slipping on the icy deck in her rush to get out before she changed her mind.
The common was crisp under her feet, crunching as she slipped and trod over to the gate of the car park, the wind turning her bare ankles blue. She wished she had brought a coat, marching along the high street with arms pumping to try to keep warm, the temperature making her nose run and her ears ache. She wouldn’t be deterred, hearing her footsteps slapping in the echoey space under the railway bridge, the cold winter sunlight temporarily blinding her as she emerged from beneath it. She jumped as a high-speed train whistled past, the carriages bumping and squealing just above her head, so that her thoughts were temporarily drowned out. She imagined people wrapped up in layers, carrying bags of presents home with them, looking out as the countryside whizzed by and they headed home for Christmas.
She could see Karen trussed up in a red polo neck tapping at the desk as, tilting her chin up and feigning more confidence than she felt, she pushed the door open. The bell rang out and then a stuffed Santa started singing noisily as she crossed the surgery. Karen rolled her eyes, clearly weary as the tune faded out. This obviously wasn’t the first time she’d heard it. The reception was decorated with poinsettias and tinsel was hung all along her desk. Eve darted her eyes to the right and realised with relief that she was the only customer.
‘Is Greg here?’ she asked, stepping forward, her voice laced with excitement.
Karen looked her up and down, clearly growing more familiar with her barging into the practice without booking an appointment. ‘He’s left for the day; we’re closing early because it’s Christmas Eve. The last appointment just finished.’
Eve wondered why Karen’s mascara had run. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked her, stepping forward.
‘I’m fine thank you, just, well,’ she said with a sigh, ‘it was a tougher day than some.’
Eve nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, at a loss now as to what to do, utterly deflated that she’d missed him. ‘Oh,’ she said, the piece of pottery wrapped in a paper bag clutched to her chest. ‘Could you make sure he gets this, please?’
‘Of course,’ Karen said, taking it from her.
Eve walked back across the surgery, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor, setting off stuffed Santa into another round of song.
Taking care over the thin layer of snow that had peppered the ground, turning the tarmac of the car park into a dotted carpet, she pushed open the gate to the common and looked up at the boat. She couldn’t believe it at first; from this distance it was possible it could have been any dog but, as she heard a familiar bark and he saw her and started racing towards her, she was in no doubt at all. His ears were perked up, his bark resounding around the empty space, and she bent to pet him, stroking him over and over, bundling him into her arms so that he wriggled and squirmed in delight, his rough tongue on her chin.
‘Okay, okay.’ She laughed, putting him back down on the floor.
It was only then that she realised there was someone else in the park with them. He was standing awkwardly, hands in his pockets, then out again, shifting from one leg to another as she neared the boat. The snow had started falling and it drifted down into his hair, resting there, tiny flakes that she wanted to reach up and brush away. His nose and cheeks were pink with the cold and he gave her a small smile. She felt her body react, a flip in her stomach at the familiarity of his face.
‘Hey, Liam,’ she said, her voice soft as she approached, Marmite forgotten as he yapped and spun about them.
She wanted to rage, to shout and to scream, haughtily demand him to go away. She pictured Ro-Ro then, pointing at him and shouting, ‘Be gone,’ but she couldn’t summon up the energy. She realised with a start that she didn’t feel as strongly any more. His face was already starting to fade into her past, nestled with faces of other men that she had loved and broken up with. A little more vivid, perhaps, but still firmly in that line-up now.
‘Eve,’ he said, the snow falling more heavily now.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said and, scooping up Marmite, she walked over to the door of the boat and stood back, watching him duck his head and step inside. She kissed the top of Marmite’s fur and then followed him in.
It was so strange seeing him sitting on the bench of the little boat. He had picked up the orchid book and was now trawling its pages, not focusing, stopping, looking up and trawling again. She waited for the kettle to boil, unable to resist watching him. His sandy hair was cut differently, spikier at the front and shorter at the back, and under his coat he was wearing a shirt with a narrow tie. He looked like a trendy hipster, different from the Liam she held in her memory.
‘Have you?’ She indicated his hair, suddenly recognising another change. ‘Have you dyed your hair?’
His neck went red as he blustered a reply. ‘Just some tints,’ he admitted, patting the top self-consciously.
Eve felt her eyes widen, her eyebrows lift; Liam had always been pretty scathing of men who did too much to their appearance. She swallowed down a catty response, not
feeling she had the energy to tease him for it. In fact, as she handed him his tea, milk, two sugars, she felt detached, as if they had just met and were having to make polite conversation.
‘Peppermint cream?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I made some,’ Eve said, opening the fridge and pulling out a baking sheet with rows of circular white fondants. ‘This batch is the best,’ she said, her voice laced with pride as she popped four onto a plate, a fifth straight into her mouth.
Liam took the plate, his face still a startled mix as he bit into one. She could tell he was impressed as he returned for a second one. ‘When did you get into making these?’
Eve shrugged, picturing Greg and her eating them at the market, icing sugar on his nose. She’d wanted to make something, she realised, that reminded her of him. She wanted to cook with him again; cooking with Greg just felt right. They complemented each other, moving around the kitchen without clashing, her tidying and tasting, veering away from the making. Him forcing her to take notice, then stepping back to allow her to take over, quietly instructing her if she started to panic. She felt happy to tackle different recipes, had started to enjoy coming up with ideas.
‘I have done a bit of cooking while I’ve been down here,’ she said, sitting down on the stool and lifting Marmite to her.
They ate in between stilted conversation. He was heading home for Christmas.
‘Alone?’ Eve couldn’t help asking.
‘Alone.’ Liam nodded. ‘I’m not seeing anyone else, Eve. The girl. It’s over. It was—’
‘Ro-Ro,’ Eve finished for him, a glimmer of triumph as he almost choked on his peppermint cream.
‘Did she tell you?’
‘No.’ Eve sighed, her shoulders sagging. ‘But it doesn’t matter any more.’ As the words left her mouth, she knew it was true. ‘So why are you here, Liam?’
He swallowed slowly, a hand up to self-consciously pat at his hair. ‘It wasn’t the same,’ he said, indicating Marmite. ‘He was pining for you and, well, he was our dog, it just didn’t feel right, taking him like that.’
‘So…’ Eve held her breath.
‘I thought I should bring him back. To you.’
‘Are you saying I can keep him?’ Eve asked, slowly, her whole body gripped as she waited for him to reply. Looking at Marmite now, she was desperate to keep him; she missed everything about him. His cowardice in the face of angry geese, him tripping her up by weaving in between her legs, his excited bark when they were racing around the common.
‘I’m going away, for work, and I thought it would be best if he stayed with you, he clearly likes you,’ he said, motioning to Marmite, who she had scooped up without thinking, her comfort blanket.
‘Thank you,’ Eve said, realising that this wasn’t easy for Liam. He had never been the best at climbing down after an argument. ‘I’ll look after him.’
‘I know you will.’
‘Wait here,’ Eve said, depositing Marmite back on the floor and heading to her bedroom, knowing exactly what she was looking for.
She returned, her chest a little tighter as she held out her hand, the engagement ring clutched in her closed fist.
‘Here,’ she said, dropping it into his. ‘I think it’s also about time I gave this back.’
He started to protest but she stopped him. ‘Please take it. It was lovely of you to give it to me in the first place but I want you to have it back now.’
He stopped short, his face suddenly hopeless, skin sagging as he nodded at her. ‘I’m sorry about it all, how it turned out,’ he said. He unzipped his pocket and put the ring inside, swallowing slowly as he looked back at her.
Eve stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Me too,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears, knowing this was the goodbye that they should have had.
‘Well,’ she said, a small smile on her face.
‘Well.’ He wound his scarf around his neck. Turning to go, he ducked his head through the door and stepped back out onto the bank. She followed him out.
‘Hey,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘Are you headed home for Christmas?’ he asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and, as Eve looked up at him, she heard her voice change as she smiled from the deck of the boat, the breeze lifting her hair.
‘Of course.’
It was worth the journey home just to see Harriet’s face after opening the door. She had obviously been mid-sentence, mouth half-open, turning away from the door as she pulled it towards her. And then she stopped, dropped Poppy’s stuffed toy lamb on the floor, grinned, and launched herself at Eve, enveloping her in the tightest hug.
‘Yay!’ she said, muffled by Eve’s hair.
Eve moved inside, brushing snow from her coat and laughing at Marmite who was licking at it, unsure what was on his fur. Mum appeared with a puzzled expression in the kitchen doorway, holding a wooden spoon. Then, as Eve looked up at her, a slow smile spread across her face and Eve walked over and hugged her too.
Mum patted her briskly. ‘Good, good,’ she said, wiggling away and turning back to the oven, one hand up to wipe at her face. ‘Gosh, something in my eye,’ she said, her voice cracking. Harriet grinned over at her.
They ate dinner, Gavin, Dad, Scarlet, Mum, Harriet and Eve all crammed round the circular table in the kitchen swapping news and jokes, the windows steamed up in the corners, Christmas cards littering the dresser, tinsel framing the pictures, party-popper threads dangling from the lampshade. Scarlet was still single, her latest man had decided to spend Christmas on a shaking retreat in Bali to ‘loosen his energy’ so they’d parted ways. Scarlet didn’t seem that fussed by the break-up, although she did later confide to Eve and Harriet that she regretted the tattoo on her ankle of a ram, his star sign, that Mum had yet to see.
They loved their presents, Dad instantly deciding to eat his Christmas cake from his plate, Harriet’s eyes bright as she turned the teapot over in her hands.
‘It’s amazing, honestly, Eve, it’s really good.’
‘Excellent, really excellent,’ Mum said and Eve beamed at her.
As the laughter and the games continued over bottles of red wine, Eve relaxed into her chair, Marmite snoozing at her feet, feeling full of contented love for her crazy family. She felt a brief flicker as she wondered where Greg was and how his mum was getting on. She hoped she was at home for Christmas, Greg and Danny able to be with her. As she kissed her dad goodnight, standing there in his bottle-green corduroys and pea-green shirt (‘extraordinary, he looks like a broad bean,’ said Mum), she hugged him close, feeling enormously lucky and stupid for ever wanting to miss being at home for this.
Christmas Day morning was bittersweet. Woken by Harriet, a bleary-eyed Scarlet behind her, Eve wasn’t given time to think about the year before, just swept down to breakfast and out to church, seeing Gavin and Harriet linking arms as Eve carried Poppy, pointing and gurgling in a red wool dress, in her arms. Scarlet had stayed back to keep an eye on lunch so that Mum could go to church. Dad was walking by her side, resplendent in a tweed cloak. When she did think of Liam, she prodded the feeling, realising it didn’t have quite the same sting. As she sang the carols and looked round at her family, she felt her voice rising higher and higher, wanting to celebrate, wanting to sing.
Lunch was the usual feast, crackers were pulled, jokes were told and they all stuffed themselves full of turkey. The roast potatoes were perfection: soft on the inside and crispy on the outside, the turkey was stuffed with delicious meats and the gravy was thick and warm. As Eve dabbed at her mouth, laughing as Harriet tried to force-feed Gavin a Quality Street chocolate, ‘I can’t, H, I’ll actually burst’, she grinned over at her dad who gave her the smallest wink.
They watched movies in their pyjamas, Scarlet and Eve curled up on the living-room floor on a sea of cushions under a duvet, giggling as if they were twelve years old again. Dad kept falling asleep next to the reading lamp, Mum kept asking who everyone was in the movie, Harriet and Gav
in patiently explaining. Before she went upstairs, Harriet drew Eve to one side, handing her an envelope. Eve frowned as she slid a finger along to open it.
‘What is it?’ she asked as she pulled out a slip of paper with a username and password written on it.
‘It’s for your new website,’ Harriet said with a slow smile.
‘Website?’
‘Your illustrations. I stole a few from some of the notebooks in your flat; there were loads but I hope you don’t mind. They’re really good, Eve, I think you’ve got something. You’ve already had an email through asking about designing a card for someone’s child’s birthday.’
‘Really?’ said Eve, her stomach suddenly erupting into bubbles. ‘That’s…’ She bit her lip, hugging Harriet tight, ‘Thank you, Amazing Sister.’
‘I’m the best,’ Harriet said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘It’s been a good day, hasn’t it?’ she asked.
‘It has,’ said Eve, padding upstairs to her bed, her stomach aching with food and laughter, her mind already on the things she could do next year. Perhaps she could work part time, try to get some commissions from the website? She felt a bubble of excitement at the prospect. Marmite was already asleep in a basket in the corner of her room and she grinned at the shape of him in the dark. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief: coming home had been the right thing to do.
There were texts from Aisha, Minnie, Daisy, all wishing her Happy Christmas which she sent kisses to, a text from Ro-Ro that she ignored. Nothing from Greg, who still didn’t have her number. She wondered for the twentieth time that day whether he had enjoyed Christmas. She didn’t know what they were doing. It might not have been the best day; she shouldn’t presume. She wondered whether she would see him when she got back to the boat, hoping she could still fix things with him, hoping that he didn’t hate her. Wrapped up in her checked pyjamas, she fell asleep whispering him ‘Happy Christmas’ out loud.