by Sharon Booth
"They sound a nice couple."
"They are. Ethan was bouncing his baby son on his knee, and his little sister was running around causing havoc, and his wife sampled every chocolate and told me, after tasting each and every flavour, that it was her new favourite. We had a lovely time."
"So, did you get the contract?"
Kit sighed. He thought it best not to tell his brother the whole story. Informal the meeting may have been, but Ethan wasn't stupid. Far from it. He'd known all about their involvement with Halliwell & Stephenson's and was aware that the company had crashed. He wanted to know how the loss of the LuvRocks contract had impacted on Carroll's, and whether his investment in the company would be secure, should he choose to give them the contract to supply York. Kit had considered embellishing the truth, but decided in the end that honesty was the best policy. Ethan had clearly appreciated that, but it would no doubt throw a spanner in the works. They weren't guaranteed anything. Far from it. "Not yet. He's going to let me know. I would have said yes, judging by how well we got on, but for all I know, he might have invited a dozen other manufacturers along and done exactly the same with them. It's just a question of wait and see."
"Will the contract be enough to pull us through?"
Kit considered the question before answering. "Not on its own," he said. "It will help, but we're going to have to find other customers, new sources of income. I don't want to be so heavily reliant on one contract ever again."
"After LuvRocks, I can't say I blame you," Jack said, sounding sheepish. "I really am sorry about that."
"You did what you thought was best," Kit said firmly. "It's past and done. Forget about it."
"When I come back," Jack said, "what's going to happen? With us, I mean? Are you planning on staying?"
Kit leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Would it bother you if I was?"
"Hell, no! I'd love it."
"Really? I wouldn't cramp your style?"
Jack laughed. "Are you kidding? I'd love it. Are you seriously considering it?"
"More than that, Jack. I've made up my mind. I've done my travelling. Now I want to stay put and try to turn Carroll's around. We have a long way to go, and I don't honestly know if we'll make it, but I want to do everything I can to save the place. No idea where I'm going to live, though. May end up sleeping on the office floor."
"Don't be daft. You can move in with us. It's the least we can do."
"I think that might be a bit too much, don't you? Much as I love you, I don't think I could be with you twenty-four hours a day. It might just finish me off."
"Point taken. Well, you'll find somewhere, I'm sure. I'm just so glad that you're staying. I look forward to working for you."
Kit's eyes snapped open. "You won't be working for me, Jack. You'll be working with me. Partners."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. I've already spoken to our solicitor about making it official. You've earned your share in this factory, which is more than I've done. But I intend to start earning it. From now on, it gets my full, undivided attention."
"Hmm. Well, I'm thrilled that you're staying, and I'm grateful for the partnership, Kit, truly I am, but don't get like Dad, will you?"
"Like Dad?" Kit felt his hackles rising. "As if!"
"He thought about nothing but the factory. I don't want you to have nothing in your life but that place. Time you found yourself a girlfriend, if you ask me. You need some fun and a bit of love in your life."
"Plenty of time for all that," Kit said, lightly. "I'm only thirty. No hurry."
Jack laughed. "Just as long as you bear it in mind," he said. "I met Amanda when I was just a teenager, and I'm glad about it. We've had so many years together. Don't leave it too long, eh?"
"Oh, get back to your lovely wife and your sickeningly happy marriage," Kit said, trying to sound jokey. "Give Amanda and Tim my love, and tell them I can't wait to see them. I'm counting the days."
"We are, too," Jack said quietly. "Take care, bro. And thank you. Thanks for everything."
"No need to thank me. A half share in a failing factory is hardly anything to get excited about. I may just be saddling you with a half share in a pile of debts, so I'd hold off on those thanks, if I were you."
"We'll make it work," Jack said. "Together. I'll head to the shops as soon as I can and send you an amazing Christmas present. Promise."
Kit laughed and ended the call. He didn't need any Christmas presents. His nephew's good health was all that he wanted. Anything else was just the icing on the Christmas cake.
He thought about the one present he had received. He shouldn't really have opened it, but he'd been unable to resist. It was from Marley, and it was a smart tie—from Rochester's, ironically. It had probably cost a small fortune, and it meant absolutely nothing whatsoever to him. Typical of Marley. It was all about the designer name. She really didn't know him at all.
He wondered briefly what she would make of the present he'd got her. She would probably hate it.
It just showed the difference between them, he thought sadly. They were miles apart. How had he ever thought it could work? The physical attraction between them was as strong as ever, but it wasn't enough. The simple fact was, he didn't trust her. She'd proved over and over that it was money that motivated her, and love had played no part in her relationship with him. Why had he been so determined to ignore that? He would never deny the truth to himself again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I knew David would call in the favour I owed him before long, and sure enough, I was roped in for babysitting duty.
"You made me dress up as Santa," he reminded me, when I pulled a face. "The least you can do is watch the kids, while me and Livvy go out and have a nice meal."
"How cosy," I said. "Just the two of you?"
Olivia looked a bit awkward. "We're going with Mum and Don. You don't mind, do you? Don's managed to change his booking at Miller's to a table for four instead of two. We thought it would be nice to have a bit of adult time before Christmas, without kids hanging around."
I felt a pang of jealousy. I was being pushed out, all because I was single. Seeing Olivia's anxious face, though, I smiled. "’Course I don't mind. I don't fancy spending an evening watching Don and David pig out, anyway. Bad enough every day in the canteen. Enjoy yourselves."
Tommy was in bed, fast asleep, but I'd been lumbered with Sam and Max, who were so hyped up about the rapidly-approaching big day that they wouldn't have slept even if I'd put sleeping tablets in their cocoa, which, of course, I would never do. Mind you, I did think it would be worth a prison sentence at one point, as they clambered over the sofa, squealing and fighting and demanding biscuits and drinks, a look at the Argos catalogue, a game on my mobile phone, and a piggy back ride around the living room. The Christmas tree nearly went over twice. My nerves were in shreds.
"Don't you two ever get tired?" I demanded, slumping in exhaustion onto the sofa, after having deposited Max safely back on the ground.
Sam shook his head. "Nope. Can we watch a film?"
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" I said grumpily. "I'd love some peace and quiet."
"If you let us watch a film, we'll be quiet, won't we, Max?"
Max thought about it for a moment. "Maybe."
I had to admire his honesty. "Okay. One film, then bed. Seriously. What do you want to watch?"
They considered the matter carefully. Each made several suggestions, which the other dismissed. Finally, Sam shrieked, "Willy Wonka!"
Max jumped up and down on his knees. How did he find the energy? I felt drained just watching him. "Yeah, Willy Wonka!"
Seriously? I had to sit and watch a film about a sodding chocolate factory and its weird and wonderful owner? Great.
"If I let you watch it, you promise to go straight to bed afterwards?"
"Promise," they said, all solemn-faced, wide-eyed and innocent, as if chocolate wouldn't melt in their mouths.
Doubting they mea
nt it, but having no choice, I duly obliged and pushed the disc of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory into the DVD player. At least it might give me around an hour and a half of peace and quiet.
No such luck. Sam and Max chattered the whole way through, sang along to every song, and bombarded me with questions.
"Marley, you work in a chocolate factory, don't you? Like Mummy and Daddy," Max said.
I nodded gloomily. "For now," I muttered.
"Do you have Oompa-Loompas there?" he queried.
I shook my head. "No Oompa-Loompas."
"Daddy said you had Oompa-Loompas!" Sam shrieked. "Where have they gone?"
I shrugged. "Sacked for being naughty," I told them. "There was a lot of fuss about it. The Oompa-Loompa union almost went to the papers."
Clearly, my wit was wasted on them, because they stared at me in bewilderment.
"I think," I said gently, "that your dad was having you on. No Oompa-Loompas at Carroll's."
"Then, who makes the chocolate?" demanded Sam.
"The factory workers. People like your mum and dad."
"And you?"
I gave him an icy stare. "Certainly not. I'm a PA. I work in the office."
"You know the sticks of rock you make," Sam began, "how do you put the words inside them?"
"It's an interesting process," I said. "You have to make the letters individually, and you should see how big they are to start with."
"How big are they?" said Max, sounding curious.
I held up my hands to show him the rough size of the letters. They shrieked with laughter.
"Don't be silly," Sam said. "That would never fit inside a stick of rock."
"Ah," I told him, "but you have no idea how big the sticks of rock are at first."
Their eyes widened. "Show us."
I held my hands apart and said, "Longer than this. They're enormous. You'd never believe it."
"Then how," said Max, "do they end up so small?"
"They're put into machines and rolled. The rock comes out the other end like a long sausage, and then it goes onto a table and is rolled and cut by hand. It's still quite soft then, but it hardens up very quickly, so you have to be quick."
They looked at each other, clearly not certain that I was telling the truth.
"Cross my heart, hope to die," I assured them.
They turned back to the television, where Augustus Gloop was currently stuck halfway up a pipe.
"Do you have a chocolate river at your factory?" Sam asked.
"No. Afraid not."
"You don't have much there, do you?" he said.
"I want to see the rock being made," Max shrieked.
I covered my ears with my hands and winced. "Shush, Max, for goodness sake. If you wake Tommy, I'll cry."
"I'd like to see the geese that lay the Easter eggs," Sam admitted.
"No geese, either," I said, feeling more and more like the Grinch. "Your mum and dad make the Easter eggs, and they're very clever at it."
"Really?" They both looked quite impressed.
"I want to work in the factory when I grow up," Sam said.
Max yawned. "Me, too."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell them that, surely, they could think of a better career than that. As I watched them, though, their little heads bobbing as they fought off sleep, blond hair tousled, all neat and cute in their Batman pyjamas, I had second thoughts.
I looked around the cosy living room. The Argos catalogue lay open on the floor, the pages ringed with all the toys the boys had requested. The Christmas tree was strewn with a jumble of shop-bought and handmade decorations, pride of place going to a Santa made from a cardboard tube from the middle of a toilet roll—Max's contribution from nursery. There were dozens and dozens of cards pinned on every wall, and covering every available surface, and tinsel draped over the huge, framed photograph of David, Olivia and the boys that took up most of the chimney breast.
David and Olivia had achieved all of it by working in the factory. It wasn't a designer home. It wasn't a large home. It wasn't even a particularly tidy home. But it was a home, and it was full of laughter and noise and love. What more could I hope for, for my own nephews? What more—when it came down to it—could anyone hope for?
Feeling the pang of loss all over again, I wondered if it would ever really go away.
Sam closed his eyes, and I gently ruffled his hair. "Come on, sweetheart," I said, scooping him up in my arms. "Time for bed."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
"Are you actually serious? London?" Mum put her arm through Don's and stared at me, clearly upset.
"Bit of a sudden decision isn't it, love?" Don said. "I mean, it's Christmas Eve, the day after tomorrow. Cutting it a bit fine."
"I've always wanted to spend Christmas in New York," I said truthfully, "but it's not possible. I'd never get a visa in time, for one thing. I looked online and London looks amazing with all the lights and the department stores and markets. I've never been there before, and it will be an experience."
Don whistled. "London, though? Proper expensive there, you know."
"That hardly matters," I reminded him. "I can afford it, so why not?"
"But it's Christmas," Mum said, clearly bewildered. "You should be at home, with us. It won't be the same if you're not here."
I felt a warm glow inside, grateful that she felt that way. I knew I would miss her, too. I'd miss all of them. But I needed to get away and think things over in peace. The guilt was eating me away, as Dad's words kept coming back to haunt me. You're a chip off the old block, Marley.
Kit's assertion that I'd only been with him for the money hurt more than I could express, and I kept remembering how I'd promised to look after Great Uncle Charles, then spent the entire weekend in bed with Kit, forgetting all about a lonely, sick old man. His death was on my conscience, and I just didn't know what to do any more.
Knowing Kit was just a short walk away from my flat every day didn't help, either. I needed to get far away from him and all the painful memories he stirred up. London wasn't as far as New York, but it would do for a while.
Mum gave me a helpless look, but said, "Well, if that's what you want. I'll go and find your presents. You can, at least, take them with you to that London."
As she hurried upstairs, Don fixed me with a piercing stare. "So, go on. What's to do?"
"I don't know what you mean," I said, feeling the tell-tale heat spread through my face.
"This has something to do with Kit, I'd bet my last penny on it. What happened?"
"Why do you think anything happened?"
"Oh, come on." He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Let's not play them games, eh? Look, he were looking at you like a lovesick puppy one minute, and the next thing we knew you were standing miles apart not talking. You don't go from one thing to the other without something happening. What were it?"
I sighed. "I don't honestly know how it all went so wrong."
Mum lumbered down the stairs, dragging two big bags of presents. "There you go, love. At least you'll have something to open on Christmas morning, even if you won't have your family around you."
I blinked away the tears. "What the heck are all these?"
"Christmas presents! What else?" She tried to smile, but I could see she was upset. "Some from me and Don, and some from Olivia and David, and the boys."
"But that's far too much," I protested.
She waved my protests away. "We had a bumper budget this year, with our unexpected inheritance. Decided to blow a whole stack of it on Christmas. And, why not? You only live once, don't you?"
I put my arms around her. "Thanks, Mum. Love you."
She patted me on the back. "Love you, too. Have a smashing time, love. Ring me up on Christmas morning, won't you?"
"I will," I promised.
Don cleared his throat. "Right, well, I'd best help you to the car with this little lot. Dead icy out there. Don't want you falling and breaking your neck, do we? Wouldn't wan
t you to miss out on London."
He collected the bags, and I waved goodbye to Mum, then followed him out onto the road, where he began to pack the boot of my car with the presents.
"So, go on," he said, after checking that Mum hadn't followed us. "What happened?"
"Do you really want to know?" I said, knowing that he'd insist he did.
It took me a good ten minutes to tell him everything, while we both faffed around in the boot, moving things around so Mum would think we were still busy sorting the presents if she looked out of the window.
When I'd finished, Don gave a big sigh and slammed the boot shut. "No wonder you're all over the place. Attacked on all sides, eh?"
I could have hugged him. He, at least, understood how I felt.
"Reckon Kit feels the same," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
I glared at him. "I thought you'd be on my side."
"Strikes me, love, that you and Kit are on the same side."
"And how do you work that out?"
"Oh, come on, you're not that daft. Look, it's pretty obvious that he loves you to bits, but he thinks you only care about him for the money. He doesn't trust that you love him more than cash. You love him to bits, too, but you have serious abandonment issues. You can't get past the fact that he walked out on you. Not your fault, entirely. I mean, he did walk out on you, even though I shouldn't imagine he sees it that way. In his eyes, you chose comfort over love. Hard for him to get past that. In your eyes, he did exactly what your father did. He left you. You don't trust that he really loves you and won't abandon you again. Hence your willingness to believe there was something between him and that woman, even on the flimsiest evidence. You'd already made up your mind he wouldn't hang around, and she just fitted what you'd already imagined. Obvious, really."
I stared at him. "Who are you? Sigmund Freud?"
"Just an ordinary bloke who doesn't have any major issues, which gives me an uncanny ability to step back and see the issues others are having, especially those I happen to care about a lot. You know what you need, don't you?"
"A holiday in London," I said.