by Karen Clarke
‘From what he said.’ I paused as a group of revellers entered the pub, almost toppling the heavily decorated Christmas tree by the door. Decor wasn’t the landlord’s forte – the whole pub was a throwback to the eighties – and Bill hadn’t matched the size of the pot to the tree, which was topped by a glowing Yoda wearing a Santa cape, and holding a lightsabre, which made me think of Jack. ‘I feel like an idiot for not trusting my judgement in the first place,’ I said. ‘But he’s out of my life for good now.’
Meg raised her voice over a blast of, ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ from the bar area. ‘Maybe you should report him to the college.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t want him to lose his job,’ I said. ‘I just want to forget I ever met him.’
‘You should have called us,’ said Cassie. She was wearing a paint-patterned shirt and I guessed she’d come straight from her easel, while Meg had a dusting of flour near her hairline that suggested she’d been baking more mince pies. Our motto sisters before misters still held true – but I wondered for how much longer. In less than nine months, Cassie’s priorities would shift, and Meg would be splitting her time between the bakery, and trips abroad with Nathan. Bridget would be returning to her house in Notting Hill in March, and I’d still be at home with Mum and Dad.
‘What is it?’ Meg stretched a hand across the scarred wooden table and gripped my fingers, and the sight of her clean, short fingernails made me feel a bit teary. ‘Are you still shaken up?’
‘Honestly, I could kill him,’ said Cassie, pushing her glass of untouched white wine aside and taking my other hand. ‘Tell us what you’d like us to do.’
‘Cyanide poisoning might be the way to go.’ Meg’s blue eyes sparkled with intent. ‘I could slip some into a cake and have it delivered.’
‘Um, I’m not sure where to get hold of cyanide.’ I blinked, already feeling better.
‘Public humiliation might be easier.’ Cassie gave a wicked grin. ‘I could do a cartoon sketch, highlighting his less flattering characteristics,’ she made the recognised symbol for a tiny willy with her little finger, ‘and stick copies to lampposts all over Devon, with his name attached.’
‘I like that idea.’ I took a gulp of cold beer. ‘But maybe it’s best if I ignore him altogether from now on.’
‘Spoilsport.’ Meg smiled and let go of my hand. ‘Let us know if you change your mind.’
‘I still can’t get over the sight of you in a dress.’ Cassie leaned down the side of the table to take in the full spectacle, while I discreetly scoped the pub for possible electricians and floor fitters. ‘I don’t remember ever seeing you in tights.’
‘Do you mean my itchy leg shackles?’ I said. ‘I noticed when I came in, they’re completely laddered.’
‘I prefer thick black ones. Like the ones we wore at school,’ said Meg. ‘I think I’ve still got a pair, somewhere.’
‘Shame on you.’ My phone gave a melodic tinkle. ‘Uh-oh, talk of the devil,’ I said, seeing a text had arrived. ‘It’s Rufus.’
‘Oh my god, what a nerve.’ Cassie craned her neck to look at the screen. ‘He’d better be doing some sorries.’
Meg came round, enveloping me in her sweet, rose-garden scent. ‘What’s he got to say for himself?’
‘There’s a photo.’
‘You got a dick-pic?’ said a barrel-shaped woman on her way to the ladies, peering over my shoulder with a raucous cackle. ‘Get a lot of them on Tindall.’
‘I think she means Tinder,’ said Cassie and we exchanged horrified giggles.
‘I really hope it’s not a dick-pic.’ I opened the attachment, which – to my relief – revealed a scarlet-faced, grinning Rufus with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his arm draped around the shoulders of a sweet-faced red-head gazing at him adoringly. ‘Christ, I think he’s pulled.’
‘Maybe he’s got a gun pressed to her side,’ said Cassie.
‘She actually seems really happy,’ Meg observed. ‘Or drunk.’
‘Listen to this.’ I read his text aloud. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t make it today, Tilly, and wanted to let you know that I’ve met someone at Grant’s wedding. She’s called Sophie, she’s a teacher like me, and we’ve really hit it off. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can see each other again.’
‘What the actual…?’ Cassie’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s actually breaking up with you?’
‘Even though you’ve already broken up with him?’ Meg squeezed my shoulder. ‘What a bloody cheek.’
‘Oh, here comes another photo.’ This time, Rufus and Sophie were standing beneath some mistletoe, doing an open-mouthed kiss.
‘Ew,’ said Cassie. ‘It’s like watching cats licking each other’s faces.’
‘Who’s even taking those photos?’ Meg looked queasy.
‘They’re selfies,’ I said. ‘You can see from the angle of his arm.’
‘Talk about making a point.’ Cassie made a retching sound. ‘It’s revolting.’
‘I suppose if it makes him feel better to think he’s the one doing the breaking up, I’m not going to complain.’ I swiftly typed She looks lovely. All the best x
‘Shouldn’t you be warning her off?’ said Meg. ‘What if he turns dodgy?’
‘She looks into him.’ I risked looking at the photo again. ‘It might be different this time.’
‘See, there’s a bit of romance in you after all.’ Meg nudged my hand. ‘Now, delete his number and those awful pictures, and finish your drink.’
‘Good plan.’ I felt lighter once they’d gone, and had a feeling I wouldn’t be hearing from Rufus again.
‘So, are you back on track for the party?’ said Cassie.
My heart tripped. ‘Definitely!’ There was no way I could go around asking for help, when she and Meg thought everything was under control.
‘You’re sure?’ Meg flashed me a significant look. ‘You know you can say if you’re not, right?’
‘I’ve told you, the room will be ready on the night.’ My gaze slid to my glass, which was almost empty. ‘Stop hassling me, bitches.’
‘There’s only one full day left before our parents get back,’ Cassie pointed out, as if the date wasn’t emblazoned in neon across my frontal lobe. ‘And it’s a Sunday.’
I lowered my head to the table and let it rest there a moment.
‘Tilly, what’s wrong?’ Meg touched my hair.
‘Tilly?’ Cassie picked up my hand and let it drop. ‘Are you ill?’
‘I’m not ill.’ I raised my head and looked at them. I was so tired. I hadn’t even realised how tired I was until that moment, and the crowd at the bar, now doing shots and singing the first verse of every Christmas song ever made, was making my scalp throb. ‘I don’t think I cope well under pressure.’
‘Oh, Tilly, you should have said.’ Cassie sounded stricken. ‘I wouldn’t have…’ She slid a look at Meg.
‘What?’ Meg blinked slowly, like a doll.
‘Nothing.’ Cassie ate a handful of crisps, while I tried to accept that the room might not be finished, and their Christmas Eve would be ruined.
‘Well, I’ve put pressure on her too,’ said Meg. ‘No wonder she’s in a state.’
‘What sort of pressure have you put on Tilly?’
‘I just… I…’ Meg picked up her phone and fiddled with the case. ‘I kept saying how much I was looking forward to the party on Christmas Eve, that’s all.’
‘Me too,’ said Cassie, then blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh my god, I KNEW it!’ Meg’s voice was a strangled squeal. ‘When you didn’t eat your mince pie or drink your coffee yesterday, I had a feeling there was something you weren’t telling us. And you haven’t drunk your wine.’
‘I wanted to announce it at the party,’ she said, returning Meg’s bear hug, and grinning at me over her shoulder. ‘You know I’m no good at keeping secrets, but I only told Tilly because I wanted to check the party was going to happen.’
‘Well, I’m arra
nging a wedding for Mum and Dad.’
‘Shut UP!’ Meg fell silent and Cassie giggled. ‘It’s a saying,’ she said. ‘Like, you cannot be serious!’
‘I know.’ Meg grinned. ‘And I am serious, but honestly, Tilly,’ she leaned over again and lifted my limp hands off the table, ‘we could always shift the party to my house. I mean, it’ll be a bit tight because it’s not very big, and they’ll be loads of people coming, but we’ll manage. Just say the word.’
I looked at their beautiful faces, and the urge to cry was overwhelming.
‘You guys.’ I gave them my best Canadian accent. ‘That party’s gonna happen where it’s supposed to, you’d better believe it.’ They raised their glasses, and I lifted my beer bottle, marvelling at the scale of my delusion. ‘But it’s the last time I’m doing a project with such a tight deadline, because it’s turned me into a psycho.’
‘We’ll drink to that,’ said Meg, shaking her head when Cassie and I fell about laughing. ‘Obviously you’re not a psycho,’ she said.
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’
‘Hey, you two can be godmothers, how about that?’ said Cassie.
As we lifted our glasses again, it struck me that nothing could ever be really bad as long as I could talk to my best friends about it – only, I still couldn’t bear to spoil their Christmas Eve plans. ‘Cassie, do you have a spare key to the café that I could borrow?’
‘There’s one at Mum and Dad’s,’ she said. ‘If you like, we can go and get it, why?’
‘Do you trust me?’
‘With my life.’
‘Good,’ I said. Because I was going to get the floorboards down and sort out the wiring if it was the last thing I ever did.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I was never going to get the floorboards down or sort out the wiring. I’d even watched a YouTube tutorial enticingly titled ‘How to Lay Wood Flooring over Concrete’ but was crucially missing some polyethylene sheeting to ‘minimise moisture migration’ and a few other vital tools, and I already knew in my heart I’d need more than a screwdriver to get the electricity working. I’d somehow convinced myself on the way over that I’d be able to improvise, forgetting I didn’t have my car with my toolbox in the boot.
It didn’t help that the room was almost dark as the café lights barely filtered through, and I was nervy about having them on in case they attracted attention. I’d found a torch in the office, but the beam wasn’t very strong, and the one on my phone drained the battery too quickly. I was down to one bar after watching the stupid tutorial.
I sank to the cold floor and wondered whether it was worth putting a plea on social media for some emergency tradesmen. Then I remembered, I didn’t have any followers so there wasn’t any point. If I’d admitted I was stuck, I could have asked Cassie and Meg to try, but it was too late for that.
Groaning, I threw my phone across the floor, then scrambled to get it back. There was literally nothing I could do but admit defeat, and the last bus from Seashell Cove arrived in around five minutes; I should make it if I left now. Once home, I’d phone my friends – and Gwen – and break the news that the function room wouldn’t be ready for the party. Knowing I’d let everyone down made me want to howl, but I couldn’t keep hoping for a miracle, and alternative arrangements had to be made.
It felt spooky being at the café on my own at night, especially once I’d switched off the lights in the café. A half-moon shone in, casting a silvery glow and glimmering off the Christmas tree decorations. I half-expected Dickens to sidle through, but Gwen would have carted him home on the bus in his fancy carrier. He’d be curled on her lap by now, no doubt being fed caviar from a silver spoon.
My stomach gave a treacherous growl. Cassie would be tucking into a gourmet dinner cooked by Danny, and Meg had said she was meeting Nathan at his brother and sister-in-law’s for a meal. Not that I deserved a nice dinner. Eyes prickling with tears, I let myself out and locked up, and started when my phone buzzed in my hand.
Can you believe his mother insisted on coming? Bridget had attached a picture, shot from below, of a coat-and-boot-clad Felicity watching, stony-faced, as a blurry Jack hurled a bowling ball down the alley with both hands. I actually could believe it. I headed up the path to the bus stop, blinking as a car drove past, headlights cutting through the darkness, trying to picture the scene. So much for their cosy, festive outing. I couldn’t imagine a bigger downer than having Felicity tag along. She’d probably called her friendly judge to update him on the terrible way her grandson was being treated – doing something as common as bowling with his loving dad, accompanied by an accomplished, attractive, single mum and her daughter, and probably eating pizza!
I still couldn’t imagine a judge – even one who was a friend of Felicity’s – opting to remove Jack from his father’s care, and felt hopeful that her plan would come to nothing. I even found myself feeling a bit sorry for her. She was sure to lose Seth and Jack if she kept doggedly pursuing custody. It was only a matter of time before Seth cut her off completely.
Deep in thought, I barely registered the sound of footsteps behind me, and let out a choking gasp when a hand landed on my shoulder and someone spoke my name. I dropped my bags and spun round, ready to kick out at whoever it was – if my tights would let me. It was a man. A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a thick coat and a hat with earflaps.
‘Seth!’
‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’ He backed away with his hands up as though I’d whipped out a sword. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘What… why are you here?’ I felt for my phone, which I’d dropped in the pocket of my coat. Seth’s coat. ‘You’re bowling,’ I said. ‘I got a text.’
‘From me?’ He sounded confused.
‘Surely you’d know if you’d sent me a text.’ I was breathless with fright – and something else I wasn’t willing to name. ‘From Bridget.’
‘Oh, right.’ He lowered his hands. ‘She must have sent it earlier.’ He stepped forward. ‘We just got back and I spotted your keys in the car,’ he said, holding them out so they jangled. ‘I thought you might need them.’
‘You could have given them to Bridget and asked her to come and get me.’
‘Romy was a bit overexcited.’ He dropped the keys in my palm, and I slid them into my (his) pocket. ‘Bridget wanted to get her home, so I offered to come.’
‘What about Jack?’
‘My mother’s a very efficient babysitter, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to keep implying you’ve left him at home alone.’ My brain struggled to keep up – to accept he was even there, though mostly in silhouette, shadowed by darkness.
‘Bridget said you were meeting your friends at the pub once you’d finished working, but when you weren’t there, I guessed you might have come back here.’
‘I did.’ I remembered the headlights I’d seen. ‘That was your car,’ I said.
‘I didn’t realise it was you at first, you were practically running.’
‘I was trying to catch a bus.’ I looked up the road, but could only see an endless stretch of velvet-black sky, carpeted with stars. ‘It’s the last one and I’ve probably missed it.’ I sounded as close to tears as I felt.
‘I’m sorry.’ Seth’s breath hung in the cold air between us. ‘So, you haven’t finished whatever you had to do?’
I dropped my bags at my feet and blew on my hands. ‘No,’ I said, incapable of dressing it up. ‘I’m no good at the hands-on stuff, apart from painting and sticking up the occasional roll of wallpaper. I’m good at seeing what needs to be done and organising people to do it, and I love the finishing touches. That’s my forte. It was all going according to plan until that bloody leak, and the floor took ages to dry, and then the floorboards were wrong and had to go back, and then Ted couldn’t fit the work in, and the electrician broke his arm and I couldn’t find another – electrician, not arm – and now there isn’t
time to get the room ready before the Maitlands come back.’
A couple of tears spilled over. ‘Sorry,’ I said, flicking them away. ‘It’s just that it sucks, because all sorts of things were supposed to happen at the party on Christmas Eve.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Well, for a start, my friend Cassie’s boyfriend is planning to propose, then she’s going to announce that they’re having a baby…’ I stopped. He’d stepped closer, wrapping a hand around mine as gently as if he was picking up a newborn kitten. ‘Gwen, the manager, is planning to make a move on the guy who works behind the counter because she fancies him – not that he knows it,’ I continued in a shaky voice, ‘and Meg has arranged a surprise wedding for her mum and dad, and it’s really important because she thought her dad was dead until earlier this year, and her mum doesn’t like going out so it’s meant to be informal and the setting’s perfect, or would be if I’d got my act together and got the place ready in time, like I promised.’
‘Whoa,’ said Seth. He produced a tissue from his coat pocket and pressed it into my free hand. ‘This is all meant to be happening at the party?’
I nodded, scrubbing the tissue across my eyes. ‘It’s top secret, so I shouldn’t even be telling you.’ I let out a sob – the first time I’d cried in I couldn’t remember how long. ‘I’ve promised them all the function room will be ready and now I’m going to have to let them down, which I hate, because I always keep my word.’
‘Well, sometimes that’s just not possible.’ Seth’s voice was gentle. ‘You’ve tried your very best, haven’t you?’
‘Well… yes, but no one’s available to work now this close to Christmas Eve, which, as everyone keeps reminding me, is the day after tomorrow.’
‘But that’s not your fault.’ He gently pressed my fingers. ‘You weren’t to know there’d be a leak, or the floorboards would be wrong, or that the electrician would break his arm.’