They moved out of the way for a couple who posed for a selfie with the Christmas tree behind them, and they carried on walking through to the other side of the park on the path that would lead them out and towards Amelia’s apartment.
‘We’re similar, you and I,’ she said. ‘I always wanted to make other people happy, as though somehow I needed their approval. I know I don’t really, but with approval comes acceptance and it makes me happy with myself, if that makes sense. I’ve been doing it for so long I don’t know how to switch it off, which is why it’s so hard to tell Connie how I really feel.’
‘I get that. I kept the truth from Mum and Dad, thought it was for the best. But it only made me all the more confused, and resentful even. Maybe if I’d put myself first then it could’ve all turned out very differently.’ He watched her, read the signs of a smile almost there but not quite. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s just that the way you describe your younger self…’ She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling beneath the moonlight. ‘…you sound a lot like Kyle.’
‘I know,’ he admitted and when he started grinning it was her turn to ask why. ‘I’m reluctant to tell you this, but when I got caught up with the wrong crowd, we may have pick-pocketed a few innocent people.’
‘You did not!’
He covered his cold cheeks with gloved hands and shook his head. ‘I’ve never been so ashamed in my life, even at the time. The other lads laughed, counted cash, spent it on fags and booze, but all I kept thinking about was those poor people who’d been the victims of our stupidity. What if we’d taken a woman’s last bit of cash for a safe taxi home? What if the person we took money from didn’t have enough food? What if it was their bus fare to get to the hospital and see a sick relative? I felt so awful that when I came to my senses and steered clear of the gang I’d hung out with, I’d use my pocket money and drop it into charity collection pots every week until I’d covered the fifty quid I’d pilfered and used for myself.’
‘It shows you have a conscience.’
‘Doesn’t make it right, though.’ And what was he doing? He wanted to make a good impression with this woman, not make her want to run for the hills.
They walked on, down a street, past a group of buskers belting out Christmas carols on a saxophone, an accordion, a singer pelting out the tunes with onlookers joining in. They crossed the next street and were soon outside Amelia’s brownstone apartment building.
‘This is me.’ She took off her hat and ran a hand through dark hair that looked silky to the touch. ‘Do you want to come up? I can’t promise to make such a nice hot chocolate as we just had but I’ve got ingredients to make a mulled wine. If you’re interested.’
Oh, he was definitely interested. ‘I can stay a bit longer. I’ll text Scarlett, check she’s OK.’
Amelia put a hand on his before he could take out his phone. ‘Leave them, I’m sure everything is fine. We’d hear if not.’
Inside the apartment she turned up the heater before grabbing a pan to get started with the mulled wine. ‘Kyle turns his nose up at this every time I suggest it.’
‘Not really a seventeen-year-old’s drink.’ He put his gloves on the radiator so they’d be warm for when he left, hung his coat on the hook near the kitchenette. He watched her pour an entire bottle of red into the pan. She added orange, sugar, a bay leaf and spices and stirred as they chatted about spending Christmas in a different country, each with a teenager in tow.
He took over the stirring of the liquid while she put some Michael Bublé on the docking station, guaranteed to put even the biggest grinch in a Christmas mood. He’d bought Scarlett the album last year and she played it over and over for the entire school holidays and while it had irritated him with its repetition, the memory made him smile now.
Amelia opened cupboards until she found a sieve to strain the mulled wine through. She looked in a couple of cupboards up high this time until she found two mugs. ‘Not sure the glasses will be heatproof so don’t want to risk it,’ she told him, and he did the honours, strained the wine and poured out two generous measures.
With a mug each they sat on the sofa stretching along the exposed-brick interior wall.
Amelia took a deep inhale of the steaming liquid. ‘It smells like Christmas.’
He gently tapped her mug with his. ‘Cheers. To a great holiday, a wonderful Christmas, and a very happy new year.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
Talk moved to some of the highlights of the city, the kids’ favourite things and theirs. They touched on what their lives could’ve been like had he become a surgeon and if she’d stuck with telesales.
‘We’d be very different people,’ she concluded. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Scarlett has a good head on her shoulders, she’ll make the right decisions about her own studies.’
‘You’re trying to coerce me into letting her follow her dreams of art again, aren’t you?’
‘I’m only trying to help.’
He almost reached out and touched her knee when he said, ‘I know you are and I appreciate it.’ But he didn’t want to scare her off by making her think he was after a quick fling on holiday, and besides, he was way out of practice. He’d dated since Dawn died, but with his responsibilities as a dad, he’d never really wanted to get seriously involved with anyone before now. ‘I think you’ve probably got a better insight into the way teens’ minds work than I do,’ he said. ‘I thought I might suggest sitting down with her when we’re home and going through some of the information on art degree courses, look at the employment opportunities it could lead to.’
Amelia’s smile was well worth it. ‘She’ll see what the right path is. You both will.’
‘I have to admit, I find this stage really hard.’
‘The teen years?’
‘The breaking away, the independence kids inevitably learn. I spent so long being the only adult in Scarlett’s everyday life that it’s hard to let her go, difficult to accept she needs to make her own mistakes.’
‘Half the battle is recognising what you find difficult, and you just nailed it. Maybe tell Scarlett how you feel – it might help.’
After a sip of the warm wine brimming with Christmassy spice he said, ‘I’m making you put your work hat on.’
‘I don’t think I take it off very often.’
‘This is good,’ he said of the wine, suddenly nervous in her company, wondering how she’d react if he leaned across to kiss her right now.
‘There’s more in the pan.’
‘I’d better not.’ Time was marching on, he kept losing his nerve. If he kissed her and it wasn’t what she wanted, he’d be gutted for the rest of the holiday. ‘I’ll head back to the inn next, make sure I’m there for when Scarlett arrives home or I’ll be the one in trouble.’
‘Kyle is pretty good with curfews, he won’t keep her out.’
He rinsed his mug and set it in the sink. ‘Thanks for the mulled wine.’
‘Thank you, too. It was nice to have another adult to talk to.’
He pulled on all his layers yet again and the toasty warm gloves from the radiator. Impulsively he reached out and held her cheeks so she could feel the warmth for herself and she looked as surprised as he was. He moved closer, his hands still on her cheeks. He bent his head a little and when she didn’t move, he watched her lips, slightly parted as though she knew what was coming. He was going to do this, take the leap, hope her reaction was a good one. And why wouldn’t it be? She wasn’t backing away.
A knock at the door interrupted them before he got a chance to feel what it would be like to kiss her, this incredible, unexpected woman who’d stepped into his life on holiday.
‘That might be Kyle. I’d better get it.’ His hands still cradling her face, she took a moment to step away and answer the door.
The delivery man holding a clipboard ready for Amelia to sign ruined the moment and it was time to go. Maybe it was a sign, that he had New York romance on his mind, too
much potent mulled wine and a sense of longing he hadn’t realised he had until he met Amelia.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He left her signing for a parcel and made his way back to the Inglenook Inn still thinking about the kiss that never was.
‘Good evening, Darcy.’ He greeted the hotelier the moment he stepped inside the communal lounge, where she was humming away to Christmas carols softly playing as she swept the tiles in front of the grate.
‘Someone’s chirpy tonight,’ she beamed.
‘’Tis the season!’ He grinned, and took the stairs two at a time up to their suite.
Inside, he hung his coat on the peg and was about to kick off his shoes when he heard giggling from Scarlett’s bedroom. She was either home and watching television or she’d be facetiming her friends in England, telling them all about the holiday.
He went into her room with a huge smile that might have given the game away had it not faded so fast when he saw Kyle in there too.
They both sat bolt upright, guilty as charged, tugging clothes back to their rightful places, and his mood plummeted to a new low.
Chapter Fourteen
Cleo
Cleo tugged a hand through her hair and came back into the kitchen after Ruby stormed up the stairs.
‘Dare I come in?’ Dylan asked. He’d been in his study on a work call and Cleo had tried to keep the noise to a minimum.
She squirted surface spray on the countertop and used a cloth to take out her frustration, rubbing at marks that had already begun to set. Ruby was getting lazier and lazier, and this household only worked if they all did their bit.
‘What happened this time?’ Dylan ventured.
Cleo scrubbed at another mark. ‘She had waffles for breakfast and left a trail of syrup on the countertop and more dripping all over the floor. I stood in it barefoot. For all I know she did too and has walked it all over the house, which will make even more work for me later.’
Dylan called Ruby downstairs and repeated much the same lecture as Cleo had just given her. And from the glare Ruby was directing Cleo’s way, she didn’t appreciate it.
So much for their day of bonding bringing them closer together. Whatever good that day had done had soon been forgotten and Cleo could only put it down to her and Dylan talking at length about the wedding last night. That, or the fact Ruby had come home from her mum’s with even more negative thoughts on board.
‘You need to apologise to Cleo, please.’ Dylan told Ruby.
‘I wiped up the mess.’
‘Clearly not.’ He indicated Cleo still with a cloth in her hand, still cleaning up syrup. Ruby had made a token effort with a dry cloth that had done nothing more than smear the mess even farther.
‘Sorry,’ she said reluctantly, barely looking at Cleo now.
When Ruby went back upstairs Dylan wrapped Cleo in a hug. ‘I thought she was settling down a bit.’
‘So did I.’ At least she felt a hundred times better in his arms right now. ‘I thought I’d made some headway at last.’ Defeated, she said, ‘We can’t ignore her behaviour and assume it will go away.’
When they heard Emily crying on the monitor Dylan stopped Cleo before she could leap into action. ‘I’ll go, you have a shower.’ Tabitha came toddling through from the playroom but he whisked her up before Cleo could. ‘Go, or you might never get the chance again.’
She kissed Tabitha’s chubby cheek and felt herself melt at the sweet smell of her daughter, at an age you thought was challenging until you were faced with a ten-year-old who had a whole new agenda. She headed upstairs for a shower and tried to wash away the rising stress.
The shower worked, or at least it did until after drying her hair she walked past Ruby’s room and saw what she’d been doing. Over the time Cleo had been living with Dylan, she and Ruby had put together photo collections of the entire family. It had been their thing, their bonding project. It was easy to neglect photographs nowadays and keep them all on devices, but they’d printed some of their leaf-peeping outing in the fall, others of the summer months when they’d gone hiking in Stratton Brook State Park and holidaying on the island of Nantucket. Those were times Cleo had never thought her family would feel strain like this, at least not until they hit the tumultuous teenage years.
And now, here were all the photographs, ripped into shreds, scattered over Ruby’s bedroom floor. And by the sounds of it Ruby was downstairs ready to go to school. Had she left all this on purpose, for Cleo to see, to upset her?
Cleo called Dylan upstairs and when he saw what she’d done he yelled at Ruby to come up here now. ‘What the hell have you done?’ Ruby’s bottom lip quivered, she wouldn’t make eye contact with Cleo. ‘I asked you a question.’
Cleo had never seen Dylan so angry, furious with his eldest daughter but helpless to know what to do. Still fuming, he told his daughter, ‘We’ll talk after school. Go get your bag, I’m taking you today.’
When she did what she was told Dylan crouched down next to Cleo. She was on her hands and knees sifting through the pictures, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ruby had cut her out of each and every photograph. He pulled her to him and she leaned in to his muscly chest; she felt safe, loved, but still distraught that Ruby could do this.
Dylan held her tight. ‘We’ll sort this out, I promise you.’ But the sobs didn’t stop and they only pulled apart when a voice behind them said sorry.
Cleo, tear-stained face, looked to Ruby but rushed past her to the bathroom. She couldn’t face a ten-year-old kid right now. There was something about hacking her out of the pictures, all those special memories, that was brutal. Did Ruby hate her this much?
When Dylan called through the door that they were leaving for the school run and he was taking Tabitha and Emily with him too, she managed to get out an ‘OK’ but she didn’t come out of the bathroom until she heard the car doors shutting outside on the driveway and she knew it was safe to do so.
Cleo stood at the bedroom window at the front of the house watching the car head into the distance, the end of the street where predictably it turned right, and she was left completely alone.
And then she found herself doing something she never thought she would. She picked up the phone to call Prue.
*
‘I don’t know why this couldn’t wait,’ Prue huffed as she stepped through the front door into Cleo’s home, ‘this is my only day off work and I was on my way to get my nails done.’
Jeez. Nails? Really! ‘I apologise but, no, this can’t wait.’ She hoped this would be easier with just the two of them. Cleo had fully intended to have Dylan sort this out but maybe it would be better coming from her. And besides, she couldn’t bear the thought of stewing all day without taking some kind of action, and with the market stalls and the store manned for now, this was her chance. ‘Coffee?’ she offered.
‘No thanks.’ Prue looked at her watch as if to make a point.
Cleo sat at the table and emptied out the box in the centre, the photograph pieces scattering all over the surface.
‘What are these?’ Prue asked.
‘Take a look.’
She sifted through. ‘They all seem to be photographs of you.’
‘Cut from photographs of all of us together. I found them in Ruby’s bedroom this morning.’
‘She wouldn’t.’
‘She did.’
‘But why?’ Prue looked genuinely shocked.
‘I was wondering if you’d be able to help answer that.’
‘How would I know?’
‘You and Ruby are close, as you should be.’ How could she phrase this lightly, without it sounding accusatory? ‘I think she’s struggling with the idea of Dylan and me together.’
‘You’ve been together long enough. She’s had plenty of time to get used to the idea.’
‘But now there’s talk of a wedding. It changes things. I know. I had a stepmother to deal with too and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t handle it all that well.’
Prue lo
oked at a pretty perfect nail, inspecting it, before she looked at Cleo again. ‘She did hope Dylan and I would get back together.’
‘That’s natural, you’re both her parents.’ Although she wanted to remind Prue that it was a long time ago that that particular scenario had ever been on the cards. ‘Has Ruby said anything to you? About me? The wedding?’ Or had Prue said something to her?
‘She really hasn’t. As far as I knew she was happy with it.’
‘And you haven’t said anything?’
‘You’re blaming me?’ OK, here came the Prue she knew so well. ‘You think this is my fault?’
‘No, not at all. It’s just, I know you’re never going to be my biggest fan.’ Because I ended up with Dylan and you didn’t. ‘I wondered if Ruby picked up on that.’
Prue looked about to launch into a tirade but then she settled back into her chair. ‘I won’t lie to you, I hated you when you first got together with Dylan.’
‘Great.’
‘But that was then. I’ve moved on, I’ve had other men in my life. Dylan and I would never work together, he’s changed a lot since I first knew him.’
Cleo let that comment go. He had, and for the better in her opinion.
Prue stood up, hooked her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you but I don’t poison Ruby’s mind, I don’t want Dylan back, and I wish you well with your wedding.’
‘You’re leaving? Just like that?’
She checked her watch. ‘If the traffic is kind I’ll make the next nail appointment.’
‘Right.’
‘Ruby will come round. She’s a kid, they have mood swings, it’s all normal.’
‘I wondered if it would be a good idea for you to talk to her.’ One last attempt to get help from a woman who seemed determined to cause friction.
Christmas Promises at the Garland Street Markets: A feel good Christmas romance (New York Ever After, Book 5) Page 19