One Winter's Night (Kelsey Anderson)

by Kiley Dunbar

  Then Mirren told him about Preston and how she’d loved him since school and they’d moved in together and been happy, but when she was an undergrad away at university, at first she’d stay in halls during term time and she wasn’t above snogging other Freshers in the uni bars, but at the time she’d excused this by saying she was only trying to figure out why things with Preston didn’t feel right. She told Adrian how, once she graduated, they had really settled down, like an old married couple, and it was nice and chilled for a long time, but five years ago things started to go wrong again and last September she’d let Preston down for the last time by sleeping with Will on the night at the theatrical gala. Then she’d faltered over the worst part, the part that hurt most. It had taken a great, deep breath to get the words out. She’d never, ever said it aloud before.

  She filled him in on what happened on the night of her first Christmas party at the Broadsheet when she’d covered her nerves by drinking too much and she’d not said no when Jamesey wanted to kiss her in the print room. Even though it had only lasted a second and the feel of his mouth turned her stomach instantly and she’d run for her bus, listening to him laughing in triumph as the door slammed, she could never forgive herself.

  ‘That was the first time I’d cheated on Preston when we were both grown-ups, after years of faithfulness and cosiness at home,’ she said, tears falling over her cheeks.

  ‘What you described with Jamesey doesn’t really sound like cheating to me, somehow?’ Adrian said, topping up her mug from the teapot.

  ‘Part of me wanted to do it. Maybe if I could get him under my power, bend his will, I’d have won, and he’d stop harassing me all the time. I don’t know, I wasn’t really thinking clearly. All I know is I hated him before that kiss and afterwards, I hated myself. I couldn’t tell Preston. Maybe I should have, because after that I couldn’t stop pressing the self-destruct button on our relationship. Deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve him, and I didn’t have the guts to leave our little comfortable bubble I’d been in since school… and somehow after that I kept doing it – cheating, I mean.’ She let her eyes fall to Adrian’s thumb circling over the back of her hand as he held it.

  ‘Must have been the guilt, it does funny things to people,’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘So you see, I’m no good as a girlfriend, I’m a shitty daughter – sitting here bad-mouthing my mum and she’s all alone with nobody helping her in Scotland – and I’m an absolutely awful friend. Just think what I’m about to do to Jonathan. I’ll have to tell him about Wagstaff when I should have kept my nose out of his business.’

  ‘No. I’m not having that.’ Adrian put his empty mug on the table with a look so simultaneously indignant and comedic she smiled in surprise. ‘You’re the best person I’ve met in, oh, easily a quarter of a century. I see that you’re good and kind, but you beat yourself up horribly, and you shouldn’t. Don’t let yourself. Now I’m not here trying to be a white knight on his charger wanting to fix your problems, but I am a smart, switched-on guy and I know good people when I see them. And you’re good people, Mirren Imrie. This Mr Angus and Jamesey, they’ve been gaslighting you; trying to convince you you’re wrong about all the awful things they put you through, and look, it’s worked. You’re blaming yourself, exactly what they wanted to happen. If you’re hiding away in England blaming yourself you’re not exposing their creepy behaviour and their sexist organisation, are you?’

  Mirren blinked, her mind whirring. She’d seen gaslighting before. Fran had done it to Kelsey, making her feel guilty about wanting more from her life – other than watching him excel in his teaching career and tending his house for him – and he’d made her doubt she could ever make money from her photography. He’d convinced her too, made her feel like she was in the wrong for wanting a career of her own and a life outside of his ambitions, but now Kelsey was here in Stratford, living her best life, and proving him wrong.

  ‘You’re right. Why did I need someone else to see it?’ Mirren said, eyes wide.

  ‘Because you’re too busy beating yourself up?’

  Mirren shook her head in wonder, replaying Mr Angus and Jamesey’s words and feeling the constricting power they had over her loosening, and in its stead the anger came flooding back in. ‘Jesus!’ she mouthed. ‘You’re so right.’

  Adrian passed a hand over the back of his neck and seemed lost in thought for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Am I? Well don’t thank me. I’m just as bad as them. You told me you didn’t want a boyfriend, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have pursued you. I won’t anymore if you really want me to stop, but I do really, really like you, and I respect you, and I think you deserve to be happy. Please don’t add me liking you to the list of things you beat yourself up about.’

  Mirren scanned his face looking for the truth in his words. He was fired up now, still talking, his cheeks a little flushed.

  ‘And you know, while we’re on the subject, I’m no angel either. I hurt girls in the past, wasn’t careful with their feelings, and I wasn’t exactly living like a monk in my early twenties. I made the most of the clubs and met loads of women and I know I messed around behind one girl’s back. But you know what? I don’t beat myself up about it now. And why’s that? Are the rules different for me because I’m a guy?’

  Mirren shrugged, ‘They shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he was nodding emphatically. ‘So when, precisely, are you going to forgive yourself for doing the same things I’ve done, for making mistakes, for having fun? Hmmn? At New Year’s?’ He searched her face. ‘Nope? In five years, maybe? Ten? Or are you going to live like this forever, because that’s no life.’

  Mirren only listened.

  ‘Do the people you hurt forgive you?’ he pressed.

  Mirren thought hard. Preston had told her not to apologise any more and he was happy now, already moved on; she’d learned as much from his texts.

  ‘Guilt be damned,’ Adrian said. ‘You have to live your life happily, Mirren. With me. If you’ll let me?’

  As he spoke, the bells of Christmas morning rang out from Holy Trinity church. Outside the darkness was stealing away, leaving a crisp, frosty morning. The barge was surrounded by chilly winter mist and the white swans gliding by. Mirren felt all her armour fall away.

  ‘You told me the king and his men give up their oaths, and they fall in love?’ Mirren said.

  For a moment Adrian didn’t understand. ‘In Love’s Labour’s Lost? That’s right. They realise what matters in life – love and company and happiness – and they give in to it. They let themselves be happy and they never regret it.’

  ‘Well then.’ Mirren stood on unsteady legs and Adrian did the same. She led him by the hand back to the bed and they both climbed under the covers once more.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘That you were once unkind befriends me now,

  And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,

  Needs must I under my transgression bow,

  Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel’

  (Sonnet 120)

  Late Christmas morning on the marina was bright and crisp. They’d slept until after dawn and awakened naked in each other’s arms. Adrian had begged Mirren to join him for Christmas lunch at his mum’s, telling her there would be plenty of room at the table, especially since his little brother was in Disneyland with his wife and kid. Although she’d wanted to, she still had her shift at the Yorick and she couldn’t let Kenneth down. He’d be there already in his Rudolf tie and paper crown getting ready for the first lunch service.

  Mirren kissed Adrian all the way out the barge and onto the riverside, trying to prolong their goodbyes and he’d promised he’d ring her tomorrow. As he walked away, he turned back to blow her kisses too many times to count.

  After showering she put on her red, sequinned party frock, because why not? It was, after all, Christmas day. As she walked over the theatre gardens towards the Yorick she dialled her mum
’s number, a little more nervous than usual, and not just because she didn’t know what state she’d find her in.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ Jeanie replied, sounding cheerful and alert.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yep, fine thanks. I’m just away to put my Christmas dinner on.’

  ‘Sorry I’m not there,’ Mirren said with a pang. ‘Listen, I promise we’ll spend next Christmas together, OK?’

  Jeanie sounded surprised when she replied. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘I feel like… we could have a better year, maybe? Us, I mean.’

  There was silence on the line for a second. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And maybe you could come here for a visit in the New Year? Stay on the barge with me? It would be nice to spend some time together?’

  ‘It would. I’d like that.’

  Silence fell again, full of emotion.

  ‘Mirren?’ Jeanie said. ‘I’m trying. I’m really trying this time. I’ve joined a new group and…’

  Mirren heard the tearful shake in her mum’s voice. ‘And I’m here to help,’ she said, now reaching the steps of the Yorick.

  ‘OK, then.’ Jeanie sniffed. ‘We’ll have a better year.’

  ‘OK. Mum, I’m at work now. I’d better go in. Thanks for the shortbread.’

  ‘Mirren? Did your dad ring you?’

  ‘Not yet.’ They both knew he always phoned on Christmas Eve, every year at pub closing time, but not this year. Mirren knew what it meant. No birthday call, and no Christmas call. This must be the year their stilted, barely-there connection was severed entirely. He’d lost interest at last. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mirren told her mum.

  ‘You’ve got me,’ Jeanie said hurriedly, and the words sounded unfamiliar but so welcome.

  ‘OK,’ Mirren was smiling now, with tears spoiling her mascara. ‘So, I’ll see you soon then.’

  Anyone listening in might have thought nothing of the conversation, but to Mirren and her mother, these were entirely new sentiments. Simple, caring words that they’d never spoken aloud, but at last they’d made a tiny breakthrough. Maybe Jeanie’s sobriety would last – neither of them knew for certain – but Mirren had it in her power to make sure their connection lasted, even if it wasn’t always perfect. They had a chance to start over. Maybe there had been other chances over the years but she hadn’t taken them. This one she was grabbing with both hands and for once, there was a little hopefulness and forgiveness connecting them.

  That night, as she walked home from the Yorick, exhausted, physically and emotionally, with her cling-filmed Christmas dinner plate in hand, she thought how simple the day had felt, and how calm. This must be what happiness is like, she’d thought.

  She’d texted Kelsey with her good news about her mum and about Adrian and to wish her a happy Christmas in Scotland. She didn’t mention Wagstaff; no need to throw the cat amongst the pigeons today, not when things were peaceful for once. She’d tell them both tomorrow, with Adrian by her side hopefully, and they could talk it all through before Jonathan flew off to LA.

  Back on the barge with her fairy lights shining, Mirren microwaved her dinner and quickly texted Adrian.

  Merry Christmas, I hope you’re having a lovely time. See you tomorrow? Night night, x

  As she threw her phone on the bed and pulled off her boots she heard the little pinging sound from under the kitchen table and was surprised to discover Adrian’s phone on the floor. He must have left without it. He had been a little distracted this morning when he was leaving, as they’d kissed and giggled and waved soppily to one another. It was too late now to do anything about it. Hopefully he’d call round for it in the morning. So she settled in for the night with her food and the festive TV programmes, and true warmth in her heart. Life was indeed wonderful.

  * * *

  ‘Morning, umm, is that Adrian’s mum?’ There was only one number stored in the phone, so she’d rung it.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘I’m Mirren, Adrian’s friend? He’s left his phone here.’

  Mrs Armadale didn’t seem to recognise her name. Maybe Adrian hadn’t mentioned her yet. She refused to be rattled by that.

  ‘Ah, he’s not here at the moment. He stayed for Christmas but then left this morning in a bit of a hurry. He said he had work to do. I expect he’s at the Examiner offices.’ Her tone was weary.

  ‘On Boxing Day?’ Her mind ticked over. Mr Ferdinand told Adrian to come back to work on the twenty-eighth, didn’t he?

  ‘He said he had to go in, something he needed to investigate, apparently.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You know what he’s like when he’s got the bit between his teeth with a story, it’s all he can think about. It’s all work, work, work with that one. Just like his father.’

  ‘A story? Did he say what it was?’

  The woman became guarded now. ‘What did you say your name was? Shall I tell him to ring you if I see him?’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll take the phone over to the Examiner offices now.’

  * * *

  As Mirren put the phone into a padded envelope and made her way across Stratford – now packed with families on their Boxing Day walks – she tried to resist the compulsion to catastrophize. So what, he’s gone in to work? He has some story to work on. I’m sure it’s perfectly innocent. Maybe he often works over Christmas? He did say he’d do anything to save the newspaper he once loved and he’s at risk of losing his job if the parent company shut it down. He’s probably busy getting the New Year edition ready while Mr Ferdinand sleeps off his turkey and trimmings and doesn’t care a jot if his business is going under. That’s all it is.

  When she reached the doors of the Examiner she found they were locked but there were lights on up on the top floor where the microfilm room was, and when she rattled the letter box and pressed the bell, she caught a glimpse of the blind in Mr Ferdinand’s office cracking open and an eye peering down at her, but it was gone in a flash.

  She called for Adrian through the letter box, not minding if she looked a bit mad hollering in the street, but no one came down. Thinking quickly, she opened the envelope and punched her number into Adrian’s phone, saving it as a contact, before posting it through the letter box inside the envelope. She’d been sure to save his number into her own phone too and she quickly rang it and left a voicemail.

  ‘Adrian, are you in the offices? It’s me. Listen, I don’t know if you’re working today or… maybe you’ve got a big story you’re working on…’ She couldn’t quell the doubts circulating in her mind now. ‘Just, please remember what we promised about Wagstaff, OK? It’s Jonathan’s business, nobody else’s. I’m sorry I’m saying this. It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything…’ Her words tailed off. ‘Call me when you get this? OK? Bye then.’

  She cast one last look up at the building. What was going on in there that meant someone was working on Boxing Day, and why hadn’t Adrian come back to the barge when he realised he didn’t have his phone? Was his mum right? Was he so distracted by a new scoop that he wasn’t thinking of anything else? He wasn’t thinking of her?

  With flutterings of anxiety in her chest she made her way to St. Ninian’s Close. She had to tell Jonathan, right now.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Alack, what heinous sin is it in me

  To be asham’d to be my father’s child!’

  (The Merchant of Venice)

  ‘Kelsey, will you do me the honour of… no, no, gotta get this right.’

  Jonathan kneeled down in front of Kelsey’s bedsit door, murmuring the words in rehearsal, his hand nervously patting at his pocket. ‘Will you be my wife? Argh! No. Will you let me be your husband, and I’ll love you ’til…’

  He heard the footsteps on the stairwell. They’d only just returned to Stratford after the long drive and having dragged their luggage back upstairs together, Kelsey had remembered her camera in the boot and run out to the hire car to ge
t it. He swallowed hard at the sound of her approach.

  He’d failed to pop the question by the pretty lake on the roadside that morning, thinking how their grandkids should be able to tell a better story about their grandparents’ engagement than it taking place over takeaway sausage rolls and lattes at a motorway services no matter how deep the snow on the roadside or how many fancy ducks were gliding by at the time. He’d considered doing it first thing when they woke up so all the Andersons could celebrate with them but Calum was determined to drag a half-asleep Kelsey outside for a snowball fight and then the moment was gone.

  He had to do it now. His flight was leaving just before midnight and he had to set off for the airport soon. ‘Come on Jonathan, screw your courage to the sticking place…’ He was on his feet and running his palms against his sides when he heard the voices – two Scottish voices – behind the door.

  Kelsey was asking what she’d been up to over Christmas day and Mirren was muttering something about it being just a quiet one and trying to stop Kelsey going through the door. ‘I need to talk to you…’ Mirren said.

  Kelsey let the door swing open and greeted Jonathan with a quick kiss. He was pale and flustered and still standing limply in the middle of the room. ‘Got it.’ She held the camera case up by its straps. ‘And I found Mirren outside, too! Mirren, do you know it’s snowing in Scotland? But it had cleared up by the time we drove through Northumberland.’