by Sarah Morgan
There she was, wearing a dress that had just about skimmed her growing bump, and there was Alix with Zac, Seb’s closest friend, posing either side of her and Seb like bookends, each wearing the obligatory smile for the camera.
It was Zac who had intervened when Alix had been trying so hard to stop the wedding. He’d propelled her from the room, less than impressed by her freely expressed conviction that the whole thing was a mistake.
What had happened when the two of them had been alone together? Whatever it was had made Alix determined never to cross paths with Zac again.
Christy reached into a drawer for the screen cleaner and flipped open Seb’s laptop.
“Have fun tomorrow night. Send photos. Can’t wait to see you next week.”
Their friendship might have changed, but it was still strong. They still had plenty of ways they could connect. They had no need to step into that single no-go area.
Christy rubbed at the screen with the cloth and it blazed into life. Seb must have forgotten to turn it off. She glanced at it idly—and then with more focus.
Her heart took off. She barely heard Alix’s voice.
“Christy? Are you still there?”
She sat down hard on the office chair. “Yes.”
Her hand shook so badly she almost dropped the phone.
Had she misunderstood the email?
She read it again, trying to stay calm.
You’re the best, Mandy. What would I do without you?
I’ll meet you in Covent Garden at six p.m.
If there’s a problem, call my mobile. Don’t call me at home.
She felt as if someone had punched the air from her lungs.
Mandy? Who was Mandy? It could be innocent...but if so why wouldn’t he want the woman to call him at home? And why wouldn’t he just tell her? Why lie? What was he keeping from her?
He’d told her he was working late, but here was evidence that he wasn’t. He was meeting another woman in Covent Garden and he didn’t want her to know.
She imagined them laughing together in a trendy bar. Smiling at each other in a restaurant.
Panic rose inside her. There had to be an explanation. He wouldn’t do this to her.
Would he?
She kept hearing Alix’s voice in her head. “How well do you really know him?”
Her hands and legs were shaking. What now?
She couldn’t admit she’d been looking at his laptop. It was a betrayal of trust. On the other hand, he was betraying her trust, wasn’t he? She hadn’t even had to click to see the email. He hadn’t tried to hide it or delete it.
Her chest felt tight. What did this mean? Was he unhappy? Was this her fault for making them move so far out of London?
She should ask him. But she didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want this to be happening,
“Christy?”
She’d forgotten Alix was still on the phone. She needed to get rid of her. Even if she could talk about it with her friend—which she couldn’t—Alix’s way of dealing with things was different from hers. For a start, Alix didn’t avoid difficult situations. If she wanted to know something, she asked. If someone annoyed her, she said “You’ve annoyed me.” Which was why, just before the wedding, she’d said “You’re making a mistake.” Someone else might have said Do you think...? or Is it possible that...? But not Alix.
Christy handled things differently.
“Sorry, you rang in busy hour.” She managed to inject just the right amount of fake breeziness into her voice. “I’m cleaning up more paint than you’ve seen in your life. Have fun at your event. Talk soon.”
She ended the call and walked blindly back into the kitchen, barely hearing Holly when she protested that she’d wanted to talk to Aunty Alix.
She had to keep busy. Yes, that was the answer.
She switched on the oven to reheat the casserole she’d made earlier. Then she finished stacking the dishwasher. Her hands were shaking so badly one of the plates slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, scattering shards of china across the tiles.
Holly screamed and jumped on a chair.
Christy found herself thinking that at least it would give her something to clear up. Another job to fill those yawning gaps where stress and anxiety tried to take hold.
“It’s okay. Stay calm. Don’t move. I’ll clear it up.”
She was talking to herself as much as her daughter.
She took a breath and tipped the broken pieces of china into the bin.
“Mummy? Why are you crying?”
Was she crying? She pressed her palm to her cheek and felt dampness. “I’m not crying...” she blew her nose. “Mummy’s a little sniffy, that’s all. Maybe I’m getting a cold.”
Holly scrambled from the chair and wrapped her arms around Christy’s legs. “Kisses mend everything.”
“That’s right.”
If only that was all it took. She scooped up her daughter and hugged her tightly.
“It will soon be Christmas.”
Christmas. Family time.
Emotion clogged her throat and swelled in her chest. She couldn’t confront Seb before Christmas. No way. It would be better just to pretend everything was normal. She could do that. She was used to doing that.
“Time for bed.” She scooped Holly into her arms. “You’re getting too big to carry.”
“I want to wait for Daddy. I want Daddy to kiss me goodnight.”
“Daddy is going to be late tonight.” She carried Holly upstairs, operating on automatic.
“Will we see a reindeer in Lapland?”
“I’m sure we’ll see a reindeer.”
She refused to allow her emotion to intrude on this time with her child, but the effort required was so great that by the time she’d finished bathtime and read two stories, she was almost ready for bed herself.
She switched on the nightlight that sent a blue and green glow swirling across the ceiling.
When they’d first moved in Christy had suggested a princess bedroom, like the one she’d had as a child, but Holly was fascinated by snow and ice and wanted her bedroom to look like a polar research station. “When I grow up I’m going to be a scientist like Uncle Zac.”
Christy had tried not to be disappointed as her dream of floaty canopies, fairy lights and plenty of soft pink had been supplanted by steel-gray for the “laboratory” area, and a sleeping “shelf”.
Seb and Zac had transformed the room over a weekend and Christy had painted snowfields and mountains on the wall opposite the bed. It wasn’t what she would have chosen herself, but even she had to admit it was cozy.
She kissed her daughter, left the bedroom door ajar and headed downstairs.
The sick feeling had become a knot of tension.
She laid the table for dinner. Lit candles. Then blew them out when there was still no sign of Seb an hour later.
She turned off the oven.
She’d made the casserole while Holly had been watching half an hour of TV. Her own mother had refused to have a television in the house. Christy’s childhood had been a roundabout of carefully curated learning: violin lessons, piano lessons, ballet classes, riding lessons, art appreciation and Mandarin lessons. Her mother had insisted that every moment of her time should be spent productively. Flopping on the sofa had been frowned upon, unless it was done with a book in hand.
“Tell me about the book, Christy, let’s discuss it.”
Christy eyed the slim book that had been taking up space on a side table for weeks. The cover reminded her that it had won a major literary award, but each time Christy sat down to read it she never made it past the second chapter. She already knew that the main character died. The people were horrible and they made horrible choices. Which meant the ending could only be one thing—horrible. Why was it that book
s deemed worthy of the book group were always depressing? What was good about a book that made you want to slit your own throat?
She couldn’t bring herself to read it, which meant she’d have to read some reviews on the internet if she had any hope of sounding intelligent and engaged.
What would I have done differently if I’d been in the same situation? Everything!
She glanced out of the window into the darkness. Still no Seb.
By the time she finally heard the sound of his car in the drive the casserole was cold and congealed.
She smoothed her hair, closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
She’d pretend nothing was wrong. It would be fine. And maybe she was imagining things, anyway, and the whole thing would go away. There was probably a simple explanation.
When he opened the front door she was ready and waiting. She even managed a smile. “You’re so late. I was worried. Did your meetings overrun? You must be exhausted.”
She hovered, heart aching, mind racing.
“Yes. Sorry.” He hung up his coat. Kissed her briefly. “Freezing out there.”
“Yes. They’re saying it might even snow. Can you believe that?”
The weather was always a safe, neutral topic. A lifeboat to cling to in stormy seas.
She walked through to the kitchen. Seb followed, forgot to duck, and smacked his head on the low doorway.
“Damn it—this house hates me. Why didn’t the guy who built it make the doors higher?” He rubbed his forehead and glared at the doorway.
“He probably wasn’t as tall as you.”
For once it felt as if she and the cottage were on the same side. She felt hurt, betrayed, and more than a little angry with him for proving Alix right.
“I know I should have called you, but—”
“I don’t expect you to call. I know how busy you are.” She wanted to move away from the subject. “Do you want a drink? Wine?”
“Is there beer?”
“Beer? I don’t... Yes, I think so...”
She jerked open the fridge door so violently everything inside rattled. She’d chilled a Sauvignon Blanc, but he wanted beer. They always drank wine. Why did he suddenly want beer? Was it the influence of another woman?
She rummaged past vegetables and two neatly stacked containers of food for Holly and found a bottle of beer left by Zac. “Here—” She handed it to him and watched as he snapped off the top and drank, not even bothering with a glass.
“Thanks.” He lowered the bottle. “Holly asleep?”
“Yes. She tried to stay awake for you.”
He pulled a face. “I hate missing storytime.”
Does Mandy know you have a daughter waiting for you to kiss her goodnight?
“Dinner is spoiled, but there’s some soup in the fridge that I can heat up.”
“No need.” He yanked at his tie and undid his top button. “I grabbed something before I jumped on the train.”
Had he eaten with her? Candles? Laughter? Had they held hands?
“There’s cheese in the fridge. Fresh grapes...”
“Nothing, thanks.” He finished his beer and put the bottle down. “We need to talk, Christy.”
What? No! No, they didn’t. Not now. Not right before Christmas.
“You must be tired. I thought maybe we could light a fire and watch a movie, or—”
“Christy.” His voice was sharper. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Maybe not ever. She hadn’t decided about that part.
“There’s really no need to—”
“There is a need. I know you hate talking about difficult things, but this can’t be avoided.”
Did she hate talking about difficult things? Yes, she did. But that was a perfectly valid way of coping—and if he knew that was her preference why was he forcing her to confront something she’d probably rather ignore?
“Seb—”
“I need to talk. There’s something I need to tell you. And you’re not going to like it.”
Her heart punched a hole in her ribs and her knees turned liquid. She wanted to stop him talking, but obviously he had no intention of doing that, so all she could do was breathe and get through it.
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “I can’t come with you to Lapland. At least, not immediately. Not when we planned.” He stood still, his shoulders tense as he braced himself for her reaction. “There’s a meeting I have to attend on the Tuesday.”
“A—a meeting?” That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected a confession about a woman. Bad choices. I made a mistake, but I hope you’ll forgive me.
“I know you’ll be disappointed. This is your dream trip. And it’s Christmas—and I know how you feel about Christmas.”
He knew how she felt about Christmas, but he was going to ruin it for her anyway.
“Are you telling me you’re not coming to Lapland?”
“I’m still coming, but a few days later. I’ll change my flight. You go on without me.”
Without him? This was a family holiday! A special trip Holly would hopefully remember happily for the rest of her life. How could that happen if her daddy wasn’t there? How could it be a family trip without Seb? Which part of that didn’t he understand?
Emotion clogged her throat. “You’re saying you have to work at Christmas?”
“Not over Christmas itself—but at the beginning of our trip, yes. And, believe me, I’m no happier about it than you are.”
She didn’t believe him. If he wasn’t happy, why was he doing it?
“What is this meeting? You work with a team. Can’t you delegate?”
“No. I’m the only one who can do this. It’s tough out there, and I don’t have a choice.”
He didn’t look at her, and that felt significant. He’d always been good with eye contact. It was one of the many things that had attracted her to him in the first place. He looked at her. He saw her.
But not now.
He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t coming to Lapland with them. Apparently he had no choice.
There was always a choice.
Work? Did he really expect her to believe that? He was good at his job—that she believed. He’d been promoted several times. But no one was indispensable. And if it was work, then who was Mandy and why was he lying about meeting her?
Panic froze her ability to think. Alix’s warning kept playing on a loop in her head and she could no longer switch it off.
“How well do you really know him? He’s a player.”
Was that true? Had Alix been right?
And what did she do now?
Did she fly to Lapland without him and hope that whatever it was fixed itself in her absence, or did she disappoint Holly, stay home and confront the problem?
Either way, it seemed Christmas was ruined.
3
ALIX
Was she happy with her life? What sort of a question was that? And why had Christy asked it?
She loved her life. She loved her apartment in London, with its views over the river. She loved the fact that she had her huge, comfy bed all to herself. She didn’t sleep on one side, waiting for someone to fill the other. She slept in the middle. If she wanted to read in the middle of the night, she turned the light on. Her fridge was full of her favorite food, her shelves stocked with her favorite books. And most of all she loved her job—every glorious, challenging, frustrating, stimulating minute of it.
Lonely? Chance would be a fine thing.
Alix stood in front of the mirror in the luxurious hotel bathroom and carefully applied her makeup.
She particularly loved her job right now, when she had a few minutes to reflect on the success of the Christmas advertisi
ng campaign she’d spearheaded the year before. She’d even made her boss smile, and that had only happened twice in the whole time she’d been VP of Marketing for Dream Toys.
She’d spent the whole day at head office on Broadway, listening to presentation after presentation, drinking endless cups of bad coffee to keep herself awake. She’d spent twelve months working in the Manhattan office the previous year, so the place and the people were familiar. In that year she’d increased sales and shaken up the way they worked. She’d shifted the focus from more traditional marketing techniques to digital, adapting the strategy to ensure they reached a wider group of customers and stayed competitive. Her year had culminated in the launch of a campaign for the holiday season—a campaign that was the reason she was here now, heading to the awards dinner.
What a year they’d had. While many businesses were struggling, theirs was soaring—thanks to careful curating of their range and to Alix’s skill at spotting a winner and making it top of the wish list for every child.
Campaign of the Year.
At work, they called her the Queen of Christmas. They barreled into her office, asking questions about the holiday season, seeking her opinion. It made Alix laugh to think they considered her an expert on all things festive. She knew toys, but that was it. Everything she knew about the holiday itself she’d learned from watching and listening. She had no personal experience of a family Christmas. She didn’t know how it felt to gather together as a family and celebrate.
She’d been shuttled between her parents like an unwanted Christmas gift. “If you take her this year, I’ll have her next year.” She was pretty sure if they could have sent her back for a refund they would have done it. Christmas had been a tense time for all, until the year they’d both had to travel abroad for work and had asked Christy’s mother to take Alix.
In Christy’s warm, cozy home she’d experienced her first family Christmas, and the fact that it hadn’t been with her own family hadn’t mattered. She’d sat under their enormous tree and stared in wonder at the glittering ornaments. She’d helped in the kitchen, eaten at the table, played games and joined them on long winter walks. She’d even had her own stocking—red, with a bow, and stuffed with thoughtful presents.