Four Christmases and a Secret

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘We’ve been together a long time now haven’t we?’ He pauses. It is a long time. Well, it has been on and off a bit, but still. ‘Sometimes you have to take the plunge I guess, pop the question.’

  Ooooh, Holy Shit! Not the question. I always thought this relationship wasn’t for life, it was for Christmas!

  He shifts nervously, but doesn’t let go of my face, which means I can either follow him across the sofa or stay and be stretched.

  ‘How about it then?’

  ‘It?’ I squeak.

  ‘Moving in with me. Trial?’ His eyes twinkle, his eyebrows rock comically.

  Phew. Thank fuck for that! It’s the living together question, not the forever-together question. My heart was hammering a bit for a moment there.

  ‘Nothing too serious, see what it’s like to share the toothpaste.’

  I gulp. ‘It’s a bit sudden.’ And laugh slightly hysterically. ‘Didn’t expect that!’

  ‘But you want to?’

  I don’t know. How do I say I don’t know without changing this relationship forever? Saying no will change everything. Well, actually so will saying yes. Whatever I say, there will be no going back.

  Why did he have to ask?

  ‘Tim, this hasn’t got anything to do with the T-shirt has it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I reckon he’s trying to look innocent, but instead he looks shifty.

  ‘It’s just, I mean if it’s just that you’d rather I wasn’t living with Ollie.’

  ‘Rubbish! Do you really think that?’ He gives a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not exactly the jealous type, but I don’t for one minute imagine he’d want—’

  Tim is literally saved by the bell. I’d have ignored my ringing phone, but he sweeps it up and answers.

  ‘On our way, soz, Frankie!’ Then he grins at me and stands up. ‘C’mon, gorgeous, taxi awaits. Did I tell you how beautiful you look? Don’t do it enough!’

  He doesn’t. He also doesn’t tell me he loves me very often.

  I haven’t minded up until now.

  ‘What were you about to say?’

  ‘Say? Nothing. Come on, chop, chop, want to sort out that eye?’

  I rub my flicks off and draw a quick line with kohl eyeliner. And pull my checked shirt on over my head. It’s what I want to wear. I know Tim’s not keen, but it is what I want to wear.

  What the hell was he about to say? That he didn’t for one moment think Ollie would be interested in me?

  He might be right, but what kind of boyfriend says that, just after they’ve asked you to live with them?

  I stare at myself in the mirror. Yep, he might be right. Ollie might call me amazing, he might be wonderfully supportive, he might be funny and entertaining – but that doesn’t mean to say that he’ll ever want to kiss me again, does it?

  Which is a slightly depressing thought.

  Because I’d really like to kiss him again. Even though I know I shouldn’t.

  1 a.m., 18 December

  I shut the door and lean against it. As evening go, it wasn’t the best. Okay, Frankie was on form, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Tim had said.

  It’s not just the moving in question. I mean, he’s kind of taken it that I will (I think) which is a bit worrying. But it’s the fact that he seems to have asked because he just doesn’t trust me. Surely relationships are all about trust?

  Not about finding suspect T-shirts.

  How can I even think about moving in if I think it’s just his way of controlling what I do and who I do it with?

  Why doesn’t he trust me?

  I can’t think of a single thing I’ve ever done. Well, there was the time I was very tempted to kiss Ollie. But I didn’t. And he wouldn’t.

  Oh yeah, and what the fuck was that about? How dare he say (or nearly say) that he thinks Ollie wouldn’t want to kiss me back? He is supposed to have me on a pedestal, he is supposed to think everybody in the world would want to kiss me! Well, maybe not everybody, but you know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t. I am a bit drunk.

  But you’re supposed to be proud of who you’re with, aren’t you?

  And he obviously isn’t. He doesn’t think I’m all that brilliant. Or lust-worthy. I am not good enough in his eyes, not for Ollie, or who knows who. A bit like when he didn’t think I should stretch myself and write a feature to help Carrie.

  I don’t think he’s ever really meant any harm, but he just doesn’t understand me. He never has done. In his head, living with him, doing my safe little job and living a neat little life is all I need, all I want.

  But it isn’t.

  Uncle Terence understands.

  Even Ollie understands.

  I think I finally understand as well. I can’t move in with Tim.

  I stand up.

  I can’t even date Tim. What’s the point? All he’s done for me is what I’ve been doing for myself since I fucked up my ‘A’ levels – undermining me. Telling me what I can’t do, rather than what I can. And if I’m brutally honest here, I’ve not put him on a pedestal either. I was worrying about what was in his beard, rather than admiring his manliness.

  I’m not sure all this will make quite as much sense in the morning, when I’m sober, so I think I need to text him now. Tell him.

  It’s over.

  ACT 3 – NOTHING’S GOING TO STOP ME NOW

  Chapter 19

  2 p.m., 24 December 2018

  ‘Happy Christmas, Daisy!’ James Masters, my very nice boss, perches on the corner of my desk, which is quite a feat considering the amount of crap piled up. Anybody would think offices would be practically paperless these days, wouldn’t they? This one isn’t.

  I love paper though. I never want to switch to full-on electronic. I like the piles of books with pages you can smell and flick, I like printing my copy off and being able to red ink it. I also like my dog mug, the picture of Stanley, the packet of Pringles and the mini Christmas tree I spotted for a bargain 50p. Okay, I admit it, I just like crap. Stuff.

  Anyhow, my boss has managed to find a spot big enough to park a bum cheek on and smiles across at me as I close the lid of my laptop and slip it into my bag.

  ‘Anything exciting planned?’ James is holding his own laptop in one hand and has the other in his pocket. He looks like a man planning his escape from the office.

  ‘Family party at Terence’s bookshop!’ I am rather looking forward to Uncle T’s party this year. When I got up this morning and went through my mental list of things that I needed to do, it went better than it ever has done.

  Buffet food – check (smoked salmon blinis, chilled bubbly and fancy nuts)

  Christmas jumper and antlers found – check

  Stanley washed and dressed (he’s not keen on his jumper but I told him he has to enter into the spirit) – check

  Sparkly Christmas nails – check

  Boyfriend primed about what to expect (i.e. my mother) – check. Uncheck! BF has now gone, and I’m happy to be going on my own, so there!

  Last review of the year written and subbed – check

  ‘Sounds good. Have fun!’

  ‘I will do.’ I double check I haven’t left any chocolates in my desk drawer and smile at my boss. ‘Have you got much planned?’

  ‘Oh, the normal, five kids, a mother-in-law an ex-mother-in-law and having a vicar for a father makes life interesting! See you at the bash I hope?’ He stands up, pauses to wait for an answer.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  The bash is our works Christmas do, and is held two days after Boxing Day – which is perfect timing to my mind. I will have recovered from Christmas, and be bored, in that lull before New Year. It’s that time when you’ve eaten far too many chocolates, but feel obliged to finish them all off, and you’re totally sick of turkey, but pick at the leftovers anyway. And you’re worrying if your charade was really as inappropriate as you think it might have been. And you really need to get back to work or at least talk to some rea
l people i.e. not family.

  ‘All geared up for another animal feature in the New Year?’ He winks, which rather takes me by surprise, the wink and the words.

  ‘You want me to do another one?’ I move my mini Christmas tree to one side, so I can see him more clearly. This year’s tree is rather on the big side, but it was a bargain price and it flashes. It’s got a bit competitive in the office actually, we’ve all been trying to see just how much tinsel, and how many baubles we can get away with.

  ‘I certainly do, if you want to?’

  I nod vigorously.

  Tim has been rather grumpy since we decided to call it a day. So next year I think I am going to have to think about asking for a promotion, or a new boss.

  ‘Great! Right, I suppose I better be off, last minute shopping to be done, and all that. Have a wonderful Christmas, Daisy.’

  ‘I will!’ For the first time in years, I actually believe I will. ‘Happy Christmas, good luck with all the mother-in-law’s and the vicar!’

  ‘I might need it!’ And he strolls out of the office, grabbing his coat off the rack as he goes.

  I skip down the stairs and pause halfway down to look out of the window. It’s part of my health drive, the skipping down the stairs bit, not the pausing. I really have to stop the pausing, which happens all the time – to chat to people, stroke dogs, tie my shoelaces. You know, all those things you do when you’re knackered and need a break, but you’re trying to kid yourself that it’s unavoidable and not your fault.

  Today though I just need to look. It’s truly beautiful outside, a real winter wonderland. The perfect Christmas scene.

  There’s a gorgeous thick blanket of snow draped over the roof of the café opposite, the place I met Uncle Terence when I first got offered the job, it looks like a cute gingerbread house that’s been iced with a heavy hand, and I can’t help but smile.

  Wow, it’s nine months since I stood here for the first time, after my interview with Tim. Is it really that long? You can have a baby in that time! Although in a way I feel like I’ve done something a bit similar to giving birth, but it’s the new me that has been born. I feel like I’m living a different life now.

  I love living with Ollie. Well not living, but you know what I mean. When he is there, he’s great company, and he never brings girlfriends home (which is a huge bonus, I was rather worried about being the gooseberry). In fact, he doesn’t seem to have had a girlfriend for ages which shouldn’t, but does, make me happy.

  And now, after my huge success with the features I ran for Carrie, James has asked for more! This is totally amazing! There’s a real chance I’m starting to move up the ladder, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself here, but maybe one day I’ll leave the review column behind! Wow, I’ve not stopped to think about all this until now, but I really am making something of my life at last.

  I give myself a little hug, that’s another thing I love about Ollie. He insists we celebrate every achievement, ‘sharing is caring’ he said the other night – before nicking the last bit of pizza. Cheeky bugger, that bit of him definitely hasn’t changed!

  Next year is going to be even better, I just know it is.

  Stanley has flatly refused to entertain coming to Uncle T’s party tonight, he hid when I got his jumper out and refused to come out from under the bed, even though I’d got him some lovely new flashing antlers.

  So, I’ll be partner less again, but, to be honest I don’t particularly care. Does it matter? I do not have anything to prove to anybody – including my mother.

  I am a bit sad that Ollie won’t be there. I’ve not seen him for a while – he’s not been home much (I love calling our apartment home), there has been an end of year rush of conferences, meetings and emergency ops. But he has promised he’ll be around for Christmas day. And we’re friends now, so Mum and Vera can be as competitive as they like tonight because I know exactly what Ollie is like – and Mum will have some totally un-exaggerated good things to say about me! This is going to be the best party ever!

  5 p.m., 24 December

  ‘They look almost edible!’

  ‘Shit!’ I drop my tea strainer, which I’ve been using to scatter icing sugar snow on my mince pies with, then rap the back of the rather large hand that is trying to snaffle one. ‘Stop it! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Happy Christmas to you too, Virgin Mary, and you Stanley boy!’ Ollie pats Stanley, who is sitting by the table, his mouth half-open with expectation, on the head. He got over his Christmas jumper aversion when he smelled food.

  ‘You’re supposed to be in London!’ I try not to grin. I’m disproportionally pleased to see him. Which is a bit worrying. I only spoke to him on the phone yesterday, and he’s only been gone three days this time! I try not to ogle him too openly. How can a man look so gorgeous? His hair is longer than he normally lets it get (probably because he’s been so busy), and the ends are just tipping under leaving me with a sudden longing to see the curls he used to have as a child. His cheekbones are tinged pink by the bitter cold wind outside, and he’s grinning, his cute dimples nestling at the sides of his generous mouth.

  Good enough to eat.

  ‘In London? Says who?’

  ‘Juliet!’ Juliet has come back into our lives. When I say ‘our’ I mean Ollie’s, but I seem to be spending more time than he does answering the door to her.

  ‘Really?’ He looks surprised.

  I was surprised as well when I answered the door to her at 10 p.m. last night.

  ‘Hey, Maisie! Just popped in to sort last minutes! Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘Daisy! It’s Daisy!’ I am tempted to swear loudly, but I desist.

  Not a lot is exciting at 10 p.m. on a week day in my life. Unless I’ve won a lucky dip on the lotto, Wolverine is on TV or I’ve managed to dye Ollie’s white shirt pink (it happened).

  Anyway, Juliet was looking all slim and sleek, and practically purring as she tried to edge round me into the apartment. Like a black panther, but pale pink. With high heels.

  I was all cuddly and half-comatose, more black-bear in the middle of hibernation. With hair in ringlets that were all mussed up at the back because I’d been lying flat on the sofa. My big jumper has got to the over-fluffy stage, and my old joggers are for my eyes only.

  I was a make-up free zone. Which is fine if you aren’t knackered from a day in the office, and still feel ‘radiant’, but I felt puffy eyed and sallow.

  I mean, who just ‘pops in’ at that time? ‘Last minutes?’

  ‘Oh God, hasn’t Ollie told you? Oh wow, well it’s secret, but, well … Is he in?’

  ‘Nope.’

  She gazed down her long sleek nose at me, giving me the once over, then giggled. ‘Oh, I guess not.’

  I was about to point out that I do not dress to impress him, but then decided not to.

  ‘Well, you’ll know soon enough, but don’t tell anybody I told you!’ She whispered confidentially, even though I’m sure Stanley wouldn’t tell on her.

  ‘We’re going to have an announcement.’ She beamed. ‘You know! Pop the …’ Her eyes opened wider than I have ever seen eyes open (apart from Gollum) and her neat eyebrows shot up to her hairline. ‘Oh God, I shouldn’t have said! But it’s so exciting! Don’t tell him I told you. Can you give him this invite though? Here.’ She fished in her massive tote bag and flourished a very expensive looking envelope under my nose. ‘I think this is where he’s going to do it! Tomorrow!’

  Then she was off before I could shut the door in her face. Pop the question? How can Ollie pop the question to somebody like her? I slammed the envelope a little too forcibly on the table and Stanley whimpered and shot into his basket.

  And tomorrow? How can he miss Uncle T’s party? How dare he miss the party to propose!

  ‘Aww, sorry Stanley, come here.’ He can’t marry her! It’s all wrong. We’ve been getting on so well, whenever he’s been here, and I like living with him – I actually really miss him when he’s working a
way. The apartment feels strange, it’s much more ‘home’ when he’s here. He helped me save Stanley, I nearly kissed him. Oh hell, I nearly kissed a nearly married man.

  Except I didn’t know. I mean, Juliet had been off the agenda for a while.

  I feel sick. I sink down onto the floor and Stanley crawls onto my knee and licks my nose.

  I am not feeling sick because I nearly kissed him, but because I’m about to lose him.

  He’s one of my best friends, he’s not pompous at all. Ollie believed in me when nobody else did. Ollie encouraged me to go for it and talk to James about my ideas. Ollie is the one who has never doubted what I can do. Ollie is the first person I’ve wanted to tell when I’ve got good news, the only person I want to talk to when things haven’t gone quite as well as I’d hoped. Because I trust him. I value his opinion. I know he knows me, understands me, better than anybody else.

  Oh bugger. I don’t want him to marry her. He can’t.

  That sounds awful, and selfish. And I can’t say that, it sounds like I’m just bitter and jealous because I have split up with my boyfriend.

  ‘Why do I feel this bad, Stanley?’ I had been feeling so positive about things, so happy that it was Christmas and my life was finally shaping up.

  Do I say something to him, even though Juliet told me not to? Do I ask, check, beg him not to?

  I need Frankie. Frankie will know what to do.

  So I phone her, and tell her.

  ‘I don’t want to lose him!’

  ‘You really fancy the arse off him, don’t you?’

  ‘No!’ I shout, then make an effort to lower my voice. Stanley is looking worried, he doesn’t like loud angry noises. ‘It’s not that, I don’t fancy him, but I do like him, and I like living here and … shall I ask him? Shall I check?’