by Esme Devlin
She looks from me to Lewis, who’s standing behind me. “I’ve never known Lewis to deal well without food,” she says, laughing. “But we’re here now. We brought food and Jamie sorted the electrics when we arrived — the power went back on through the night.”
“Jamie moved the tree, too?” Lewis asks.
“He did, aye. Took him all bloody morning, too. Nice of you to help,” she says.
Lewis shrugs. “My fucking hero. Where is he anyway?”
“Ben the living room with Mya. So none of that language!” But he’s already walking away before she can finish.
I take a seat at the dining room table while Gemma finishes making the coffee. We still don’t have any heating for the gas stove and a proper kettle, but we do at least now have some power which is a relief.
“Please explain to me how you’ve managed to not murder him yet?” she asks as she hands me a cup of milky (milky!!!!) coffee. It looks so gorgeous and milky and appealing I don’t give two shiny shits that it’s burning my tongue.
“Oh, he’s not that bad, is he?” I say, the sarcasm in my tone unmissable.
She laughs and takes a drink of her own coffee. “I bet you were glad to see us. I honestly don’t know how you coped — I said to Jamie this morning it’s colder in here than it is outside!”
“Well, the fire helped. It was the power that was the worst part. What I wouldn’t give for a warm shower and a hot dinner.”
She smiles in agreement. “Well I spoke to the girls this morning — they’ve been staying in Edinburgh but they’re going to drive down today now that the roads are better. They said to do dinner without them as it’ll be dark before they get here, so let’s finish this and then we’ll send the boys out to the car for the food? Speaking of the boys, I don’t fancy Mya’s chances through there with her half-wit Dad and Uncle. Are you coming?”
She stands up and I follow her through to the living room. I had been wondering what she was insinuating — surely they can’t be that bad? — but the moment we come through the door, I realize exactly what she’s talking about.
I haven’t seen Mya since she was just a tiny baby. She must be three or four now, all blonde curls and an infectious laugh. And a baby she is not.
Lewis has a hold of her arms while Jamie has her legs, and they have her lifted between them like they’re carrying a wheelbarrow, swinging her from side to side while they recite “A Leg and a Wing” and she giggles her little head off.
Gemma shakes her head and gives me a look that says see what I mean? But I can’t help smiling at them.
And that’s how we spend the afternoon. Gemma and I worked with what we had and managed to get the turkey in the old electric oven. We couldn’t boil any veg — due to the lack of gas — but we managed to fit enough of them in with the turkey that we had some roasted veg instead.
The gravy… that was a shitemare with the three-candle set up.
Finally after what felt like hours of slaving away, we had a dinner that on any other day would have been terrible, but today — after my shortbread diet — is like Michelin standard.
And I can’t berate the menfolk for leaving the cooking to us either… I think they worked harder than we did chasing Mya around the castle. Poor kid was ready for a nap by the time dinner was ready.
“Merry Christmas,” Gemma says, holding her glass up so everyone can toast her. (We finally have Prosecco and I am more than happy about that).
“Merry Christmas,” I repeat, glancing at Lewis who’s sitting opposite only to see he’s looking directly at me.
I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and I swear I’m trying everything possible not to make it noticeable. I feel sneaky and like we have a dirty little secret between us… sitting down for a nice family meal while the family / best friends are none the wiser.
Throughout the whole affair we steal looks at each other, and I’m so torn. It’s bittersweet. One side of my heart is fluttering every single time I lock eyes with him, only for that to be quickly replaced with the reality that this is all for nothing.
This is all going to be over.
And we didn’t even get the chance to speak about it properly. Like idiots, we’ve both danced around the subject — making jokes and teasing each other which seems to be just what we do.
We never actually spoke about what will happen.
Will we stay in contact?
Will we see each other again?
But when Jamie stands up from the table at the end of the meal and announces they should leave us to our girly Christmas, I swear my stomach falls through the floor because I already know what’s coming.
The girls will be here soon and the boys will scarper.
It’s funny because this is exactly what I wanted when I came here and now I think it might be the last thing I want.
Lewis stands up too.
“Aye,” he says, nodding his head. “Kimber needs a proper feed, and it’s getting late.”
I swallow, and then nod my head because I think my face might be betraying how I’m feeling — and I don’t really want it to.
Gemma gets up and starts cleaning the plates away. Jamie goes over to the sofa to fetch a sleeping Mya.
Lewis approaches and looks down at me for a moment without saying anything at all.
“I guess this is it then?” I say. The question was rhetorical, I just couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“Aye,” he says, nodding his head slightly. “I guess this is it.”
I swallow. I’m not really sure what else to do.
“Well… thank you, I guess.”
The hint of a smile plays on his lips and after a few moments he replies. “Thank you too.”
Then he nods his head and walks right by me.
I turn around and watch him leave.
Gemma comes back and I quickly straighten myself and put a smile on my face. “More Prosecco?”
“Of course!”
She pours us both another glass as Lewis and Jamie head out the front door.
And I have that sinking feeling in my stomach. I’m trying to think of something to say, anything that will take my mind off it…
“I wonder what time the girls will be arriving?”
“Uh, let me grab my phone and check,” she says, crossing the room to the smaller sofa where her purse is sitting.
“It’s no use,” I tell her. “No one gets a signal here.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “You just have to be selective about what network you choose.” Her face lights up as she unlocks her phone and fiddles around with it. “They’re an hour away, and that was twenty minutes ago.”
“So… forty minutes then?” I tease.
“Forty minutes. Just enough time for you to explain why you were eye-fucking my cousin over the table during Christmas dinner?”
My eyes go wide. “What?”
She raises her eyebrow and plops herself down on the sofa beside me, tucking her legs up under her. “Don’t give me that innocent face. Spill.”
Chapter 15
LEWIS
Kimber jumps in the boot and I strap Mya into the back of my car while Jamie sits on his arse doing the square-root of fuck all. Apparently that’s only fair since he spent his morning clearing my road and sorting out my electric.
Not that I asked him to.
If he hadn’t, I’d still be in there with Isla. Probably starving, but also probably naked, which is a price well worth paying in my humble opinion.
Slamming the door shut, I fish my keys out of my pocket and start the engine, wincing at the feeling of the ice cold leather on the steering wheel.
“Fucking baltic,” I tell him.
“Gemma will have your balls if she catches you speaking like that in front of the wee hen. But aye, you’re right. It’s getting colder again.”
I turn around as I reverse the car out and see she’s distracted, half turned around in her seat trying to convince Kimber to jump over so she can play with her.<
br />
“Can’t think of the last time I never had a drink on Christmas night,” he says.
I chuckle. “I’ll be thinking of you singing Twinkle Twinkle while I’m getting fired into my whisky with the dog sleeping at my feet.”
He shakes his head. “Prick.”
“Language,” I scold.
We drive down the long track until we reach the tree, where I see he’s cut it up and piled it at the side of my road. “Couldn’t even stack it properly,” I tell him, tutting under my breath.
“I’m an electrician, not a fucking tree whisperer like you. I think I did an alright job. You should be down here kissing my boots.”
“Away and shite!” I’m shaking my head but laughing too.
“Don’t tell me, you were quite enjoying yourself being locked up there with your childhood sweetheart.”
I turn around and screw up my face. “Childhood sweetheart?”
“Aye. She was a child, and you fancied her.”
I punch him in his arm but he’s killing himself with laughter now. “That’s shite-talking and you know it.”
“Alright, alright. Maybe that was below the belt. You must have tried with her though, surely?”
This time I don’t look at him; I keep my eyes firmly on the road.
Jamie is probably the best friend I’ve got. We grew up together, shared everything. When everyone else left for the cities, he was the only one who stayed. Hell, I guess with him marrying Gemma we’re basically family.
But that doesn’t mean I’m about to start talking about feelings and shit.
“Lewis?”
“Whit?”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“Nothing happened,” I say.
He chuckles and shakes his head before looking out of the window. “You’re just going to let her walk away again.”
“What are you talking about?”
He scoffs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You fucking like her, don’t deny it. And what I’m saying is, don’t be a stubborn silly bastard like you were ten years ago.”
I roll my eyes. If it was as simple as he’s making it out to be then maybe, maybe, I would swallow my pride.
But it’s not that simple.
It’s pointless.
It’s easy to deny shit when you’re in defense mode. It's a harder thing entirely when you’ve been sat on your couch for hours staring at a wall.
Don’t even know why I’m staring at it.
I feel restless, which is nuts because I’m doing exactly what I would be doing any other night. It’s never felt this lonely before though.
“What you looking at me like that for?” I say to the dog. She’s doing that thing where she’s got her face between her paws low on the ground. Her tail starts wagging the second I open my mouth.
I often wonder what dogs would say if they could speak. They’re always so fucking happy to help — like I can’t open a cupboard without her coming to lend a hand. Would she tell me to stop being so fucking stubborn? Or, maybe she likes it better just me and her, the way it’s always been.
But she was brooding a second ago, just like me.
Thing is, though, there’s nothing I can do.
I can’t go back over there and make a scene, not while my cousin and all her friends are there. What if Isla told me to leave? I’d never live a thing like that down in this town!
And I didn’t even get her number, so it’s not like I can text her. She doesn’t even get a signal there, anyway.
But… she would get a signal in London, wouldn’t she?
I wonder if I could find her on that Facebook thing.
The dog gets a fright when I stand up suddenly, and she follows at my heels on the way out to the car. See what I mean, always trying to help. I grab my phone for the first time in days and plug it in.
The thing is usually just an expensive watch, as that’s all I use it for, but it does have the internet. When it finally turns it vibrates in my hands, notifications popping up on the screen.
Gemma.
Likely from this morning. Or maybe even the day before.
I open up the conversation and I’m about to start at the start (there are a few) but my eyes are drawn to the last few, and one word specifically.
Isla.
19.46
Hey. It’s Isla. This is going to sound crazy but… I don’t want to leave things the way we did. If you do, then that’s totally fine of course. I mean if it was a one-night thing then that’s cool. But I just wanted to let you know that it doesn’t have to be.
20.58
God.
Oh god.
Just forget I sent that last message!
22.02
Drikn talkinnn
Byew Lews Xx
She text me and I didn’t even know.
Stupit bastard.
I start typing a message back, basically apologizing for not seeing it and letting her know that I don’t want to leave it the way we did either. It feels like unfinished business and I’ve already lived eight years of my life having unfinished business with Isla. I don’t want to do another eight.
But I quickly realize that’s a stupid idea and delete the message before I can send something I’ll regret.
Replying to that message would be stupid.
I’ve been stupid. I’m not going to be stupid again.
Chapter 16
ISLA
“Still nothing?” Jess asks.
We’re all sat on the couches around the fireplace, in our Christmas pajamas with our Prosecco in our hands, just like we all intended. Louise and Jess brought more shortbread, but I told them to keep it the hell away from me.
“Nothing,” I say.
I can feel my voice slurring a wee bit. I’m that way where I’m fine — I mean I’m not sicky/ spewy or anything, but the room isn’t quite as straight as it should be. I can’t even text him again because A) I think I might have fucked the last one up and B) no one likes a desperardo.
“I know what he’s like with phones — absolute liability. Also, I’ve never known Lewis to stay up after 9PM. I’m sure he’ll reply in the morning,” Gemma says.
I’ve been sat here cradling her phone like it’s a baby for hours now. Maybe she’s right, but I don’t want her to be. It’s Christmas night, and even if it wasn’t, being here without him just doesn’t feel right.
It feels empty, even in a room full of people.
“Does he have a house phone I could call?”
It takes me a couple of seconds to realize they’re all laughing at me. “It’s our duty to you as friends to make sure you definitely don’t do that,” Louise says.
“Yeah, I mean the third text explaining why you sent the second text was already too far,” Jess says with a giggle.
“He doesn’t have a house phone, hun.” Gemma pats me on the thigh and I smile at her.
It might be the drink talking — in fact, it’s definitely the drink talking — but I get the idea I should just go there.
Getting up from the couch like I’ve found a new lease of life, I plop my glass down on the table with unsteady hands and look around the room trying to remember what the hell I did with my shoes.
“Gemma, phone me a taxi,” I tell her, throwing her mobile at her. “And also, tell me his address.”
When I first sent that message I wasn’t sure if any of this was the best idea. But now I know it is. Fuck the flight on the 27th. Fuck work. Fuck my pokey little shoe-box apartment in London — guy lives in a goddamn castle.
We’ll make it work.
But I need to tell him this.
“Woah there, lady,” she says, half of her laughing the other half worried. “Maybe we should all sleep on this, and if you still feel this way in the morning, I’ll take you there myself.”
“I can’t sleep on it. Don’t you understand? It’s the Prosecco that’s letting me see inside my true heart.”
I glance over at Jess and Louise who app
ear to be killing themselves laughing. They don’t understand.
“That’s exactly why you need to sit yourself down,” Louise says with a giggle.
“It’s Christmas Day, Isla. You’ll be waiting on a taxi til the cows come home,” Gemma says.
“I can’t,” I tell them. “I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like my chest feels physically sore. Either I’m getting a taxi or I’m walking but I am going to his house and I am telling him how I feel.”
“Sit your arse down, stupit woman.”
We all turn around at the same time and I don’t know whether my heart is soaring with delight at seeing him, or I’m dying from the shame of him seeing me.
And hearing me.
Yes, mostly hearing me.
So, I sit down… just like he told me to.
I look from Lewis to the others and we’re all just looking at each other.
“Hi Lewis,” Gemma says.
Thank god.
“Hi Gemma,” he replies, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking right at me.
“Isla, will you help me with something in the kitchen?”
His face is straight and stern looking and I look around the group — what I’m looking for I do not know. Reassurance, maybe. Finding none, I stand up from the couch and follow him out of the room, feeling kinda like a school girl walking to the Principle’s office.
I cannot believe he caught me saying all of that.
We get to the kitchen and he turns the lights on and then goes over to stand in his usual place over by the counter. I’m about to perch myself on the little seat, like I’ve done so many times when I’ve watched him heat water with three candles.
But he doesn’t give me the chance to sit down.
He takes a hold of my hand and pulls me towards him, positioning me so we’re chest to chest. I look up at him, waiting for him to say something. I mean, it’s clear he wanted to talk to me, right? Probably wanted to let me down gently. He doesn’t say a word though.
Instead he just stands there staring at me for long seconds.
