Daisy's Christmas Gift Shop

by Hannah Pearl

  ‘Bike got heavy, thought I’d take a break,’ I replied, cunningly managing to answer without admitting that there was some truth in his suggestion. The band chose that opportune moment to take a break, and the background music that filled the gap was both quieter and older. Much like me. I drank my whisky quickly and held up the empty glass. ‘You know, another drink would be lovely,’ I said.

  We ordered pints, given that we were in no rush to be off and carried them to the rear of the pub where there was one free table left. It wobbled ominously as we set our drinks down but we made no move to leave it.

  ‘So how did you feel about turning the big four-oh?’ Elliot asked.

  I almost wished the music would start again, even though it would risk making my ears bleed, just so that I didn’t have to answer. No luck there however, and after a few seconds I knew I would have to say something. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when Elliot spoke before I had to. ‘I think I’ve felt old for such a long time I’m only surprised that the number has finally caught up with me.’

  If I’d had a teenage kid I guess I’d have felt the same way, but life had not panned out that way for me. I had ticked off many of the material things I’d have expected by this age. I had a set of matching mugs and a neatly organised airing cupboard full of clean towels. I had a house, currently, and car that I’d paid for outright. I’d travelled and holidayed in some of the most beautiful places in the world. It was the personal achievement list that I struggled with more. Yes I had decent qualifications and a job that I loved, most of the time, but I’d never dreamt that I’d be reaching such a milestone age by myself. I’d had a fair few sleepless nights recently questioning whether I was really happy with where I was in my life. It wasn’t that I felt incomplete without a man. It was more the promise of what I’d thought a marriage meant – companionship, understanding, a family – that I mourned the loss of. I was glad of Elliot’s company.

  ‘Sophie asked me this morning if I was worried about turning forty because it meant I’d get wrinkles soon and go bald.’

  He laughed and I joined in. I was glad that he hadn’t felt offended. I guess it was easy to feel secure in your looks when you’re so easy on the eye. Any signs of aging, and they were few, suited him. I liked the hints of silver in his hair, they spoke of a life well lived. The creases by his mouth told me of a million smiles that had formed them.

  ‘I don’t mind the number exactly,’ I told him. He raised an eyebrow, James Bond style, and I found myself truly beginning to relax for the first time that evening. He’d obviously sensed my unease in the restaurant and assumed that it was the milestone age that had been the cause. ‘Most of the time, anyway. I feel a lot more comfortable in my own skin than I ever used to. I don’t look in the mirror and judge myself any more. It’s just that it hasn’t been the easiest year. I’m not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life, and that’s really hard to accept.’

  ‘Do you need to accept it?’ he asked. ‘Or can you do anything to change it so you do have what you want?’

  ‘I don’t know any more’ I admitted. ‘But I know I can’t keep pushing people away until I figure it out. So this is me turning over a fresh leaf and trying to rejoin the world.’ Except that I hadn’t. I’d left my colleagues to go out together and I’d come to drown my sorrows in the pub.

  ‘I need to be more sociable too,’ Elliot said. I looked at him, sat with a gentle smile on his face and a relaxed posture that spoke of being completely at ease in his own company. ‘Sophie will be off to university soon and I’m dreading how quiet my house is going to be. That was more of a shock to my system than my new age. Realising that this decade is going to see the end of our time at home together. She made me take last week off so that I’d be relaxed for my birthday but I didn’t know what to do with myself whilst she was at college.’

  He must have been one of the first parents of teenagers to feel like that. I was sure most people would be thrilled to have a home not filled with loud music and dirty laundry and to have some time to themselves. I understood though. I’d have felt the same way. I wasn’t sure how he could ever get lonely though. He seemed to have an instinctive understanding of when to listen, what to ask and when to stop probing for information in time to not push me into talking about topics I wasn’t prepared to cover. It was strange to think that he didn’t have a huge group of friends to spend time with but here we were. On our birthday, alone, but for each other.

  I picked up my glass and clinked it against his. ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Here’s to being older, wiser and more confident,’ Elliot added. ‘And not having to go clubbing any more. For what it’s worth, I’m glad that you can look in the mirror and like what you see. I would, if I were you, I mean. Looking at yourself. You’re beautiful.’ It was one of the most socially awkward yet sincere and utterly charming things anyone had ever said to me.

  The background music ended abruptly and the band returned to the small stage at the back of the pub. The guitarist strummed a note and my ears felt it like a knife. It was good timing. I felt like I ought to respond to Elliot’s compliment but I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t sure if he was chatting me up or just saying something nice because it was our birthday. Sally was right. I definitely needed to get out more. I was far too out of practice. He was a good listener and the crinkles around his eyes told me that he liked to laugh. He would be a lovely person to spend time with, if only I knew how.

  ‘I think I might head off after all,’ I told him. He drained his glass in one mouthful and walked out with me.

  Back on the pavement, I glanced at my bike and sighed. ‘Think it’ll still be there tomorrow?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s both locked up and not the most roadworthy bike there. I think you’ll be safe,’ Elliot said.

  ‘That’s a shame.’ I slung my handbag over my shoulder and began to walk. ‘I’m just up here,’ I said, motioning to the main road, which split off after a zebra crossing. Elliot began to wave and head towards the right hand fork, but I called him back. ‘I’ve got a bottle of wine and I think I’m going to be awake half the night anyway after the coffee. Fancy joining me for one last birthday drink?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  I’m not sure why I invited him home. It was never really a conscious decision to ask. Perhaps it was that innate sense of politeness that I tried so hard to encourage in my students. It was so deeply ingrained that I’d asked even though I wanted nothing more than to go home and brood about my age and lack of friends, especially those willing to celebrate without being bribed. Regardless, Elliot accepted my offer. Either out of politeness of his own, or perhaps he had issues that he too wanted to blot out. If I’d had a daughter and she was out drinking with a group of people older and less wise than she, I’d probably have turned to booze myself.

  Sliding my key into the door, it caught as I turned it, and as usual I had to jiggle it to free the catch and open it fully. Reaching inside, I found the light switch, flipped it on and cringed as my loneliness was displayed. Elliot didn’t mention the bare walls. Perhaps if you had never seen it as it used to be, with wedding photos and holiday snaps, framed and exhibited, extolling a happy relationship, which turned out not to be so blissful after all, then you wouldn’t have known what was now missing. My heart felt just as bare, and to me the barrenness was just as obvious, but Elliot seemed content to accept my house, and myself, on face value and followed me through to the kitchen.

  Here the breakdown of my marriage was less obvious. Dan hadn’t wanted the bother of packing up heavy utensils or the cost of shipping them over to the States so he’d requested very few articles from the house. I’d donated some of the items of crockery that had been wedding presents to a local charity shop, but most of the rest had been things that I’d picked up in the intervening years, and I’d been able to keep those. Dan hadn’t cooked often and so there weren’t so many painful memories attached to the newer items.

  ‘What’s your pois
on?’ I asked Elliot. ‘Red, white? There are spirits in the dresser in the living room, if you fancy a nightcap. There might even be a can of beer at the back of the fridge, though it’s been there since a barbecue last summer, so maybe I should check it before I offer you that.’

  Elliot turned back to face me and smiled. Maybe he could sense my nervousness and wanted to reassure me before I rattled off every other available beverage. ‘You were drinking whisky, weren’t you? When I first bumped into you at the pub. Shall we stick to that, if you have any? If not I’ll happily risk the mystery beer.’

  The spirits had been Dan’s, and he had only asked me to ship one bottle, a very expensive vintage whisky, which he had been presented with in a cut glass decanter as a thank you for closing some big deal at work. He had come home with it, back in the good old days, and told me that really it should have been a gift to me. He’d only been able to work the hours demanded of him because I’d picked up all the housework, meal preparation and organisation needed to keep our lives ticking over whilst he had worked eighteen hour days. When he had asked me to send it to him, in one of his rare post break up phone calls, I’d told him that I had drunk it already. It wasn’t true. Though it was far more expensive than the whisky I’d drunk in the pub that evening, for some reason I’d barely been able to swallow it when I’d poured myself a glass. I should really have let Dan have it, but the day he called I had been hormonal and flat and needed a cheap win at his expense. Now it sat there on the side reminding me every day of my pettiness.

  Elliot took in the sights of my kitchen, with its red tile counters and sunshine yellow walls. It should have been a warm room. It used to be warm. Maybe I should have baked some bread or bought some flowers, or followed any of those tips they give you on house selling websites to make the place look more appealing. But then, it had been months since anyone except Sally or I had been there, and I hadn’t expected to have a man over, ever again if I’m honest, so I hadn’t bothered. Elliot drifted away from my oak table, found at a vintage fair with Dan, many moons ago when we had been happy, and was now covered fully by my schoolwork. The rest of my house was orderly. Perhaps this too was an act of displacement.

  I led Elliot through the doorway into the living room. Somehow this room hadn’t lost its heart. My guitar sat in its holder next to the fireplace. The April evening was not cool enough to require a fire, but I’d set it anyway. It looked cosy, just to know that you were only ever one match away from the warmth.

  Dan’s leather armchair was one of the few items that I had sent over to him. It had left a huge gap in the room but it had held too many memories to keep. When we were first married we’d take it in turns to sit there and play guitar whilst the other sang. After it had gone I’d left school early one day to visit the huge charity shop a few miles out of town where I’d picked up an Ercole armchair. The cushions had been old and worn, but a fabric sarong that I’d picked up on holiday had been repurposed as a throw, and now, with its burgundy cotton cover, it was my favourite place to curl up with a hot chocolate and a book after a long day.

  I’d even taken a trip to Ikea. The framed prints that were on the mantelpiece in lieu of graduation and Christmas photos were impersonal, but I liked it that way. They didn’t bring back any memories. Elliot glanced around him, stopping to read the titles of every book on the shelves that lined the far wall. I smiled. It was exactly what I did every time I went to a new house. I took out two glasses from the dresser. Not the shot glasses that I’d bought at Ikea for fifty pence each that looked like mini tumblers, all solid and plain. Instead I picked out the cut glass tumblers that I’d picked up at the same time as I found my armchair. They didn’t go with anything else in my house. They were far more old-fashioned than anything Dan would ever have chosen, but then that’s why the fine glasses that he had picked out had shattered so easily when I’d thrown them against the wall thirty seconds after reading the text saying that he wouldn’t be coming back. I hadn’t thrown them in shock, more as a release of the tension that had existed between us. I’d needed the catharsis of noise after our decade long marriage ended with only the quiet beep of a mobile phone.

  These tumblers had a more satisfactory weight in my hand, and on days when the fire was lit, the light bounced off their carved sides and a person could get lost staring into them. Plus, they held a far larger serving, and my nerves needed it. Pouring a double into each, I handed one to Elliot. ‘We deserve a decent celebration, don’t we? It is our birthday, after all.’

  He didn’t question the size of the measure after that, and instead gestured at the armchair and the guitar next to it. ‘May I?’

  I took a sip of my whisky before I nodded, hoping that having him here wouldn’t be a huge mistake. But he looked so different in the chair, hunched over the guitar, and not manspreading as Dan would have done, invading all of the space around him. I even managed to drink Dan’s whisky without coughing, which felt like a bizarre but important improvement. Elliot began to pick out the odd note, checking the tuning more than playing anything. I was about to offer to tune it up for him when he found his place and began to sing. At first he sang a few songs that I was more used to my students playing, loudly on their phones when they should have been settling for registration, and I smiled. He must have learnt them because of his daughter. Then he began to sing something bluesy, his voice both heartfelt and simply beautiful, about love and loss. Probably interrupting him to offer crisps and snacks was a little obvious, but if I’d sat there any longer then seeing me cry might have been even worse.

  He continued to play as I pottered around filling little bowls with a jar of olives that had been lurking at the back of the cupboard, and a packet of crisps. I hunted for some popcorn but then realised that I’d eaten it the last time I had PMT and had been having a weekend binge watching TV and feeling sorry for myself. When I walked back into the living room carrying my finds, Elliot segued neatly from the song that he had been playing into an acoustic version of happy birthday.

  ‘Sorry if I played something I shouldn’t have,’ he said. I realised that I probably hadn’t made it out of the room without him seeing the tears in my eyes after all. He finished the tune and set the guitar back in its holder. I picked up my glass of whisky and leaned over so that I could clink it against his. He moved so that he was sat next to me. I could feel his body warmth. It had been a long time since I’d been close to enough to someone to sense it. I stiffened. Elliot shifted as though he sensed my nervousness and prepared to move away but I rested my hand on his arm to stop him. It was comforting to have him there. He shifted just a little so that he was sat on the edge of the seat, next to me, but still giving me enough space that I relaxed again.

  ‘We should be celebrating. Let’s leave talk of difficult topics alone for tonight,’ I suggested.

  We both took a sip of our drinks, silent as if my reactions had stopped him from knowing what it was safe to say. I searched for a topic myself. ‘Did you need to let anyone know that you walked me home?’

  ‘No need to call,’ he said. ‘There’s only me and Sophie and she won’t be back before sunrise if she can help it.’ I wanted to ask more, but he waved his hand. ‘No talking about our baggage tonight. We’ve probably both done our share of that in the past.’ Obviously the lack of the personal touches in my house hadn’t escaped his notice. ‘To new beginnings,’ he toasted.

  I echoed his toast. A fresh start. And though it wouldn’t change the underlying cause of my heartbreak, perhaps it would bring enough to help me feel happy again. I drained my glass. It was tempting to pour another but the room was beginning to sway around me, a sure sign that I’d already drunk plenty. To try and sober up I reached for the crisps but so did Elliot.

  The side of my head glanced against the frame of his glasses. ‘Sorry, are you okay?’ I asked him.

  ‘My specs caught the brunt of it. I’m fine. How are you?’ He touched his hand to my face to turn it gently so that he could make sure I wasn
’t injured. His skin was smooth. I turned my face so that his fingers rested against my cheek.

  He leant forward and placed his lips against my temple. ‘I’ll kiss it better.’

  I ached to lean forward and ask him to kiss me again and make more of me better. I couldn’t find the words, and slowly he sat back into the sofa once more. I sat back too, and I’m not sure if it was the whisky or the squashiness of the cushions but I found myself sinking in next to him. This time I didn’t freeze. He rested an arm gently around my shoulders so that I stayed pressed against him. I could feel his chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed.

  I didn’t want him to go yet but wasn’t sure what to say to keep him there. ‘Tell me about Sophie,’ I suggested. It was obvious from watching them at the restaurant that they were close, and his eyes sparkled as he talked about her.

  ‘She’s eighteen, and as strong-willed as you should be at that age, before you find out that there are some obstacles in life that can’t be beaten just by grit and determination.’ He sensed that he was veering off the cheerful path he had aimed for and took a sip of his drink before he spoke again. ‘She’s amazing. I got a First Class degree and she’s far sharper than I ever was. She’s got exams in a few weeks, and then university. And then I suppose I get my house back, and no more living with the mess and chaos that even the most attentive of teenagers cause. But again, I digress. So you’re a teacher?’

  He didn’t look as happy at the thought of Sophie moving out as his words suggested, so I followed his lead to change the subject. Not that Sophie counted as baggage talk, but there was certainly more to his story than he was ready to share.

  ‘For my sins. English. And I have a tutor group. Also I’m head of year eleven, so currently I’m overseeing a hundred and eighty kids who are petrified about their exams, and those who aren’t are the ones who bloody well should be. And you?’