She followed Tom across the room towards his coat, mulling over how she’d begin as he pulled a packet of biscuits from the pocket, opening the top and feeding a few to Cooper. As he did, a piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor. She bent to pick it up, recognising the black handwriting immediately.
Meg held it up between them, shocked. ‘I promise to get a divorce. That’s my mother’s writing. It’s written on one of her pink Post-it notes.’ She swallowed. ‘Where did you get it?’ She took a step back as her stomach dropped.
Tom frowned. ‘Kitty wrote it? The paper was in one of the broken baubles we found under the Promise Tree a couple of weeks ago. I picked it up. It didn’t feel right to hang it again so I was going to throw it away – I forgot it was in my pocket.’ His forehead puckered as Meg shook her head.
‘You didn’t say…’ she said. ‘I was standing right there and I asked if there were any more promises, and you looked me in the eye and said no. Have you been honest with me about anything this entire time?’ She screwed up the paper and put it in her coat, wondering why the whole thing made her so mad. Why that one small thing felt like such a betrayal. Perhaps because there was so much more layered on top of it? This was how relationships crumbled until there was nothing left.
Tom frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Meg swallowed and looked up, straight into those dark brown eyes, and tightened her palms into fists. ‘I know who you are,’ she said, feeling her heart fill with pain when his expression turned to shock. Even though she knew who he was, somewhere inside she’d been hoping it was a mistake. Or that there was a simple explanation – amnesia perhaps, a secret twin, maybe even alien abduction? ‘Tom Riley-Clark. You wrote this…’ She pointed a finger in the air just as the song ended and something jazzy came on. ‘You were the lead singer of The Ballad Club. You were famous. Only you never said. Which all adds up to a whole load of lies.’
‘You knew.’ Tom took a step back as his expression clouded. ‘I thought you did that day in the post office – you were buying the gossip magazine and you stared at me.’ His lips thinned and his face changed as understanding flashed across it. ‘Emily always looks at me too much when she’s checking her phone. You played my Christmas song’ – he waved a finger in the air and nodded – ‘almost every time we met. Encouraged me to play the guitar… interrogated me about my life.’ His cheeks paled and his mouth flattened. ‘I should have known. I should have seen it.’ He shook his head. ‘It was never about me… it was always about who I was.’
‘I only found out last night.’ Meg kept her tone firm, even though the way he was looking at her turned her stomach. ‘I didn’t even guess when you played your guitar, although I suppose I should have, but I believed you. It never occurred to me you wouldn’t be honest. I didn’t lie to you: I didn’t know.’
‘Your whole life is a lie, Meg,’ Tom said on a sharp exhale. ‘You hide from your feelings. You want everything and everyone to be perfect, to fill your world with people who agree with you on all things. And when they don’t, you pretend, just like you are now.’ The words were delivered with such coldness she shivered. ‘You’re just like everyone else.’ He shook his head. ‘You wanted me for what I could give. Not the man who can fix a tap, or set up a stage.’ He looked around the room. ‘Fame, power, money—’
‘Mean nothing to me,’ Meg cut in. ‘If you can’t see that, you don’t know me at all.’
Tom shook his head. ‘I see a woman who wants Christmas, magic and glitter every day of the year, and a man who wants a life as close to normal as he can get. You’re right, Meg.’ His eyes hardened. ‘We weren’t right for each other after all.’
Twenty-Five
Meg slammed the door of her Christmas shop and stomped along one of the aisles, waving a hand in the air and smiling as Cora said hello. She’d been fighting the tears since she’d left Tom in the marquee and hadn’t let one fall yet. But they were threatening to tumble over and she wanted to be alone when they did.
She clomped up the stairs, intending to head for her bedroom, but as she got into the hall she spotted her mum in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking at her laptop.
‘What’s this?’ Meg asked, feeling her tears dry up as a wave of unexpected anger took over. Instead of pushing it down and locking herself away, she put the pink piece of paper onto the table. ‘You wanted a divorce? I thought you left home to figure things out?’ Hurt and anger were searing a hole inside her and she didn’t know how to make them stop.
Kitty stared at the paper and picked it up, twisting it in her fingers. ‘I did. But what I thought I wanted when I got here turned out to be wrong. I guess even when you do everything in your power not to make mistakes – as you know, I made a career out of it – you still do.’ She stretched the note out so she could read it. ‘I’m glad you found this. I’ve no idea how you did, but I’ve been worrying about that bauble for a few days now. Cora said something about the Promise Tree being magic because of the wishing well and, God… I started to believe her.’ She shook her head, her face a picture of disbelief. ‘I’ve walked up to that tree dozens of times trying to see if I could spot a flash of pink, but there are too many baubles now.’
‘You did?’ Meg asked, her temper cooling as she pulled up a chair. ‘But you don’t believe in anything like that.’
Her mother gave her a sad smile. ‘Not for a long while now. I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to follow the safe path, to be pragmatic – then I came up to stay here and did something as silly as that. I almost threw away my marriage. I thought it was over, but it turned out I was wrong.’ She traced the words she’d written with her fingertip. ‘Being in Lockton seems to have changed everything.’
‘Does Dad know you wanted a divorce?’ Meg asked quietly, sitting down. She glanced back towards the hall but no one was listening.
‘Not entirely,’ her mother confessed. ‘He may have guessed when I came up. When I avoided going to the marriage guidance meeting he’d set up. I think that might be why everything changed. We skirted around it last night. In truth, I think we both just wanted to move forwards. There was so much else we needed to discuss.’ She picked up the paper and ripped it into tiny pieces, letting them flutter onto the table. ‘Got a match?’ she asked, smiling when Meg drew in a breath.
Meg nodded and picked up a Santa ornament from beside the kitchen window, then pressed a button on its back. A bright orange flame shot out of its pointy nose, making Kitty gasp. ‘I don’t have a fire extinguisher in the flat though,’ Meg warned.
Her mother frowned. ‘For now we’ll take a risk, but we’ll discuss that later. I need to draw you up a health and safety plan.’ She shook her head. ‘All those fairy lights and glass baubles.’ She shuddered as she stood and grabbed a pan from the cupboard beside the sink, before dropping the pieces of paper inside it. Then she took the snowman from Meg’s hands and set them alight. They took instantly, the pink paper curling up as the flames flickered high. ‘Now that’s gone, I can relax.’ Her eyes drifted up to Meg’s as the paper transformed into a scatter of black ash. ‘Perhaps I need to hang a new promise today, or is the twenty-first of December too late?’
‘It’s never too late,’ Meg said softly. ‘What promise do you want to make?’
‘To drink more whisky with your father,’ her mother said, a hint of amusement in her eyes. ‘And to worry a little less.’
‘You want to hang it now?’ Meg asked, trying hard to ignore the feelings simmering inside her. Perhaps a walk to the tree would help her process them. A bit of fresh air cured almost anything, apparently. Perhaps it would even work on a broken heart?
The Promise Tree was quiet when Meg and Kitty arrived, but the quantity of decorations hanging from the branches were of legendary proportions. Meg watched her mother stretch up to hang the new bauble, before standing underneath and staring into the sky as snow fluttered down on either side of her.
‘Okay?’ Davey asked softly, walking up beside Meg and making her jump.
‘Because you were gone when I came back into the marquee earlier, and Tom’s been hammering everything he can find very loudly since. Even Cooper’s abandoned him for Johnny – and Tom has the biscuits, so things must be bad.’ He stamped his feet into the deep pillows of snow on the ground and sighed.
‘All good,’ Meg sang, still watching her mother. Then she turned and took in Davey’s pale face. ‘What’s wrong?’ She reached out to grip his arm.
He frowned. ‘I needed a walk. The airports are talking about closing because of the weather – there’s another big storm due tomorrow – and there are massive delays on the trains. I’ve just heard from both of the acts for our concert.’ He pulled a face. ‘Two calls in quick succession. Neither can come. They’re really apologetic, but it’s just too much of a risk. They could end up stuck in Lockton and all of them need to get back. We’ve almost three hundred people heading to the pub in three days and absolutely no one to entertain them. We’ll have to cancel.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Unless you or your family have a talent you’ve kept secret from me.’
Meg narrowed her eyes. ‘Why don’t you ask Tom? I hear he’s pretty good on the guitar.’
Davey closed his eyes and nodded. ‘So that’s it…’
Meg turned away, but not before a tear slid down her cheek.
‘Tom’s an idiot,’ Davey said. ‘But a good idiot. He’s just confused.’
‘What about the fact that he used to be famous? Because from where I’m standing, he didn’t seem to be confused about that. He’d just decided not to share,’ Meg said. Her mother was still staring up at the tree and Meg wondered what she was thinking.
Davey sighed. ‘If you’d known his wife, seen how she screwed him over… He’s a good man, Meg.’
‘I’m not sure that’s an excuse for lying to me,’ she replied.
Davey spun her around so he could look at her properly. ‘Marnie used him, made him feel worthless because he worked so hard, gave her less of himself than she required. Love was a transaction to her. It was about what she could get – money, clothes, parties, that’s all that mattered. Not him.’ He looked sad. ‘She wanted to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, to be in gossip magazines, for people to hang off her every word. And they did, at least for a while. But then that wasn’t enough.’ He sighed. ‘Tom had to be famous for her to have all those things, but she resented his music. Then, when he wasn’t famous enough, she just plain resented him.’
Meg swallowed.
‘Tom loved her. I think for a long time he believed that’s what love was all about. His mother dumped him and just walked away, you know that?’
Meg nodded, determined to squash the sympathy that was building around her heart.
‘Music saved him. Literally. Music and his grandparents. They were probably the only people he’s ever had in his life who loved him for who he was. Then his grandmother died and Tom wasn’t there, and he blames himself for that too. He’s been punishing himself for three years now. He’s afraid of being used, or loved for something he isn’t, so he’s turned his back on music, and everything and everyone who could care for him.’
‘He turned his back on me,’ Meg whispered, as a second tear spilled onto her cheek and melted a snowflake there.
Davey nodded. ‘I guessed that much. The question is, are you going to turn your back on him too?’
Meg mulled over that for a moment. ‘I don’t know if it’s up to me. Or if I can forgive him for all those lies. He hurt me, made me feel stupid. Worse, he didn’t trust or care for me enough to tell the truth.’
‘Love isn’t perfect, Meg.’ Davey shook his head, looking sad. ‘No matter how much you want it to be. People make mistakes, do the wrong things. It’s what makes us human.’
‘So everyone keeps saying, but I’m not so sure,’ Meg muttered.
Then Davey looked up as they heard the crunch of footsteps and saw Lilith approach. His face transformed into an expression of pure need as she glanced at him and frowned. ‘I’d better go,’ he muttered. ‘Things to do. Don’t forget what I said, Meg.’ Then he waved a hand at Lilith and sauntered back towards the pub.
Lilith watched him walking for a moment, her dark eyes filled with confusion and regret, before she held up a small box. ‘My Bellagamba oil arrived. Morag called this morning. It was misdirected to a post office near Edinburgh, apparently: someone found it and sent it on.’
‘Just in time,’ Meg said, imbuing as much positivity into her voice as she could muster.
‘Not quite. My parents cancelled.’ Lilith lifted her chin. ‘The weather’s a problem and my brother has decided to stay home, so they’d prefer to spend Christmas with him. Most of my guests have abandoned their bookings and the hotel is almost empty from tomorrow. So…’ She shrugged. ‘It’ll be Christmas alone for me. Which is fine,’ she added quickly. ‘I’ve plenty of tiramisu.’
‘You can come to mine,’ Meg offered. ‘My family are staying but there’ll be lots of room.’ It would be a good distraction.
Lilith pursed her lips. ‘You didn’t get your promise either?’ Her eyes darted to Meg’s mum just as she turned away from the tree and spotted them talking.
Meg shrugged. ‘On this occasion, I don’t think I mind.’
‘So everything worked out?’ Lilith asked.
‘Not entirely.’ Meg sighed.
‘Ah…’ The Italian read her face like a book. ‘We should have stuck to the agreement we made when we toasted in your cafe. Life without men. Now we are both heartbroken.’ She nodded and smiled. ‘In that case, I will come for Christmas. As Papa likes to say, “misery loves company”. But you should know I don’t like mince pies, roast potatoes or turkey.’
Meg nodded and her lips rose despite the ache in her chest. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less, Lilith. Then again, someone once told me differences can be good. Perhaps you can bring some of your tiramisu instead?’ She smiled again. But still, her mind drifted back to Tom.
Twenty-Six
Tom chucked two pairs of jeans into his suitcase and followed that up with some of his clean dark T-shirts. There were clothes in the wash-basket but he’d finish packing those later on. Cooper sat on the floor of his bedroom wearing the Christmas jumper Meg had given him, sporting the dog equivalent of a frown. ‘We’re leaving after my shift tonight,’ Tom said sharply, heading downstairs and opening the kitchen cupboard so he could gather the tins of food he’d bought since he’d arrived. He set them carefully onto the counter, noticed the sprig of mistletoe hanging above him and grimaced. Had Meg known who he was when they’d kissed that first time in her shop? Pain clawed at his chest and he tried to ignore it as he went into the sitting room. He’d been an idiot to trust her. He’d been an idiot to trust himself.
Davey’s guitar was sitting on its stand by the tree. Tom considered putting it back in the boot room, locking away all those feelings that had started to emerge, but as he picked the instrument up his fingers traced the strings. The low hum that came from them punched a hole in his gut and he put it back down. Being here in Lockton, opening himself up to Meg, had given him his music back. He’d have to think about whether he could keep it now.
His mobile rang, and Tom gulped down the bubble of dread that climbed up his throat when he saw his grandad’s name pop onto the screen. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, picking up immediately.
‘Great,’ Jack soothed. ‘I rang the pub and Davey told me you’d gone home. I wanted to catch you.’ There was a honk in the background, and Tom heard the clink of glasses and laughter. ‘Sorry, I know it’s early but it’s after sundown somewhere in the world – and on the boat I barely keep track of the time. We’re having a party. It’s been wild. Someone played one of your songs last night, and I wanted to call and tell you. This boy with dark brown hair who looked a lot like you did once. His voice wasn’t as good. But he hit almost all the right notes – and it was like you were here. The people I was sharing a table with started talking about you and your band. How tale
nted you were and how much they loved your music. One woman said her granddaughter is a massive fan and she’s so disappointed you upped and disappeared.’ He cleared his throat and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I didn’t tell them I was related to you, of course. But I remembered how proud your grandmother and I were, and I realised I’d forgotten to tell you that recently.’
‘You tell me you’re proud of me a lot.’ Tom let himself sink into the sofa. Whether his grandfather meant it was another thing.
‘It made me think about when you were younger, how much happier you were once that music teacher got you into the guitar. How playing always made you glow. It was the moment I think you really found yourself, began to get over your mother leaving.’ He cleared his throat. The memory was painful for both of them. For his grandparents, his mother had been proof that the world wasn’t perfect. That you couldn’t save or fix everyone. Some things in life you just had to let go of.
‘I…’ Tom tried to remember how he’d felt, but he’d blocked out a lot of those memories years ago.
‘You know, Marnie left your guitar at mine after she cleared the house. She said she didn’t feel right about selling it, which means perhaps there is something beating in that icy black heart. I’ve been meaning to tell you. But every time I bring up the band or your music, you change the subject.’ He paused. ‘I’ve never interfered in your life, Tom – that was your grandmother’s job. But… well, she’s not here, and a woman last night was talking about how much every generation needs the other. How families should be there when people get lost – like stars helping you chart your next course. And I thought… well, I’ve not been doing my bit. I’ve been leaving you to it. Letting you drift, hoping eventually you’d bump into the thing you most needed, or that perhaps your grandmother would find a way of sending you a sign. Except you’re really off course now and—’
If Every Day Was Christmas: A gorgeous and heart-warming Christmas romance Page 19
