The Three Day Rule

by Emlyn Rees

  Kellie looked at Ben feeling a pang of jealousy, or was it regret? It was so refreshing to meet a man who wanted to have children. He made it sound so simple and so inevitable. If only it was the same for her. She hadn’t even discussed having her own kids with Elliot.

  She found herself looking over at Toni, who had her baby, Oliver, cuddled into her chest, his face buried snugly into her neck. What if Kellie never had the chance to do that herself?

  ‘Oh come on. Don’t you just think it’s commercialism out of control? Everyone else does,’ said Jed, one of the guys Ben had been at school with. At least she thought he was called Jed. It was hard to keep track of all the new names.

  ‘No, I like the fact that everyone has to get off their arse and go to the shops and think about each other. That’s what it’s all about. Being together,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t you agree, Kellie? You love Christmas, don’t you?’

  Kellie thought about her iPod Christmas play list. Christmas here was certainly a different kind of experience from everything that made her so cynical about it in London. She felt her anti-Christmas stance wavering in the face of Ben’s enthusiasm.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘You always were a big old softie, Ben. So what about you? Why are you here for Christmas?’ Jed asked Kellie.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she said, not wanting to elaborate.

  ‘We like long stories,’ Toni said, moving her neck and checking Oliver’s sleeping face, before picking up her pint.

  ‘It’s just . . .’ Kellie looked around at the assembled faces, liking them all for being interested, liking them for making her feel as if she was a part of their crowd. She wished that she could be honest, but instead she said, ‘I’ve got a sort of boyfriend.’ She avoided looking at Ben. ‘But he’s away and . . . I don’t know . . . it seemed stupid to arrange anything without him, so I came to St John’s on a whim, just for a break, and now I’ve ended up here.’

  A sort of boyfriend! Why had she said that? she wondered. Why had she edited the truth so heavily it was tantamount to a lie? She glanced up at Ben to try and see what he was thinking. She couldn’t tell.

  ‘What sort of boyfriend is that?’ Toni said, addressing the others. ‘Fancy leaving this one alone at Christmas.’

  Kellie smiled. ‘Yes, it seems to have got me into all sorts of trouble.’

  ‘What about your family?’ Ben asked. ‘Won’t they be missing you?’

  ‘My parents are both abroad, so I was going to be on my own anyway.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry, love, this will be a Christmas to remember, by the looks of things,’ Erin, one of the older women, said, smiling at her and flicking her eyes towards Ben.

  Kellie looked at Ben, as she took a sip of her pint, embarrassed by the insinuation. Why hadn’t she explained properly? Why hadn’t she told him that she was in love? Why had she made her relationship sound so flippant and disposable, when it was quite the opposite. She looked down at the table, wishing she’d said more, but the moment had passed.

  ‘Aha!’ said Jed, as Roddy, standing next to the karaoke machine, began to address the pub.

  Sally hadn’t been joking when she’d said that no one could sing, but it didn’t matter. As the beer slipped down, everyone felt more confident, and eventually Kellie surrendered to the inevitable herself, agreeing to sing ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham!

  Perhaps it was the pints of beer and that glass of Roddy’s mulled wine, or maybe it was just that Ben was making her laugh, but as she got into her stride, singing into the microphone, Kellie realised she couldn’t stop smiling.

  She grinned at Ben, before looking out at the rest of the crowd. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. What would her friends think if they could see her now? Singing Wham! In elasticated jeans? It was hardly the coolest thing she’d ever done, but suddenly Kellie didn’t give a damn. All the schmaltz of Christmas that she’d always detested suddenly overcame her in a wave of goodwill as everyone sang along with her. She was loving this.

  ‘Special, special,’ she sang, impersonating George Michael, camping up the echo and singing along with the instrumental break.

  And then her grin froze on her face as she saw Elliot Thorne staring back at her. He had his hand on the shoulder of a tall, fair-haired teenaged boy, ushering him in through the door, but his eyes didn’t waver from Kellie’s for an instant.

  She could feel her cheeks burning, as she stumbled through the final chorus. She replaced the microphone and walked back to her seat, ignoring the applause. She had goosepimples all over her, as if someone had poured cold water down her spine.

  People were speaking to her. Ben was congratulating her, saying something about the Eurovision song contest, but none of the words she heard made any sense.

  She watched Elliot go to the bar and greet Sally, who gave the boy a hug. It must be Michael, she thought, Sally’s son.

  Then Elliot turned to face Kellie and walked over. She held her breath, her heart pounding.

  ‘Hi again,’ he said, holding his black leather gloves in his hand and staring down at Ben, who was sitting on the edge of the bench. Elliot was wearing his navy-blue cashmere coat and he loosened a smart grey-checked scarf. His smooth cheeks were pink from the cold outside. Snowflakes were still in his dark hair. In amongst all the locals, he looked out of place and formal, like an undertaker at a wedding.

  As he glanced briefly at Kellie and then back at Ben, she recognised his expression. It was the one he used to interrogate anyone who opposed his clients.

  ‘Oh, hello again,’ Ben said, not paying much attention to Elliot, but smiling as Erin took to the stage and a roar went up, as the sleigh bells at the start of ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ by Slade pumped out from the karaoke machine.

  ‘I thought you were going back to Fleet Town?’ Elliot said, feigning confusion.

  ‘I did, but then we came back and now we’re stranded,’ Ben said, distracted.

  ‘Because of the weather?’

  ‘Yeah. Hey, Kellie, check out Erin,’ Ben laughed. ‘She’s even worse than you!’

  Elliot nodded and backed away, clearly stumped. Kellie knew that he wasn’t used to people dismissing him like Ben just had. She could tell that he was furious.

  ‘I’ll be getting back then, Sally,’ Elliot shouted over the music, waving towards the bar. His eyes flicked towards Kellie’s.

  Kellie could hardly breathe as she watched Elliot leave the pub.

  ‘I’m just going to the loo,’ she said, getting up. ‘Back in a minute.’

  Outside, the moon was as a bright as a searchlight over Gotham City. The snow had stopped falling, but it had settled all around and bounced the light back. The sky was twinkling and violet. Black footprints patterned the ground.

  Elliot leant against the brick wall in the alleyway between the pub and the block of outside loos. It looked as if he was dissolving into shadow. The red eye of a cigarette glowed as it tumbled through the air.

  It was freezing. Kellie shivered, the cold hurting her throat. She hadn’t brought her coat and after the warmth of the pub, the icy air cut through Sally’s jumper in an instant.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Elliot asked, gripping her arm. Through the cloud of steam his breath made in the cold air, she couldn’t tell whether he was furious or delighted. He smelled of smoked. She knew he only smoked cigarettes when he got very agitated.

  ‘It’s been a nightmare. I came on a sight-seeing tour and we got stranded. Then we had to come here through the snow –’

  ‘Sight-seeing?’ he interrupted. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at?’

  Kellie shook her arm free. After everything she’d been through, she was astonished at his reaction.

  ‘I’m fine, by the way,’ she said. ‘The whole country is at a standstill with Arctic weather conditions, and I got caught out in the worst blizzard they’ve had here for fifty years, oh and I nearly fell down a cliff, but hey, I survived.’

&nbs
p; ‘Obviously. Well don’t let me ruin your fun in there.’

  ‘Elliot,’ she said. ‘You got me into this by bringing me here . . .’

  ‘I didn’t bring you here. Not here.’

  They both froze for moment, as a man came out of the loo block behind Elliot and walked back into the pub.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asked, when it was safe to talk again. ‘Aren’t you even vaguely pleased to see me?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you cavorting with the locals.’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Yes. Him. In there.’

  Now she saw what this was all about. Elliot was jealous. Unflappable, unshockable Elliot Thorne was jealous of Ben. She stared at him amazed, never having seen him like this before.

  ‘Well it’s thanks to “him in there” that I’m alive, and that’s the only reason – the only reason – that I’m talking to him at all.’

  Elliot looked away.

  ‘El?’ she asked, searching out his eyes. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes! Of course you are! This is me, remember?’ she said, punching him gently on the chest, as if to remind him. ‘How about a hello?’

  Elliot exhaled suddenly and pulled her into a hug. ‘I was just frantic with worry. About the weather. About not being able to talk to you tonight.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Of course, but then you were there. You gave me such a shock.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Especially in those clothes. God, you look awful.’

  She hit him, playfully. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

  ‘Oh, darling, I’m so glad you’re safe.’

  She let him hug her and she put her arms around him, feeling his cold coat against her cheek.

  ‘You haven’t told him, have you? About us?’ Elliot said, pulling away.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What’s-his-name? The ferry boy?’

  ‘No. No of course I haven’t.’ She felt a sudden sense of indignation. ‘And for your information, Ben isn’t a boy or a ferryman. He runs a business in London. He’s only here to see his parents.’

  ‘I don’t care about him. Only you.’

  Elliot looked furtively around, before pulling her up against the wall and kissing her hard on the lips. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered. ‘Like crazy.’

  Eventually, she struggled away from him, worried that they were going to get caught.

  ‘Are you going back tonight to the hotel? On the boat?’ he asked.

  ‘No. We can’t. The boat’s broken, so I’m stuck here. It’s too dangerous to go back. Anyway, I’m not going anywhere in the dark. I hate the bloody dark.’

  ‘So where are you staying?’

  ‘Sally’s letting us use the annexe next door.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yes, me and Ben.’

  ‘You’re staying the night together?’

  ‘Elliot, for God’s sake! Stop behaving like this. I don’t like it any more than you do.’ It had seemed to escape his notice that he was spending the night with his wife.

  ‘Meet me tomorrow then.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the morning, by the boatsheds at the quay. The green one. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘When?’

  The pub door opened and Jack stepped out. ‘Hello there,’ he said, nodding at Kellie and Elliot. They sprang apart pretending to be strangers.

  ‘Half past ten,’ Elliot said, as if he had been telling her the time.

  ‘OK,’ she mumbled. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  She nodded briefly at Elliot, before putting her head down, her heart pounding as she walked back to the warmth of the pub.

  Chapter 12

  It was nearly midnight and Stephanie’s head was heavy with exhaustion and red wine. She stood alone by the fireplace in the dining room, looking at the picture on the mantelpiece of her mother.

  When she and Elliot had been kids, they’d always had stockings at the end of their beds. She remembered the sensation of waking up with one of her mother’s nylons stuffed full of presents over the blankets and sheets weighing down her feet. She’d done the same for her own children every year, wanting them to feel the same way too.

  But over dinner, Isabelle had insisted that the stockings should be left by the chimney, working Nat up into a frenzy about chimneys and reindeer and whether Father Christmas would get stuck, and how would he get the soot off his snowy white beard. Stephanie was annoyed that her father had allowed this break in tradition to happen, but David had accused her of being pernickety.

  Now Stephanie’s heart filled with a dull emptiness as she stuffed chocolate money into Nat and Simon’s stocking, noticing that Isabelle had even marked the hearth with sooty ‘reindeer footprints’.

  She knew she should be rejoicing in the fact that Simon and Nat were still here. She should be filled with anticipation, looking forward to seeing their faces tomorrow morning. However, she could only seem to look back instead of forwards – and every time she looked back, the truth hit her like a punch: she should be filling up three stockings. Not two. And the longer they went on without Paul, rather than it becoming less painful, all she did was miss him more. Especially now. Especially as he’d always loved Christmas so much.

  Tears started oozing out of the corners of her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just switch it off the way everyone else seemed to have done? Why couldn’t she find a way to cope like David had, and like her father had about her mum?

  Because Paul should be here too. That was why. That was the hideous fact she kept returning to. Over and over again. David could have stopped it happening. She felt cold resentment harden inside her as his laughter spilled out of the kitchen, where he was sharing a nightcap with Elliot and her father.

  She mustn’t do this, she thought. She must get on with Christmas. She mustn’t fall into that black hole and ruin it for everyone else. She stuffed more presents into the stockings, trying to make herself believe in the magic of Christmas, trying to make herself believe that this was all worthwhile, but the memory of Paul, of what had happened to him, came back and back. She squeezed her eyes shut, and saw it all once more . . .

  It had been sixteen months ago, at the start of the second week of the first family summer holiday they’d had abroad in ages. The first week had been wonderful. Stephanie remembered the heat – and she remembered how happy she and David had been. They’d stayed up in the French campsite every night and had made love in the woods behind the tents under the stars.

  Then everything went wrong.

  They all got up early, because the bright heat radiating through the tent had made it impossible to stay inside. It was a glorious morning. They sang songs as they drove down to the local lake where Simon wanted to hire a boat.

  ‘I’ll stay with Nat and set up the picnic,’ Stephanie said to David, as they parked the car. ‘You take the boys and go and have fun.’

  David kissed her quickly, rolling his eyes at Nat, who had started screaming and swiping her tiny fingers at her mosquito bites. Good luck, he mouthed, as he set off with Simon and her beautiful Paul. Stephanie called out goodbye to them but Paul was already chasing Simon through the trees on the dry mud path, as they ran to the boat hut. She shaded her eyes against the sun, laughing at five-year-old Paul in his little khaki shorts and red hat, trying to keep up.

  It took ages to get Nat off to sleep in the buggy. Stephanie pushed her down to the picnic tables by the lakeside, adjusting the umbrella on the buggy to shade her face. She stood by the shore, looking out at the boats on the lake, trying to see David and the boys. She watched a rouge cloud pass over the sun, its shadow running across the pebbles. The waves rippled in at a sharp angle. Everything was perfect. She was happy to be alive.

  And then, just as she turned to set out the picnic on one of the tables, she heard yelling. She saw David, ro
wing back to shore. Too fast. He was rowing too fast. And then she realised it was Simon who was yelling, shouting and shouting for her.

  She dropped the glass she was holding and ran into the water. Her thin cotton skirt plastered to her legs, as she half waded, half fell towards the boat. She could see Simon screaming at the prow. And David, drenched. But where was Paul? She couldn’t see Paul. She couldn’t see her little boy. She lunged for the boat as it reached her and looked inside. Paul wasn’t there.

  And David’s face. Pale horror. As she looked into his eyes, she knew.

  Everything happened so quickly after that.

  They ran to the boatshed to raise the alarm. The life guard ran with David to the rescue boat and she watched them race out on to the lake.

  But it was too late. She sensed it inside her as fact.

  Stephanie felt nothing as the rescue boat returned. She held her sobbing family, but it was as if she wasn’t there.

  She saw Paul’s body a few hours later, swollen and blue. They’d found it tangled in the reeds fifty metres from where he’d fallen in. She hugged him to her. She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to fall asleep with him and never wake up.

  When they finally took him away from her, she pressed her lips against his. She remembered the perfect little baby he’d been. She remembered the first time she’d held him. It struck her as the happiest moment of her life.

  Then came silence. She looked around her and saw Simon wrapped in a blanket with his eyes tight shut. She felt David clinging desperately on to her arm. She watched Nat’s mouth locked wide open in a continuous scream.

  She watched the men in the yellow jackets carry Paul’s body away from her into the back of an ambulance. She watched the crowd that had gathered, simultaneously cowering away and staring on, their hands held over their mouths in shock.

  Then the sound came back and she fell to her knees.

  It was only afterwards that she found out the details of what had happened. It was only later that David attempted to explain the inexplicable horror of it all.

  The boys had been fighting over the fishing rod and whose turn it was, he said, and Paul had been fiddling with his lifejacket. He hadn’t been able to cast the rod with it on. So he’d taken the jacket off.