I lower the board and take a step towards him.
‘But I need you to be sure,’ he says in that deep, rich voice that I love.
I stop, confused.
Sure? I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to swim in those eyes … rip that Santa costume off his back … put my shanks in his – well, you get the drift. And he wants me to be sure?
And then I realise he’s still thinking of Jasper. He’s spent so long believing his friend was the focus of my longings …
I swallow hard, my throat all choked up. ‘Seb, I was never in love with Jasper. It was always you. I just didn’t realise it till now.’
He’s gazing at me but he hasn’t moved from the spot.
‘The thing is,’ he says, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m leaving for the airport in ten minutes. I’m spending Christmas on the ski slopes with the family.’ He smiles at me regretfully. ‘Sorry.’
I stare at him, disappointment flooding through me, unable to speak.
‘I’ll see you when I get back, though?’ he says. ‘Hope Christmas with your family goes well.’
The distant politeness in his voice is like a bucket of cold water over my head, bringing me to my senses. Suddenly, I’m doubting everything Trudy and Barb have said about Seb and me belonging together.
I’m so stupid.
What the hell did I think was going to happen when I pitched up here and declared my feelings for Santa? Did I imagine he’d whisk off his white beard, snog me in front of the entire queue of mums and kids patiently waiting in line, then carry me off in his sleigh to our own private winter wonderland?
The board slips from my fingers and clatters onto the floor.
Seb moves forward and picks it up. ‘I’ll treasure this.’
I force a cheery smile. ‘Right, well, I hope you have a lovely time skiing with your family. And – er – break a leg! Oh sorry, no, that’s acting … Merry Christmas!’
I bolt out of the garden centre, feeling like the biggest fool on earth, not even waiting for a reply …
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When I get back to the flat, my Now Christmas CD is blasting out of the music system and there’s a delicious smell of cooking wafting out of the kitchen.
Mum pops her head round the kitchen door. ‘Hi, love. We’re all in here. Josh has been helping me bake.’
Josh runs at me with a mince pie and plonks it in my hand.
‘Ooh, thank you.’ It’s ‘well done’ on top and most of the filling has oozed over the side. ‘This looks incredible.’
I pop it in my mouth in one go.
Josh shrieks with laughter when I pretend it’s too big, chewing exaggeratedly like a cow.
‘Delicious. Thank you, Josh. Will you be cooking the turkey tomorrow?’
He nods enthusiastically and Rob laughs. ‘That’s the spirit, young man. Up for anything!’
‘You’ll go far in life, Josh,’ agrees Justine, beaming at her nephew.
She and Rob are standing side by side at the worktop, chopping vegetables with sharp knives and not killing each other.
This looks promising.
And the fact that Mum is up and about is even better news.
‘We thought we’d prepare the food before you all go to the carol singing,’ she says, scattering fresh rosemary over my great value shoulder of lamb. (Trudging home from the supermarket in the rain over a month ago with a bag full of ‘marked down’ bargains has definitely paid off!)
Mum peers at me. ‘Are you all right, love? You look terrible. I hope you’re not coming down with something.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m fine. But I’m going to pop along early to the carol singing, so I’ll see you all down there. Outside the town hall, remember?’
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ offers Rob.
‘No, don’t worry. There’s plenty of buses. You just keep doing your sous-chef thing.’
I don’t want to break up his cosy set-up with Justine there.
Plus I want to be on my own for a bit to work out what I’m going to do.
Walking back from the garden centre after the miserable grotto humiliation, Rosie’s idea of a new start in Spain fixed itself in my head. It hadn’t seemed like a serious option before, but now …
When I leave the cosy flat, the rawness of the air makes me gasp out loud. I huddle deeper into my coat and glance overhead at the few stars twinkling through gaps in the clouds.
It feels like more snow is on the way.
At the bus stop, a frazzled mum is propped on the seat, clutching her shopping bags and watching her two little kids haring around playing ‘tag’, her mind no doubt on the million and one things still to do.
The children’s faces are flushed and excited, only one thing on their minds.
The arrival of Santa.
A few snowflakes drift down, making the kids shriek louder than ever.
I exchange a smile with the mum and a little flutter of excitement arrives from nowhere and ripples through me.
Then I get on the bus and think of Seb in a plane, thousands of feet overhead, heading for the Alps and a Christmas without me. What a fool I am. Turning up with that stupid message. Thinking it was all going to work out happily.
A mantle of sadness settles over me and I almost miss my stop.
Walking round to the town hall, I have to psyche myself up to look cheery and full of Christmas spirit. But then I catch sight of the enormous Christmas tree, lit with hundreds of sparkling red and gold lights, and my heart lifts in spite of itself.
The tree stands at the foot of the town hall steps and Jasper’s choir members are gathered in front of it, chatting excitedly and stamping their feet in the snow to keep warm. They look so festive and jolly, with tinsel and reindeer antlers over their woolly hats.
I glance at my watch. It’s already after five.
Trudy dashes over. ‘Hi, Lola. Have you seen Jasper? We can’t start without him.’
She’s looking her usual stylish self in a big trench coat that drowns her tiny frame and a purple trilby hat, set at a jaunty angle.
My mind races. Is he still with Barb?
Then I remember.
‘Oh God, I know where he’ll be. Back in a mo.’
I start slipping and sliding, as fast as I can, along to the Pear Tree Hotel. It’s at the other end of the High Street so I’m feeling hot and flustered by the time I walk through the main door.
I make for the bar area. And, sure enough, Jasper is there at a table, a beer in front of him, deep in conversation with a man who I presume is Mike Newsham. When he catches sight of me, his shocked face is a picture.
‘Shit!’ He glances at his watch. ‘Sorry, Mike. I didn’t realise the time.’ He lurches to his feet, almost knocking over his chair, and the people on the next table glance over with interest. Luckily, Mike Newsham seems really nice and understanding.
On the way back to the town hall, Jasper says, ‘You do realise what this means?’
‘No. What does it mean?’ I’m panting, struggling to keep up with him.
‘It means I need an assistant and you’re the perfect candidate for the job.’
I bark out a laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘No, I’m serious, Lola. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Without you, I’d never have got to meet Mike Newsham, and Continental Drift would never have landed a life-changing contract.’
I stare at him, listening as his words tumble over each other, hearing the enthusiasm in his voice.
‘If you hadn’t taken the initiative and called Mike back for me that time, none of this would be happening.’
‘Are you serious?’ I ask in wonder.
‘Yes, one hundred per cent. The group needs a manager and I need an assistant to get me organised – both of which you could do brilliantly.’
‘But we’ve only been friends a month or so. How can you know I’d be right for the job?’
He smiles. ‘Barb thinks you’re a marvel. And so does Seb. And that
’s good enough for me.’
My throat tightens painfully at the mention of Seb.
Jasper grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop, and a couple bump into us from behind. Not that Jasper notices. ‘Will you do it, Lola?’
My heart is beating fast. How can I possibly say no? In fact, why would I want to say no?
Spain was Rosie’s dream.
This would be my adventure.
And maybe, if I were to throw myself in wholeheartedly, it might make forgetting Seb just that little bit easier …
I’m smiling through my tears. ‘Yes, of course I’ll do it, Jasper.’
‘Yay!’ He takes my hand and holds it triumphantly in the air.
When we get back to the town hall, my family has arrived; at least, I can see Rob and Justine, Rosie and Josh, but Mum must still be at home.
‘She’s in the car,’ says Rob, pointing across the road. ‘Didn’t want to miss out.’ He grins. ‘And Josh was the great persuader, weren’t you?’ He ruffles his nephew’s hair.
Josh nods. ‘Gran says she’s going to start taking me on adventures. She’s going to see the doctor so he can help her.’
‘Really?’ My eyes fill with astonished tears. ‘She said that, Josh?’
He nods matter-of-factly. ‘I told her that if the doctor gives her some horrible medicine to take, she has to drink it in orange juice like I do.’
I glance at Rob and we exchange an incredulous smile.
‘Dad should have left her years ago,’ Rob murmurs. ‘It’s forcing her to stand on her own two feet.’
‘Look. She’s waving,’ shouts Josh. ‘And she’s getting out!’
We turn and see Mum leaning out of the car to make a snowball. She gets out and aims it at Josh, missing her target by miles.
‘Stay there!’ she shouts, as Josh squeals and looks poised to rush across the road.
But the snow is falling thickly now and any cars that are out are moving very slowly.
Jasper gets the choir organised and ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ begins to drift over on the still night air. Passers-by linger to listen and, before too long, a crowd is starting to gather.
Barb arrives and links my arm, looking flushed with happiness. She keeps taking proud little glances in Jasper’s direction.
I tell her he’s offered me a job and she claps her hands excitedly and tells me I’ll make a fabulous manager.
She looks around. ‘Is Seb here?’
I shake my head, feeling a heavy weight sinking inside me. ‘He’s on a flight to France. Skiing.’
Barb looks sad for me. ‘He won’t be away for ever.’
I shrug and, as the choir start singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’, I pick up my collection bucket and start moving among the crowd, asking if they’d like to donate to a good cause.
Then I stand with Rob, Rosie, Justine and Barb, listening to the sweet, pure sound that’s sprinkling our Christmas Eve with magic, and allowing the music to calm my fretful mind.
It all feels so bittersweet.
The burden of guilt I held over Jack’s death has completely evaporated. For so long, those dark feelings kept me from enjoying Christmas as I should. But now everything looks brighter. Even my family seems to be drawing together.
Except Dad’s not here.
And neither is Seb.
He’s probably landing round about now. Looking forward to time off, skiing with his family. And, when he gets back, he’ll be moving out of Jasper’s flat and going to live a hundred miles from here in the Scottish Borders.
For the thousandth time, I wish I hadn’t declared my feelings for him in such an uncharacteristic and ridiculous way. I feel such a plonker. And I hate that this will be one of his last memories of me.
My thoughts are interrupted by a loud noise, like a giant angry wasp, splitting the air.
It completely drowns out the choir’s version of ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ and everyone turns to see what the commotion is.
I can’t see the motorbike. But I do see the man in black leathers walking towards us.
As he gets closer, he takes off his helmet and my mouth falls open with shock.
‘Dad?’
He grins sheepishly, tucks the helmet under one arm and hugs me with the other. ‘Hello, love. Would you mind having a born-again biker for a dad?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ I laugh, overjoyed that he’s here, and stand back to take in this surprising vision. ‘It suits you.’
There are roses in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eye that I suddenly realise have been missing for a very long time.
Rob, Rosie, Justine and Josh come over and we all gather round Dad as the choir launches into a jolly rendition of ‘Deck the Halls’.
‘You on a motorbike.’ Rob shakes his head incredulously at Dad. ‘Never thought I’d see that again.’
Dad grins. ‘Thought I’d get it out of mothballs and give it an airing.’
‘Can I have a go, Grandad?’ pleads Josh.
‘When you’re old enough. Joshie,’ he promises. ‘But you’ll have to get permission from your mum first.’ Rosie’s looking daggers at Dad, like mothers tend to do when faced with the prospect of their baby aboard a dangerous machine.
‘Where’s your mum?’ Dad asks. ‘At home?’
I take his arm and point over the road. ‘She’s in the car.’
Except when I turn, Mum isn’t in the car at all.
She’s hurrying over the road, a determined look on her face.
‘Malcolm?’ she calls, even before she reaches him. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you’d given up on me.’
Dad smiles. ‘I did think of taking off for the Continent on this little beauty,’ he says, nodding at the bike. ‘But in the end, I realised I’d miss you too much.’
They hug as if they’ve been separated for decades, not just several days, and we all smile goofily at each other over their heads like proud parents.
‘I’m going back to the car,’ says Mum at last, still holding tightly on to Dad as if she’s never going to let him go again.
He pats her bottom, which makes her squeal with delight. ‘I’m coming with you.’
As they walk away, I hear Dad say, ‘You’ll have to get used to the bike. Robbie’s coming down to see it next weekend.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll grow to love it.’
‘I’ll take you on a spin if you like.’
‘Steady on, Malcolm. It might be a while before I can do things like that …’
Tears film my eyes and I lean in to Rosie, so glad for Mum and Dad. Rosie takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘The Plumptons might end up a normal, happy family at this rate,’ she murmurs, gesturing towards Rob and Justine. Rob’s telling her a funny story and Justine’s laughing up at him. It reminds me of how they were when they first met, and I can’t help wondering if their new-found closeness means they’ve reached agreement over the baby issue.
‘I feel a bit of a gooseberry,’ says Rosie.
‘At least you have Alejandro waiting for you back home,’ I point out and she smiles.
‘Yes. I’ve missed him. I honestly didn’t think I would.’
‘Perhaps it’s time you pulled down your defences, dear sister, and accepted that not all men are cheating, lying scumbags.’
She laughs. ‘They’re not all Romeos, you mean?’
I nod. ‘Give Alejandro a chance. He sounds lovely.’
‘He is,’ pipes up Josh. ‘He cooks great spaghetti. And he plays football with me.’
‘Oh well, there you are, then.’ I give Rosie a sharp nudge and she pretends to nearly topple over. ‘You’ve got the Josh seal of approval. What are you waiting for?’
She smiles at me. ‘And what are we going to do about you?’
‘Nothing. I’m happy exactly the way I am.’
‘Hm.’
Rosie gazes at me thoughtfully, but I ignore her, glancing around as if I’m taking in the atmosphere. My eye lights on the choir and Trudy
in particular. She’s singing her heart out but suddenly, I realise she’s trying to attract my attention.
I screw up my eyes.
She’s pointing off to the left and when I fail to get it first time, she points again, more urgently this time, almost prodding one of the Marjories in the ear.
I glance over and notice Dad in his motorbike leathers standing some distance away. He’s leaning back against a tree, helmet in hand.
That’s weird. I thought he was going back to the car with Mum.
Then I realise it’s not Dad at all. This guy is bigger; taller and much broader than Dad. But he’s wearing leathers, too, hence my confusion.
And then my heart does a giant leap in my chest.
It can’t be.
Can it?
Seb?
He sees I’ve spotted him.
Slowly, he pushes himself away from the tree and starts walking purposefully towards me.
The choir is singing a very brisk version of ‘Ding Dong Merrily’ – and my heart is hammering so fast, it feels like it’s keeping perfect time.
‘Hi,’ I squeak, when he’s standing there, so wonderfully real and solid, looking down at me with such affection in those glorious green eyes. ‘What happened to the Alps?’
‘Still there, I think.’ His lips curve into a heart-stopping smile. ‘But missing one very important thing.’
‘Oh God, no snow?’ I’m barely aware of what I’m saying. Seb’s proximity is causing such weird, floaty sensations in my head and my body.
He laughs softly. ‘No. There’s no shortage of the white stuff. According to Mum, the ski conditions are absolutely perfect.’
‘Perfect?’ I echo, mesmerised by his mouth and memories of our passionate clinch in Jasper’s kitchen that night.
‘Perfect,’ he repeats, and the sudden gruffness in his tone makes my insides flip over. I drag my gaze away from his mouth.
‘Just like you,’ he murmurs, and I catch a fleeting vulnerability in his expression.
My mouth is so dry, I can barely speak. ‘Me? Perfect?’ I give a self-conscious little laugh and swallow hard. ‘I don’t think so. The first time we met, I was incredibly rude to you. Then I swore blind I could sing even though you’d clearly seen right through me. Then I sobbed all over you, thinking you were Santa. And then you had to haul me out of a skip …’
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 28
