by Fiona Harper
‘If you don’t mind me saying, Juliet, you look like you’ve had one hell of a week.’
‘Thanks!’ she said in mock outrage. Will didn’t always say a lot, but when he did, he definitely didn’t mince his words. He wasn’t wrong, though. She sighed and held out her hand for his empty mug. ‘Come in for another one of those when you’re finished and I’ll tell you all about it. I even have fudge cooling in the pan...’
Wills ears pricked up. She knew he had a fondness sweet things, and she could always make another batch for the kids’ teachers.
‘It’s a deal,’ he said, and smiled again, more gently this time, and something at the bottom of Juliet’s stomach quivered.
She held her breath and nodded. And then she took the mugs into the kitchen and closed the door without looking back.
She didn’t know if she liked that quiver.
It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation, but it wasn’t an altogether comfortable one, either.
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES LATER WILL appeared in her kitchen and sat down on one of the mismatched chairs she’d paid an inordinate amount of money for in a second-hand furniture shop down the high street. The sextet of chairs now surrounding her heavy oak kitchen table said quirky, eclectic, free-spirited... Which was the look she’d been going for. Even if she did feel a bit of a fake when she sat in them sometimes.
He looked all fresh and windblown and she felt her stomach do that weird thing again. She’d been with Greg so long that she’d all but forgotten what the first flush of attraction felt like. Was this it? Or was it just her IBS flaring up again? She really couldn’t say.
‘Please tell me there really is fudge,’ he said, looking at the tray still cooling on the kitchen counter.
She picked it up and placed it into the centre of the kitchen table, but it went too quiet as he watched her cut it into neat squares and suddenly she felt very self-conscious under his gaze. ‘More tea?’ she asked a little too loudly, and prised a generous helping of clotted cream fudge onto a plate.
Will shook his head. ‘I think I’ve already drunk a gallon this afternoon.’
Juliet frowned as she divided one of the fudge squares in two and popped it on a plate for herself. ‘It’s a bit rich to eat on its own.’ She scanned the kitchen, looking for something else to offer him, and her gaze came to rest on a bottle sitting near the hob, one she’d opened for the casserole she’d made yesterday. She grabbed the red wine and plonked it down on the kitchen table with a thud.
Will’s eyebrows raised.
‘You’re right,’ she said, sighing. ‘It has been one hell of a week.’
She peeked out of the window. Although it was just after four, the sun was close to setting. It was practically evening. Not too early for a civilised glass of wine with a friend.
He didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes warmed, so she fetched a couple of glasses from the cabinet and poured them both a modest amount. It didn’t take long to fill him in on the whole story of Aunt Sylvia’s great escape the day before. Somehow her glass emptied and she found herself reaching for the bottle and dishing out more wine—a more generous helping this time. It seemed a shame to leave a tiny bit in the bottom of the bottle.
When she was halfway through it, she started to wonder about the wisdom of too much Merlot with only half a square of fudge to line one’s stomach, especially as Will had listened so sympathetically to her tale of woe that she just kept talking.
‘It seems so quiet at the weekends when the kids are at Greg’s,’ she said, her shoulders slumping a little. ‘I know I moan that they drive me insane when they’re here, but it’s even worse when they’re gone.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, well. I suppose at least I’ve got them all to myself for Christmas this year.’
Will, who’d been not-so-surreptitiously reaching for another piece of fudge, looked at her. ‘I thought you said Greg and the new girlfriend were supposed to be coming here for a united family Christmas?’
She shook her head. And then nodded. ‘Well, I offered, but apparently Anoushka made plans that were just too good to pass up. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that came through her job, Greg said.’ She hated the tinge of bitterness that had crept into her tone. ‘They’re going to Bali, or somewhere like that. Escaping the Christmas madness.’
Will looked puzzled. ‘That doesn’t sound like the Greg I know.’
Juliet shrugged. It didn’t sound like the Greg she knew either. He hadn’t been like that when they’d been married. She’d have loved it if he’d wanted to drop everything just to be with her, or if he’d whisked her off on an exotic holiday. But work and commitments had always come first with Greg. And she’d understood that. Supported it, even. But he’d changed the moment he’d met flipping Anoushka, and for some reason that really cheesed her off.
She shook her head and took another large slug of wine. ‘She’s the love of his life, apparently. At least, that’s the only explanation he gave me when I called him on it.’
Without warning her eyes filled with moisture. She quickly looked down at the table and worked her eyelashes hard, trying to get it to evaporate. After a few seconds a warm hand covered hers. She took in a shuddering breath then peered at Will through the long fringe that had fallen over her face when she’d bowed her head.
His expression might have seemed neutral to a stranger, but Juliet glimpsed the understanding in his eyes. ‘I know it’s hard...’
She nodded. After a few seconds she slid her hand from underneath his and curled her fingers round the stem of her wine glass. She knew he knew.
‘It’s just that once you have a ring on your finger, you think you’ve earned the right to be the love of someone’s life. I mean, if they didn’t feel that way, why would they marry you in the first place?’ This was a question she’d asked herself a thousand times since Greg’s surprise exit, and a thousand times more since he’d met the fabulous Anoushka.
‘I wouldn’t mind...’ Now the confessions had started spilling out of her she couldn’t seem to stop. ‘But she’s not the trophy wife upgrade, is she? I think I could have coped with that better, because Greg was always fussy about appearances, and I know I’m hurtling into middle age...’
Will gave her a look that might have said Stop it! but she ignored him.
‘But she’s two months older than me. She’s shorter and at least a dress size bigger. She’s not Juliet mark two, the sleeker, faster model. She’s just...different.’
Not her.
Maybe that’s why Greg had never once told her she was the love of his life. Not that she’d realised his omission until far, far too late.
‘More fool him, then,’ Will said firmly, but Juliet couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t a possessive kind of look, more a I’m sticking up for my friend kind of look. What had the hand thing been about, then? Did he like her? And did she want him to? Oh, she was so confused!
She didn’t want to be ‘back on the market’ again. It was too nerve-racking. The Juliet who used to date and go dancing and knew how to talk to men who weren’t her husband seemed like a creature from a parallel universe.
‘Did you feel this way when Samantha left?’ she asked.
‘If you mean, did I understand my significant other running off then hooking up with an older, fatter woman, then no.’
Juliet couldn’t help but laugh. This was what she liked about Will. He always made her feel better. His presence was...comforting.
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Did I second-guess myself for months afterwards? Yes. I know Sam and I weren’t together anywhere close to the amount of time you were with Greg, but it does get better. You just need to give yourself time, Juliet.’
Time. How unfortunate that time was a commodity in short supply in her life at the moment. Juggling kids and home had been hard enough when there’d be
en another adult around. Doing it on her own now there was a part-time job and a senile aunt thrown into the mix was nigh on impossible. Will was right, though. She needed time.
Oh, not just the days and weeks and months ticking past, although that had helped. She didn’t even really want Greg back any more. She just didn’t want to be jealous of what he had now. If life was fair, it would be her who was having a passionate affair, while her ex moped around his empty house regretting what he’d so carelessly thrown away.
A snuffle of laughter almost escaped. Yeah, right. Passionate affair? Who in their right mind would want one of those with her?
‘It gets so complicated, doesn’t it?’ she said thoughtfully, and then, just to see how Will would respond to the probe, she threw in another question. ‘And have you had enough time? Have you moved on?’
Will thought for a moment, and then he nodded. ‘I think I have.’
Which led to something else she wanted to know. ‘So why haven’t I seen a steady parade of attractive women beating down your door?’
‘Well, there hasn’t been any actual door beating as such, but I’ve been on a few dates.’
Oh. She hadn’t expected him to say that. ‘Anyone nice?’ she asked nonchalantly and twisted the stem of her wine glass in her fingers.
He sighed. ‘That’s not the problem.’
She glanced up at him. ‘Then what is?’
He shook his head gently. ‘I just always seem to go for the wrong type...’
‘What does that mean?’
‘There have been a few girls I’ve been out with that have sparked my interest, but I let it fizzle out after a few dinners. The ones I want to see again always end up reminding me of Sam.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t mean looks-wise, I mean personality-wise...’ He lifted one shoulder then let it drop again. ‘Even when I try not to, I end up asking out someone who turns out to be just like her—free-spirited, unpredictable.’
‘Exciting, you mean,’ Juliet said, feeling her stomach sink. There it was again, that phrase. Free-spirited. It seemed that was what men wanted, even when they didn’t want to want it.
Will held her gaze. ‘Unreliable.’
She found she couldn’t look away. ‘And you don’t want that?’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I’m ready to stay in one place, put down some roots. That’s why I bought that big old house next door in the first place.’
‘Probably shouldn’t have made the big old marriage proposal to go with it without finding out if she wanted that too.’
That’s when Sam had run. And, unlike Greg, who’d at least had the decency to have a conversation with her before he’d left, Sam had just upped and gone, packed her bags and disappeared, leaving only a short and unsatisfactory note.
A flicker of discomfort crossed Will’s features. She began to apologise, but he shook his head and dismissed the words before they’d left her mouth. This was why she didn’t drink much, and especially not on an empty stomach; she always ended up saying things she regretted later.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And that’s why I’m not in the market for another relationship like that—another woman like that. I’m looking for someone sensible, grounded. Someone who understands the concepts of home and family.’
Those words could have been instantly forgettable, if not for the way he was looking at her. Brown. His eyes were brown. Her pulse skipped again and she held her breath.
Something new appeared in Will’s expression. Something that looked suspiciously like a question.
In an instant, Juliet was out of her seat and clearing away wine glasses and fussing with fudge pans. Why? she asked herself, as she placed the empty wine bottle in the glass recycling. Why couldn’t you have just stayed still and looked back at the good-looking man who seems to like you? Why did you have to scurry away like Polly’s scared hamster?
Even now she couldn’t stop her busyness. It seemed to be her default position when anything uncomfortable happened. Eventually, she managed to slow herself down enough to not put on a pair of rubber gloves and start the washing-up. Instead she turned to look at Will, who was pushing his chair back and reaching for the jacket that was half-dangling on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
His mouth didn’t move from the straight line it was set in, but somehow she felt as if he was giving her the slightest of smiles. ‘For what?’
For not being ready, she wanted to say, but all she did was swallow.
Will gave her an infinitesimal tilt of the head. ‘The fudge was fabulous, by the way...’
‘Thanks,’ she said weakly as he disappeared through the back door. She heard him collect the mower and wrestle it back into his own garden, and when everything was silent outside once more she sat back down at her kitchen table and finished the entire pan of fudge off on her own.
CHAPTER FIVE
GEMMA STOPPED HER CAR outside Juliet’s house, engine still running, but didn’t pull onto the drive. She sat there for a few moments, staring at the neatly-clipped evergreen hedge.
This was stupid. She was a grown woman in her thirties, but every time she approached Juliet’s front door the same thing happened: the years peeled away and suddenly she felt like a little kid who was merely something to be tolerated, a problem to be managed.
She drew in a long breath and blew it out again. This was no big deal. Just Juliet. She handled tougher situations on a daily basis at work.
Don’t care. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of you.
She pulled down the sun visor in her sports car and checked her reflection in the mirror. Apart from a couple of blonde ringlets, only her eyes were visible. As she stared at herself they transformed from round and wide like Bambi’s to apathetic and hooded like Garbo’s.
Good. She was ready.
Visiting one’s relations shouldn’t really involve goals and manoeuvres and tactical planning, but Gemma had learned the hard way that going in and dealing with Juliet without a battle plan was like going to war with a water pistol. The plan for today: a flying visit. She would swoop in, deliver the kids’ Christmas presents, chat for as long as she absolutely had to, then exit by fourteen hundred hours. It should be a piece of cake.
She took a deep breath and let it out again before edging her car onto the noisy gravel drive. She was sure Juliet had resisted paving, not only because she liked the old-fashioned look of the little stones, but because no one could approach her domain without her knowledge.
The place looked gorgeous, as it always did at Christmas. The steep gables and red brick of Juliet’s Victorian house suited the season so well. Plain white fairy lights were wound round a tree in the front garden and the struts of the covered porch. An evergreen wreath, complete with pine cones, silver jingle bells and a big red velvet bow graced the glossy black front door with its stained-glass panels, and the lights of a Christmas tree twinkled tantalisingly through the leaded windows of the living room. No doubt, half a forest’s worth of greenery would be inside, tastefully draped on fireplaces and wound round the banisters.
Gemma turned off the engine, got out of the car then went round to the boot to retrieve the two big bags of presents she’d bought for her nieces and nephews. When she’d been shopping for them she’d felt warm and fuzzy—generous—but now the overflowing bags just seemed a little bit much, as if she was trying to make up for something.
Which she was. Not that Juliet knew that yet, of course.
As she closed the boot, Juliet opened the front door and stood waiting for her on the front step. She smiled—albeit thinly—and wrapped her arms across her middle to stave off the chill of the December afternoon. Gemma wished she could experience a little lift of joy at their reunion, but her stomach began a downward journey, like a lift travelling all the
way to the basement.
‘Hi!’ she said, walking towards Juliet, her own smile feeling just as brittle and fake. She avoided a full hug, using her laden-down arms as an excuse, and just leaned in to kiss Juliet’s cheek.
There was a stampede of feet once she got into the hall and three small forms came racing towards her and flung their arms around her hips and legs and middle, emitting squeals of, ‘Auntie Gemma!’ ‘Here, let me take those,’ Juliet said, and began to relieve Gemma of her bags before she’d even given an answer.
‘Hey, Josh...’ Gemma said a little breathlessly. ‘You’re squeezing a little hard, mate.’
He looked up at her, still squeezing. He was surprisingly strong for someone that small. ‘I’m Jake. That’s Josh,’ he said, and the other twin just giggled and started squeezing just as hard.
‘Whoever you are, cut it out!’ she yelled. ‘Or I’ll put those Christmas presents back in the car and take them back home.’
That did the trick. Both boys released her and stood watching her hopefully, faces a picture of angelic innocence.
Juliet shook her head. ‘You know the rule, boys. No presents until Christmas morning.’ And she disappeared upstairs with the parcels, much to the very vocal disappointment of the twins. With no brightly wrapped incentive to keep them hugging her, the smaller ones ran off again, leaving the way open for their older sister.
Polly was staring at her in a most unnerving fashion. Gemma smiled at her.
‘You sent me a card that said “Happy Birthday Groovy Eight Year Old”,’ Polly said in an accusing tone. ‘I’m ten.’
