Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin
Page 17
‘Then I’m sure Harrison will support you and be proud of your achievement.’
I nod and smile, wishing it were that easy. It’s impossible to dispel the sneaky feeling that Harrison probably wishes I wasn’t so keen on a career change. I’m starting to think he’d rather I was there in the background, the little woman supporting him in his career advancement. It’s only since he’s been away that this has suddenly become clear to me. It’s as if distance has given me perspective.
‘You’re lucky your life is so sorted.’ Ryan groans. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever settle down and have a family.’ He smiles sheepishly at having confided something so intimate. I’m surprised, too. But then, I’ve always considered a cosy kitchen the perfect place to relax, mull things over, off-load …
‘Are you in love with Jessica?’ I ask carefully.
He looks surprised. ‘Er … no. We get on okay and she can be good fun sometimes. But I definitely couldn’t see us growing old together.’ He plays with the handle on his cup. ‘No, I’ll just be the eternal bachelor. The indulgent uncle to Jed’s five kids. Far less complicated.’
‘Maybe you go out with the wrong women?’ I suggest, turning to count the brownies cooling on the rack to hide my reaction at the thought of Jed with five kids. ‘I mean, I might be wrong, but Jessica doesn’t really seem ready to settle down any time soon. Perhaps you choose girlfriends who haven’t the power to hurt you.’
He sighs heavily. ‘Oh, that’s deep. Far too deep for a simple guy like me.’
‘What about Clemmy?’ I ask, after a pause. ‘She’s lovely.’
‘Clemmy?’ He frowns, shifting around on his stool. ‘Clemmy’s nice. But I’ve known her since she was a spotty kid with braces, and our families are so close, we’re practically related.’ He shrugs. ‘I can’t start dating my sister, can I? I’d get arrested.’
I laugh. ‘Yes, but she’s not really your sister. And she’s not spotty now.’
‘No braces, either,’ he muses.
‘I think she likes you. A lot.’
‘Yeah? More fool her!’ He slumps lower over the bench and stares moodily out of the window.
‘Here. Have a brownie,’ I say, to put a smile on his face.
‘Thanks.’ He wolfs down the largest one on the plate I’m holding out. ‘Mm. Nice one, Ruby. Listen, sorry for interrupting your work and for being such a gloomy arse. All this “relaxation” is a shock to the system. I think I need to get back to work.’
‘You work far too hard, according to your brother.’
Ryan gives me a broad smile. ‘Got to fill the time, otherwise you end up thinking too much. And that’s dangerous.’ He doesn’t smile often – not properly – but he’s actually really handsome without that slightly sulky set to his mouth. ‘Thanks for the counselling,’ he says, spinning off his stool. ‘I do actually feel better.’
‘Come back for coffee and a packet of digestives any time!’
He winks. ‘I may well do that, Dr Poppy.’
I quickly place the rest of the brownies in a tupperware box for their tea later, then grab my coat and bag and head out. I’m meeting Erin in Easingwold to mop up the rest of our Christmas shopping.
As I head out the front door, Clemmy and Tom burst in, chatting and laughing. Tom seems quite transformed from when he first arrived. Gone is the awkward teenage air. He and Clemmy seem to be getting on like a house on fire.
Clemmy beams at me. ‘There’s nothing like going for a country walk in winter!’ she says, shrugging off her coat and struggling to unzip and remove her boots. Tom offers a hand to steady her. ‘Thank you, Tom. And thanks for your company.’ She beams at him. ‘Just remember what I told you! Play it cool.’
Ryan comes out of the living room. ‘Hey, everyone. I was just about to saunter around the lake. Fancy it, Clem?’
Clemmy looks surprised. ‘Oh. Thanks, Ry, but Tom and I have just hiked for miles and we’re knackered. And I’ve been fantasising about a mug of hot chocolate for the past half hour.’ Her face is flushed from the chilled air outside. She heads off to the kitchen. ‘Want one, Tom?’
‘Yeah, great,’ says Tom with enthusiasm.
He follows her, leaving Ryan standing there, looking slightly bemused.
‘Maybe tomorrow, Ry?’ calls Clemmy.
‘Fine.’ Ryan shrugs. ‘I guess it’s just me, then.’
*
It’s later than usual – nearly seven – when Erin and I get back to the cabin to serve dinner. Driving through a busy Easingwold, splashes of vibrant Christmas colour sparkling at every turn, the festive-season traffic was extremely slow-moving. Even getting out of the car park seemed to take forever.
Not that Erin seemed too bothered by the hold-ups. She was still on cloud nine because Mark had bought her a huge and very expensive-looking bunch of flowers the day before. They were waiting for her on the kitchen table, apparently, when I dropped her off at their flat late last night, and there was a note from Mark saying he was sorry he’d been neglecting her lately and that he knew he was so lucky to have her. And once things at work were less hectic, he’d make it up to her, he promised.
‘It’s just a shame he has to work tomorrow,’ she says as we get out of the car. ‘But at least it means I can help you without feeling I’m neglecting him.’
I frown as I lock up. ‘But it’s Saturday tomorrow. And it’s Christmas Eve. Will Mark’s office be open?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, but Mark always says that’s the best time to work – when there’s no one there and the phones aren’t ringing. He wants to clear all his paperwork before Christmas.’
I glance at her uneasily. Of course it’s lovely that he bought Erin flowers. Although, thinking about it, a bouquet and a box of chocolates from Mark seemed to be practically a weekly occurrence until fairly recently. Perhaps he really is snowed under at work. And of course the ‘honeymoon period’ in a relationship never lasts forever …
All the same, I decide I’ll call by Mark’s office in the morning. Just to wish him happy Christmas because I probably won’t see him again until after the Big Day. I’m taking Mum out shopping so I’ll fit them both in before I arrive at the cabin to prepare the special Italian dinner Bob has requested for Christmas Eve.
My heart beats faster at the thought. I spent a long time last night, going over the menu and checking I have everything I need to cook a dinner that will impress Bob so much, he’ll absolutely have to use my services in the future! A tingle of excitement runs through me. I can’t afford to waste this golden opportunity. Tomorrow night’s dinner has to be absolutely perfect in every detail.
I keep thinking how amazing it is that one wrong number led to this – the perfect opportunity to win an important client and forge the career in catering I’ve longed for. If Jed hadn’t mis-dialled when he was trying to reach Clemmy, none of this would have happened.
As soon as we enter the cabin, it’s clear that a happy Christmas atmosphere is sorely missing. Loud music is coming from upstairs and, at that moment, Gloria – wearing a skin-tight red dress over her ample curves, and matching jewelled ballet pumps – hurries into the hallway and yells, ‘I’ve told you to turn that down, madam!’
When the volume remains unchanged, Gloria looks at us in despair. ‘She’s just doing this to rock the boat. She’s trying to split Bob and me up, and the awful thing is, I think she’s succeeding.’ Tears wobble in her eyes then splash down her cheeks, taking half her mascara with them.
She looks so forlorn and vulnerable, I want to grab her and give her a hug. But next second, she draws herself up to her full height of five foot nothing and roars, ‘Right, young lady!’ She charges up the stairs, meaning business, her generous, scarlet-clad rear end shifting swiftly from side to side.
The living-room door is open. Clemmy is curled up reading a magazine, and Ryan, Jed and Tom are watching some sport on TV. Bob is nowhere to be seen.
Erin and I grimace at each other and hurry into the kitchen.
Gloria chats away nervously in the face of Ruby’s monosyllabic replies, but the atmosphere around the table is subdued, to say the least. Ryan looks sunk in gloom again, and even Jed looks preoccupied. Only Clemmy and Tom seem to be in the Christmas mood, vying with each other to remember the most pointless gift they’ve ever received.
‘Bloody hell,’ says Erin, back in the kitchen. ‘Talk about a typical family Christmas! I felt like slapping Ruby for being so rude to Bob. But then I suppose she’s missing her dad.’ She pauses then says sadly, ‘I keep thinking back to last Christmas. It was so lovely.’
‘Your very first with Mark,’ I murmur. ‘I remember. He gave you those gorgeous diamond earrings hidden in a toiletries gift box.’
‘Ah, well.’ She sighs wistfully. ‘This year is going to be even better!’
We smile at each other and I really hope for her sake that it is.
It’s a relief when dinner is over and we can get cleared up. It’s been a sombre evening and I’m only hoping there’s more of a Christmassy atmosphere around the table when we serve up the special Italian meal tomorrow night.
In the car, the temperature gauge is at two degrees below zero, and I realise I’ve left my gloves in the kitchen. Leaving the engine idling, I blast the heater for Erin. ‘Back in a sec.’
I hurry into the kitchen but my gloves aren’t there, so, hearing no sound from the living room and thinking everyone must have escaped to their rooms, I pop my head around the door. To my surprise, Jed is there, sitting forward on an armchair angled towards the log fire, elbows resting on his thighs, staring into the depths of the dying embers. He looks up, startled from his reverie.
‘Sorry to disturb you. I’ve lost my gloves. But I’ll look for them tomorrow.’
I start backing out, but he says, ‘No, come in. We’ll find them.’
Chapter 20
It doesn’t take long. They’re on top of the piano. I must have left them there when I arrived back this afternoon.
I stroke the glossy lid of the piano. ‘Gorgeous instrument. Shame no one plays it.’
‘Ryan plays.’ Jed lifts the lid and tinkles a few keys with his long fingers.
‘He does? I haven’t heard him.’
‘He got up to Grade Seven as a kid. His piano teacher had high hopes for him, and so did Bob’s wife, our Auntie May, who lectured at a college for the performing arts.’ Jed shrugs. ‘He doesn’t play any more.’
‘But what a shame. Why not?’
Jed pauses, his jaw tightening. ‘He gave up playing after he heard about his real dad. He gave up a lot of things then.’ He glances at me. ‘Ry told me you had a chat about it. I think you made a difference. He was talking last night about getting back in touch.’
‘Oh, that would be brilliant!’ My face falls. ‘If his dad would welcome Ryan, that is.’
Jed frowns. ‘Yeah, it’s a risk. I suppose Ryan’s afraid of rejection and I can’t really blame him. Especially since the guy has a family in France.’ He sighs. ‘I wish Ry would sort his head out, though. It’s like he pours every last scrap of energy into his work. He never seems to stop. He hates London and he’s permanently knackered. And he’s had a string of relationships – if you could call them that – with vacuous blondes that he seems to choose precisely because he’s not likely to fall in love with them.’
Our eyes collide and hold when he says this and the air is suddenly charged. My heart jumps into my throat.
‘Yes, I –’ My voice emerges as a squeak. I clear my throat, blushing furiously for some reason, and I’m the first to look away. ‘I wondered that myself. He told me he picks the wrong women. It’s so sad.’
The fire spits loudly and Jed moves away from the piano. ‘He and Clemmy had a thing at one time, when they were just teenagers,’ he says, mesmerised by the embers again.
‘They’d be great together.’
‘I don’t know. Clemmy might be kind and generous, and very pretty, but she hasn’t got blonde hair and legs up to her armpits. When I invited Clemmy, I did hope something might happen between them. But …’ He turns and shrugs helplessly.
I go over and stand beside him and we both stare into the fire’s glowing depths. Jed glances sideways and catches my eye, and a happy, tingly feeling trickles through me as we stand there in silence, only inches separating us. The fire is such a wonderful focal point, even now, when the embers are only partially glowing. The scent of the ferns and the holly berries, and the winking white lights along the mantelpiece, add up to the perfect Christmas scene. All I need now is the man I love.
Tears prick my eyes. What is it about Christmas that makes people so emotional?
‘Did you know you have flour in your hair?’ Jed says softly. ‘Here, let me …’
I turn towards him and his fingers brush my face instead. His hand freezes there and the pert comment on my lips fades away, forgotten. His eyes are locked onto mine, burning with intensity and echoing my own uncertainty right back to me. His hand slides down my cheek and rests near my mouth and, instinctively, I turn my head ever so slightly, closing my eyes and placing my lips against the rough skin of his palm. For a moment, my head whirls with a mix of wonder and panic at the sensations coursing through me.
Then I feel Jed’s hands around my waist, pulling me in to him and crushing his mouth down on mine.
*
Back in the car, minutes later, my head is spinning crazily.
Did Jed break away first? Or was it me? I need to believe it was me, because I’m going to have a hard enough time living with the guilt as it is, without having to face the fact that I didn’t want Jed to stop kissing me!
But the problem is, I don’t really know. It all happened so quickly. I just keep recalling Jed’s ragged breathing and intense expression as we locked eyes a second after we broke apart. It should never have happened. We both knew that. I could see it in Jed’s shocked expression. It was as if he couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be drawn in again and was already regretting it …
The thought of Harrison over in Spain, blissfully unaware of everything going on here, is enough to make me want to bury my hot face in my hands and weep. But I can’t because Erin is sitting beside me, lolling sleepily against the headrest in the greenhouse-warmth of the fan heater. So I reverse out of the car park area and bump the car onto the snowy, potholed road. In the dark, the icy surface seems even more treacherous but eventually we make it back to the smooth main road, which has been gritted for tonight’s sub-zero temperatures. I’m driving as if in a dream, which makes me glad there are so few cars on the road. Questions keep circling round and round in my head.
I kissed Jed! How could I do that to Harrison? I’m supposed to be meeting him on New Year’s Eve for a grand reunion.
How the hell am I going to face him?
*
Later, back home, I’m too restless to even think about sleep.
I need to speak to Harrison. I just need to hear his voice because, seriously, I am perilously close to going online and looking at flights to Spain. Leaving in the next few hours! But again his phone is obviously either switched off or out of charge.
I try to watch some late-night TV but I can’t concentrate. I just keep thinking about how devastated Harrison would be if he knew I’d kissed Jed. The fact that he doesn’t even know that Jed is my client makes the guilt even worse. So many layers of deceit! Perhaps I should phone Jed tomorrow and say I can’t work for him any more. But what would that achieve? I’d still be guilty of kissing him. And I’d have wasted a huge opportunity to get my business off the ground.
After much soul-searching, I finally decide that the best thing to do is to look upon the kiss as just a blip. Part of me wants to throw off the terrible guilt by coming
clean with Harrison. But while that might make me feel better, getting it off my chest, I know Harrison would be really hurt. I need, however, to make damn sure I never get into any situations where I’m alone with Jed. Not that anything like that would happen again. I’m fairly certain about that. It was just a weird moment, never to be repeated.
It’s well after midnight before I head for bed, but sleep is still elusive. I lie there, images from the day flying around my mind, unable to switch the endless film show off.
For some reason, I keep coming back to the conversation I had with Ryan in the kitchen, when he told me about his real dad being a pilot. Ryan’s sadness is painfully clear. And the very fact that he, too, is training to be a pilot is just so poignant. If he can’t have his dad in his life, he wants to emulate him and experience the things that really mean something to the man.
My eyes well with tears. I hope Ryan has the courage to get in touch with his real dad and give himself the chance of forming a loving father-son relationship.
And then it hits me.
The tears are for Ryan. But they’re also for me …
I lie there, staring into the darkness. My real dad is out there somewhere. And my feelings towards him are so mixed up. I’ve tried so hard to forget him. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me in his life because he’s made no attempt to stay in touch with me. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that I must have disappointed him. Clearly, I wasn’t the sort of daughter he’d hoped for, so he’d allowed the fragile connection between us to fade away into nothing. I’ve spent years telling myself I don’t care. If he doesn’t want me in his life, that’s his loss, not mine. But now I’m realising, with startling clarity, that far from deleting Alessandro from my life, I’ve actually done the very opposite. I’m fascinated by the country of his birth and drawn like a magnet to the culture and the food of Italy. Florence and Venice have long been at the very top of my ‘must visit’ list. And, of course, I want to be a cook, specialising in Italian food. Just like Alessandro is a chef in Italy!
So almost without realising it, I’ve spent years doing exactly the same as Ryan – keeping the connection with my dad alive, without being fully aware that’s what I’m doing. Has this flair for cooking really been passed down to me? Or is it just that, like Ryan wanting to be a pilot, I’ve always longed to have my real dad in my life whichever way I can?