Last Christmas

by Talli Roland

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed back from the mirror and swung open the door. Robert was lounging on the bed, clicking through the TV channels.

  ‘I swear, you’d think they’d have more English stuff on this telly,’ he grumbled, turning it off and flinging the remote onto the bedside table. His eyes fell on the box in my hand. ‘What’s that?’

  I perched on the bed beside him, scooting closer to feel his warmth. ‘Robert,’ I began, my voice shaking. ‘We’ve been together for ages now, and I love you so much.’ Oh shit, I’d forgotten to go down on one knee! Hastily I slid onto the carpet below. With the height of the bed, I had to crane my neck to meet his puzzled stare.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Luce? Have you had too much to drink?’ He held out his hands. ‘Come on, silly goose. Get up here.’

  I shook my head, holding out the black box. ‘Robert, would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?’

  Robert’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’

  I took a deep breath. Okay, I’d expected surprise. ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’

  His brow furrowed and he shook his head from side to side, eyes bulging. Seconds ticked by and I forced myself to stay still, even though my knee stung from the scratchy carpet and my neck muscles strained. No-one ever mentioned the awkwardness of going down on one knee! Maybe this was why women didn’t propose.

  ‘Robert?’ I asked when the pain became unbearable. Funny, despite his reaction, I’d still never thought the answer could be anything but yes. I heaved myself up and plopped on the bed, meeting his eyes and smiling. ‘I guess this is a bit of a shock.’ I shoved the box under his nose. ‘Here, have a look inside. Maybe that will help the proposal sink in.’

  Robert shook his head again and moved away. Bewilderment swirled through me. Surprise was one thing, but what was this? ‘Robert?’ I asked once more.

  His shoulders lifted in a sigh and he stared at me, as if searching for words. With each passing minute, my confusion gave way to fear. My chest tightened and I drew the robe around me. He wouldn’t say no, would he? The possibility seemed so crazy I couldn’t begin to entertain it.

  ‘Oh, Lucy.’ Robert ran a hand over his face, an incredible sadness making his features sag. Tension clenched my muscles and I held my breath, awaiting his next words. Finally, he reached out to clasp my cold fingers. ‘I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Can’t marry me?’ I croaked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I love you,’ he said, his eyes holding mine. ‘You know I do. But . . .’

  ‘But what?’ Panic filled me now, my breath coming in short, fast gasps.

  ‘I’m not in love with you. Not the way I need to be with someone I want to marry.’ The words pushed me back like a physical force. Not in love with me? ‘We’re more like flatmates, or brother and sister these days than anything else, Luce. You must have felt it.’

  I shook my head. No, I hadn’t felt it, because I loved Robert. Not as a brother, or as a flatmate, but as someone who made my heart pound, who I wanted to be with all the time, every day, for the rest of my life. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’ I still couldn’t believe he meant the words.

  ‘I figured our relationship would come to a natural end when we were ready to move on.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘We never talked about the future together, kids and all that. I thought we were on the same page.’

  All I could do was stare. I hadn’t realized we needed to talk about the future – I’d believed our future was each other. Even now, with the truth hanging in the air, I couldn’t absorb the fact it wasn’t.

  A few more minutes had passed in silence, then Robert eased himself off the bed. ‘Look, I’ll head to the bar and give you some time to yourself,’ he said, throwing on jeans and a sweater.

  I wanted to scream at him not to go, not to leave, because the instant he went out that door, my life as I knew it would be over. We wouldn’t be one entity any longer. We’d be two people, separated, and would never again be the couple I’d thought, no matter how wrong I’d been. But all I could do was nod, watching as he slipped on shoes and shut the door softly behind him.

  I stared at the box on the bed, still unopened, then over at the clock on the wall. Twelve-ten on December twenty-fifth.

  Merry Christmas, I said aloud to the empty room as my tears began to fall.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I pushed back from the railing and away from the Thames. I was desperate to escape memories of last year; to flee the cheery Christmas market and the contented crowd containing my ex and his soon-to-be-wife. If I was a bigger person (in spirit, not arse; I already had that covered), I’d be happy Robert found true love. Instead, the hurt that lingered 24/7 blossomed into anger. How could he have met someone, decided they were right, and proposed in under a year? We’d been together for aeons and the closest I’d got to a proposal was when he’d asked to share my wardrobe space.

  Robert certainly hadn’t wasted time separating our lives post-Christmas Day. After returning to London on Boxing Day – me crying all the way and Robert sitting awkwardly in silence – he’d packed a case, saying he thought we should each start looking for a new place to live. And just one week later, he’d come round with a van and removed the rest of his things to a flat in Finchley. Unable to make the rent on my own, I’d scoured Borough for something affordable, settling on the small studio. Leaving the home we’d built together and moving into my tiny cell was the second most depressing day of my life.

  Unable to face the sympathetic stares of our mutual friends, my circle had shrunk to family, Mimi, and work. And after endless accusatory questions from my mother: ‘What did you do?’; ‘Was there another woman?’ (thanks, Mum, for putting that idea in my head); I rarely even ventured home.

  What I needed now was one huge glass of wine, but the thought of chugging cheap alcohol in my dingy flat didn’t appeal. Digging through my handbag, I uncovered my mobile to call Mimi. Even Christmas karaoke was better than drinking alone.

  ‘Hello?’ In the background, Let It Snow was being massacred by what sounded like a herd of yowling kittens.

  ‘Mimi, it’s Lucy. I’ve decided to come out tonight. Where are you?’

  ‘Ooh, fab. We’re at the All Bar One by Waterloo.’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll be there in ten.’

  ‘Hurry, you might be able to catch me singing Santa Baby!’ Mimi clicked off.

  I could hardly believe I was rushing towards a Christmas-themed party, but maybe that – along with some very strong drinks – would erase the past half-hour. Several minutes later, I pulled open the door of the bar, surveying the packed room.

  ‘Hey!’ Mimi raised a hand, antlers on her head bouncing as she pushed through the crowd towards me. ‘You look like shit,’ she said, scanning my face. ‘What happened?’

  I sighed, shoving back my hair. ‘I just saw Robert.’ Mimi’s eyebrows rose. She was the only person who knew the whole sordid story – I couldn’t bear sharing the pathetic details with anyone else. ‘And his fiancée,’ I added.

  ‘Nooooo!’ Her mouth dropped open. ‘Holy crap.’ Taking my arm, she propelled me to a semi-quiet corner of the room and plunked me down on a stool. ‘You sit tight. I’m going to get you a glass of wine and then I want to hear everything.’

  I nodded as the crowd swallowed her up, then let out a long shuddery breath, trying to absorb the fact that Robert was getting married. Next week! When Mimi finally returned bearing a brimming goblet, I grabbed it and gulped.

  ‘So,’ she said when I was half-way through and already starting to feel lightheaded. ‘Tell me everything.’

  ‘There’s not that much to tell. I was walking on the South Bank when I ran into the two of them at a Christmas market.’ Even as I uttered the words, the anger inside flared into a burning fire.

  ‘What she’s like? What did he say? When’s the wedding?’

  A corner of my mouth lifted as the questions tumbled from Mimi. This was why I loved talking to her – she craved the minute details
you were dying to share but didn’t want to bore the other person. ‘Her name is Greta and she’s gorgeous,’ I answered, jealousy rushing through me. ‘Tall, long dark hair, skinny . . .’

  ‘And probably a huge bitch,’ Mimi said loyally. ‘What the hell kind of name is Greta, anyway?’

  ‘They seemed really happy.’ An image of the soppy look on Robert’s face came to mind, and I instantly realised what was different about him: he was in love, in a way he’d never been with me. My chest tightened and I tipped the glass to my mouth. I swear, if they served pitchers of wine, I’d be double-fisted at the moment.

  ‘Well, of course they’re happy now.’ Mimi waved a hand in the air. ‘They can’t have known each other long, and they’re probably still in the honeymoon phase. That’ll die out soon.’

  I forced a smile, wondering if Robert and I ever had that phase . . . I couldn’t remember. We’d always known each other, right from primary school.

  ‘You’ll never guess when they’re getting married,’ I said glumly.

  Mimi tilted her head. ‘Next summer?’

  ‘Nope. Christmas Day. This Christmas. As in next week.’

  Mimi winced. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘And not only that, Greta invited me to the wedding. She had no idea who I was. Robert hadn’t even mentioned me.’

  Mimi touched my arm. ‘I don’t know what to say, Luce. That’s just . . . terrible. But seriously, how selfish to make everyone abandon their own Christmas and attend their wedding! See, I told you she’s a bitch.’

  I gave her a grateful smile.

  ‘What did you say?’ my friend asked. ‘I mean, you obviously aren’t going. Robert must have been shitting himself.’

  ‘Yup,’ I said, recalling the uncomfortable expression on his face. ‘You won’t believe what I told them. I said I was throwing a huge party with all my friends on Christmas Day, so I was already booked up.’

  ‘Well, good!’ Mimi gave an emphatic nod. ‘He’ll think you’re getting on with your life instead of pining over him and trying to forget Christmas. In fact, you know what? You should organize a big bash on that day! Get out there again and put this whole thing behind you.’

  I raised an eyebrow, her words spinning around my alcohol-induced fog. In theory, a party sounded a million times better than hanging out on my own. I doubted all the cheap wine and takeaways in the world would block out my ex’s nuptials. Desperate measures were needed. But . . .

  ‘I’d have about three guests,’ I said, hating the defeatist tone in my voice. ‘You, maybe Tony from the kebab shop, and . . . ’ Actually, make that two. Mum would never abandon the Florida sun, and all my friends – or ex-friends now – would likely be going to Robert’s wedding. I couldn’t believe none of them had even thought to tell me!

  ‘I’ll bring some of my lot,’ Mimi said, gesturing to the crowd clustering around the karaoke stage. ‘None of us can afford to fly home to Australia for the holidays so we’re all at loose ends. And you know, I bet if you contacted your old friends, some would come, too. They’re probably more sympathetic than you realize. You never gave them a chance.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I mused, tipping my head back to reach the last drops of wine pooling in the glass. ‘They’re probably attending the wedding, though.’

  ‘So what? They can do both. And the reception can’t be going too late on Christmas Day, right? Receptions are deathly boring, too. People can leave there and head to yours, or have some fun and drinks as a pre-wedding warm-up.’

  ‘I guess so,’ I said, a bit of excitement stirring inside at the thought of a Christmas party to end all parties. Even if it wasn’t, at least the organization would take my mind off the wedding – momentarily was better than nothing. ‘Just one small issue. Where on earth will I find the money to throw an epic bash?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mimi tapped a crimson nail against her mouth. ‘Do you still have Robert’s watch, or have you finally sold it?’

  ‘No, I still have it.’ The black box was buried in a drawer at the flat. Despite putting it out of sight, it most definitely wasn’t out of mind. I knew I should sell the thing and get the money back, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it.

  ‘Well, there you are. Problem solved. For the amount you paid, we could go to town!’ She slurped her mojito. ‘Are we on, then?’

  I met her eyes, thoughts running through my head. Maybe it was finally time to end my self-induced grieving period, sell the spoils, and move forward . . . with a bang. Smiling, I raised my glass in the air. ‘We’re on.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I trotted past the kebab shop the following morning, my stomach turning over at the thought of food. Mixing wine and beer was never a good thing, but mixing wine and beer and cocktails topped off by a Full English? Recipe for the disaster currently brewing in my tummy. At least the physical discomfort had kept my mind off the reason I’d been drinking in the first place – until my eyes snapped open and Greta’s perfect face popped into my head.

  I shoved away the image, sliding into my desk chair. Forget Robert and his almost-wife. I’d have the biggest, the best, and the swankiest Christmas party ever. The period before the holidays was always quiet work-wise, and with less than a week to pull off this event, every second would be vital.

  ‘Hiya!’ Mimi’s chirpy voice cut through the silence, and I winced.

  ‘Headache?’ she said, evilly close to my ear. She popped a Nurofen from a foil and handed it over. I swallowed down the pill, coughing when it lodged in my dry throat.

  ‘Right.’ Plopping behind her desk, she booted up the computer. ‘Let’s get started. I’ve got a list of everything we need to do. Confirming the venue is the most important item so we can send out the invites. Then we’ll decide on food, music, and decorations. Here, have a look.’ She handed over her iPad.

  My eyebrows rose as I scanned the thorough list. ‘Your talents are wasted in recruitment! You should have been an event organizer.’

  ‘Nah.’ Mimi made a face. ‘I already had this checklist from my thirtieth birthday bash last year. That was phenomenal – shame you couldn’t come.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I mumbled, gazing down at the desk as I tried to remember why I hadn’t attended. Likely I was snuggled up with Robert, smug in the knowledge I didn’t have to go anywhere to find happiness; I had it right here. How could I not see he didn’t feel the same?

  ‘First things first,’ Mimi said, and I attempted to push all thoughts of Robert from my mind. ‘Let’s work on the venue. Might be a bit tricky since not many places are open on Christmas, but I’m sure we’ll find something. Doesn’t need to be anything posh; we can add our own touches.’

  Half an hour later, we’d got it. Founder’s Arms, a pub right on the Thames, had agreed to rent us the space until well past midnight. We’d had to offer a sizable fee and promise to meet a minimum spend on food and drink, but Mimi had assured me with her Aussie friends in attendance, that wouldn’t be an issue. And with the money I’d get from the watch, the fee wouldn’t be problematic, either. A slight pang hit as I imagined handing over the last thing linking me and my hopes and dreams to Robert. I should be glad to get rid of it, I told myself, since my hopes and dreams had morphed into a nightmare.

  ‘Right.’ Mimi’s face was flushed with excitement. ‘I’m going to put together a little email invitation. Bit old school, I know. We’ll do a Facebook invite too, but they’re so impersonal. Before we sign the contract for the venue, you need to have the cash. Why don’t you look into selling that watch on eBay? Or maybe a high-end pawnshop . . . that might be easier. And faster.’

  I hid a smile at how the tables had turned and Mimi was now bossing me around. ‘Okay.’ I pulled up Google, typed in “pawnshops”, and straightaway a link to pawning fine watches appeared. The shop was located in Mayfair, just off New Bond Street. All they required was ID and the item, and I’d have a cheque for a percentage of the item’s value. Simple. And when – if – I wanted the watch back, I just needed to find the
money again. Maybe someday I’d be able to fully let go, but at least this was a step in the right direction.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was standing in front of an old man who examined my watch with a critical eye. I’d never been inside a pawnbroker’s before, but this place was nothing like the seedy shops in movies. Staff in tailored suits glided through the hushed room and silver lights shone artfully from above.

  ‘It’s in very good condition,’ the man said, turning the watch so its black face glistened under the light. ‘Only one previous owner? ’ He looked at me over the top of his specs, and I nodded.

  ‘Yes.’ There was a catch in my throat as I uttered the word, and I willed my eyes not to fill with tears. This was the first time I’d opened the box since the proposal, as if by keeping it closed, I could shut off the memories, too – not that it had worked.

  ‘All right. I’d value this at seven-thousand pounds. The watch is in great shape, but it’s an older model so not as valuable.’ I gulped, still unable to believe I’d spent that amount, blowing my savings out of the water. I’d wanted something super-special to mark the occasion; an item Robert would have forever. So much for that.

  The man closed the box, then cast an eye over the watch’s paperwork and my ID. ‘Have a seat over there and we’ll get started on your loan contract.’

  I nodded, crossing the plush carpet to a black leather sofa. In the quiet of the room, I couldn’t help leaning back and closing my eyes. After last night’s exploits, a nap was calling my name.

  ‘Lucy?’

  My lids snapped open. Wow. Was I dreaming? In front of me was a bloke I could only describe as Olivier Martinez’s short-haired twin: dark, exotic-looking, and swoon-worthy. ‘Um, hi,’ I squeaked.

  The man held out a hand with elegant fingers – and no ring. Not that I was looking, of course. ‘I’m James Wilson. I’ll be drawing up your loan contract.’