The Christmas Promise

by Sue Moorcroft

  But then she caught a laughing comment from Jake. ‘You bought her a drink, that means you have the right to hit on her.’

  Chapter Two

  The trouble with an ex-boyfriend

  Ava hesitated. Focused on their own conversation, the three men showed no signs of having noticed her approach.

  Jake ploughed on. ‘Hitting on women at Christmas is almost obligatory. Take a punt!’

  Heat flooding her face, Ava used the Cobra bottle to deliver a hard rap to Sam’s elbow. ‘Here you go. Now “she” has returned the favour. No “rights” or “obligations” involved.’

  With a jump, Sam swung around, looking horrified. ‘Look, I hope you don’t think—’

  Behind him, Ava saw Patrick and Jake go wide-eyed with embarrassment, smiles falling from their faces. ‘I don’t think anything.’ She began to turn away.

  But Izz had come up behind her, blocking her escape. ‘Louise has arrived and she’s talking to Tod so I thought I’d join you guys.’ Her voice rose hesitantly at the end of the statement, as if asking Ava whether she was doing the right thing.

  Ava stepped aside, ready to say, ‘I was just moving on.’ But the words died on her lips as she saw the wary way in which Sam was regarding Izz, and that Patrick and Jake were looking ever more uncomfortable.

  As if feeling the weight of expectation under all those gazes, Izz stumbled into speech. ‘So, Sam, do you get up to Camden for the music? I’m going to see Jeramiah Ferrari at Barfly in January. They’ve got a new album out.’ Self-consciously, she cleared her throat. ‘Who are your favourite artists?’

  Patrick buried his face in his drink. Jake began to inch away, craning over the heads of the crowd as if searching someone out. But Izz’s eyes were on Sam.

  Ava’s heart sank as she recognised her expression.

  Oh, right. Izz had one of her crushes. On Sam.

  And Sam and his smoothly dressed cronies were embarrassed. Indignation burned in Ava on her friend’s behalf. Izz couldn’t help being Izz. She wasn’t confident with men, probably because boys had bullied her for her size at school. Hunching apologetically as if to try and hide her height, her flirtation technique was a bit like a needy dog looking for a pat.

  Sam, Ava had to admit, at least had grace enough to bear his part in the conversation. ‘I’ve been to Dingwall’s a few times.’ He sent Ava an encouraging smile, inviting her in. ‘Do you and Ava go to gigs together?’

  But Patrick asked at the same moment, ‘Ava, you live locally, don’t you? Camden’s pretty cool. Do you work here, too?’

  Feeling bad for Izz liking Sam when he was being polite rather than liking her back, Ava answered Patrick. ‘I share Izz’s flat and have a studio there. I’m a couture milliner.’

  Patrick made a performance of looking confused. ‘You’re going to have to tell me what that is. I’m just a bloke.’

  ‘I make hats. Bespoke hats, by hand.’

  His gaze moved upwards. ‘So that’s why the headgear?’

  ‘Yes. This is a pillbox, but I make all styles.’

  ‘Sounds like an interesting career,’ Sam put in, when Izz took a breath in her comparison of Dingwalls and the Roundhouse.

  ‘It’s fantastic. So creative.’ Patrick raised his drink in a toast.

  Ava smiled. Patrick’s flirtatiousness was too obvious to be attractive but if Ava responded to him Izz would have a chance to chat to Sam. How would Izz become more at ease with men if they didn’t stay in her conversations? ‘But aren’t you PR types creative, too, Patrick?’

  Sam turned politely back to Izz, leaving Ava to listen as Patrick chatted about his place in the communications agency and the mix of commercial creativity, incisive innovation and sales craft that went into writing successful advertising copy. ‘We get a bit fed up with people saying that anyone in promo and publicity just plans parties and hands around champagne.’

  Ava gave him a smile. ‘You mean you have to make the sandwiches, too?’

  ‘No – I order them from the deli.’ Patrick laughed.

  Ava’s attention was taken when Izz, perhaps running out of conversational steam, turned to fight her way to the ladies.

  Sam clapped Patrick on the shoulder. ‘Your turn to organise a round of drinks, I think. I just want a word with Ava.’

  Patrick nodded and began to push his way towards the bar, leaving Sam and Ava together in the crush. She fidgeted, feeling slightly as if she’d been asked to stay behind by a head teacher.

  But Sam was looking apologetic again. ‘I’m really sorry. Jake wasn’t expecting to be overheard, obviously. I’m not sure what to do but apologise. There seems no good way to say “He wasn’t saying things about you behind your back. He was saying things about your best friend.”’

  Ava gave him the benefit of her best raised-eyebrows stare. ‘Not very nice of him.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he repeated. He did look sorry, his frank gaze unwavering. ‘Jake doesn’t mean any harm. The alcohol’s washed away a few of his social boundaries, that’s all. Izz hasn’t been at the agency long and she can pull together the server, network, intranet and database in her sleep, but people are finding her a bit … hard going.’

  ‘Not everybody finds it natural to be outgoing and schmoozing. Is it obligatory in a publicity shop?’

  ‘Probably not actually obligatory. But useful.’ He looked pained. ‘And we generally call Jermyn’s a comms agency rather than a publicity shop.’

  Ava sipped her wine. ‘Noted. And I generally call Izz shy rather than hard going.’

  A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. ‘Also noted. And I usually call myself personable rather than schmoozing.’

  She widened her eyes. ‘Seriously?’

  He laughed, but subsided without further comment as Patrick came back, drinks clutched awkwardly. And then Izz returned, too, accepting another bottle of beer.

  Patrick brushed Ava’s fingers with his as he passed her a glass of rosé. ‘So, are you ladies looking forward to Christmas?’

  Deliberately, Ava looked at Izz, including her in the conversation.

  ‘We’ll eat and drink too much for a couple of days,’ responded Izz, cautiously, when it became obvious that the floor was hers. ‘And we’ll probably come down to Camden High Street because there’s always something to do and it’s on our doorstep.’

  Ava waited, knowing what would come next. And, sure enough … ‘But Ava doesn’t like Christmas,’ Izz added.

  Patrick did a theatrical double take. ‘Not like Christmas? When everybody has too much to eat and drink and there’s loads of partying? I love it all! Then, at New Year, we usually go skiing but it’ll just be me and Jake this time. Our mate Elliot doesn’t come any more and this year Sam can’t make it.’

  ‘Illness in the family,’ Sam said, briefly. He glanced curiously at Ava. ‘What don’t you like about Christmas?’

  She shrugged. ‘Most things. Except, I agree that the parties can be good.’

  A small frown quirked Sam’s brow. ‘What about when you were a child? Did you at least like it then?’

  Ava was assailed with a rush of memories of putting up the Christmas trees at Gran’s house, a stately real one in the sitting room and a wonky little silver one in the kitchen. Ava had loved the kitchen tree best, twinkling multi-coloured lights at them as they baked mouth-watering mince pies and gingerbread Santas that smelled of Christmas. Ava’s heart clenched to remember Gran’s red apron with jolly robins on and her grey curls bobbing energetically as she rolled out pastry, laughing because she always managed to sprinkle flour over every surface in the room.

  When it was all cleared up and the baking rested on cooling racks, present wrapping at the big kitchen table in a joyful muddle of paper, foil ribbon and sticky tape would take over, while carols played on Radio 4.

  On Christmas morning, after present opening, they’d make dinner together, lighting a fire in the dining room grate to make it a special occasion.

  Sometimes one of her
parents made it to Gran’s for Christmas dinner, Ava and Gran scheduling the meal to fit in with a shift if necessary. Or else it would be just Ava and Gran pulling crackers and wearing paper hats that were too big, munching succulent turkey and Yorkshire puddings with tiny sausages baked into them.

  Ava shook her thoughts back to the present, realising that Sam was waiting for a reply. ‘Yes, when I was very young. But Gran was the one who made Christmas happen in my family and she died when I was thirteen.’ Gran had smilingly seen to the everyday care of Ava while her parents pursued their careers and her loss had left a gaping hole in Ava’s teenaged soul. She avoided Izz’s gaze, not wanting to see reflected there the painful knowledge that Gran had died at Christmas, making Ava feel like hurling the gaily lit Christmas trees to the floor and jumping on them.

  ‘That must have been hard.’ Sam’s gaze was sympathetic. ‘Didn’t your parents take over?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ It was no new thing to be regarded with curiosity for not enjoying what everyone else in the country looked forward to all year and Ava had a well-honed explanation. ‘Mum was a doctor, Dad a senior police officer. Mum patched up the drunks in A and E and Dad dealt with the drunks who ended up in the cells. They don’t really believe in Christmas and think it’s a phoney exercise in commercialism. They always volunteered to work so those who valued the season could have time off.’

  Patrick goggled as if Ava had just admitted that she came from a family of aliens. ‘If they don’t believe in Christmas, what do they believe in?’

  She made a face. ‘Hard reality, I suppose. My parents are lovely, and we all love each other, but they were career-orientated and so much of their focus was outward.’ Not inward, on their family. Family. The word conjured up siblings – not just the one child who had occasionally felt in the way and had grown to realise the best way to please her parents was to be as independent as possible. She remembered their congratulations when she’d begun to make family meals, the proud smiles as they told their friends how good she was at it.

  Sam’s frown deepened into a cleft between his eyes. ‘I’ve never heard Christmas made to sound less fun.’

  ‘You should come to my party!’ Patrick jumped in. ‘Next Saturday, in Balham. Loads of nice people, lots of alcohol, a bit of food. Music. A proper party, none of this standing shoulder-to-shoulder stuff, frightened your drink’s going to be knocked from your hand. Hasn’t Tod mentioned it to you? He’ll be in Balham for something, anyway. His girlfriend lives there, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She does. It’s because he’s always over there for BalCom that he met her,’ Ava admitted unenthusiastically.

  ‘BalCom?’ Sam looked mystified.

  ‘Tod’s comic club. We go to their Christmas meeting at the Snooty Fox every year. In fancy dress. The comickers create stunning costumes, everything from Superman to the Joker. It’s OK for us more ordinary folk to aim a little lower, though. Last year I was a reindeer with antlers made out of branches stuck in a pair of tights.’

  Patrick looked pained. ‘Ah, erm, he’s invited me, too, but I’ll be too busy with the party. But why don’t you come on to my place when the pub shuts? I’ll make sure we keep some goodies back for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Izz stuttered. She flicked a glance Sam’s way.

  Intercepting that fleeting look and reading hopefulness there, Ava felt she had little choice but to smile and accept, too, although she was pretty certain that Tod hadn’t mentioned the party because Patrick had only this instant decided to invite them. But Izz was looking at her boss as if he were made of her favourite chocolate and obviously wanted to grab the opportunity of spending more out-of-office time with him. It would take a harder heart than Ava’s to deny her.

  And, as they’d already arranged to stay at Louise’s, she couldn’t even claim it would be too difficult to get home to Camden in the early hours. She was still pondering an escape strategy when Izz’s expression altered. ‘There’s Harvey,’ she whispered, grabbing Ava’s hand.

  Ava shrank down. ‘Oh no. I don’t want to see him.’ She could hardly hiss, ‘Duck!’ at Izz, but she was all too aware that Izz’s height made her hard to overlook. If Harvey spotted her, he’d assume Ava to be nearby.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ Patrick sounded wary.

  ‘Ex. He just can’t seem to get used to it.’ Ava took a surreptitious peek, absorbing, between the sea of constantly moving heads and shoulders, Harvey’s bloodshot eyes and uncertain movements. ‘Damn, he’s drunk.’

  Izz shifted uneasily. ‘Nothing new there, then. He’s heading over.’

  ‘Hell.’ Ava tried to make herself smaller still.

  Sam leaned in, as if to help her hide. ‘You don’t have to talk to someone if you have concerns about them.’ His face had set in forbidding lines.

  ‘I know.’ Touched at this unlooked-for support, Ava found herself unexpectedly aware of the brush of warm breath against her cheek. ‘He’s not a concern. Or not exactly. I ended things and he’s proving that he’s not a good loser.’

  ‘Ava!’ Harvey hailed her when he was still yards away, making no friends as he shoved his way rudely through the crowd, pulling tinsel awry as he brushed past the big wooden pillars. ‘I’ve been hoping to bump into you. Haven’t you been out in Camden?’

  Resignedly, Ava was obliged to acknowledge him. ‘Harvey. How have you been?’

  In the heaving bar most men had discarded jackets and ties. Harvey, however, was tailor-shop perfect, his dark curls running smoothly over his head and even his thick eyebrows looking as if they’d been brushed. Only his movements and his sliding gaze were untidy. ‘I could have been better,’ he proclaimed meaningfully. ‘A lot better.’ All his attention was on Ava. He treated Izz as if she were invisible.

  Ava tried to head him off from yet another dissection of their relationship’s demise but Harvey plunged in. He was sorry, he vowed. How many times did he have to apologise? She must understand he’d had a few drinks and hadn’t known what he was doing. How could he make her forgive him? They’d been good together, hadn’t they?

  A couple of times she tried to break in, ‘There’s no point—’, but Harvey just became increasingly hectoring. Ava’s compassion for his struggle with rejection warred with her irritation at being harangued, and her feeling of vague surprise that they’d ever been an item. They had had fun, in the early days. It was just that the good memories had been overlaid with bad. Hard to credit though it was, looking at the red-faced loud-voiced embarrassment standing in front of her, when Harvey wasn’t drunk he was smart, articulate and interesting.

  They’d met just before Ava left Ceri, who had become a client of the accountants Harvey worked for. His dark eyes had glowed whenever they rested on Ava and the time they’d been together had begun fuelled by lust. Healthy lust, admittedly – but that had fizzled on Ava’s side as she became increasingly aware of Harvey’s hard drinking taking up more and more of his life. She’d fallen for sober Harvey and fallen out with drunk Harvey. Crunch time had been more about relief than grief for Ava.

  Now, as he loudly pleaded his case, Harvey managed to edge out Izz and Patrick by insinuating his way between them and Ava, but Sam proved harder to turn his back on. Quite openly listening in, he shifted, coming to rest with his arm against Ava’s.

  Harvey focused on Sam and scowled. Then he switched on a big smile for Ava. ‘You’re under the mistletoe! If you don’t kiss anyone you’ll get bad luck all year.’ To Ava’s horror, he made an unsteady but purposeful lunge in her direction.

  Before she could decide which way to dodge, an arm around her shoulders swung her neatly out of Harvey’s path. Sam brushed a kiss on her temple. ‘Just in case you’re superstitious.’

  Ava blinked, stunned and half-admiring that he’d thwarted Harvey so effectively, even if it had meant taking a bit of a liberty.

  Harvey halted foolishly, mouth ajar. Then, frowning like a goblin, he began to back up, barging into people and spilling their drinks, lifting his voice
higher the further away he travelled. ‘Ava, Ava, I need a private word with you, Ava. Over here.’

  Sam looked down into Ava’s eyes. ‘If you don’t want to go with him, you can tell him we’re on a date.’

  Ava debated, twisting her hands in indecision. ‘That’s a tempting offer.’ But people were wincing at Harvey’s loud mouth, frowning from him to Ava, making her feel responsible. She squared her shoulders. ‘But it’s obviously time I put an end to his pestering me. I must be able to find a way to convince him.’

  ‘It’s probable that he’ll only—’

  Disregarding whatever advice Sam was about to dish out, Ava dumped her empty glass and followed in Harvey’s wake, fighting through the crowd, attempting, at the same time, to convey apologies to everyone he’d knocked into, remembering how this behaviour had proved the norm amongst his friends. However well-cut their suits and dresses and however shiny their expensive shoes, they’d habitually begun an evening as clever, funny, successful people yet been mortifying embarrassments by the end. Cocktails or ale, it hadn’t mattered, just as long as they could get drunk on it. Then they’d play down each other’s behaviour by terming it ‘getting merry’ or ‘taking the edge off’.

  Eventually Harvey reached back a hand and grabbed her wrist, pulling her out through a door that said ‘Staff Only’, which led into a dusty corridor with dirty paintwork barren of tinsel and jolly messages, crates of empty bottles stacked at one side, smelling of stale beer.

  Harvey came to rest against a wall, clinging on to Ava’s hand, his face fixed in lines of woe. ‘Don’t date other men, Ava. Be with me. Deanna and Ollie, Ali and Jen, they all keep asking where you are.’ He dipped his head and tried to plant a wobbly kiss on her lips.

  Ava stepped smartly back, yanking her arm free. ‘Don’t, Harvey! I’m sure your friends don’t miss me in the slightest. And I’m not dating anyone. Sam works with Tod, that’s all.’

  His step forward matched her step back. ‘Then let’s see if we can’t sort this whole thing out.’