The Christmas Promise

by Sue Moorcroft

  Maybe they would have gone to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve or been invited to a proper French Christmas Day lunch with her parents’ friends.

  She pictured them walking through the town of Muntsheim when it was bedecked with millions of tiny lights, admiring the huge Christmas tree that she knew was erected in the centre of La Place. There was probably a Christmas market, too, with glühwein to warm the marketgoers as they shopped. If not, the border into Germany was so close that it would have been possible to nip across for a taste of Christmas there.

  Vaguely depressed at knowing that none of these wistful imaginings would come into being this year she wondered what her mother was saying to her father about their Skype conversation, and whether she realised how different things would have been if they’d decided to enjoy Christmas years ago.

  Did they ever feel a twinge that it had been Gran who’d been the main purveyor of Christmas in Ava’s childhood, helping Ava with Christmas shopping and present wrapping, getting the tree out so that they could decorate it together? Never letting her touch the lights until they’d been tested ‘just in case’. She blinked back the tears. Once Gran had died, it had become obvious how much effort Katherine and Graeme used to put into Christmas.

  Not much. Her dad certainly hadn’t dressed up as Papa Noël.

  That evening, Ava and Izz tramped through rainy streets to Tod’s house in Kentish Town, crossing Kentish Town Road near the Abbey Tavern. Tod was an inspired cook with a natural ability to combine ingredients that sang on the palate in the same way that he had an instinctive understanding of colour and layout when it came to graphics.

  They trod carefully over the black and white chessboard tiled garden path, a skidpan in wet weather, hung their coats to drip in the hall and settled at Tod’s big old kitchen table while he stirred and sprinkled the battered pans on the hob. Dunc and Frankie, Tod’s housemates, wafted in to say hello and out again to play Xbox on the big flat-screen TV in the living room. Ava watched Izz. Frankie had once been Izz’s big crush but now she didn’t even bother to follow his long glossy black hair with her gaze.

  ‘Mulled wine!’ announced Tod, sniffing the contents of one of his saucepans and steaming up his glasses.

  ‘Can I have real wine?’ Ava asked, hopefully. She hadn’t brought a bottle as – in the constant round of Tod visiting Ava and Izz, and Ava and Izz visiting Tod – it was generally considered pointless to bother. She had relied on him having a nice rosé in for her.

  Tod lined up three glass cups. ‘Not yet. It’s the time of year for mulled wine.’ He transferred wine from pan to cup, ensuring each received a quarter slice of orange. ‘Merry Christmas, ladies.’

  ‘Merry Christmas.’ Izz blew across her steaming beverage.

  ‘Likewise.’ Ava accepted the inevitable and enjoyed the cinnamon sweetness, watching Tod cook, listening to Izz chat, trying not to feel glad when there was no sign of Louise.

  Tod waited to bring up the subject of his absent girlfriend until he’d served three steaming platefuls of chicken in Riesling sauce with baby carrots and perfect miniature roast potatoes. He produced the desired rosé, poured three glasses then raised his to Ava. ‘Official sorry for me getting merry and Louise overreacting.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise for Louise.’

  ‘Someone has to.’ Tod coloured, so presumably Louise was not going to apologise for herself.

  Ava smiled at him across the scarred table, guiltily wishing for an end to Tod’s enchantment with Louise. ‘Did you, erm, mention to Louise that she’d overreacted?’

  ‘Well …’ Tod picked up his knife and fork.

  ‘You’re allowed to,’ said Ava, gently. ‘She was fairly free with her comments on your behaviour.’

  ‘So I should reciprocate?’

  ‘At least feel you can. We all get sloshed once in a while.’ Ava turned the conversation. ‘Tell me the news from the agency.’

  Izz glanced sidelong at Ava. ‘Apparently, you’re going out with Sam on Saturday.’

  Tod paused mid-chew.

  Annoyingly, Ava felt her colour heighten. ‘I told you about his aunt inviting me to speak at a dinner.’

  ‘But not that Sam would be going with you.’ Izz cut into a roast potato.

  Ava automatically arranged the facts in the order that would cause Izz the least pain. ‘He’s going anyway and is just giving me a lift, really. His mother will be there, for goodness’ sake.’ Ava searched her conscience. Should she apologise for spending time with the man her friend was crushing on? It wasn’t as if she was seeking Sam out or even genuinely dating him but her heart gave an uncomfortable bump. She hadn’t thought about the faux dating hurting Izz. She laid down her cutlery. ‘Sam’s Aunt Vanessa’s giving me the chance to do a bit of a show in front of loads of ladies who might give me orders. I couldn’t get there without a lift. It’s in Cambridgeshire, right out in the country.’

  She was trying to unstick the words ‘It may even mean an overnight stay’ from her throat when Izz gave a gusty sigh. ‘I expect you’re getting a lift because he likes you. Patrick’s been asking about you, too.’

  More uncomfortable by the moment, Ava scrabbled around for a reply. ‘You couldn’t find anything more interesting to talk about?’

  ‘He does like The Pigeon Detectives and Shed Seven, so we talked about music and Camden venues for a bit,’ Izz replied, with her usual tendency towards taking things literally.

  Tod came to the rescue. ‘Ava, did Izz tell you we had some of Sam’s celeb footie stars at the agency this week? Chilly and his protégé, Tyrone Glennister, and Tyrone’s WAG, Ruby. Patrick, Jake and Emily are going to run an image-boosting campaign for Ruby.’

  Thankfully, Ava followed his lead. ‘Isn’t she the one the press has taken against after she lied about her boob job?’

  ‘The tabloids call her “Booby Glennister” instead of Ruby Glennister.’ Izz looked almost as mortified as if it had happened to her. ‘I feel sorry for her.’

  Tod agreed. ‘Her only sin has been to be a bit naïve and defensive. Tyrone catapulting into the premier league has meant a whole new world for her. She was a model before, of course, but not big time. The press take almost as much interest in her as they do in Tyrone – because she’s more accessible, obviously, not being closeted away at training sessions with Liverpool or Man U or whoever Tyrone’s signed to. She was invited onto daytime TV chat shows to discuss make-up or clothes and her input was applauded.’

  ‘Then her double D boobs appeared,’ Ava put in.

  Tod rolled his eyes. ‘Right. She probably thought that no one would be crass enough to demand details, but she underestimated the tabloids. At that point, she had two reasonable avenues. She could have simply said, “Yes, do you like them? Tyrone does. I’ve always wanted this kind of figure and big boobs are the one thing that my work in the gym wouldn’t provide.” Or she could have turned it into a fun speculation with a bit of flirty joking. “Haven’t you heard of WonderBra?” Or “I asked for them in my letter to Santa.”’ He sighed. ‘Instead, she did the worst thing possible – adopted an air of outrage and downright denied that she’d had breast augmentation. It didn’t take the red tops two minutes to find her out.’

  ‘Those cringe-making headlines!’ breathed Izz. ‘“Ruby! What boobies!”, “Porkies from Booby Glennister”, “Goodbye, Ruby’s old boobies”.’

  Ava frowned. ‘Poor woman. I suppose if you take on the persona of a “sleb” you have to take the rough with the smooth, but that seems cruel.’

  Tod polished the sauce from his plate with his last roast potato. ‘It was a gift for social media, people sharing the articles or making up their own captions to her pics. Carnage when “Booby Glennister” trended on Facebook and Twitter. Ruby’s hurt and bewildered so Sam’s advising on a campaign to mend her image. He says she’s got to be seen to take a joke. A sense of humour goes a long way with the media and Ruby needs to learn to deflect awkward questions with a quip.’

&n
bsp; ‘It must be great having celebrities in.’ Ava sighed enviously. She loved working in her studio but the nearest she got to footballers and WAGs was listening to the radio as she worked. ‘I think Tyrone and Ruby seem OK, for hipsters.’

  Tod laughed. ‘Sam’s always using that word, usually ironically. Considering he works in frontline PR he’s a touch sceptical about the supposed influencers and trendsetters in pop culture. But I’m sure he’d say that Tyrone and Ruby are way too mainstream to be hipsters.’

  He turned to Ava with a frown. ‘Speaking of Sam, Harvey’s texted me, asking if you’re seeing him. I haven’t answered, but I could tell him to piss off, if you like.’

  Slowly, Ava sipped, letting the cold wine dance across her tongue as she followed the advice on No Blame or Shame and kept calm to think the situation through. ‘I don’t want to aggravate or escalate the situation, so ignore him. Hopefully he’ll get bored and fade away.’

  She so wished Harvey would fade away. She’d received another coaxing text from him this morning.

  Just to let you know, got an app to monitor drinking.

  Ava wanted to reply Who cares? but mindful that he was at his most unpredictable when upset sent back Good choice instead.

  I can send you the results so you can see for yourself.

  Do this for you, not me. Of what possible value was a report from an app he entered data into himself?

  How about going for a drink sometime?

  ? Joke re drinking? Sorry. Not dating at the moment.

  She should take her own advice and ignore him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Christmas ball

  Saturday 15 December

  Ava had no chance to work on Wendy’s hat on Saturday, as she had to prepare for the Rotary Ball. Making Ava feel guiltier than ever, Izz helped her stack hatboxes and hat stands in their narrow hall and, later, to carry them out to Sam’s car.

  ‘Thank you.’ Ava was left with little to do but pick up her bags and trip across the pavement – for once it wasn’t raining – while Sam and Izz scratched their heads over how to get five hexagonal boxes into a car boot.

  Sam thanked Izz pleasantly for her help but pulled away with no sign of sparing her another thought, whereas Ava, even having given Izz a grateful hug, felt bad at leaving her standing alone on the pavement watching them leave.

  Endless clogging traffic blighted the London end of the journey. Ava gazed out of the windows, trying to remember what streets looked like without Christmas decorations. It was a nice change to get onto the blandness of the motorway.

  It was nearly three hours later, half an hour over Sam’s original estimate, when they finally drove up the steep drive to the sweep of the gravel before the pink brick Port Manor Hotel. The night was ablaze with the headlights of vehicles queuing to turn in to one of the car parks so Sam pulled up at the foot of some stone steps flanked with enormous urns. Instantly, a man in a black suit appeared to tell him he couldn’t park there.

  Sam hopped out. ‘Help me unload what the guest speaker needs and I’ll park wherever you want.’ The hapless man, who turned out to be the event manager, found himself hefting a tower of hatboxes while Ava had only her dress and her bags to carry up the steps. She could get used to people fetching and carrying for her.

  Wendy and Vanessa met her in the foyer. ‘Were the roads very busy? Hope you’re not exhausted by the journey. We’ll show you where to get changed.’ They bore her off to a palatial white and gold powder room where she checked in her coat and exchanged her jeans for a corset-style evening gown with a handkerchief hem, fixing her fascinator to the side of her updo, black to go with her dress. Herds of women would be wearing black but Ava knew it wouldn’t clash with any hat she put on or held aloft for the admiration of the audience.

  Also, she had only one formal dress. A black one.

  Vanessa tweaked her own fascinator fondly. ‘People are already asking me about this. Hopefully everyone will want one by the end of the night.’

  ‘That would be wonderful.’ Ava tried to sound excited rather than desperate.

  ‘I can’t wait to see my hat.’ Pensively, Wendy took out her comb.

  Heart giving a squeeze, Ava wondered how many more times Wendy would perform the simple task of tidying her hair. ‘I’ll make it as fabulous as I possibly can.’

  Wendy smiled. ‘You’re a lovely girl. We know it’s early days and Sam’s given us strict instructions not to crowd you, but he means so much to us that it’s lovely to see him happy again. After Mariah.’

  This time, Ava couldn’t contain her curiosity. ‘He hasn’t told me much about Mariah …’ Like nothing.

  Sniffing disapprovingly, Wendy took out her lipstick. ‘Sam had a girlfriend, Mariah, and a best friend, Elliot – then he had neither, if you get my drift. It happened around Christmas time, too.’

  Vanessa tried to frown her sister down. ‘Perhaps he would have told Ava if he’d wanted her to know?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ava hurriedly, seeing Wendy’s face fall. ‘I won’t mention it.’ But poor Sam to run foul of the dreaded double betrayal. No wonder Wendy was fixated on seeing him happy, her current uncertain emotional state supercharging the most sentimental of her maternal needs. Ava gave Wendy’s hand a quick squeeze as they headed for the twinkling lights of the ballroom.

  There, Vanessa stepped up into hostess mode, installing Wendy in a chair with a, ‘We don’t want you to tire too early,’ and introducing Ava to Vanessa’s patiently waiting boyfriend. Neale looked a little older than Vanessa, with his short silver hair, but had captivating dark eyes. Vanessa looked at him as if she’d like him on toast.

  Ava found her hatboxes and stands stacked behind the top table at the far end of the room. Sam reappeared and he and Vanessa unpacked hats for Ava to set out. After half an hour Ava was satisfied with her colourful display of stylish shapes graced with arcing plumes and frothing net. Perhaps those hat stands wouldn’t be going on eBay after all.

  As she stacked business cards elegantly at the front corners of the table, Sam volunteered to transport the hats to her as needed. ‘Just make it easy for me to identify the colours. None of this “puce” or “violet” stuff.’

  The level of noise climbed as guests flowed into the ballroom and Vanessa introduced Ava and Sam to the important people of Cambridgeshire Rotary Clubs. On the few occasions Ava had attended black tie dinners her seat had been in the body of the hall and it was an enjoyable novelty to find herself a top-table VIP.

  Mingling accomplished, Sam grabbed glasses of fizz from a passing waiter and they had time to check out the ballroom, its white-clothed tables glittering with silver. Huge portraits of somebody’s ancestors gazed down haughtily, as if objecting to the indignity of their heavy picture frames being adorned with sprigs of holly.

  Ava had a moment to check Sam out. Instead of buttons on his sparkling white shirt he had those little onyx stud things that matched his cuff links, and wore a dinner jacket without looking like a waiter. In fact, he looked as comfortable as he had in the This way up T-shirt.

  Then she realised that he was checking her out, too. ‘You look great,’ he murmured.

  Conscious of her low neckline and how tall her companion was, she fought the urge to glance down and check that she wasn’t flashing her headlights. She flushed but managed, ‘You too. And your mum.’

  Sam followed Ava’s gaze. Sadness touched his smile. Wendy had abandoned her armchair and was chattering happily, the soft mulberry of her floaty dress lending colour to her cheeks. ‘I hope that she doesn’t stand up for too long. Or wear herself out rushing round collecting money for her causes.’ He edged closer to Ava as the crush around them got greater.

  ‘If her fundraising is a collection, then others can share the work.’

  He nodded. ‘Chilly’s coming, so I think she’s hoping he’ll overawe people into digging deep into their pockets.’

  Ava glanced up in surprise. ‘Your mum’s got Aidan Chiltern to
help?’ Her imagination struggled with the vision of a collection plate being shaken under Rotarian noses by a man who had made it into just about every magazine and newspaper in the world.

  ‘Mum met him at the agency this week. I’d told him about her illness and he offered. He’s got a cottage between here and King’s Lynn so he said he could be in the area.’

  Ava felt warmth ooze into her heart. ‘Nice to know that celebrities aren’t above aiding others.’

  ‘Charity work’s good for the image. I don’t mean that Chilly’s doing this for that reason,’ he amended hastily. ‘The press aren’t even here. It’s just something that anyone working in image awareness thinks of automatically.’

  Ava was on the point of asking about the Ruby ‘Booby’ Glennister campaign but resisted, not at all sure Tod and Izz should have been gossiping to her about the agency ‘slebs’.

  The toastmaster called the guests to their seats and the top table was served first, another nice perk of being guest speaker. Vanessa leaned across Sam and Wendy. ‘Ava, you’re on after dessert has been cleared and coffee served. I’ll introduce you and you’ll have a microphone. Then the dancing begins. Wendy’s charity appeal will happen about eleven when wallets have been loosened by alcohol.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ava. A whole flight of butterflies launched in her stomach as she remembered that she wasn’t only here to be treated as if she were someone special. She had a job to do and Vanessa was relying upon her not to mess it up.

  She didn’t drink much at dinner. She toyed with her food, trying to keep her gaze from the scary number of people packed around the tables in the body of the ballroom. The dance floor was now clear and what Ava hadn’t really taken in during the mingling was that the long top table was alone on one side of it, looking down at the horde of lesser, circular tables, from the stage.