by Fern Britton
‘Apologise?’ She was aghast at the idea.
‘If you’re going to be that difficult, you’ll end up like Julia,’ he warned.
She managed a feeble grin. ‘Oh, God! Not really?’ She tried to pull her hands from his grip but he held tight.
‘Yes, really. Do you want to become an embittered old bitch with nothing but her work to keep her going?’
‘Don’t be so silly. They’ll come round.’ But she didn’t sound convinced, even to herself.
‘Why should they? Sounds to me as if you managed a five-star demolition job. And on Christmas Day too. What timing.’ He sat back on his heels, letting go her hands.
‘You don’t really think I’m getting like Julia?’ Even though she didn’t truly believe he meant it, she didn’t like the idea one bit. ‘Do you?
He laughed. ‘Get over yourself, will you? I was joking.’ He stood up, brushed the knees of his trousers and took the brandy bottle from the mantelpiece. ‘Another?’
She nodded.
‘Listen. Nobody’s like Julia. I told you I knew her at drama school, way back in the seventies.’ He sat down beside Christie, swirling the brandy in his glass. ‘By the time I met her, she’d lost almost all trace of her Scouse accent and was busy reinventing herself as an actress, getting a few bit parts here and there, and temping to keep the wolf from the door. Well, we all did waitering, bar work, all that stuff, until it dawned on us that we hadn’t a cat’s chance of making it. But she met Max.’
Christie was intrigued to have the story she’d already heard fleshed out.
Frank smiled, stretching his legs in front of him and staring into his glass before he took another sip. ‘Now her knickers are welded on, but back in those days, she’d drop them for anyone who might help her climb the slippery pole to success. And legend has it, she climbed many slippery poles, dear! Anyway, poor old Max didn’t stand a chance. For years, he was a means to an end for her, though I doubt he ever saw it like that. And don’t forget they never had the children he really wanted – they would have held her back.’
‘Don’t be so mean. Maybe they just couldn’t.’ Christie couldn’t believe that anyone would be capable of sacrificing the most precious thing that could happen to them to the hard-nosed world of work.
‘Listen to you. Always Little Miss Loyalty.’ Frank looked amused as he poked at the fire. ‘And ever since, brilliant and successful agent she may be, but if Julia has any friends, she keeps them well hidden. That woman’s on one long power trip – and if you’re not careful, you’ll be on it with her!’
‘Stop it!’ Christie leaned across and smacked his arm. ‘I’m not anything like that bad.’
‘If you were, I wouldn’t be sitting here, love,’ Frank re assured her, dodging her hand. ‘But I’m serious about putting things right. These are the people who love you.’
‘And one who doesn’t!’ Christie reminded him.
‘Granted, that’s unfortunate. But don’t ditch the others because of him.’
They talked and drank on into the night, he gently persuasive, then increasingly impatient at Christie’s drunken reluctance to make the first move. ‘After all, I’m not the one who nicked my sister’s bloke from under her nose.’
Frank listened to everything she had to say, but eventually he glanced at his watch. ‘Time for bed, sweetheart. If you’re going to insist on being so bloody-minded, let’s sleep on it and see how it all looks in the morning.’ He got to his feet. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll slum it in your sister’s sheets . . .’
But sleep didn’t come easily to Christie that night. Every time she was about to drift off, her conversations with Libby, Maureen and, most often, Mel spun through her head, giving her ample opportunity to ratchet up her guilt by thinking of everything else she could have said or done that would have avoided confrontation. She was sure she’d only slept a couple of hours when the doorbell woke her: Sophie and her mother to take Libby to the Boxing Day sales. Libby was out of the house like a greyhound out of a trap, leaving her mother to nurse her thumping hangover.
‘Nothing like a brisk walk to blow away the cobwebs,’ pronounced Frank, after they’d shared something like a gallon of black coffee over breakfast and their heads were a little clearer. ‘Let’s go, before the snow comes.’ They dragged Fred away from his Wii, wrapped up and headed out.
The earth was frozen hard underfoot as they trudged along the bridle path, hands stuffed into pockets, hats pulled down over ears, noses and cheeks pink with cold. For as far as the eye could see, a winter wonderland stretched away from them: woods and ploughed fields powdered with snow, trees and hedges rimed with frost, patches of ice that cracked under their weight. To the south, the featureless grey sky was relieved by a hazy washed-out sun that was failing to break through. Fred dawdled behind them, poking sticks into frozen puddles.
‘You’re a bloody idiot, you know,’ said Frank, his breath visible in the air ahead of them. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about what Mel said. Is there any truth in it?’
‘Of course not,’ she objected. ‘I’m exactly the same person I ever was.’
‘Are you sure?’ He wedged himself through a kissing gate, swinging it back for Christie. ‘Think Julia.’
‘Positive.’
He looked at her sceptically as she zigzagged through, obviously suggesting she might think again.
‘Well, -ish,’ she qualified. They walked on for a while without speaking, both thinking about the ongoing conversation they’d been having ever since Frank arrived the night before, Fred still bringing up the rear.
As they walked, Christie had grudgingly to admit that, in the sober light of day, Frank was probably right. She should say sorry. Perhaps she had changed – but not all for the bad, she rapidly justified herself. The time was definitely right for her to emerge from the paralysis of her grief, and Mel had encouraged her. Everyone had. She just hadn’t foreseen all that her new job or, for that matter, being managed by Julia would involve. She’d had more to deal with than she’d anticipated, including the impact on her children, especially Libby. But that wasn’t an excuse to take it out on everyone else. Despite her unwillingness to admit she was in the wrong, someone had to take responsibility and square things. That much she knew.
‘OK. I give in.’ She broke the silence. ‘I’ll phone her. Though God knows what she’ll say.’
Frank slipped his arm through hers. ‘Right decision. At last. Can we go home now? I’m freezing my butt off out here.’
Christie laughed, letting him turn them round. ‘And I’ll take a long hard look at myself, provided you promise to keep me on the straight and narrow.’
‘Why do you think I came?’ He tightened his grip to stop her falling as her foot slid on a patch of ice while Fred ran ahead, delighted to be heading home at last.
*
After a scratch lunch of Christmas leftovers and baked potatoes, Frank left, confident he had done all he could for her. Christie kissed him goodbye, thanked him for being a true friend, and promised that as soon as she and Fred had tested the new metal detector in the garden, she would phone Mel.
An hour later, with freezing fingers and gutted at not having discovered a horde of Viking treasure, Fred climbed into his sleeping bag with a rebellious Smudge and returned to his Wii. With him torn between his game and coaxing the kitten back into the bag, Christie at last had the chance to make herself a strong coffee and head upstairs to call Mel undisturbed.
Her sister picked up immediately. Christie went in at full throttle, having decided not to give her a chance to get a word in edgeways. She didn’t want the argument to kick off again, making matters worse with their recriminations. ‘Before you say anything, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a complete cow. I needed you to point it out and I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. Not any of it. I feel dreadful. Can we kiss and make up? Please. As for Richard, I’m cool with you seeing him. Really. I was just being un believably selfish.’ She paused for breat
h, having meant every word.
To her astonishment, Mel started laughing – the one reaction she hadn’t expected. ‘Stop! Stop! I was going to phone you this evening when I thought you might have calmed down. I was just as bad. Jet lag and drink – killer combo. I only got up a couple of hours ago and feel awful about what I said.’
‘But it’s true,’ Christie insisted. ‘I have been horribly demanding and critical, wanting everything to go my way. I wasn’t thinking about you and Mum. I see that now, thanks to Frank, who’s talked yet more sense into me. I guess I was starting to believe my own publicity. Well, the good bits anyway.’
‘Well, maybe you were, a bit,’ Mel conceded, adding hastily, ‘but I don’t really blame you.’
‘Friends?’ Christie said anxiously.
‘Friends.’ There was no doubt in her sister’s voice. ‘Can I come over tomorrow instead?’
‘Of course.’ She felt the weight fly from her shoulders. She had been so scared that Mel would be much harder to pull round than this.
‘As for Richard . . .’
Christie froze, bracing herself for what was about to come.
‘I’m not having and I’m not about to have a fling with him. I like him a lot, but my heart’s set on Jean-Pierre, my St Lucian photographer. Not that I’d ever tell him. Not yet, anyway.’
‘You’re not?’ Had she misheard?
‘Absolutely not. Besides, if Richard likes anyone, it’s you.’
‘He does?’ Surely Mel was mistaken. ‘But how do you know? I . . . I never said anything.’
‘You didn’t need to, you idiot. But he’s terrified of you because you seem so in control.’
‘If only,’ she whispered.
‘Why do think he’s always showing up at your house or thinking of another reason for Fred to go over to theirs?’
‘Because two boys together are easier than one. He said so.’
‘“He said so,”’ Mel mimicked, frustrated by how dense her sister could be sometimes. ‘Chris, he likes you. Believe it. When I hinted about the money problems you’ve been having, he was so concerned for you.’
‘But what about when he wouldn’t kiss me?’
‘I don’t know about that, but he certainly ain’t interested in me. He’s a decent man and a good dad who’s had his problems. Has he ever talked to you about what’s happened to him since his time in Iraq? Sounds more than anyone could bear. Seeing your friends blown to pieces, finding a local family you’d become close to lying dead by the road. How do you recover from something like that?’
‘I didn’t even know he’d been to Iraq! He’s talked to you about it?’
‘A little. There’s nothing like a car journey or two to break the ice. You know me.’
Bloody hell! Mel would have made a better journalist than she was. Christie could imagine only too well how her sister’s curiosity wouldn’t have let Richard get away with the dismissive replies he’d given the couple of times she’d asked about his army days. With him captive in the car, Mel would have taken the opportunity to grill him about everything she could. Christie was shocked to hear what he had experienced. Like most people, she only had the vaguest idea of what an active soldier’s life involved. She saw the news, was momentarily affected by the announcement of another young serviceman’s death, but then she went back to her own life, to her own comparatively trivial concerns.
After they’d finished talking, she walked downstairs with some hope back in her step. As she reached the bottom, the front door opened and in walked Libby, armed with three shopping bags. Behind her, Christie saw Sophie waving from the car. Anxious to smooth her way back into Libby’s good books, she dashed out to ask Sophie and her mum in for a cup of tea, but they were hurrying home. By the time she was back inside, Libby had disappeared upstairs. She went into the kitchen to get out the Christmas cake and make some tea. A few minutes later, she heard a shout. ‘Mum!’
Surprised even to be spoken to, she went to the foot of the stairs and looked up to see Libby standing at the top wearing a floaty, sleeveless long black dress, low cut with three buttons down to the empire line. Round her neck glittered a necklace of silver rings and white beads. Gone was her Goth daughter, replaced by a coltish beauty who was quite unaware of how lovely she was.
‘What do you think?’ Libby sounded nervous, apparently having forgotten their last disagreement.
‘Wow! You look sensational.’ Her voice cracked as she caught a glimpse of the young woman Libby was becoming. She noticed that the marks on her arms had almost disappeared. If you didn’t know . . .
‘Really? Sophie’s mum said it was perfect for their New Year party.’
‘Yes, really.’ Christie took a step up towards her. This was the moment. If she’d apologised to Mel, she certainly should to Libby. ‘Libs, I’m sorry about last night.’ She saw her daughter stiffen. ‘Really sorry. I found one of Dad’s notes after you’d gone to bed. It must be the last one. It said, “The best bit about fighting is the making up.”’
Libby let go her grip on the banister and brushed the hair back from her face as she gazed down at her mother. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Tucked behind our favourite photo of him. The glass broke. He’s right, though, isn’t he?’
Libby inclined her head as she took in what Christie said. ‘I s’pose so. What about Auntie Mel, though? She ought to be here now, like she is every Christmas.’
‘I know. I’ve said I’m sorry to her too and she’s coming down tomorrow. She’ll love that dress.’ Libby gave a glimmer of a smile as she heard her mother out. ‘We didn’t really mean all the stuff we said, although I know she was right.’
‘Mmm. Whatever.’ Libby turned back to her room, not wanting to be involved in their row.
‘Love you, Libs. Daddy and I are so proud of you,’ Christie called after her. She knew that melting her daughter’s heart always took time, but the thaw had begun and she was prepared to wait.
Fred and she were in the middle of a game of Super Mario, shrieking at each other above the noise with every point lost and gained, when she heard a car pull up outside the house. To her annoyance, she lost a barrage of points as her concentration wavered. ‘Fred, pause the thing while I get the door, will you?’ She caught sight of her score plummeting as she stood up.
The bell rang as she walked down the hall. ‘Coming,’ she yelled, as she yanked open the door – and stopped dead. Standing in front of her, Richard was stamping his feet and rubbing his hands against the cold. She stared at him as he looked up, clearly apprehensive of the greeting he was about to receive.
‘Mel called me,’ he began uncertainly. ‘She said she thought it would be all right for me to collect Olly’s scarf and hat. We left them . . .’
‘I know. In your hurry to escape! Come in.’ She held the door open and he stepped past her into the warmth, saying he couldn’t stay long. ‘I’m so, so sorry you had to hear us arguing like a couple of crazed cats. We don’t do it often, but when we do . . .’
‘You really go for it. She said that too.’ They stood looking at each other, Christie all too aware that his opinion of her must be at rock bottom.
‘She did?’ She could almost hear her sister blurting out whatever came into her head and cringed. It wouldn’t be the first time. ‘And anything else?’
He hesitated then took a big breath as if steeling himself. ‘She said something about a massive misunderstanding, and that if I were to ask you for a drink, you might not say no?’
Christie gave a half-smile. ‘My sister is such a meddler. I might have known she’d phone you right away. She’s done something like this to me once before.’
‘Is that a no, then?’ He looked so deflated, but she couldn’t stop herself smiling.
‘No. It certainly is not.’ This, after all, was what she’d been waiting for, been longing for, even if she had needed Mel’s interference to achieve it. ‘I’d love to.’ She picked up Olly’s hat and scarf from the end of the banis
ter and passed them over. Christmas was definitely taking a turn for the better.
‘Then why don’t I bring Olly over tomorrow and we can all go to the pub?’
‘I’ve got an even better idea. Mel’s going to be here then, and since she’s all but set us up, I’m sure she won’t mind staying in with the kids for a couple of hours.’
Memories of their last kiss vanished as he lifted one hand to her face, the back of his fingers brushing her cheek before he cupped the side of her head. He leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm against hers. This time she abandoned herself to her feelings, knowing that this was what he wanted too. He held her close before they broke away from one another.
‘I’ve been longing to do that,’ he murmured. ‘That first time I wasn’t sure you were ready or that you even wanted me to kiss you back.’
‘Oh, I did,’ she whispered back. ‘And I definitely do now.’
Nick often came to her in her sleep. In the early days she had woken up shocked that the empty side of the bed next to her was not warm from his body. She often dreamed of him walking up the drive to the new house.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ she’d ask.
‘I always know where you are. I’ll never leave you,’ was his reply.
In the last few months he’d been appearing to her less frequently, and when he did, he was hard to reach. Something was holding him back, taking him from her. She could see him talking to her but she could no longer hear his words.
The night she kissed Richard, she did not dream of Nick.
Chapter 22
The arrivals hall of Terminal 2 was busy with February half-term travellers. Those newly arrived passengers who weren’t keeping an eye on their children stood focused on the conveyor-belt as the cases thudded down the ramp, one after another – but almost never theirs. Libby’s was one of the last off. Grabbing it, she hoisted it onto their trolley, almost knocking Fred over as he climbed aboard.
