Cold Feet at Christmas

by Debbie Johnson

  She wondered what Doug was doing; whether he was missing her, or whether he was with Becky. Whether he’d been working in the bistro that night, or given himself the time off. The year before they’d opened, had a very busy ball of a time with their regulars, but this year was supposed to have been different. They should both be sunning themselves in the Caribbean right now, but life had kind of snuck up on them. She resolved to call him the day after and wish him all the best. Life was too bloody short for bitterness, she knew.

  She shivered, realising that life would be even shorter if she stayed out here in sub-zero temperatures for much longer. She needed a coat at least; possibly a balaclava. The snowfall had been heavy since she’d arrived, but Chicago seemed so much better geared up for it than the UK. Nothing stopped. Roads were cleared by giant snow trucks; people carried on walking their dogs and going to work and drinking in bars. They just did it all wearing thermal undies and snow boots. And now here she was, typical Brit idiot, standing out in the dark and the cold at midnight, feeling her eyelashes freeze together like they’d been Superglued.

  She heard the doors slide open behind her, and the sound of a raucous countdown spilled out into the night: Nine. Eight. Seven…Just as quickly it was shut off as the door closed again, like someone had switched an overly-loud TV onto mute. Leah anticipated a request for a champagne top up or a decaff non-fat latte or some such, and fixed a large smile on her face. Nobody liked a moody waitress. Unless you were in Paris, of course, where it got you bigger tips.

  “You’re going to freeze out here, you British idiot,” he said, holding out a black coat and draping it over her shoulders. Rob. Of course.

  “Ha! Don’t call me that – even if I was just thinking it.” She replied; glad of the warmth of the cashmere on her skin, but not so sure about the company. After carrying out a successful avoidance manoeuvre all night, she was now trapped. Nowhere to go, unless she fancied taking a plunge off the balcony.

  He glanced at his watch, then looked up and pointed out over the city, like he was about to start conducting music. Exactly as he did it, the sky exploded into a riot of colour: purples, greens, golds, reds, all squealing and shimmering in a spectacular fireworks display. It was coming from pontoons set up on the water; from the shores of Lake Michigan; from the parks; from the tops of the tower blocks around them. From everywhere. Further away out in the suburbs, smaller displays erupted, showers of metallic glory falling over the city like shining confetti.

  Leah’s eyes widened in delight as the whole horizon was suddenly ablaze, swamped with glitter. Noise erupted from everywhere at once: claxons, hooters, car horns, bells, and singing. Shouting and yelling and cheering, from inside, from the streets below, even from the water, as boat parties celebrated the chiming of the hour. It was unbelievable. Leah had never seen anything quite like it, and felt a surge of emotion rush to the surface.

  “Happy New Year, Leah,” Rob said, leaning close to brush a chaste kiss against her cheek. A cheek that was suddenly wet with tears.

  “Are you crying?” he asked, running his fingers over her cheekbones to confirm it. Damn it, he thought, realising that there was every possibility that Marco had been right. He was behaving cruelly, and he had no excuse. This was exactly what he’d been worried about. His blood ran with poison, and now he’d spread it to Leah.

  “It’s okay,” she said, brushing his hand away. Leah was fighting the urge to grab it, to kiss it, to hold it so tight his fingers lost all circulation. But she didn’t. Because this was a New Year, and a New Her, and she would not allow herself to feel this way. “It’s not your fault, Rob. Ignore me, I’m just being a girl. It’s all so beautiful. And, well, I always get a bit weepy on big occasions. Happy New Year to you as well. What are you doing out here anyway?”

  Rob gazed at her warily, buying a few moments of time. He knew she was still upset, and every male instinct he had told him to grab this woman close to him, to shield her and protect her and stop those god-damned tears spilling out of her amber eyes. Eyes so large and so moist that he could see every dazzling firework explosion reflected in them. But he held back – he couldn’t play with her emotions like that; couldn’t blow hot and cold as and when he felt like it.

  “My spider senses started tingling,” he said, keeping his distance. “I knew that somewhere out here in the big city, Leah Harvey was starting to freeze and turn blue. And it seems to be my mission in life to save you from this crazed hypothermia-related death wish of yours.”

  In reality, he admitted to himself, it wasn’t so much spider senses as plain old eyesight. He’d been watching her all night, radar beeping whenever she was close, trying to ignore the attentions of a very determined Amanda He’d seen the look on Leah’s face as she snuck outside: a mix of sadness and loneliness he knew he was at least partially responsible for. He’d invited her here, into his world, his life, and now he couldn’t cope with it. It wasn’t her fault he got a hard-on whenever he saw her, that he was too screwed up to feel a wave of pleasure without being drowned in guilt. She just didn’t understand.

  Leah pulled the coat tight around her shoulders. It smelled of his aftershave, and it moved her immediately. She was trying hard not to bury her face in the collar and sniff like a bloodhound. Instead, she smiled up at him and said: “I know. I must have been a penguin in a previous life. Anyway, thanks for the coat. I haven’t been able to feel my nose for the last five minutes and I’d look really weird if it dropped off. Better get back inside.”

  She started to walk by him, back towards the doors. He reached out, grabbed her arm to stop her. He might not be able to give her a relationship, he thought, but he could at least give her an explanation.

  “Leah, wait a minute…I wanted to apologise. For earlier. I was rude, and I know I hurt your feelings.”

  “No! Don’t be silly. It’s all fine. Anyway – that’s last year’s news!”

  She tried to shake her arm free; he kept hold. If he let her, she’d bolt for the door like a rabbit, he knew. Leah looked down at his hand wrapped around her elbow, but stopped struggling, staring up at him with eyebrows raised.

  “It’s not fine,” he said, feeling a whisper of exasperation at her constant attempts to appear lighthearted when she was obviously in pain. Whether it was his fault, or her ex-fiancé’s, or the death of her parents, he didn’t know. But she was hurting, and pretending very hard not to be.

  She shook her head, fine tendrils of blonde hair haloing around her face. “It is fine, and apologies are really not necessary. I was way too busy ogling you with your top off to get my feelings hurt, anyway. I barely heard a word you said.”

  She smiled up at him – a big, gorgeous…completely phony smile – and tried to pull away from him once more, making for the door. For escape.

  “Leah, stop that!” he said, louder than he intended. He tugged her even closer towards him, snapping his arms around her waist so she was pressed tight into his body, face thudding lightly into his chest. He saw a flicker of fear in her shining eyes, and cursed himself for liking it. Way to go, Rob – congratulations, you’re stronger than a five foot tall woman.

  Leah shoved her hands hard against his chest, buying back a few inches of space. She was angry now, and he really couldn’t blame her. He’d been slapped for less than this before, and anticipated the stinging tingle of fingers making contact with his cheek.

  It didn’t happen. She just went very still, and stared up at him, eyes popping with fury.

  “What?” she snapped back. “Stop what? What exactly is it I do to upset you so much, Rob? Exist? Shall I take a dive off the balcony just to make your life more peaceful? Go back to England? Join a convent? What is it you want me to stop doing?”

  He drew a deep breath, felt the icy air rasp painfully into his lungs. Heard the continued chorus of Auld Lang Syne floating discordantly from inside the building. Looked down at Leah’s face, so close to his. Eyes blazing, hair golden, body warm and soft against him. All he had to
do was lean down and lay his lips over hers, and maybe he could change everything. Like a charming prince in a fairy tale. Except this was the real world, his world. And happy ever after was a big fat lie.

  “Stop trying to defuse me,” he said finally, clenching his fists into tight balls so he wouldn’t reach out and stroke her face “Stop trying to keep the mood light. Stop trying to excuse my appalling behaviour. Stop trying to cheer me up. Stop ignoring your own feelings when I can see them there, in your eyes. You made me happy at Christmas, Leah, for the first time in years. You distracted me, and laughed with me, and made love with me. And damn, it felt good. But I don’t deserve to feel good, Leah. Not then, not now, not ever.”

  There was a pause. He saw her drinking in his words, felt them quell her own anger like running water on flame. Prepared himself for the question he knew would come next.

  “Why?” she asked quietly, her voice a bare whisper above the sounds of the city’s celebration. He saw, rather than felt, the gentle play of her cold fingertips along his jaw; the sweet warm cloud of her breath hanging in the chill air between their faces. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to have her touch him. To have anyone touch him, really touch him, ever again.

  “Why don’t you deserve to feel good, Rob? Tell me why.”

  He pulled her hand roughly away from his face, forcing it back down to her side and holding it there. She needed to stay away from him. He was toxic, and always would be.

  “Because Christmas is when I killed them, Leah. When I killed my wife, and our baby.”

  Chapter 12

  As soon as the words were out, forced from between gritted teeth, Rob shoved her away, leaving the coat behind and storming back into the building. Leah stood still, so shocked she couldn’t even go after him. The pain in those words; etched on to his face, had been so intense. The kind of pain that had eaten deep into his soul, changing the very essence of who he was. Of who he could ever be. She had no idea what had happened to his wife and his baby, but she knew without a shadow of doubt that guilt had replaced everything else in his heart: all love, all happiness, all hope.

  She understood that kind of guilt. She’d lived with it herself for years, since her parents’ death. Survivor’s guilt, her therapist had called it. But what the therapist had never understood was that it was more than just guilt at surviving – it was because of her they were even in that hotel in the first place. She’d practically kicked them out of the house so she could have a ‘grown up’ 18th birthday party with friends from catering college, and the boy she’d been seeing for a few months, David. She liked him, and she was sick of being a virgin – so that, she’d decided, was the night. She had the condoms. She’d read the Cosmo sex survey. She was going to become a woman. And for that, she needed her parents very much out of the house.

  They’d agreed, of course. They’d trusted her, loved her. Gone away to the coast for the night to give her the freedom she craved. And they never came back.

  So yeah, she understood guilt. The kind of guilt that twisted you around inside until you were someone completely new. And until recently, she’d have said she lived with it as well as she could, building a decent life for herself despite being orphaned at eighteen. But now she knew differently. Now she recognised the lies she’d told herself. She’d moved from one set of parents to Doug, who was older, wiser, more settled. Was it any surprise at all that it hadn’t worked out?

  They were like a pair of cripples, her and Rob. Staggering through their lives, bowed down by invisible burdens. Maybe they could help each other. If only he’d let her try.

  She screwed the coat tighter around her, feeling tears work their icy way down her cheeks, pooling in her collarbone. She cast up a quick prayer for help: for her, for Rob, for all the broken people out there in the world hoping this New Year would bring them something better than the last.

  The door opened again, and her face snapped up, heart thudding as she imagined he’d returned. If he had, she’d react better; she wouldn’t stand there gaping like a hungry koi carp, she’d grab him and hold him and refuse to be pushed aside. Make him talk to her whether he wanted to or not.

  But it wasn’t him. It was Marco, eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the dark. She knew he’d been drinking all night, but he seemed suddenly sober, alert. Strong and concerned. It was a shame it was the wrong man.

  “Leah,” he said, his face set and serious. “What’s wrong with Rob? He came through a minute ago looking like death, and stormed off to his apartment. And now…You look the same. Did something happen with you two?”

  “Oh Marco, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do! He told me – told me that he’d killed his wife and baby. That’s not true, is it, Marco? Rob could never hurt someone like that. I know he couldn’t. Tell me it’s not true.”

  Marco let out the world’s biggest sigh as he closed the doors behind him. She could see his shoulders slump, like someone had let all the air out of him. Funny how one man’s guilt, one man’s pain, always had a way of spreading. Marco loved his brother, and she could see in the lines of his body, the frown on his face, that he tried to carry some of his burden.

  “Of course not. He didn’t kill anyone, it was a terrible accident. But they died anyway, and he’s convinced it’s his fault. He’s always blamed himself, and I don’t know if that will ever change. When I met you, Leah, I saw the way he looked at you. I hoped, I really did. It was the first time I’d seen him happy since it happened. I know my Mom thought the same – that at last, someone had come along who could shake him out of it. But I was wrong. He’ll never change. Maybe…maybe he can’t change.”

  “How? How did they die?” Leah asked, screwing her eyes up tight to stop the flow of tears. Tears that were flowing for Rob, for herself, for his poor wife and baby, lost forever.

  “That’s his story to tell, Leah,” said Marco, an answering gleam of sadness in his own eyes. “He’s already told you more than most, but the rest of it? That’s up to him.”

  She nodded, accepted his decision. He was right. If Rob ever wanted to open up, she’d be there for him – but it had to be his choice. She could offer her support, but she couldn’t force him to take it.

  “Should I go and find him?” she asked. “Will it help if I try and talk to him? Or just be with him, even if he stays silent all night? It kills me to think of him up there on his own, at New Year, feeling like this. Is there anything I can do to help him?”

  Marco gazed out at the city below them, thinking carefully about his reply before he spoke.

  “Honestly, Leah? Right now, no, I don’t think there is. I know how you feel, it’s the world we’ve lived in for years now, me and Mom. Seeing his pain, but not being able to take any of it away. He won’t let us. Won’t let anyone stop him punishing himself like this. So no, sweetheart, leave him be, for now at least. He’ll drink a bottle of JD, pass out comatose, and wake up tomorrow feeling like a bear with a sore head. Take it from someone who’s tried, when he reaches this stage, there’s no pulling him back from the abyss. He just jumps right in. It’s where he wants to be. Where he needs to be.”

  Marco looked at her, this tiny, blonde munchkin of a woman, and knew she was feeling a world of pain on his twin’s behalf. He knew she’d probably chop off her right hand if it would make Rob feel better. He knew that maybe, just maybe, his screw-up of a brother Rob was right about one thing – she deserved better.

  “Come on inside,” he said, placing a comforting arm around her shoulder. “We’ve been here before. Many times. He’ll survive until the morning, he always does. And my mother has about a thousand potential business contacts to introduce you to…”

  ***

  Leah was summoned to brunch with the family the next day. After what felt like thirty seconds of sleep, she was only glad she didn’t have to cook it as well. She was drained on every level, and didn’t even feel capable of opening a box of Cornflakes. There were dark circles under her eyes that even Touché Éclat wasn’t t
ouche-ing, and every step she took felt like she was dragging Ugg boots through sand. It wasn’t only the emotional over-drive, it was the sleep deprivation.

  She’d been up until about four in the morning helping with the clear up, trying to keep her mind off the real problem. When she’d finally collapsed into bed, she’d lain awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying that scene on the balcony over and over in her mind. Wondering if she could have done anything differently, anything better. Anything to keep Rob from jumping head first into that abyss of his.

  The end result of her anguished night stared back at her from the bathroom mirror: Bride of Frankenstein, on a bad hair day.

  In comparison, Mrs Cavelli was sitting erect at the dining table, make-up perfect, not a white-grey hair out of place. Marco was slouched next to her, more rumpled, spreading jam onto a croissant. He gave Leah a wink as she sat down, and she managed a weak smile in return. Rob was opposite her, eyes red-rimmed and sore, stubble turning into something more serious, hair sticking out at finger-in-socket angles. There was a copy of the Wall Street Journal spread out on the table in front of him, which he was studying intently. No food, just a drained glass of orange juice. Looked like Marco’s predictions had been bang on. The bear did indeed have a sore head, and he looked even crappier than her.

  Rob didn’t so much as acknowledge her arrival into the room, and Leah felt the stirrings of an urge to poke the bear with a big stick. Welcome to the New Year, she thought, Rob Cavelli style. From life-changing revelations on the strike of midnight to being ignored over Danish pastries, all in a matter of hours.