The fastenings were stiff with age and rust but after a bit of coaxing they came apart, one by one, with a faint ping. Esme slid the back off the frame to reveal the blank side of the photo and…
She frowned. Something else was lodged in there, slotted in behind the photo, out of sight. Esme pulled two rectangles of card out and peered at them. Plane tickets – old, by the looks of things. For a start, nobody even got plane tickets now – it was all electronic on your phone or print-at-home boarding passes. The tickets were in Grandma and Granddad’s names. Esme’s breath caught in her throat as she read the destination and the dates of travel. Heathrow to Helsinki, Helsinki to Rovaniemi, December 2008 – they were due to travel two months after Granddad had died.
The frame fell to the dressing table with a clatter and Esme lifted the tickets to her face, staring at them as if somehow the words printed on there might change if she looked hard enough. She reached into her memory. Wasn’t Rovaniemi the place in Lapland Grandma had planned to take her? She could only draw one conclusion from her find – Granddad had planned to take Grandma to see the Northern Lights after all, to exactly the same place as Grandma had planned to take Esme. Had she known about it? Or had Granddad hidden the tickets behind the photo so she wouldn’t find them and spoil the surprise? If Matilda had known then she’d never said, and clearly they never got to go because her husband had died in October of that year and she would never have gone without him. At least, not back then when the loss would have been sharp and raw. But if she didn’t know, then it was one hell of a coincidence that Grandma had booked that same town for them to visit.
Esme shook her head. Silly – it was probably the most popular Lapland resort and the travel agent had probably just recommended it when Grandma asked. After all, it was the home of Santa Claus, and of course the travel agent would recommend it for a Christmas trip. Grandma would have gone in with a list of things they wanted to see and do and this place would have fitted the bill perfectly.
Esme took the tickets over to the bed and sat down, all thoughts of packing and old photos forgotten. What did it mean that they had shown themselves now, after all these years, at this precise moment? And despite trying to dismiss it, it was strange that the destination he’d chosen was exactly the same as the one Grandma had booked for her and Esme. Did it have to mean anything at all or was it just a coincidence?
Her gaze was slack as a thousand scenarios ran through her head, and then she twitched, as if shaken from a trance, and got to her feet. Taking the photo and the tickets, she went over to her suitcase and tucked them into the front pocket to keep them safe.
Seven
Warren stood at the barriers to the train platform. In his arms he cradled a huge bouquet of cream and pink roses – they looked as if they’d cost a week’s salary. He was as handsome as always – his ice-blue eyes stark against his tanned skin, teeth an expensive Hollywood white and a carefully put together outfit to maximise the whole effect. He’d always looked like a man who was going somewhere in life, and Esme had never stopped wondering what he saw in her. She’d always considered herself passably attractive and reasonably slim but no great beauty, with mousey, poker-straight hair that needed product to give it any kind of style more often than not. But he saw something and that was enough.
Even as Esme made her way over, suitcase wheels grinding across the pitted tarmac, she could see other women doing double takes in his direction, gazes unable to leave his perfectly chiselled features. His good looks attracted so much attention all the time that it was hardly surprising he’d found it hard to resist the temptation that had led him astray. But now he was promising to commit to Esme and it was her duty to be the best girlfriend she could be to make him so happy that he wouldn’t be tempted to stray at all. Compromise, she kept telling herself – that was the secret. How hard could it be?
‘Hi,’ she said at the barriers, suddenly shy and awkward. It had been more of a jolt than she’d anticipated, seeing him again after so many difficult months apart.
He thrust the flowers at her. Esme took them with a grateful smile as he looked at her suitcase. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’
‘For now.’
‘Right.’ He leaned forward to kiss her.
‘What’s the matter?’ Esme asked. Despite what the grand floral gesture would suggest, his kiss had been chaste and cold and not what she’d been expecting at all. Where was the passion, the lust, the thrill at being together again? Wasn’t this what he’d wanted? Hadn’t he been the one begging her to come home?
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Let’s get a cab – the queue will be a mile long when this train empties.’
Esme began to follow, the suitcase catching on divots in the worn concrete of the platform and the flowers weighing down her other arm. ‘Are you sure? Because it feels like something is wrong.’
‘Of course there isn’t.’
‘You’ve changed your mind? About me coming back? Things have changed with you and Shelly?’
‘No,’ he called, still striding ahead and not looking back. ‘Don’t be soft.’
‘Warren… please!’
He turned now and they halted in the middle of the station concourse where a huge Victorian clock hung directly above them. Across the far side stood a fast-food stall, a vast queue snaking along the counter, and she tried to ignore the divine smell.
‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Esme smiled. She stopped and stood the suitcase up, putting a hand to her shoulder-length bob. ‘Is that all?’
‘You know I like it long.’
‘Well, yes, but I fancied a change.’
‘But I like it long.’
‘Right. It will grow back in no time though. It grows really quickly, my hair…’
‘Hmmm.’ He turned and began to walk again and Esme followed. ‘Shelly’s got a mate who does extensions on the cheap.’
Esme frowned. ‘You want to ask Shelly’s mate to do my hair?’
‘No, I want you to ask her. Obviously I can’t ask her – that would be ridiculous.’
‘Oh…’ Esme panted, the suitcase getting heavier and more cumbersome by the minute as she concentrated on dodging the legs of a station full of commuters and balancing the bouquet. Who knew that flowers could be so heavy? ‘But it’s much easier to manage like this.’
‘I expect it is. But anything worth having takes some effort, doesn’t it?’
‘Right. I suppose so,’ Esme said, recalling that her own thoughts last night had led her to a similar conclusion when she’d questioned her decision to come back to London.
Outside the station he strode to the nearest cab waiting at the rank and knocked on the window. The driver got out and rushed to help Esme with her suitcase while Warren climbed into the car. With a brief thanks, Esme got in next to him and gave the cabbie the address. She laid the bouquet on the seat next to her, the cab filling with their scent.
‘I’ve reinstated your gym membership for you,’ Warren said.
‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘I thought you could go Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Maybe Sunday mornings if you make an effort to get up early enough.’
‘What about you?’ Esme said, arching an eyebrow.
‘I don’t expect I’ll have to go as often as you – I’ve kept my weight off, see? Still, I suppose if you need extra motivation I could come with you. Maybe hit the sauna or something while you’re on the bike.’
The streets of London began to flash past – vibrant, noisy, chaotic, unpredictable – all the things her home in the Peaks was not. While she’d enjoyed living here before, now the excitement of being back was tempered by a sudden longing for what she’d left behind. To open the curtains to a quiet street overlooked by the majestic crags of the hills beyond, to go for hours without seeing a car pass, to look into the sky and see kestrels and sparrow hawks circling the fells, to receive a smile and a greeting from every resident you passed as you made the journey to the tiny sh
op in the village – it was funny how quickly Esme had got used to all that and how completely she’d calibrated to life at that pace. She gave herself a mental shake. Last night she was craving London and now she was craving Little Dove Morton. These days it felt as if she didn’t have a clue who she was or what she wanted. It was no wonder people lost their patience with her.
‘I’m surprised you kept the flat on,’ she said, her thoughts turning back to their destination – her new-old home.
He gave a wry smile. ‘I had a feeling you might be back. You and me, babe, we’re meant to be. The sooner you understand it the sooner we can get on with our lives together.’
‘You really want a life together then?’
‘Would I be here if I didn’t?’
Esme smiled, comforted by the thought, though still vaguely troubled without understanding why. ‘It must have been a struggle to afford two rents.’
‘Shelly’s paying half the rent on the place I had with her. It’s the least she can do now she’s living there on her own – I’m not going to carry on paying for a place that’s not mine, am I?’
‘But you were living with her? While I was away?’
‘Oh, yeah, but as soon as you said you were coming back I got the tenants out of our place and I’m back in there now.’
‘Tenants?’
‘I sublet it. Had to. Where else was I going to get the money to keep it going? Some Eastern European nurses or something. A bit fit, honestly, but couldn’t understand a word they said.’
‘So they’ve left?’
‘Yeah.’
Esme was thoughtful for a moment. While she was happy to have the flat to go to, she was troubled by the idea that these women had been asked to move out at a moment’s notice. ‘Where did they go?’
He shrugged.
‘Were they upset?’
‘About what?’
‘About the idea that they had to leave? They must have been nicely settled in after all.’
‘People who rent round here expect to be thrown out at a moment’s notice – it’s how it works. I expect they’ve got sorted quick enough. I gave them their deposit back so they have something to put down on a new place.’
‘It’s not that easy to find a new place.’
‘They can go to the agency – loads on the books there.’
‘Not always suitable—’
‘What is this?’ Warren asked, his expression darkening. ‘You want me to go and find them or something? Move them in with us? I’m not a bleeding charity. Life’s life and business is business – it’s my flat and I want it back. You want to be the one out searching for a place to live?’
‘No,’ Esme said, ‘it’s just…’
‘Drop it, alright? I did it for you, babe, so you’d have a place when you came home. Everything I do is for you. I thought you’d be glad.’
Esme looked out of the window. If Warren had thrown out these poor women for her, it wasn’t a gift she would have asked for. If he’d told her the situation in the first place she would have worked something else out. But, looking at his face now, perhaps it wasn’t wise to push the argument.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I am.’
‘I thought we’d go to The Duke tonight,’ he said, his expression lightening again. ‘Have a few jars, see who’s out.’
She turned to him with a vague smile. ‘Sounds great.’
‘Have you brought some decent clothes with you? You might need to go shopping for something before we go out.’
Esme looked at her watch, mentally running through the items she knew were in her suitcase. Maybe she’d have time to run to Oxford Street…
‘About Shelly…’ she began.
‘That’s all in hand – I told you.’
‘And you’re really going through with it? You’re really going to divorce her?’
Warren glanced at the back of the driver’s head. Between them and him was a thick layer of glass and it was unlikely he’d hear much, if any, of their conversation. Besides, he had his radio on, singing along to something that Esme didn’t recognise.
‘Do you really think this is the time to discuss it?’ Warren asked.
‘I don’t know. I was just asking. Wondering. About what it might mean for us. I mean… do you still want to marry me?’
‘You know I do. I wouldn’t have asked before if I didn’t.’
‘Good.’ Esme settled back in her seat. ‘That’s good.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that actually,’ Warren said. ‘If you sell your half of that house up north it would pay for the wedding and a decent deposit on a place down here for us.’
‘But my mum and dad would have to agree to the sale and I don’t think—’
‘But you could ask them, right? You could talk them round. After all, what good’s half a house for anyone apart from the money tied up in it?’
‘Well, yes, but I wondered if…’
Esme’s reply died on her lips. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to air her hopes that she and Warren might live in her grandma’s house as a couple. She’d only just arrived back in London and they needed to get comfortable with each other again before she asked him to make big decisions like that. She’d need to plan the moment better, talk to him properly, introduce the idea slowly, make him think he had a stake in it…
‘What?’ he asked.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’ve booked the day off work.’
‘I know. It’s good that we don’t need to rush about for anything. I mean I had wondered if you still might want to get to the office but—’
The conversation was cut short by the swift motion of Warren’s hand diving beneath Esme’s skirt. She gasped as his fingers dug for her most intimate places, blood rushing to her face with shame and arousal in equal measure. His breath was hot next to her ear. ‘Want to know what we’ll be doing this afternoon?’
‘Warren… the driver…’
‘He’s seen worse than this on a Saturday night.’
‘But…’
‘Haven’t you missed me?’
‘You know I have.’ Esme clawed at his wrist but his fingers only dug in further.
‘I bet you’ve missed this more,’ he said. ‘I bet you’re practically dried up.’
‘Warren, please!’
‘You’re not? Don’t tell me you’ve been shagging someone else while you’ve been up north?’
There was danger in his expression again. Esme recognised the look and she knew it needed swift action to pull him from that place.
‘Of course not!’ She reached to kiss him, trying to ignore the pain his fingers were now causing her. ‘It’s only ever been you.’
It did the trick. With a lazy grin he pulled his hand away and relief flooded through her.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of unpacking when we get back to the flat,’ he said, looking to the windows again, ‘because we’ve got things to do first.’
* * *
Warren was in the bathroom taking a shower as Esme sat on the edge of the bed doing up her blouse. They’d been back for three hours but she hadn’t yet had the chance to eat or drink and although she’d promised herself she’d manage until they went out later, after months of eating well with her grandma she wasn’t used to going for such long periods without. She was light-headed now and her mouth was dry.
‘I’m going to get a cup of tea,’ she shouted through the bathroom door. ‘Do you want one?’
Getting no reply, she called again, but getting none a second time decided that if Warren wanted one when he came out she’d just make another. But then her attention was drawn to his mobile, lying on the bedside cabinet. Without another thought, she reached for it. It was password protected, and she was relieved to see that he hadn’t changed his password since she’d left. Not that he’d imagine he’d need to, she supposed – even when she’d lived with him before she was always too reverent and respectful to nosy at his phone, even when she wanted to. Per
haps it would have saved a lot of heartache a lot sooner if she’d ignored the instinct for politeness and the respect of boundaries that was entrenched in her. She certainly would have found out about Shelly a lot sooner. She scrolled through his text messages. It was strange, but while she expected to see lots of text messages from Shelly, back and forth about their relationship and their future, there was nothing. She couldn’t even find an old thread for them about anything at all. What did that mean? Had Warren deleted all the old messages for some reason? Or did it mean there really hadn’t been any?
She flicked onto the contacts and noticed Shelly’s number. In a second she’d made the decision to note the number down, though she didn’t even know why. She only felt compelled to do it, just in case she might need it one day. Pulling her own phone from the bag she’d dropped by the bed, she quickly tapped the number in, though she saved the contact as unknown. If Warren looked, hopefully he wouldn’t know whose number it was and as it was the only unknown contact on her phone, she’d have no trouble remembering who it belonged to. Then she opened his photos and scrolled through. She’d expected to see lots of photos of herself but there weren’t any. Neither were there any of Shelly. It was disappointing not to be able to see what she looked like, and she had to admit that it was a little odd. They’d had photos taken together before and she had to assume that he’d done so with Shelly. So where were they all? Had he deleted them to cover his tracks when he’d been trying to juggle both women?
The Christmas Wish: A heartwarming Christmas romance Page 6
