Taking care to put the phone back in exactly the place he’d left it, she glanced up to see that the bathroom door was still closed and she could still hear the sounds of the shower running. So she made her way along the narrow hallway to the kitchen to get her drink. The tiny window, hardly more than a skylight really, that looked out onto the grey mass of the opposite apartment block only served to remind her of her grandma’s house. She hadn’t remembered the kitchen here being quite so dull and cramped before, but she’d got used to Matilda’s airy, welcoming space, with its scrubbed wooden table and antique furniture and buttermilk paint on the walls. She switched the kettle on and wondered if Warren would let her paint this kitchen yellow. That was assuming they stayed put once they were married, of course, but she felt sure that once she explained the benefits of relocating to Derbyshire, how they’d be able to afford a whole house rather than a flat that was more like a coffin, how they’d have money to spare with no rent and how he’d be able to settle things financially with Shelly so he wouldn’t have to keep up payments on her flat any more, he’d see things as Esme did and he might be willing to give it a go. After all, paying rent on two places in London for all these years must have been crippling him – it was no wonder he got moody from time to time trying to juggle all that.
As the kettle bubbled away her gaze fell on her suitcase, lying in the hall just beyond the kitchen doorway. Another thing that would need sorting – she just hoped that when she emptied it later there’d be something in there that Warren didn’t mind her wearing to the pub because she was running out of time to go shopping now, they’d spent so long in bed. Absently, her fingers pressed against the bruises blooming on her thighs. Warren had been… enthusiastic. He’d missed her, he’d said, and he showed her just how much he’d missed her. They’d always had an energetic sex life, but this had been off the scale and she wasn’t used to it. She wasn’t even sure she’d enjoyed it like she’d thought she would. Still, Esme was certain things would calm down once she’d been home for a few weeks.
She trudged to the cupboard to reach for a mug. It was funny how quickly everything here became her normal again. She’d been gone since the autumn but she’d fallen back into her old life in a matter of hours. Once she got a job it would be like the time with her grandma had never happened. Except it had, and the memory of it now rushed at her. Hastily, she dragged a thumb beneath watery eyes and dropped a teabag into the mug before dousing it in boiling water. If she asked, perhaps Warren would agree to stay in tonight after all. The pub was fun and Warren was always in a good mood after a few drinks but exhaustion – both physical and emotional – was creeping over Esme, the sort of exhaustion that threatened to knock someone off their feet. She wanted to drink her tea and then she wanted to sleep, maybe grab a quick supper and sleep some more. Warren was sure to understand that she’d had a long and difficult day and they could go to the pub tomorrow night when she was settled in.
With tea in hand, she went to the living room to sit down. But she paused on the way through, rooting in the pocket of her suitcase and taking out her granddad’s tickets for the trip to Lapland that had never happened, and her own – as yet unused and uncancelled – tickets and took them with her. She curled into the corner of an armchair as she mulled them over. Perhaps Warren would want to go with her, and that idea brightened her mood. She’d show him – they could have the most wonderful time that would get them in the mood for Christmas – romantic and fun, a real holiday to remember – and it would go some way to mending all that had gone wrong between them. And it was already paid for too – how could he possibly say no?
Esme set the tickets down on the coffee table with a small smile. She’d ask Warren, and if she managed to catch him in the right mood, he was sure to agree.
Eight
Perhaps it was because he hadn’t drunk enough, or because he hadn’t liked Esme’s outfit – which he said made her look manly when teamed with her shorter hair – or because he’d run into Shelly’s sister at the bar and they’d had to vacate The Duke to a pub he liked less, or simply because the wind was blowing from the east. Whatever the reason, the answer he gave was an emphatic no.
‘But I have the tickets,’ Esme reasoned, and to her it was a reasonable argument. ‘They’re paid for and it’d be crazy not to use them! We need a break away – it’d be good for us, give us time to get to know each other again as a couple.’
‘They’re not tickets bought for you and me.’ Warren downed the last of his fifth pint. ‘They’re tickets bought to reward you for leaving me. Tickets to congratulate you on cutting me out of your life. Why would I want to use them? They’re not even in our names.’
‘I’d have to change Grandma’s but I could do that easily enough – it wouldn’t cost much.’
‘But it would cost something – money better spent elsewhere. And it’s expensive when you get there. Shelly’s brother went with the kids – had to take out a bank loan. Said one beer there cost the price of five beers here. Why don’t you get the money back and we’ll use it on something we both want to do?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Just not freezing my bollocks off in the Arctic and paying over the odds for a pint.’
‘It’s too late to get the money back.’
‘You should have tried sooner then. Won’t they refund when they find out the old girl’s dead? I thought they’d have to.’
Esme gazed across the pub, watching as the door opened and a couple walked in, hand in hand, heads bowed close together in shared laughter, shaking a light dusting of snow from their coats. The weather forecast had said it might snow that day but nobody had really expected it to. As the door closed shut again, a gust of icy wind roared through the stifling pub, freshening the air but lifting the gnarled old tinsel taped to the bar so it scraped and hissed as it settled again. The couple headed straight for the bar, almost dancing a salsa as they pushed through the crowd, laughing and kissing.
‘Babe, if you really want to go away this Christmas I’ll ask Gary for his caravan at Clacton. He’ll let us have it for a hundred quid and we can get stocked up with cans and have our own private lock-in. And when we’ve had enough of drinking,’ he added in a silky whisper, ‘we won’t have to walk very far for bed, will we…?’
‘What?’ Esme turned to him. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I know the stove won’t be very good but I reckon there’ll be a pub nearby to get Christmas dinner.’
‘Where?’
‘At Gary’s place. What are you looking at?’
Esme shook herself. ‘Nothing. Where’s Gary’s place? I thought he lived in Shoreditch?’
‘His caravan, not his flat! In Clacton!’
Esme’s gaze went to her drink.
‘What’s wrong with Clacton? Not posh enough for you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’d just wanted to go to Lapland, that’s all. Clacton’s hardly the same.’
‘But I thought it was the holiday you were bothered about. You said you wanted us to have a good time somewhere away from the flat.’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘So Clacton’s away from the flat. It’s got the sea and decent pubs and some shops and it’s a lot cheaper than sodding Christmas land.’
‘I know. But I have Grandma’s tickets.’
‘I told you, get the money back. We could do some right damage in Clacton with it – live like kings for a couple of days.’
‘It isn’t as simple as that. It doesn’t feel right. Can’t you understand – this is kind of like the last thing she ever did for me? It’d be like throwing her Christmas gift back in her face.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I know it probably sounds over-sentimental.’
‘A bit.’
‘And it’s not that I don’t want to go to Clacton. In the summer it’d be fantastic to use Gary’s caravan.’
‘It’s got
central heating and double glazing.’ He took a gulp from his pint. ‘It’s proper nice. It’d be warm enough even in the winter.’
‘I know it would.’
‘What’s the face for then?’
‘It’s not a face.’ Esme held back a sigh. How could she make Warren see what this trip meant to her? He’d never known her grandma and he’d never had the kind of relationship with her family that meant he had any charitable feelings towards any of them at all (and the feeling was mutual, she supposed, so perhaps it was no surprise). All of this meant it was hard for her to make him see how important the trip was. And when all was said and done, she really wanted to go. She might never get the opportunity to visit Lapland again and while she had this one, she wanted to seize it.
‘Don’t get moody on me,’ Warren said. ‘Your gran hated me so why am I going to pretend to be upset?’
Esme turned back to him. ‘She never met you so how could she hate you?’
‘All your family hate me – they’ve made that clear enough. If she’s anything like the rest of them then she would have talked to me like I’d just puked on them. Makes me wonder what you tell them about me when I’m not there.’
‘Nothing. I don’t tell them anything.’
Warren looked at his watch. ‘Time for one more if we’re quick about it. In fact’ – he handed Esme a twenty-pound note – ‘get two for each of us so they can’t chuck us out till we’re done.’
Esme took the money and made her way to the bar – jostled and shoved and assaulted by beery laughter as she went – and her mind went back to fruit cake and quiz shows in her grandma’s sitting room and if she’d been a less practical person she’d have wished for a time machine so she could be back there now.
‘Sorry!’
She turned to see who’d almost knocked her flying, a reciprocal and totally unnecessary apology on her own lips, and found herself face-to-face with a man in his twenties. His soft grey eyes smiled at her – a little dopey, probably from whatever he’d been drinking – and his sandy hair was in some disarray. Still, he was good-looking and he had a happy face. Esme couldn’t help but smile back.
‘It’s alright.’
‘I mean, really, I am so sorry. Are you OK?’
‘Oh, fine. No harm done.’
‘Although…’ He broke into an endearing grin. ‘Wow. If my mate shoves me into beautiful women every time he falls over then I’m going to have to get him drunk more often.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Esme let out a little laugh, but even then her gaze flicked back to where she’d left Warren. She couldn’t see him but…
‘So, can I have your phone number now or do I have to fall for you all over again?’
‘Oh… no… I…’
Then she heard Warren’s voice behind her and she froze. Please don’t hit him; please don’t make a scene…
‘Back off,’ Warren said, and Esme turned to see him square his shoulders and puff out his chest. ‘Unless you want to step outside.’
The man raised his arms in an immediate gesture of surrender. ‘Mate – how was I supposed to know? No hard feelings, eh?’
Warren grunted, dragging Esme away with him.
‘I didn’t do anything, Warren, honest.’
‘Weren’t exactly fighting him off, were you?’
‘But… he just bumped into me, that’s all.’
‘The oldest trick in the book. Next time a bloke bumps into you, walk away.’
Esme gave a weak nod. If he’d been reluctant to say yes to Lapland before, there was no way he was going to now.
* * *
The week had passed in a blur. While Esme couldn’t say she was happy, she was at least beginning to settle. It was easy to slip back into old routines with Warren – easier than she’d ever imagined. She went to the gym on the three days they’d agreed, and she shopped and cleaned through the flat because the tenants Warren had been subletting the apartment to while she’d been in Derbyshire hadn’t been the cleanest of people, and she made regular calls to her parents which always ended up with one of them hanging up as she tried, yet again, to defend the man she’d decided to spend her life with. But at least they weren’t hanging up as soon as they discovered it was her on the other end of the line, so she considered that progress. She had yet to find a job, and although London was awash with coffee shops and bars and restaurants it wasn’t proving to be as simple as she’d imagined to get employment at one of them. The place she’d worked at before she’d headed back to the Peaks had seemed the most promising – at least they’d promised to call her the minute they had an opening – having been pleased with her before she’d left them. Meanwhile, her savings were taking a battering now that she had half the costs of living with Warren to worry about again.
Contacting Shelly’s hairdresser friend had hardly helped things – she’d had to pretend she’d found her details online so she could make an appointment for the hair extensions, which was bad enough, and then, when she’d found out the cost, she’d wanted to go even less. It felt like such a waste of money for hair that would grow back of its own accord if she just waited. But on Friday afternoon she went and sat patiently as the hairdresser weaved the lengths in – inwardly thankful that this particular friend of Shelly’s didn’t recognise Esme by sight and hadn’t questioned the false name Esme had given, feeling faintly ridiculous about the fact she was using a false name, because who knew what she’d do to Esme’s hair if she did?
Afterwards she caught the bus back to her flat feeling as if someone had sewn a ton of wet cotton onto her head, and by the time she got home her head was thumping. At least Warren would be pleased, but he wasn’t in and she’d had to wait until 9 p.m. for him to appear. He’d been to see Shelly, he’d said, and he’d had to comfort her because she’d been upset about their split, and what kind of a man would he be to leave her in that state? Esme decided it probably explained the perfume on him and she went to make his supper. He didn’t comment on her new hair, only to say that she looked like her old self again (apart from the weight but he’d help her to work on that so she could lose it faster) and that she should never have cut it in the first place.
Half an hour later Esme placed a tray of beans on toast in front of him as he flicked through the TV channels. Perhaps she dumped it on his lap just a little too forcefully as the beans slopped over the side of the plate and he looked sharply at her.
‘Sorry,’ she said, not feeling sorry at all.
‘I’ve only just bought these trousers.’
‘I said I was sorry. Anyway, nothing’s spilt on your trousers, has it?’
‘You’re in a mood?’
‘No.’
‘Why are you acting like you are then? Got your period or something?’
Esme took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
‘Right.’ Warren turned his attention back to his remote control and Esme had to remind herself that they were supposed to be trying for a reconciliation right now.
‘I called at Gino’s again today.’
‘Yeah?’ he asked, settling on a rugby match. ‘Got your job back?’
‘Not yet. I’m hopeful I’ll get something soon. If not there then somewhere else. But Gino says he found me hard to replace and he really does want me to come back as soon as there’s an opening. Says he’d have me back in a heartbeat.’
‘If you’d never left in the first place you wouldn’t be in this mess now.’ Warren cut into his toast, his eyes never leaving the television.
‘I mean, I’m OK for a bit.’ Esme twiddled a length of unfamiliar hair. ‘I don’t want to burn too much of a hole in my savings – seeing as I was saving for a really good reason.’
‘What reason?’
Esme stared at him. ‘Our wedding…’
‘Oh, yeah, well, the divorce might be a while so it’ll give you plenty of time to build your money up again. We don’t need to rush either – the longer it takes the more money you can save and
the better our wedding will be. Posh and Becks will be green with envy, right, babe? Although’ – he scooped a forkful of beans into his mouth – ‘I’ve already told you what I think.’
‘About what?’ Esme took a seat on the sofa across from his chair.
‘Your place in… wherever that village is.’
‘Little Dove Morton.’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s not my place.’
‘There’s a hell of a lot of cash tied up in it though. We could do a lot with that money.’
‘But Grandma’s place needs a lot of work to modernise it and prices up north aren’t like they are down here. I don’t think selling my half would fetch as much as you imagine. In fact… well, I thought we’d benefit more by other means…’
He looked up at her now, halted his chewing and waited.
He was going to say no. He’d already guessed what was coming and he was going to give her a flat refusal. Esme got up.
‘I’d better wash the dishes.
‘Don’t be long.’ He turned to the television again, scooping more beans onto his fork. ‘I’ve got to get up early tomorrow but I’m horny as hell and I could do with a bit of relief before I go to sleep.’
Esme nodded, though sex was the last thing on her mind. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
* * *
The hold music was loud and distorted and Esme couldn’t make out exactly what she was listening to but guessed it was some muzak version of ‘Greensleeves’ or something similar. Her gaze flicked to the door as she cradled the phone to her ear. Warren wasn’t due in for hours but still she kept one eye out, half expecting him to burst in and demand to know what she was doing. Which was nothing, really, only a task she ought to have seen to weeks before – so why the guilt? Perhaps it was because while she’d phoned to do one thing, she really wanted to do another.
Finally, there was a voice on the line.
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Clare, the manager. I understand you want a refund for a trip due to leave in a few days?’
The Christmas Wish: A heartwarming Christmas romance Page 7
