by Alice Ross
‘Aunty Melia! It knowing!’ screeched Thomas, bowling into her room with Sophie’s tinsel-covered coat hanger on his head. ‘And there’s only one more sleep before Santa comes. You have to make a wish.’
Pulling back the curtains and watching the thick flakes of snow float serenely through the air, Amelia didn’t have a clue what to wish for.
Quite how to survive Doug’s potential wedding day to Imogen, Amelia hadn’t planned. And she certainly hadn’t planned for Annie’s news, which struck her with all the impact of fork-lightning the moment she entered the kitchen.
‘Just to confirm that crises in Buttersley are indeed a regular thing,’ Annie proclaimed, ‘we now have another. At the manor. This wedding of Portia’s journalist friend is supposed to take place today. The bride and groom arrived last night but because of the snow all the other guests are stranded in Leeds. Portia’s asked if we wouldn’t mind going up and helping as half the staff can’t get into work either. Thank goodness the registrar lives in the village and can walk up.’
Amelia’s heart stuttered. Go to Buttersley Manor? To help Doug and Imogen prepare for their wedding? ‘I can’t,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ll stay here and look after the children.’
Annie shook her head. ‘There’s no need. Jake’s taken them sledging. Thank God. Hopefully he won’t bring them back until they’re completely worn out. Believe me, children on Christmas Eve are to be avoided at all costs. Come on. You can borrow a pair of my wellies and we’ll walk up.’
Amelia gawped at her sister. ‘I—’
Annie cocked a questioning eyebrow.
‘I, er—’
‘Heavens!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘Look at the time. We’d better hurry up.’
Trudging up to Buttersley Manor through the still-falling snow, Amelia didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. She was far too preoccupied wondering how on earth this bizarre situation had come about. While Annie prattled all the while about the children and the weather, her head reeled. She’d actually pinched herself twice just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Or, more accurately, having a nightmare.
‘This is a complete and utter nightmare,’ exclaimed Portia, spookily echoing Amelia’s musings, as she and Annie entered Buttersley Manor’s magnificent wood-panelled hall. ‘Thank God, you’ve come. Annie, could you be a complete angel and sort out the kitchen, please. The handful of staff who have made it in have no idea what they’re supposed to be doing. Half the supplies we needed for today now aren’t coming either because of the damned weather. We don’t know if any guests will make it, and we have a burst pipe in one of the bathrooms. See – this is what happens when you have one margarita too many on holiday. At the time, offering Imogen the manor for her wedding seemed like the best idea ever. Now it feels like one of the worst.’
‘No point crying over frozen milk,’ tutted Annie, shrugging off her coat. ‘We’ll all have to muck in and make the most of it. I’ll see what I can sort out in the kitchen. You let Amelia know what you want her to do.’
Portia pressed the palms of her hands together as she smiled at Amelia. ‘I tell you what would be great,’ she began, before suddenly stopping. ‘Shit! I’ve just remembered I was supposed to call the plumber back. I’d completely forgotten. You couldn’t wait here a second could you, while I dig out his number from the office.’
Not waiting for a reply, she shot off. Leaving Amelia alone in the hall. Alone until another figure appeared at the top of the sweeping staircase.
‘Amelia Richards!’ came a high-pitched female voice from over the banister. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
It was Imogen.
*
Phil had never been more pleased to see snow in his entire life. Today was the last day he could sign the final paper for the brewery sale before the solicitor’s office closed at lunchtime for the holidays. Not that he’d actually made an appointment to sign. But that didn’t matter now because that wonderful thing called nature had intervened, providing him with a proper – snowbound – excuse. One neither Rachel – nor the brewery – could argue with.
Setting up the bar, congratulating himself on this development, he almost dropped the two bottles of wine in his hands when a familiar voice drifted through the letterbox.
‘Come on. Open up and get your kit off.’
He thought he must be dreaming. He wasn’t.
‘Merry Christmas, gorgeous!’ gushed a beaming Rachel, as he pulled open the door and she launched herself into his arms.
It took a couple of minutes, and some spine-tingling, toe-curling snogging, before Phil could really comprehend what was happening. Coming up for breath, he stammered, ‘But how—? Why—? I mean … how did you get here? I thought all the roads were closed.’
Rachel threw back her glorious head of curls and laughed. ‘You’ll never guess. I was sitting next to a farmer from Leeds on the plane and he offered me a lift here on his tractor. Can you believe that?’
Phil couldn’t. He gazed at his girlfriend in utter awe. The whole of the country might be grinding to a standstill because of the weather but Rachel, being Rachel, wouldn’t allow a trivial thing like that to block her way. She really was incredible.
*
The photos on the internet hadn’t lied. It had been almost a decade since Amelia had last seen Imogen in the flesh, but she hadn’t changed a bit. If anything, she was even more stunning as a woman than she had been in her youth. In a brown tailored trouser suit and cream polo neck sweater, she epitomised expensive cool chic. The expression on her beautiful face, though, was anything but cool.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded from the top of the stairs, an edge of what Amelia recognised as panic colouring her tone.
And if anyone was well placed to detect panic at that particular moment, it was Amelia. An enormous wave of it had crashed over her, along with a battalion of other emotions – confusion and horror heading up the pack. For all she’d known Imogen was at the manor, she couldn’t imagine the surprise at seeing her being any greater had she been blissfully unaware of her presence. By the time she opened her mouth to reply to Imogen’s question, the woman stood right in front of her, her noxious perfume invading every one of Amelia’s senses.
‘What a lovely surprise,’ Imogen exclaimed, her glacial tone implying quite the opposite. ‘But why on earth are you here?’
Amelia sucked in a deep breath, immediately regretting the action as Imogen’s potent scent struck the back of her throat. ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she blurted out.
Imogen’s cool blue eyes grew wide. ‘Oh. Don’t you know?’
Amelia met her gaze, determining not to crumble. Because here was the exact same Imogen she’d met at the meet ’n’ greet in Cambridge all those years ago. And, just like then, Amelia could see right through her. Imogen, without a shadow of a doubt, knew about her and Doug’s affair. But if she was playing a game, then so, too, could Amelia. ‘How could I possibly know why you’re here?’ she asked, feigning beatific innocence.
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. ‘So you don’t know Doug and I are getting married here today?’ Her lips – which, up close, looked a little plumper than they used to – curved into a victorious smile. ‘Whatever the weather. Or anything else,’ she added.
The words sliced through Amelia like a razor-sharp blade of steel. But she would not allow her adversary so much as an inkling of her true feelings. ‘What a lovely day for it,’ she replied, affecting a disingenuous smirk of her own.
Imogen matched it. ‘Isn’t it? I can’t think of anything more romantic than getting married in the snow on Christmas Eve. Can you?’ She raised a hand and pressed it to her chest. ‘Oh, sorry. How thoughtless of me. I shouldn’t be rubbing your nose in it when you don’t have a man in your life.’
Amelia tilted up her chin defiantly. ‘What makes you think I don’t have a man in my life?’
Imogen’s eyes glinted victoriously. ‘Because—’
‘Immy. Amelia. What the hell’s
going on?’
Both women whipped up their heads. To find Doug hurtling down the stairs towards them.
Chapter Seventeen
Seeing Rachel again had obliterated every one of Phil’s doubts about Australia. The woman was amazing and he loved the bones of her. After a mind-blowing couple of hours in bed, a serious chat ensued.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over?’ he asked.
‘Because I wasn’t.’ She traced a scarlet fingernail down his bare chest. ‘Not until the other day when I thought you might be getting cold feet. You were getting cold feet, weren’t you?’
Phil grimaced. ‘They were a tad on the chilly side. But I didn’t want to tell you, because you’re loving it out there and making all these plans and—’
Rachel sat bolt upright, her expression deadly serious. ‘Look, I know I can be a bit full on sometimes, but it’s only because I’m excited about spending the rest of my life with you. And to be honest, I don’t care if it’s here or there, as long as we’re together.’
Phil gasped. ‘You mean you’d move back if I didn’t want to leave?’
‘Of course I would. But I’ve had an even better idea.’
He arched a dubious eyebrow.
‘I now realise how much this place means to you, so I don’t want you to sell it. I want you to put a manager in for a year – two at the most – and come over to Australia with me. It’ll be a brilliant experience for you, while I gain valuable management experience in my job. And we won’t buy anywhere. We’ll rent, which will give us the flexibility to come back whenever we want.’
Phil shook his head in disbelief. Why on earth hadn’t he thought of that? But he hadn’t. Because he wasn’t Rachel.
‘You’re amazing, you know,’ he said, planting a kiss on her shoulder.
‘I know,’ she giggled, slipping back under the duvet and snuggling into him. ‘And you’re not too bad yourself.’
*
If Amelia had considered Imogen’s appearance a shock, it almost paled into insignificance at the barrage of emotions that clattered through her on seeing Doug. And Doug’s expression left her in no doubt he felt exactly the same.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded as he reached them.
As if the situation wasn’t ludicrous enough, a bubble of hideously inappropriate laughter rose in Amelia’s throat. He sounded like a policeman who’d caught a gang of kids letting down tyres. But she couldn’t laugh. For one thing, it wasn’t funny. And for another, she suspected the laugh would morph into tears in seconds. Imogen, meanwhile, appeared to have adopted a different – much more cunning – tack.
‘Isn’t this the biggest coincidence, darling,’ she exclaimed, beaming at her fiancé and holding out her hand to him. ‘And I’m so pleased you recognised Amelia. I bet she hasn’t changed a bit since you last saw her.’
Her cynicism was not lost on Amelia. Doug, conversely, looked completely bewildered. He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to jut out at a ridiculous angle.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked Amelia, panic etched on his handsome features.
‘I’m staying with my sister who lives in the village,’ she replied matter-of-factly. She added nothing to explain her presence at the manor which, she suspected, was what he’d really meant.
‘I was just telling her about our romantic wedding,’ piped up Imogen. ‘But I haven’t arrived at the best bit yet.’
‘What “best bit”?’ pressed a clearly apprehensive Doug.
‘About how we planned it so quickly because of mummy’s illness, of course, darling. Not that that’s important now she’s had the all-clear.’
Amelia’s jaw dropped as she gaped at Doug.
‘Yesterday. She received the all-clear yesterday,’ he blustered.
‘Which is just as well, because it looks like she won’t be here anyway,’ added Imogen with a hollow laugh. ‘Anyway, we were keeping the whole thing from the press but yesterday I thought to myself, why should we? Isn’t this the perfect feel-good story for the Christmas holidays? Won’t it put a smile on people’s faces?’ She beamed victoriously at Amelia, upon whose face there was a distinct lack of a smile.
Imogen ploughed on, clinging limpet-like, to Doug’s arm. ‘I’ve had a call to say the reporters will be here within the hour. They’re coming by helicopter.’
‘Right,’ muttered Doug, gazing at Amelia.
‘Oh,’ exclaimed Imogen, feigning surprise. ‘I’ve just had another wonderful idea. As we’ll be short on guests, why don’t you act as one of our witnesses, Amelia? For old times’ sake.’
‘You can’t ask her to do that,’ snapped Doug.
Imogen batted silky mascaraed lashes. ‘Why ever not? It’ll be fun.’
‘You can’t … I can’t … That is she … she probably has plans. The wedding’s not until six. And it’s Christmas Eve. Everyone has plans on Christmas Eve.’
Imogen’s glacial eyes turned to Amelia. ‘Do you have plans?’
Despite suffering the sensation of a ten-ton medicine ball landing in the centre of her chest, Amelia once again met the enemy’s gaze full on. Dredging up every scrap of dignity she could gather, she arranged her features into a rueful expression. ‘Oh what a shame. I do have plans. But thank you so much for the invitation.’
And with that, she turned on her wellied heel, and marched, head high, out of the manor and all the way back to The Cedars.
*
Stan didn’t know what had inspired him to look at Bea’s Facebook page. Possibly being the only person on the planet who couldn’t actually see the point of the social media site, he didn’t feature amongst its legions of members. Reading Bea’s posts for the first time had therefore proved a revelation. There were, he discovered, dozens of pictures of her and Maddy – and, needless to say, Zara – at all kinds of places, doing all manner of things he’d known nothing about. At the zoo, at a picnic, making things at playgroup, out on rambling nature walks, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. All of which confirmed what he’d suspected: that Bea had established a completely new life for herself in which he played absolutely no part.
After their brief discussion in the kitchen the day of the earth-shattering discovery, he’d found it hard to even look at her. He’d moved into the spare room. Had he managed to summon the energy, he’d have preferred to have moved out of the house. But where to? There wasn’t anyone in Yorkshire he felt close enough to to involve in his marital problems. And, given the time of year, all the hotels would be fully booked. Consequently, the two of them had drifted about the house like lost souls existing in a parallel universe. After three days, he couldn’t stand it a minute longer.
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked over the breakfast table, where they’d both managed no more than a cup of coffee.
Bea sighed. She did, he suddenly realised, look dreadful. Like she hadn’t slept for weeks. ‘I have no idea,’ she replied dolefully. ‘What do you want to do?’
Stan tilted his head to the ceiling and dragged in a ragged breath before confessing, ‘I don’t know either. But what is obvious is that neither of us has been happy lately.’
Bea began fiddling with her cup. ‘This is all my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on moving up here—’
‘It hasn’t just been the move,’ cut in Stan. ‘Since Maddy came along, I’ve felt like a spare part. Like I’ve given you what you wanted and now I’m surplus to requirements.’
She shook her head as a tear escaped her eye. ‘It’s not like that at all. I just – I don’t know. I suppose I’ve been trying so hard to be the perfect mother, I couldn’t cope with being a wife as well. I’m sorry.’
Her gaze dropped to the table as tears began rolling freely down her cheeks. Stan felt a tug around his heart. She must be even more confused than him. And that was saying something. But before the discussion went any further, he had to clear up the question that had been gnawing at his innards since she’d made her “let’s have another baby” announcement
.
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ he asked, deciding there was no point beating around the bush.
Her eyes grew wide. ‘Of course I’m not. Thank God. I couldn’t cope with that at the moment.’
That makes two of us, Stan resisted saying, relief pulsing through him.
A brief hiatus ensued, where they both stared at the table.
‘So … you and Zara …’ he eventually muttered.
Bea bit her lip and swiped away her tears. She glanced up at him through wet lashes.
‘… you seem much more relaxed round her than you are with me. Much more like your old self.’
She sighed and resumed her cup-fiddling. ‘I suppose I don’t feel like she’s judging me all the time.’
‘I don’t judge you all the time.’
‘But I feel like you do. I feel like you blame me for dragging us up here. I know you hate it.’
She had him there. Although “hate” was probably a bit strong. ‘I don’t hate it. But if I didn’t say I preferred London, I’d be lying.’
‘Do you want to go back?’
God. He’d never even considered that a possibility. He picked up a spoon, his mind whirling. Should he lie? Would that help the situation? Unlikely. And what would be the point? He couldn’t be any more miserable so he might as well fess up. ‘I’d love to go back,’ he admitted. Then, bracing himself as he looked up at her, ‘Do you want to stay here with Zara?’
*
When Amelia arrived back at The Cedars, Jake and the children were still out. Just as well, given she wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to explain her sorry state. The emotions pulsing through her were akin to those she’d experienced on her return to Cambridge after that torturous summer away from Doug, only to witness him and Imogen snogging in the quad. Only this time the feelings were two hundred times worse.
In something of a trance, she floated into the kitchen, plumped down on the bench at the table and stared blankly into the garden where the snow continued to fall. How on earth she would ever recover from this, she couldn’t begin to imagine. She’d thought losing her job was bad enough, but losing Doug – again – was like having her innards wrenched out. A nudge on her leg made her start. It was Pip, his red superhero cape attached to his collar.
