A Mistletoe Miracle

by Emma Jackson

  Geri was bustling around panicking about everything and Lisa was completely chilled and doing her best to calm her fiancée with little hugs and kisses and pre-party beverages. My extra pair of hands were greatly appreciated and while I helped move furniture and set up the drinks, we filled each other in on what had been happening over the last fortnight. It was so nice to talk to them again properly and unbelievably cathartic to explain all the insanity that had been keeping me occupied. We hung a disco ball in their dining room, so it was flashing primary and neon colours over the neutral palette furniture and when Geri finally settled down and started to review the playlists there was an hour to go until the party was officially due to start.

  That meant it was time for me to make a call on Peter. I changed into my new shimmery black dress, donned some glittery make-up, teased my hair out and slipped into my heels. It felt so good to get dressed up properly, and though I wasn’t doing it to impress Peter – no way, no how – it was nice to feel that I would be looking my best when I turned up at his door. I grabbed my jacket, my Oyster card and a good luck hug from my girls. It was time to go get my guitar.

  Peter’s flat was on a road just off from Fulham Park Gardens, so it didn’t take long to get to. I’d met Geri at a gym midway between our two homes, a couple of weeks after I first moved in with him. Normally I would’ve walked or cycled the distance but I had my high heels on and my feet deserved a rest, so I caught the 414 and was there in fifteen minutes, just before half past eight, the time I’d agreed in the short, sharp texts I’d exchanged with Peter.

  The apartment was in the basement of a terraced orange-brick house. It looked dark when you peered down at the door from the road, but it was surprisingly light inside. It was odd approaching it, following my familiar route, a little like sleepwalking. I hoped I wasn’t going to wake up in a nightmare. Just as I was about to descend to the door, I noticed a big black shape leaning against the railings and decided to check out what it was.

  Within seconds I could tell it was my guitar. The bastard had put my guitar out on the street like a bag of rubbish. I grabbed the black case by its worn handle, gripping it tight as though someone still might run up and mug me for it. I mean, you never knew. Then I stomped down the stairs to his front door and pressed his bell over and over, letting that annoying ding-dong play constantly inside the flat until he opened the door.

  ‘Christ, what?’ Peter scowled out at me from a slice of the doorway. The scent of his usual going-out aftershave rolled over me like a fog and I struggled not to cough. I waited for the gut-punch. The moment when seeing him looking quite good, I had to admit, with his crisp white shirt and freshly shaven jaw, was going to hurt.

  But it didn’t. He might’ve been a good-looking man, but he was an arsehole. How could it have taken me so long to see it?

  ‘What an utterly dickish move Peter. You know how important this guitar is to me, how could you leave it out there on the street for anyone to steal?’

  ‘Stop being so dramatic, Beth. I only just put it there. We agreed half past eight, didn’t we? I was hoping to spare us having to talk to each other.’ He smirked at me, speaking with that well-pronounced drawl that implied he was so above it all. Except I knew the truth. I heard the soft rolls and lilts he couldn’t hide once he’d had a drink. Listening to his efforts to eradicate his Welsh accent from his voice had once made me feel special, like I was in on a secret, because he would only let it slip when he was a little tipsy, or tired, or at – ahem – other times. Now, I was more inclined to berate myself for ignoring the sign that Peter was a pretentious snob who thought he was better than his small mining-town upbringing and wasn’t above putting on a front nearly every minute of the day.

  ‘Please don’t flatter yourself that I was hoping for a heart to heart. I just figured we could be civil adults towards each other for the space of two minutes.’

  ‘Yes, but that would require both parties to be able to act like adults wouldn’t it?’ He raised an eyebrow and let his gaze drop meaningfully towards my guitar, as though that was the proof I acted like a child.

  ‘Do you actually believe that’s true or is it just easier to feel better about your own mistakes if you keep making out I’m some dumb bimbo who can’t survive without you?’

  ‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about.’ He fiddled with his watch strap, straightening the chunky gold links, and then checked the time like I was boring him.

  ‘Sure, of course you don’t.’ I shook my head and turned my back. ‘Have a good life, Peter,’ I called over my shoulder.

  He didn’t even answer. The door slammed shut behind me before I reached street level again and despite the extra weight I was now carrying in the shape of my guitar, I felt like I was floating down the pavement towards the bus stop. I was well rid of that man and it was time to go and party.

  In the space of the last half hour the roads had become busier with people heading out to wherever they were planning to see in the New Year. The bus was full of commuters dressed in their best threads and many a toe was getting crushed beneath a stiletto heel as we all shuffled further and further in, trying to accommodate more passengers. Needless to say, I was extremely unpopular with my bulky guitar case, but I did my best not to pay too much attention. It was amazing how easy it was to slip back into that city habit of not meeting anyone’s eye.

  My phone vibrated and I pissed off the couple to my right as I took up two inches more elbow room to fish it out of my pocket.

  Noelle: Apartment 2a, Gratton House, Eaton Square.

  Me: ??? Did you mean to send that to me?

  Noelle: Let a woman finish typing. Nick is staying at his brother’s, that’s the address. You are welcome.

  I froze, in shock and then bounced around like a rubber ball against the people nearest me, because I was completely unprepared for the bus slamming on its brakes and the inevitable pendulum swing in everyone’s balance. Much tutting ensued around me, but I just needed to make sure I had my phone and guitar intact and then try to process Noelle’s message. People were still squeezing out of the doors, and I made the split-second decision to join them.

  As soon as everyone had filtered off from the bus stop, I put my guitar between my legs and focused all my attention on my phone.

  Me: How do you know that?

  Noelle: I have been sneaky and mean but Stephen totally deserves it IMHO.

  Me: Spill it. What’s going on?

  Noelle: Mr Smooth gave me his number at Christmas. ‘If you’re ever in London and want a tour guide, blah, blah’, you know the line. Well, I decided to pretend I am in London. Been texting him most of the day, like I’m bored in a hotel. Found out what he’s up to, who he’s with (that’s how I know Nick is there), and then I suggested I pop by for a visit this evening. He sent me his address, voila.

  Me: Noelle, I could kiss you! You are an evil genius!

  Noelle: He thinks he’s going to get lucky!! Lol!

  Me: He does totally deserve it. How long is Nick going to be there?

  Noelle: I dunno, I couldn’t ask too many questions about his brother, I had to be subtle. I’ve been working on that man’s ego all day for you.

  Me: Thank you so much! I should go now shouldn’t I?

  Noelle: Yes! Do it. And then you better get your pilot boyfriend to fly you over here to visit me.

  Me: Oh no, I don’t think that’s going to happen, but I need to say sorry to him.

  And I’ll come visit you as soon as I can afford to.

  Noelle: I have faith in you. Go get that man!

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  According to my phone, Eaton Square was in Belgravia, not far from Sloane Square. It was going to be a nightmare heading further towards the centre of London, but I had to do it. My hands were clammy and my mouth dry as I figured out what route I needed to take. Once I’d squeezed myself back onto another bus going in the direction of Oxford Circus, I sent a quick text message to Lisa to let her know I’d b
een delayed. I didn’t want to her to worry but I didn’t go into detail. They’d probably think I was having some ill-advised hook-up with Peter. Shudder. I’d explain it to them later.

  As the bus juddered on through the traffic, my elation took a dip and the musty atmosphere of the bus, along with its stop-start motion, started to make my belly roll with nausea. By the time I’d reached my stop, I was desperate for air.

  Sloane Square was bustling with a mellow, mid-evening vibe. Late enough that people were enjoying themselves but not so late that it was getting rowdy. I made my way into the centre of the square and sat on one of the benches, letting the fresh air revive me. The trees had been dressed with pretty white blossom lights and down the rows of shops large snowflakes were lit up like banners draped between the buildings. I took that moment, sitting on the bench and watching everyone going by, to remind myself that I’d already reconciled myself to the fact my chance with Nick was gone. I hadn’t thought I’d get this opportunity at all. So, if all that happened was that he listened to my apology and said goodbye, it would be okay. I’d be in no worse situation than I had been this morning, when I was travelling up to London, getting misty-eyed over the video of us dancing at the festival. (Yes, okay, I’d watched it one more time when I was on the train.) The phrase ‘the one that got away’ was coined for a reason. Sometimes, those slippery little hotties did get away from you.

  Once I’d given myself that pep talk, I started walking again, following the directions on my phone. Eaton Square turned out to be more of a rectangle that stretched on and on, an endless line of stately cream buildings with thick pillars and windows shielded from a central main road by two long, narrow, fenced-in gardens parallel to the houses. I felt like I couldn’t even afford to stand on the pavement outside some of those buildings.

  Gratton House was on the corner of one of the roads that led onto the square. It was part red brick, part stone, and smaller than most, so a smidge less intimidating when I stepped up to its oversized red door. There was a small intercom panel with the apartment numbers, only six in the whole building.

  I adjusted my guitar across my back, squeezed my eyes shut for a second, and then pressed the buzzer for 2a.

  ‘Yes? Cartwright residence.’

  ‘Hi Stephen, it’s Beth.’

  ‘Excuse me, who?’

  ‘It’s Beth, from the hotel in Loganbury. Can I come in?’

  ‘What? No – no you can’t—’

  ‘Who’s that?’ I heard Nick’s voice in the background, distant but unmistakably his and I leaned closer to the intercom as though I might be able to reach in and yank him out.

  ‘No one. Just a neighbour.’ My mouth fell open as Stephen’s muffled voice lied to him. ‘Look, I’ll come down and talk to you about it,’ he said over the intercom again and then it cut out.

  I pressed my hand to my forehead realising I might have made it to the final level in this game, but I still had the small boss to dispatch before I reached the big boss and the final showdown inside. I paced across the smooth stone step waiting for Stephen, heels clicking, one-two-three-four, turn, one-two-three-four, turn.

  The light in the entrance hall beyond the door flicked on, glowing through the door and the surrounding windowpanes, and then Stephen appeared. Before I had a chance to join him inside though, he stepped out and closed the door behind him again.

  He rubbed his arm against the chill that must’ve been cutting through his long-sleeved polo shirt and half laughed, shaking his head. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you hated London.’

  ‘Yes, ha-ha, very clever. You know why I’m here. I want to see Nick.’

  ‘He’s not here.’ Stephen gave me an innocent smile. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted trip.’

  ‘I just heard him over the intercom, talking to you. You’re lying. Again,’ I added dryly.

  ‘What was I supposed to have lied about the first time?’ He took a sip from the glass of clear liquid he’d brought down with him. The picture of nonchalance. What was it with me and doorsteps and arrogant men tonight?

  ‘You lied about Nick being the hotel reviewer.’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’ He chewed on his lower lip, releasing it with a slow scrape against his teeth. ‘Well. The thing is. I thought it was for the best. I couldn’t convince him to leave you alone, so I needed you to back off.’

  ‘Why? Did it really dent your pride so much that I picked him over you?’

  ‘No,’ he answered a little quickly, frowning. ‘Of course not. I wasn’t jealous.’

  ‘Oh, I know you don’t like me that way. When you asked me out, I was just a way to pass the time right? Did it make you feel inadequate or something though, that he got further with me than you did? Was it some stupid sibling rivalry thing?’

  ‘No. I told you. It wasn’t that.’ He stood up straight, rubbing a hand roughly over his head. ‘Believe me. I know he’s got his fair share of female admirers – and he isn’t clueless about his appeal either by the way – but he is a soft touch. He’d help anyone. Give them anything… And he was clearly besotted with you. The last thing he needs is someone taking advantage of him at the moment.’

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. ‘How did you think I was taking advantage of him?’

  ‘Helping you out with running the hotel. There was nothing going on between you when we first arrived. And then suddenly there’s a staff shortage and he’s your favourite companion.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. I kept telling him he didn’t have to help. But he said keeping busy helped keep his mind off losing your mum.’

  He paused halfway to taking a drink. ‘He talked to you about her?’

  ‘Not at first but eventually.’

  ‘The fact he talked about her at all is…surprising.’ He cradled the glass against his chest.

  ‘Has he been to the house yet?’

  His dark eyes trained on my face for a long moment and he shook his head.

  ‘Look, would you just let me in, please?’

  Stephen sighed. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘I need to tell him I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well that’s the problem isn’t it. If you tell him you’re sorry for accusing him unjustly, then he’ll want to know what made you think it in the first place. I can’t have you telling him I interfered. He’s only just started talking to me properly again.’

  It was hard to be annoyed at Stephen when it was written so clearly all over his face that he was trying to protect his relationship with his brother, if in a very weird and unhealthy way.

  ‘I won’t tell him,’ I offered and stepped closer to Stephen, willing him to see the honesty in my face. ‘I promise. I’ll say I just put two and two together myself and got it wrong.’ I laced my fingers together as Stephen frowned down at me. He glanced over his shoulder towards the inside of the apartment building, putting his hand flat against the wood ready to push it open and my desperate little heart leapt.

  And then he shook his head slowly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t risk it.’ He went inside and closed the door.

  I gasped like he’d just thrown his drink in my face.

  ‘Stephen. Stephen.’ I banged on the door with my fist, but the interior light winked out and when I pressed the buzzer, it made a disconnected noise. He’d taken his phone off the hook. ‘Agh.’ I grit my teeth against the compulsion to dent the perfect, glossy door and call Stephen every bad name I could think of. I couldn’t believe I’d got this close and he’d blocked me. Again.

  I stomped off the step and glared up at the building as though I could laser through it with the sheer force of my anger. Was I really going to let this happen? I was breathing like I’d run around the enormous green a couple of times. But short of scaling the building and trying to gain entry via one of the balconies, there was nothing else I could do, was there?

  With only six apartments in there, Stephen had to either be on the ground floor or one of those upstairs with a balcony. Maybe
if I yelled, really loudly, I could get Nick to hear me. I bet it was really thick double glazing though. It’d need more noise than shouting to penetrate it. I touched my hand to the bottom of my guitar as I remembered I was wearing it. Of course, I had the perfect means of making a lot of noise.

  I crossed the road and sized the building up, trying to pick the best spot from which to project my voice. Something central to cover all the bases was probably best. Spinning on the spot, I found a tree in the gardens, almost directly opposite the front door of the building. I jogged down to the lights where there was an entrance into the gardens and followed the shadowy path. Woe betide any criminal who was lurking in the bushes, if they dared to jump out at me with my adrenalin pumping the way it was, I’d karate kick them into next year.

  I made it to my desired tree unhindered, kicked off my shoes, shrugged off my puffy jacket at the bottom and took my guitar out of its case. There was a branch hanging near my head, so I hooked the guitar strap over that and started climbing. This tree really had been made for me. A few feet up the main trunk split into two thick parts, creating a perfect foothold, and the branch on one side bent in a horizontal line to form a small seat. Once I hoisted myself up, I shuffled around, wincing at the rough bark digging into my cold feet and snagging my tights, then tested the branch gingerly with my bottom. Despite an ominous creak, it held. I braced one leg against the opposite branch of the tree and leaned over to grab my guitar from where I’d hooked it.

  Now, to play something loud. A Busted song would have been the perfect choice but did I remember any of them? No. McFly, however, had the same vibe and I had sung those when I was at school.

  I strummed a loud G and started do-do-ing at the top of my lungs. By the time I launched into the first verse about the girl with five colours in her hair, shouting the words rather than singing, curtains were starting to twitch. I could see silhouettes at some of the windows and I scanned the balconies for a sign of Nick anywhere. A door opened on one and my stomach flipped, but no one appeared. I was reaching the end of the song and I couldn’t remember the rest of the words. My chilled fingers stung from hitting the strings so hard and my voice was catching.