A Mistletoe Miracle

by Emma Jackson

  He wasn’t coming. People three buildings down could hear me. He must have been able to hear me. But he wasn’t coming. Stephen had probably outwitted me again with more lies or by turning Jools Holland up on his TV. I gulped for a breath as I ran out of lyrics and waited.

  My hope was stretched so thin now. What was I doing? I was up a tree in a posh bit of London, freezing my toes off, probably about to get arrested, and it hadn’t worked.

  I closed my eyes and my fingers started playing the song they always did when I was sad and holding this guitar: ‘Three Little Birds’. I shaped the chords and strummed without really needing to think about it at all. And there was my dad’s voice, in my ear, laughing and chiding me not to rush, it was a chill song, just relax into it and enjoy, and I tried. It was like my magic spell to conjure him up, the warmth of him beside me on the sofa as we played, the mingled scents of tobacco and shea butter that would always be him. It took me back to a time when I was more innocent and so purely myself.

  Something settled at the centre of my being and I moved into playing ‘Come Away with Me’, singing Norah Jones’s sultry lyrics about tin roofs and rain. I’d wanted to sing Nick this song at the piano and it hadn’t been the right time, but now it was, even if it was just to say goodbye. I opened my eyes like I was waking up from a dream as I finished the song and a tear rolled down my cheek, hit my guitar and slipped inside the dark cavity as though storing the memory of Nick for every time I played or heard this song too. Maybe we never really said goodbye to anyone that mattered to us.

  ‘I think I’ve figured out which one of us is the insane one.’ Nick’s wry voice had my head snapping up and I almost fell out of the tree.

  ‘Nick,’ I cried out at the sight of him, on the other side of the railings, in his thick grey coat, squinting up at me through his glasses. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

  ‘Long enough,’ he said grimly, raising an eyebrow. He was back to being that blunt, closed-off version of Nick that I first barrelled into in the alleyway. I’d known he was not going to be happy with me but knowing it in my head and feeling the waves of coldness roll off him, when I’d gotten so used to heat, was still painful. I shivered.

  ‘Nick, I came to say that I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For accusing you of being the hotel reviewer and being so angry about it and not believing you when you were telling me the truth.’ The shivers were hitting me harder now I’d stopped playing and when I shifted my guitar, I lost a bit of my balance and had to cling to the branch. ‘I was really harsh to you and—’

  ‘Look, I do want to hear what you have to say but can you get down from the tree first, it’s making me nervous.’ He interrupted my memorised speech, stepping right up to the railings.

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ That was actually a really good idea. And he wanted to hear me out. He was here and he was listening, even if he did think I was completely nuts. I could have leapt out of the tree with glee, only it felt a lot higher now I was up in it. ‘Err…you know how cats have no trouble climbing trees but end up getting stuck?’

  He rolled his eyes and took a step back, so he could do a short run-up to the railings and swing himself over the top of them, landing neatly on the other side. Impressive.

  He stood right beneath me and held out his arms and all the air fled from my lungs. But my guitar had to be rescued first – it was probably first time in my life I had less than loving feelings for it. I unhooked it from around my neck and lowered it down. As he put it back in the case at the foot of the tree, I manoeuvred myself with shaky arms and legs and then he turned back to me and took me by the waist, lifting me out of the tree, his hands strong and warm through my sparkly party dress. I pressed my lips together hard and stared into his eyes as I slid down his front until my feet hit the damp, freezing earth. Was it possible to want someone this much? I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt this kind of longing vibrating through me.

  He stared back at me, blue eyes intense, but then he shuttered his gaze and moved away, grabbing my coat for me while I slid my shoes back on and stamped some life back into my feet. Once I was dressed appropriately for the weather, he cleared his throat and scratched at the stubble along the sharp line of his jaw.

  ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Oh right, yes. I was really harsh to you and you didn’t deserve it at all. I found out the truth and what a big mistake I made, and I’ve been trying to find you so I could apologise ever since. I’m so sorry.’

  My words hung there between us in a cloud of foggy air.

  ‘You turned on me so abruptly, Beth. I just didn’t understand why you were so angry. One minute I thought we were getting really close and then—’ He broke off and ran his hand back through his hair.

  ‘The thing is…’ I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to think. What was the thing? I’d figured out the apology bit, but I hadn’t really let myself believe we would get this far. Now I had to engage my brain again, which was harder than it seemed with him being within arm’s reach but still off-limits. ‘The thing is, you know about my ex lying to me. He lied to me for over a year, about how his business was going, telling me one thing and acting a different way, making me feel responsible for something that I didn’t even have any idea about. And I felt so gullible for not realising.’ His eyes were softening as he listened to me but I forced myself to carry on. ‘To think that I’d been taken for a ride again, by you…it just terrified me because…I really like you, Nick.’ I swallowed. ‘You’re so different to Peter. You make me feel like I can do things, and that what I care about is important, and thinking that all the things you’d said to me were a lie, just because you wanted to get close to me to write an anonymous review of the hotel…it hurt so much.’

  He forced his hands deep into his pockets. ‘But why did you think it at all?’

  I sighed. Sorry, Stephen, you had your chance. There’s a metaphorical double-decker bus coming with your name on it: ‘Your brother told me.’

  ‘What?’ Nick’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘You need to talk to him about that, I guess. I’m sorry I believed him. It kind of made sense because of all the travelling you do, but when it was your word against his, I wish I’d believed you. I was paranoid.’ I gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘And you were too good to be true.’

  Nick was pacing a little now, shaking his head and glaring up at the apartment.

  ‘You probably need to go and have it out with him. But I just wanted you to know, I can’t guarantee I won’t make a mistake again, but…’ I took a deep breath and braved it. There was no point glossing over anything now. I wanted him to know how I felt. ‘If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d love to see you again.’

  He stopped his pacing and went still, swinging his attention back to me.

  ‘No.’

  That one word hit me in the chest like a battering ram.

  ‘O-okay.’ I forced a wobbly smile and bent down to grab my guitar, fiddling with the strap to give myself an excuse not to look at him. ‘I understand—’

  ‘No, I mean, I don’t want to go and talk to Stephen now.’ Nick was next to me again, his hands covering mine. He folded them gently within his and pressed them to his chest, the feel of his skin making my nerve endings sing. ‘I want to be with you.’

  ‘Now?’ I looked up at him and I was sure my eyes were huge, like a cartoon puppy dog, all brimming with adoration and hope.

  ‘Now,’ he agreed. A mischievous twinkle in his eye had my toes tingling. ‘And for the foreseeable future.’ He lifted one hand and touched my cheek gently. ‘God, you’re something else,’ he breathed out roughly. ‘When I realised it was you outside and I came down and saw you, singing and playing that Norah Jones song, up in a tree and sparkling like a fairy come to life, I could hardly believe you were trying to get my attention.’

  ‘I’ve wanted to play that song to you since Christmas Eve.’ I moved closer
to him; I could feel the pounding of both our hearts either side of our hands.

  ‘What did I do to deserve that?’

  ‘You’ve just been yourself.’

  ‘I’ll make mistakes too though.’ He frowned down at me. ‘I’d never want to hurt you but I barely know how I’m going to feel one day to the next at the moment. This grief; it’s like a tidal wave and some days I drown in it.’

  ‘That’s okay. Just talk to me about it and I’ll try to understand.’

  He nodded and sighed. ‘I missed you so much this past week, Beth, which seems crazy because we’ve only spent a few days together but…’ His lips pressed against my forehead, then my cheekbone and lingered in the space between my earlobe and jaw until my eyes fluttered shut.

  ‘I know,’ I murmured. ‘I can’t help it either.’ I melted against him, and his mouth found mine. The tenderness disappeared under an onslaught of hunger. I’d been starving for him, and he was just as greedy for me. I couldn’t believe I’d ever felt so frightened of things moving quickly between us. This was so right. I’d missed his taste, missed the toe-curling way he kissed me and the feel of his soft curls as I ran my hands through his hair—

  ‘True love conquers all, congratulations!’ The random shouting and sound of clapping interrupted the moment and broke us apart. We looked over to the building next to Stephen’s and saw a middle-aged woman, swathed in a massive fur coat, was out on her balcony watching us. She raised a glass of what looked like champagne and gave a hiccup. ‘Aw, that was better than theatre, thank you, darlings.’ She waved and wobbled off back inside.

  I laughed and untangled my fingers from Nick’s hair. His cheeks were tinged pink.

  ‘What now?’ He linked his fingers through mine.

  ‘How d’you fancy going to that New Year’s Eve party I told you about?’

  He took my guitar from me and we started walking. We didn’t even debate trying to find a bus or a taxi. It would be a long walk but it was a beautiful night.

  We headed down to the river, passing through the streets full of shops, lit up brightly by Christmas trees and flashing snowflake decorations. We talked about the plans my mum and I had made for the hotel and my music tutoring, about the friends he was going to meet at the party, how his nan was doing and about going to his childhood home the following day. He was anxious but wanted to do it now. Before we knew it, midnight had arrived and the fireworks started.

  We stopped by the side of the river and watched the bright bursts of colour crackling and fizzing through the black sky and leaving trails of purple-grey smoke drifting through the air. The displays went on and on, getting more intense and noisier as the New Year introduced itself, lighting up Albert Bridge, the boats bobbing on the dark water and the buildings along the banks. I shivered and Nick wrapped me up inside his long coat, so my back was nestled against his chest. I twisted my head and looked up at his face, the corner of his jaw and the blooms of light reflecting in his glasses. It was a view I could get very used to.

  ‘You did get this coat dry-cleaned, didn’t you?’ I teased when he caught me staring.

  ‘No. I thought the scent of raw meat would be alluring to you, what with your vampire fetish.’

  ‘Urgh.’ I wrinkled my nose and then laughed as he swooped the sides of his coat up dramatically to shroud me in it, nibbling at my neck. The explosions and cheers for the New Year were nothing compared to what was going on inside my heart. His hands slipped into my pockets and a pleasant tingle ignited in my belly.

  Suddenly he withdrew his hand, and I leaned my head back against his shoulder to see what he’d found. A rather battered sprig of mistletoe dangled between his thumb and index finger at eye level. He laughed. ‘What was this? A back-up plan if the serenade hadn’t worked?’

  ‘Yes, I was planning to poison Stephen.’

  He laughed again. ‘Seriously though, between us we do keep the strangest things in our pockets.’

  ‘Pockets are the best clothing invention. Lydia gave it to me on Christmas Eve when I took her jeep back. Little did she know, I’d already seduced you the night before.’ I turned in his arms and linked my hands behind his neck. His eyelids lowered as he looked at me. ‘You know when we were standing in that doorway at the Christmas fayre – when I was putting on those daft reindeer antlers – there was mistletoe right over your head. I was too chicken to point it out.’

  ‘I knew it was there.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘I did – I saw it when we were getting out of the way of those women.’ He lifted his arm a little higher and twirled the mistletoe over our heads, glancing up at it and then down at me. He smiled his radiant, soul-ensnaring smile, brighter than any firework in the sky. ‘It was a miracle I didn’t kiss you right then and there. I wanted to, so much.’

  I tugged his head down until our cold noses touched and whispered, ‘That wasn’t the miracle.’

  And when we kissed, a shower of sparkling fireworks lit up the sky around us and, despite all the chaos, I wished that every Christmas would be this magical.

  Epilogue

  Six Weeks Later

  ‘Beth,’ my mum called out to me as I was walking through the lobby, zipping up my fleece, ready to head outside. I detoured over to her at the reception desk, watching as she flicked through a folder. ‘Have you seen that quote from the builder about the floor for the music studio?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve not agreed to it yet so it’s still in the filing tray in the office,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, okay. Do you want me to do that?’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the office door.

  ‘No.’ I leaned over the desk and closed the folder in front of her. ‘I can handle it.’

  ‘It’s no trouble—’

  ‘Mum.’ I gave her a look I was getting very used to pointing in her direction at the moment. The look translated as: you’re meant to be stepping back remember?

  ‘Okay, fine.’ She raised her hands and smiled. ‘I’ll do something else while it’s quiet in here.’ It was mid-afternoon, and the usual gentle lull before dinner. As far as we could tell, the hotel reviewers – Jane and June – hadn’t caused irreparable damage to the reputation of the hotel with their reports of dismal dining experiences or the bar being closed, because we were as busy as usual at this time of the year. If Mum had looked up the full review, she never told me, and I didn’t check either. I’d done my absolute best and made my peace with that.

  ‘Maybe head into the kitchen for a cup of tea?’ I suggested innocently and Mum’s cheeks flushed. Our new chef, Marco, was working today. He’d run his own Italian restaurant for years in the next town but since becoming a widower, decided he’d had enough of being the boss and wanted to be able to spend more time with his young grandchildren. Despite being completely overqualified, it was surprising just how much ‘supervising’ my mum found it necessary to do while he was learning the ropes. I don’t think the fact his ravioli could put you in a food coma for days and he looked like George Clooney, hurt.

  Mum waved me off, not quite meeting my eye, and I couldn’t suppress a grin.

  Outside the air was fresh after recent rain and the grass muddy and slick beneath my trainers, as I headed around the back of the hotel and across the lawns to my music studio. My music studio. It gave me a little thrill every time I thought it.

  The rusty old padlock was in the bin, now a new door and windows had been fitted. All the junk had been painstakingly sorted – some dumped, some donated – and the useful tools and garden games relocated to a new shed by the tennis lawns. Inside was grey and bare, but today that was going to change.

  I set about turning on the stereo and grabbing all the pots of paint and rollers from under the dustsheets in the corner. This afternoon I was having a painting party. We were going to get some bright colours on the walls before the wooden floor went down.

  I was halfway through rewriting the stars, using a paintbrush as my microphone, when a gentle rap on the door interru
pted me. I turned, expecting to see Lydia or Rachel, but instead there he was. Nick. Smiling at me like my own personal sunbeam.

  ‘You’re here.’ I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around him and accidentally smacking him in the face with the paintbrush. ‘Oh God, sorry.’ I dropped the brush and kissed the red mark on his cheekbone. ‘Are you okay?’

  His arms tightened around me, snaking underneath my fleece and he laughed into my shoulder.

  ‘I’m good.’ He kissed the side of my neck, then my cheek. He lifted his head and looked into my eyes, his blue ones bright and crinkled at the edges behind his glasses.

  ‘What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming down until tomorrow.’ I smoothed his hair back, my heart hammering. It probably wasn’t good for my health to have him sneaking up on me like this; a girl needed some warning before all these endorphins were released.

  ‘I couldn’t wait.’

  ‘But you need to catch up on your sleep after doing a long-haul,’ I scolded him.

  ‘Yeah, I know, but also, the money came through from the sale. It’s done.’

  ‘Oh. Are you okay?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, I think I am.’ Since we’d visited the house that first difficult time, he’d been back on his own to pack up his stuff and say his goodbyes alone, and it had seemed to help him. He could talk a little more freely about his mum now. ‘It’s time I sorted out somewhere to live permanently,’ he added.

  ‘You don’t want to stay at Stephen’s anymore?’ I asked, carefully keeping my voice neutral.

  ‘Funnily enough, no. I’d like to have my own place, somewhere I can have my girlfriend over to stay without any awkward relatives in the adjacent rooms.’ He slid his thumb along my jaw, and I nuzzled into his touch like a cat, practically purring.