Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by Abby Clements

  ‘I disagree. And you know I could train you. While you’re in London, think about it, at least.’

  ‘OK then, I will,’ Rachel said.

  In bed that night, Rachel rested her head on Aiden’s chest. ‘I’m going to miss you, you know,’ she said, thinking of the days they’d have apart before he could get down to London.

  ‘Me too,’ Aiden said, tipping her chin upwards and giving her a kiss.

  ‘And if you can get down any sooner …’ she said, looking up at him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘I thought we agreed that it was OK—’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Rachel said, pulling away. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I understand about your work. I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.’ They hadn’t spent a night apart for years. ‘Once you’re down, if you do have time maybe we could do some things together, as a family.’

  ‘I don’t know, Rach,’ Aiden said, his voice a little strained. ‘I’ve started the handover, but I’ll be managing the Westley barn remotely while I’m down in London. I can’t say how much free time I’ll have.’

  ‘OK,’ Rachel said, a truer picture of the coming fortnight taking shape in her mind.

  ‘Right now I just need some sleep,’ Aiden said, turning away from her on to his side.

  From: Carter@yahoo.com

  To: Millypede@gmail.com

  Hi Milly,

  Ah – I’m gutted to hear you’re going away. As soon as you appear, with your red hair and smiles and lovely eyes – you’re vanishing. Damn.

  But, YES. Let’s stay in touch. It’s only a couple of weeks. And in the meantime – London. That’s exciting. I went there last year to visit my cousin – he took me up in the London Eye and it was incredible – you can see for miles. Maybe you can take your little brother up on that?

  So, for starters – tell me more about you … I mean I know you live close to the pub, and you drink Southern Comfort and lemonade … and you mentioned you like Adele and The White Stripes. But what else? The good, the bad, the ugly?

  Cx

  CHAPTER 7

  Tuesday 28th November

  Laurie knew what she had to do. She was going up to Skipley tomorrow, Wednesday, and she’d already packed, so all she needed to do was leave the keys with someone for Rachel to pick up.

  But with Siobhan and Lily both busy, she was going to have to ask Jay. It should have been easy, it was a normal favour to ask of a neighbour. But the idea of going down there, talking to him … they had barely spoken in over two months. Laurie had been standing in her hallway with her hand on the front-door handle for a full five minutes.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her door and walked down the stairs to Jay’s flat. As she buzzed on Jay’s doorbell, butterfly wings beat against the walls of her stomach. Maybe he won’t be in, she thought, half-willing it to be true.

  Jay answered a moment later. His dark hair was a little mussed, and he was wearing indigo jeans, brogues and a dark-red sweater. Not just any sweater, one that fitted him perfectly and set off his light-brown skin. One that Laurie had seen in a shop in Soho at the start of the year, and encouraged him to buy, because it suited him. Back when they were friends and she still did that kind of thing. The sound of a radio came from inside his flat, and distracted her for a moment.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice coming out a bit husky.

  ‘Laurie,’ Jay said, with a hesitant smile. ‘Hi.’

  The words Laurie had planned to say vanished from her mind with Jay there in front of her. Her eyes drifted to his full mouth, remembering the way he’d kissed her. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ she managed at last.

  He nodded, his eyes drifting momentarily to the floor, no longer meeting hers.

  ‘Busy times,’ she went on. ‘All go, go, go at work at the moment.’ She kicked herself. Where had that come from? All go, go, gone would be more accurate.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Jay said, then after a pause, ‘Well, that’s good. And today? How come you’re at home?’

  ‘Holiday,’ she said – best not to mention she’d been practically banned from her workplace. She bit her lip, then quickly changed the subject. ‘Anyway, I was hoping to ask a favour.’

  ‘A favour? Sure,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘What can I help with?’

  ‘A friend—’

  Female laughter came from inside Jay’s flat, over the sound of the radio, and cut Laurie short. She looked towards the sound; her stomach felt tight. She just wanted to give Jay the keys and get away as soon as possible.

  ‘My friend Rachel is going to be staying in my flat for a couple of weeks. Could you give her my keys when she arrives tomorrow?’ She held up her keyring. ‘She’ll get in at around three o’clock with her son and daughter.’

  ‘Sure,’ Jay said, nodding. ‘That’s fine.’ Laurie passed him the keys and their hands touched for a moment. Laurie wanted to stay right there, his skin against hers, close – but he pulled back and put the keys on his hallway table.

  ‘So where are you—’ he started, looking back at her.

  ‘Jay,’ a voice called out from inside the flat. ‘Your tea’s getting cold here.’

  It was her. That girl. ‘I should probably go,’ Laurie said, a heavy feeling in her chest now. ‘But thanks, I appreciate it.’

  She turned and walked away up the stairs, her heart thudding. The girl’s voice. That was intimacy.

  ‘But Laurie, I’ll see you at Lily’s party, right?’ Jay called up.

  ‘Oh yeah, sure,’ Laurie said, glancing back and forcing a smile. But she realised as soon as the words were out that with Jay, like this, was the one place she couldn’t be at Christmas.

  Laurie walked through Kings Cross Station wheeling her suitcase along behind her, feeling like a reject from The Apprentice. It was Wednesday morning – just over a week since her life fell apart.

  The 11.45 to Leeds was her first train, and she’d link up with a smaller train out to Skipley from there. Out of commuter hours, the carriage was half empty. A man with a ruddy face and a middle that pressed against the table in front of him looked at her with a welcoming smile. Two young children, presumably his, sat in the opposite seats. With a sinking feeling, she put her handbag down.

  ‘Hello, love,’ the man said. He stood up to help her heave her lead weight of a suitcase up on to the overhead shelf. ‘Where are you headed to?’

  Laurie never talked to strangers on public transport, and she wasn’t ready to make an exception today. In that respect, while she might not have been born there, she was every bit a Londoner. ‘Skipley,’ she answered, hoping he would get back to the fishing magazine he had in his hand.

  ‘Skipley, eh – ah yes, I know it, well, I’ve heard of it at least. You’ll be going right up to Leeds then. Now we—’

  The train pulled out of the station and as the man continued to talk, Laurie sank back into her chair with a deep sigh.

  After a few minutes of fishing talk, Laurie got out her iPhone and cranked up a playlist, and the man finally went back to his magazine. Laurie looked out of the window at the passing scenery. London’s now-familiar landscape – the backs of terraced houses, the Emirates Stadium, Alexandra Palace up on the hill. Just seeing the urban skyline was enough to give her a buzz. Right then, as they picked up speed, she felt like grabbing the city with both hands and never letting go.

  She flicked through to Twitter on her iPhone and posted a tweet on her account:

  Leaving London and heading for the Yorkshire dales, wish me luck! #rubbishatrelaxing

  She smiled at the one-line replies that flooded through almost immediately.

  As she read one from her cousin Andrea, she was reminded of family. Her mum. She quickly sent her a text:

  Mum, hi, how are things? Sorry I’ve not been in touch. How are you? I’m going out of London for a couple of weeks. Having a holiday. Love Lx

  A message beeped through a moment later.

  L, that’s great you’re going on hol
iday. Clara said she saw you. Everything is fine here, just the usual. Love and miss you, Mum x

  An hour passed, and the Victorian terraces had been replaced by roughly ploughed fields, blue skies stretching out above. The further they’d come out of the city, the louder everyone seemed to talk – the carriage was full of shrieks and chatter. She tried to focus on her iPad edition of Vogue, but she was vying for space with both her seat partner and a bulky plastic dog kennel and a cuddly husky that the little girls opposite her were playing with.

  ‘Do you want to stroke him?’ One of the little girls offered up her fluffy dog. Laurie smiled and gave him an awkward pat, pulling away at the touch of a sticky, jelly cola bottle stuck in his fur.

  After wiping her hand, being careful not to stain her cream silk top, Laurie went online. There was something wrong with her work account, she couldn’t get access to it. She sighed – she was sure there’d be messages needing an urgent response from her – and clicked into her personal one instead. She smiled to see that she had a message from her goddaughter, Milly.

  From: Millypede@gmail.com

  To: LaurieGreenaway@virgin.net

  Hi Laurie,

  I just got your postcard from Beijing and it’s really cool, thank you. I’ve added it to the collection on my pinboard.

  Laurie wasn’t a brilliant godmother, she knew that – but postcards were a habit she’d kept up. She pictured her goddaughter in the photo she’d seen on Facebook – tall for her age, with dyed dark-red hair and her dad’s hazel eyes. In Milly, Laurie saw some of the spark she’d had when she was younger, a hunger to get ahead, to make a better life.

  We are heading down to London and to your flat today – it’s all a bit mad, isn’t it? I’m really looking forward to it though, I can’t wait to see a bit of the city and stay at your place. Did you tell me you have a dressmaker’s dummy there? I have a textiles project I’m bringing down to finish.

  I hope you find something to keep you entertained in Skipley, my God, it’s boring. Anyway the parentals are worried about Granny Bea, but she seems OK to me and is being all cheerful and Granny-like about having to go to hospital.

  Have a good journey,

  Lots of love

  Milly xxx

  P.S. I found an old photo of you and Mum. You are about my age and Mum has this trashy red lipstick on. The photo’s nice, though. I have one of me and my friend Kate that is almost the same.

  She tapped back a quick reply.

  From: LaurieGreenaway@virgin.net

  To: Millypede@gmail.com

  Millypede! Hello.

  Great to hear from you. I hope you enjoy the flat. There’s a stack of fabrics in my spare room, where you’ll be sleeping, I think, so help yourself to anything you like for your project. And do use Matilda (my resident dummy). She gets very lonely without a bit of attention. Zak might like her as a dance partner.

  I hope Bea gets much better soon.

  Sending you all hugs,

  Laurie xxx

  P.S. Wow, I bet I had dreadful hair in the photo. They hadn’t invented GHD straighteners back then. I KNOW.

  Milly’s reply came back in an instant – ‘Your hair’s pink, actually.’

  ‘Well,’ Laurie tapped back, ‘I’ve got no excuses for that. Safe journey, Milly – Lx.’

  ‘We will shortly be arriving in Leeds,’ the announcement came. ‘Our next station with this train will be Leeds. Please take all your personal belongings with you.’

  Laurie got to her feet, stretching out after the two hours she had been seated, and walked out into the station with her suitcase. She found Platform 6 and transferred on to a cramped, smaller train. When it set off it rattled through the landscape, past fields of sheep, stopping at Giggleswick, Long Preston and other places Laurie had never heard of. Apart from a granny doing her crossword, the carriage was empty, so Laurie read Vogue in peace, checked out what Alexa Chung was going to be wearing to Christmas gigs and what Chloe Sevigny was doing her gift-shopping in. After less than an hour she heard the announcement for Skipley.

  She looked out of the window as she got her bags. There was nobody – nobody – on the platform. She glanced around at the vast, empty fields and hills. Welcome to Skipley, she thought. Was it too late to swap back?

  CHAPTER 8

  Wednesday 29th November

  ‘So, kids. Here we are,’ Rachel said, putting on her best smile as they emerged from the tube station. ‘Brixton.’

  Zak and Milly looked around, eyes wide, taking in the busy high street. It was the middle of the day, on a Wednesday and the pavements were full of people. Market stalls bustled, police sirens wailed and a bornagain Christian preached through a loud-hailer. Incense sticks burning on a nearby stall immersed them in a thick patchouli fog.

  ‘It’s noisier here than at home, isn’t it, Mum?’ Zak said, looking up and holding on to his rucksack straps tightly.

  They’d come down by train that morning, and their first stop had been the central London hospital where they’d dropped Bea off. ‘She’ll be in safe hands here,’ Dr Patel, a calm woman in her forties, told Rachel. ‘I’ll be looking after her and overseeing the tests.’ Rachel and Milly helped Bea unpack and get settled, and Zak gave Bea one of his books, a ‘Choose your own adventure’ one promising dragons and fiery volcanoes. She’d politely added it to the stack of travel memoirs by her bedside. ‘Thank you, Zak,’ she said, ‘I’ll look forward to that one.’ Milly leaned in to give her grandma a gentle hug. ‘I hope you feel much better soon, Granny.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be just fine,’ Bea said, shrugging off the concern, ‘don’t you worry about me.’

  The tube had been bewildering – Zak had to be rescued when the ticket barriers shut on his rucksack – but finally they’d arrived in Brixton, and according to Laurie’s directions they were just a short walk away from her flat. They’d left their larger bags with Aiden to bring down in the car, but each carried a small overnight bag.

  ‘Right, kids,’ Rachel said. They walked together on to the zebra crossing, but as they stepped out to cross it a cyclist whizzed across their path, forcing them back. When they stepped forward again a moment later a white van beeped at them and the driver shouted something unintelligible out of the window. Zak looked at Rachel, cowed and uncertain. Milly’s face mirrored his. ‘Perhaps let’s cross at the lights,’ Rachel said, walking towards them and hoping she’d got the right direction.

  ‘I’ve got the route,’ Milly said, showing Rachel her iPhone – Rachel glanced over curiously at the little blue dot moving as they did. ‘Here we are in London town,’ Milly said, affecting the tone of a posh tourist guide, ‘and, to your left, please take note of the local highlights – TopShop, H&M and New Look.’ Rachel couldn’t help smiling as her daughter continued: ‘And beyond the famous Brixton Academy, you’ll see Windermere Road, home to the eminent fashion designer Laurie Greenaway and holiday home of the rich, famous – and the Murray family.’

  ‘Look, a fox!’ Zak called out, squeezing Rachel’s hand and pointing to a mangy-looking specimen with a straggly tail who was sniffing around in a KFC wrapper just a few metres away.

  The street wasn’t quite what Rachel had imagined. She double-checked the address in her phone, Windermere Road – yes, this was it. But this place didn’t seem very Laurie at all. It was an avenue of tall Victorian terraced houses, leafless, knobbled plane trees lined each side of the road and bin bags and recycling boxes overflowed on to the pavement. The houses were grand, but shabby, and cast in shade.

  Rachel took a deep breath, then they all continued walking. Milly called out the house numbers as they went: ‘thirty-three, thirty-one … Zak, check out all those bikes,’ Milly said suddenly, giving her little brother a nudge as they passed a house with a handwritten chalkboard sign propped up outside it. Reggae boomed from a speaker by the open door. ‘Bill the Bikeman. All Repairs’, the sign read. A man with greying dreadlocks and a knitted rasta hat was kneeling down at the doorstep fixing a
bicycle chain while customers waited on the pavement – a teenager with a battered BMX and a woman in a suit with her fold-away Brompton. Other bikes, old and rusty next to shiny and new, filled the front yard. ‘Cool,’ Zak said, staring over at Bill as he spun bike wheels. ‘Hi, there,’ Bill called out, with a nod.

  Rachel smiled in reply, and checked Bill’s door number, then looked over at the block next to it. Twenty-three – OK, there it was. They had arrived. The building, like all the others on the street, seemed to loom over them. She led Zak and Milly to the intercom and ran her finger over the numbers. She buzzed Laurie’s neighbour in Flat 6.

  ‘Hi.’ A friendly male voice came from the speaker.

  ‘Hi,’ Rachel said back. ‘Is that Jay? It’s Rachel, Laurie’s friend …’

  ‘Rachel, hi,’ the voice said, ‘come up, I’m on the second floor.’ Rachel waited for the buzz, then pushed open the heavy front door. Zak hopskotched across the black and white tiles of the wide hallway, quickly making his way towards the stairs, his steps echoing. They went up the first flight of stairs together and when they all reached the second floor, the door to Jay’s flat was open. A tall, dark-haired man with a welcoming smile stepped forward and offered Rachel his hand to shake.

  ‘Hi, I’m Jay,’ he said, with the faintest trace of a London accent. His deep-brown eyes met Rachel’s.

  As she smiled and shook his hand, Rachel felt acutely aware of her crumpled clothes and wind-whipped hair. Laurie’s brief description of her neighbour had missed out a few key details – tall, with warm brown skin and an easy manner, Jay was distractingly attractive. Rachel realised she was still gazing at him, and brought herself back to reality sharply. ‘And this is Milly,’ she said, smiling and flustered, ‘and Zak.’ She put a hand on each of her children’s arms. They said hello dutifully. Rachel noticed that her daughter was quieter than usual.