Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

by Carla Burgess

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Anthony laughed and ducked his head guiltily. ‘I’m meeting a friend for a drink. Have a good evening.’

  ‘You, too,’ I said, taking my mum by the arm and drawing away. I smiled, careful not to betray the jealousy that had spiked through me. Friend? What friend? A female friend? Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? Had he been making arrangements to meet someone while pressed up against me? I felt winded as I walked away, almost dragging my mum with me as I headed towards the bright glow of the Christmas market at the end of the street. Christmas carols pumped from the loudspeakers, and people milled between stalls, smiling and chatting and feeling festive. I followed Mum around, trying to get a hold of my wayward emotions. What was wrong with me? I’d just met the man. I couldn’t be feeling like this about a self-confessed commitment-phobe I’d known for just a few days. I didn’t do stuff like that. Even with Patrick, I’d prided myself on not being clingy and suspicious of what he did when he wasn’t with me. And yet here I was, worrying that a man I hardly knew was meeting a friend who could be male for all I knew. This wasn’t normal behaviour for me at all.

  Mum bought a new angel for the top of the tree and stopped to admire the personalised stockings.

  ‘Would you like one?’ she asked. ‘I’ll buy you one if you like?’

  They were lovely and something I’d talked about buying in the past, but the thought of seeing one lonely stocking hanging from my fireplace was too sad. I thought about Bobbi’s sad face before and told Mum about the foodbank situation. Mum’s face creased in sympathy. ‘We could invite them round for Christmas dinner. We always have loads of food and it would be lovely to do something like that at Christmas.’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how to offer help without offending her either. I mean, she obviously doesn’t want us to know. I don’t know how I didn’t know she was struggling. Have I been so caught up in my own life that I didn’t pay attention to hers? How could I not see? I feel so guilty.’

  Mum frowned. ‘It depends how long it’s been going on for. There may not have been anything to see. If she didn’t want you to know, she’s probably just hidden it from you.’

  ‘But she’s got so thin. Have you noticed?’

  ‘No, she always wears those big, baggy cardigans. You can’t see anything under them. And yes, she does look a bit scruffy sometimes, but I thought that was just the fashion. Everyone wears those ripped jeans, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’ I sighed, unhappily. ‘But am I such a bad friend that she couldn’t confide in me?’

  ‘You’re also her boss, Rachel. Maybe she didn’t want to burden you with her problems. Also, she’s probably too proud to admit she’s struggling. Has she been unhappy recently?’

  ‘Not so I’ve noticed. She always seems cheerful in the shop. But then, since Anthony said about it this afternoon, I’ve seen her looking sad and lost a few times.’

  ‘She’s not very well today, though, Rachel. She may just be feeling poorly. You can’t blame yourself. It’s not like you’ve been wrapped up in your own life, is it? It’s been months since you split up with Patrick and all you’ve done since is work and sleep. I can’t believe you haven’t been there for her. How does Anthony know all this anyway?’

  ‘He ran a check on her because she worked with me. I don’t think he really should have told me, but I’m glad he did.’

  We gazed despondently at the stockings for a few more minutes before moving on. The air was full of the smells of hog roast and frying onions. I bought us a coffee and we wandered around more stalls before deciding to go home. There was a bitter chill in the air and my cheeks felt numb with cold.

  ‘They’ve been saying we could get a white Christmas,’ Mum said.

  ‘We won’t get a white Christmas!’ I scoffed. ‘We never get a white Christmas.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  We walked in silence, our heels echoing in the quiet of the night. The pavement glittered with frost. ‘Brr, I’m glad I’m going home to my warm bed,’ Mum said. ‘Imagine being one of those scantily clad young things out clubbing.’

  ‘Hmm, waiting for a taxi at two a.m.,’ I said, feeling relieved and yet slightly regretful at the same time. When had I got so boring? All I seemed to do these days was work in the shop and go to the flower market. Maybe I should arrange a girls’ night out, find a man and exorcise both Patrick and Anthony Bascombe from my head.

  Back at home, I put on my pyjamas and made some hot chocolate. I couldn’t stop thinking about Anthony and wondering where he was and who he was with. No matter how many times I told myself it was none of my business, because nothing was going to happen between us, my brain kept obsessing over little details about him. The length of his fingers, the curve of his ear, the find web of lines around his eyes when he smiled. The hard warmth of his body against mine tonight at the parade.

  Had I felt like this about Patrick? Presumably so, although I wasn’t sure it had been this quick. That first night he’d turned up in the bar when I’d been stood up by my date, I’d liked him enough to agree to see him again, but it took a few dates and lots of phone calls to get to the point where I was really keen. Perhaps this was just a case of wanting what I couldn’t have, though? Maybe I’d have lost interest if he’d said he was looking for a future wife and was desperate to settle down.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, really,’ Elena said when I phoned a little later on. I’d had enough of sitting on my own and quietly losing my mind over Anthony. ‘We talked about this before and you told me off when I said you should just go for it. And I understand how you wouldn’t want to get with a guy who has no interest in relationships, but you’ve only just met him. You might go off him in a few days or weeks. You never used to like men for very long, did you? I mean, before Patrick you had loads of boyfriends you only saw a handful of times before you got bored of them. Maybe that will happen with Anthony? And it’s not like you’re desperate to get married and have babies any time soon, is it?’

  ‘I know, but it just seems counterintuitive to date a man like that.’ I let out a laugh. ‘Listen to me, talking about dating! We’re not even close to dating. It’s not like he’s asked me out or anything. And it can’t happen anyway because I’m part of this investigation into stupid Patrick. God! If only I hadn’t kissed him the other night, I might not feel like this now. I don’t know why he makes me feel like this. I’m sitting here and I still feel like I can smell him on my clothes. And when he said he was going off to meet a friend, I got all jealous, thinking it might be a woman. What right do I have to feel like that? None! Every time I see him, my legs turn to jelly and I get all nervous. I feel like I’m turning into you, Elena. I’ll be stalking him next and collecting random rubbish he leaves behind to keep in a box under my bed.’

  ‘Hey! Cheeky. Anyway, look how it turned out for me. Now I can lick Daniel’s face whenever I like.’

  ‘Oh yuk! You pair are gross.’

  ‘We are not. You’re just jealous because you’ve got a crush on hot-cop.’

  ‘Hot-cop! I can’t believe you’re calling him that. How old are you?’

  ‘Old enough to know you should just go for it.’

  ‘See, there you go again with your rubbish advice. That is not what I want to hear, Elena. You should be telling me not to be ridiculous and that I should avoid him at all costs and forget about him. Bad Elena!’

  ‘Sorry!’ Elena giggled. ‘Maybe we should have a girly night out and find you a new man.’

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  ‘Yes, let’s. We’ll have to arrange one, although I’m not sure I can do it before Christmas now.’

  ‘Really? That’s crap.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I’d better go. Stay away from hot-cop. He’s bad for your blood pressure.’

  Chapter Seven

  Mmm, Sunday morning. My one and only lie-in. No work, no flower market, no nothing, just long, peaceful ho
urs snuggling in my cosy bed. So why was I awake so bloody early? It was still dark outside and the LED display on my alarm clock told me it was six a.m. and my bedroom was still pitch-black.

  I sat up in bed, wondering what had woken me. Everything was quiet, including next-door’s dog, which had a habit of barking to be let out early in the morning. But I was sure there had been some sort of noise. Every nerve in my body was on red alert: heart thudding, blood rushing, ears straining to hear even the slightest sound. Living alone, I was paranoid about burglars and had about five bolts on both the front and back doors. All of my windows were locked and I slept with an old hockey stick under my bed, although goodness only knew what I would do with it if anyone actually broke in. As my dad had pointed out, they’d be more likely to use it on me than the other way around.

  Still, I reached for it now as I slipped out of bed and crept through the velvety darkness towards my bedroom door. My heart was thumping and my knees were weak as I stepped out onto the landing and peered down the stairs.

  It was quite windy outside and I wondered if it was that that had woken me. Maybe it had rattled the letterbox? Or whistled in the chimney? Or blown something over in the garden? Yes, that was probably it. There was an old barbeque out there. That had probably gone over. Switching the landing light on, I went downstairs into the kitchen and lifted the blind to peer into the back garden, only to see a shadowy figure staring up at the house.

  Terror washed over me and I let out a piercing scream and dropped to the floor. Panting with fear, I looked wild-eyed around the kitchen before questioning what I was doing. This was my property. I shouldn’t be cowering in my kitchen. I should be telling them to leave. Gathering all my courage, I stood back up and opened the blind fully, ready to glare angrily at whoever it was and tell them to bugger off. Any self-respecting burglar would have run off by now, anyway.

  ‘Rachel, it’s me.’

  I blinked through the window, unable to believe that Anthony Bascombe was standing in my back garden at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. Leaning over the sink, I unlocked the kitchen window and pushed it open. ‘What on earth are you doing in my back garden? You frightened me to death.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was just passing and thought I’d check your house.’

  ‘Check my house? Why would you need to check my house?’

  ‘Just your friendly neighbourhood police check.’ His eyes darted to the side and he looked a bit shifty.

  ‘I think I can live without that, thanks. This is my one lie-in of the week and you woke me up. What are you doing up at this time, anyway?’

  ‘I’m just about to start work.’

  I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘I thought you went out last night?’

  ‘And? I had one drink with a couple of guys from the station. I was tucked up in bed by eleven.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’m sorry I woke you. I tripped over your barbeque after nearly braining myself on that stupid bird feeder that’s hanging from your tree.’ He rubbed his hand over his head.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine. What were you going to do with that, anyway?’ he said, indicating my hockey stick. ‘Challenge me to bully-off?’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. I keep it under my bed to protect myself from potential intruders. Like you.’

  He held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry I scared you. I’m just checking you’re safe.’

  I scowled at him. ‘You’re checking for Patrick, aren’t you? Where do you think he is? Hiding in my shed?’

  He glanced over at the flimsy wooden lean-to in the corner of the garden. ‘I feel sorry for him if he’s in there.’

  ‘Do you really think I’m harbouring him?’ I snapped. ‘Do you really not trust me at all?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘I just think you’re the key to finding Patrick. I’m sure he’s going to contact you somehow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he? He can’t go home, he can’t go to work, he can’t go to his friends. He’s basically on the run with nowhere to go. I’d be surprised if he didn’t try to contact you at some point. He loved you, didn’t he?’

  I shrugged unhappily. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more.’

  Anthony sighed, still rubbing his head. ‘What would you do if he did turn up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I was so annoyed I couldn’t think straight. All these questions about bloody Patrick and I just wanted to forget I was ever stupid enough to get with him in the first place.

  ‘Would you phone me?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I shrugged and shook my head.

  ‘You suppose so?’

  ‘Yes. I mean yes, I would. Of course I would. You know I would.’

  ‘No, I don’t, actually.’ He was looking at me suspiciously now, his expression hardening.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. ‘Look, this is all academic, anyway. He hasn’t been in touch and I really don’t expect to hear from him ever again. I mean, why would he? He barely contacted me when we were together, so he definitely won’t now we’ve split up.’

  Anthony cocked his chin, regarding me through narrowed eyes. I felt cold all of a sudden, and it had nothing to do with the icy air that was coming in through the open window.

  ‘But if he did contact you?’ he persisted. ‘What would you do?’

  I groaned and passed a hand across my face. ‘I just said I’d phone you. Now, will you bugger off? I’m going back to bed.’

  ‘He’s a con man, Rachel. He’s swindled hundreds of people out of money. People have lost their businesses, their livelihoods, their homes because of scams he’s run.’

  ‘Yes, I understand he’s done wrong. He deserves everything that’s coming to him. But what do you want from me? I’ve helped you, haven’t I? Do you really still not trust me?’

  Anthony was quiet for a moment. ‘I just believe he’s going to come back to you and, if you still care for him, you might not be able to turn him in.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Of course I’d turn him in. And I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with the idea that he’ll turn up here. I promise you, I haven’t heard from Patrick since I finished with him and he has no reason to come and find me.’ I stared at him, trying to make him understand, but Anthony just looked back at me, his expression closed-off and suspicious. What was wrong with him this morning? He’d been completely different last night. ‘Do you want to come in and check under the bed and in my wardrobe? Check he isn’t hiding upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I blinked at him, unable to believe he really wanted to check my house. Slamming the window shut, I unlocked the back door for him to come in. ‘Take your shoes off if they’re muddy,’ I told him.

  He slipped them off without saying a word, then removed his coat and hung it on the hook on the back of the door. He was wearing a suit jacket and shirt but without a tie. I looked at the exposed skin at the open neck of his shirt before remembering I was angry at him. ‘Help yourself,’ I said, gesturing towards the hallway. ‘You know where my bedroom is.’ Turning my back on him, I filled the kettle from the tap and flicked it on. It hurt that Anthony didn’t trust me. What did I have to do to convince him I was no longer involved with Patrick?

  He was only upstairs a couple of minutes before he came back down. I kept my back to him as I moodily placed two slices of bread in the toaster.

  ‘Is he up there?’ I asked, conversationally. ‘Was he in my bed without me knowing?’

  Anthony sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. You understand why I had to check, though?’

  ‘No,’ I said, flatly. ‘You know I haven’t had anything to do with him for months. Why would you think he was here now? I mean, I was with you at the parade last night and then I went to the Christmas market with my mum. Why would I have been there with you and everyone else if I’d arranged to meet Patrick?’

  ‘I’m not saying you would have arranged to
meet him. I believe you when you say you’re not still in contact with him. I’m saying he might just turn up.’

  I shook my head. ‘That is very unlikely. Why would he, after all this time? He’s bound to have other people he can turn to, no matter what you say about arresting his associates. What about the mother of his little girl? They were still good friends.’

  Anthony laughed. ‘Yes, they were such good friends they were still married.’

  I stiffened and looked back over my shoulder at him. ‘No, they’re divorced. She’s married to someone else now, right?’

  Anthony shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘I was seeing a married man?’ I turned to look at him, horror flooding through me.

  Anthony nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  He shrugged and shook his head. ‘You didn’t need to know.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ I gripped the side of the worktop, feeling sick and weak all of a sudden. ‘I can’t believe it. Does she know about me?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head as though trying to rid himself of some unwelcome thought. ‘Rachel, listen: this isn’t down to you. You’re not the married one, he is. He lied to you. How could you know he was married?’

  ‘But I’ve been so stupid,’ I said, weakly. ‘I should have known. All those times he let me down and said he couldn’t come after all. The fact that I never saw where he lived and could only contact him at work. Why didn’t I realise?’ I was floored by the realisation I’d been deceived so completely. Cold, hard anger flooded through me. I hated Patrick now. Hated him. The toast popped and the kettle boiled, but I ignored them both and stared at the wall in front of me with horrified, unseeing eyes. ‘You know, if he did turn up, I’d probably kill him before I rang you.’

  Anthony coughed. ‘Well, don’t do that. There’s no point you going to prison, too.’

  ‘But that’s why you’ve told me, isn’t it? To make sure I do turn him in.’

  Anthony was silent for a moment. ‘Partly. I don’t want you to kill him, though. Shall I make your tea?’