“Hi,” Bailey said, trying her best to smile. She stepped forward, meaning to shake Monroe’s hand, but at the last minute she realised that the woman’s right arm was wrapped around her kid.
“Nice to meet you,” Monroe said, her voice warm. She gave Bailey a half-hug with her free arm, kissing her cheek. “This is momentous day! I had no idea my brother had friends.”
Bailey laughed, her unease melting away at the warmth in Monroe’s ocean eyes. The tall woman was solidly built, with plump, pink, freckled cheeks and ginger hair shoved up into a messy bun. “Friends might be overstating it. We’re more acquaintances, really.”
“I knew it,” Monroe chuckled. “Say hello, Charlie.”
“Hello,” the little boy said shyly. He was the spitting image of his brother, on a slightly smaller scale.
“Hi,” Bailey smiled. “I like your slippers.”
He looked down at the Thomas the Tank Engine footwear, a scowl on his face. “They’re old. Grandma didn’t get me new ones.”
“Oh dear,” Bailey murmured.
“Charlie! Don’t be so rude.” Monroe put the boy down with a huff, rolling her eyes. “He’s worn out. My mum’s had them doing all sorts. Anyway, come in, won’t you? Let’s get out of the hall.”
The boys ran off into one room together while Monroe led Bailey and Cash into another. They stepped into a large, warm kitchen, at the centre of which stood an island piled high with food. A plump little woman with a cloud of ginger hair was bent over a huge, turquoise Aga, muttering curse words to herself and stirring a large pot.
“Mum,” Monroe called. “Look who’s here.”
The woman turned, revealing a soft, weathered face creased with laugh lines and crow’s feet. She wore an apron printed with holly and her sleeves were rolled up past her pink elbows. A wide grin split her face, revealing a gold tooth just behind one canine, and her eyes glinted a familiar green as she rushed forward.
“Cash!” She cried, her arms outstretched.
“Alright, Mum.” He pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her up, and her little legs waved in the air. Then he set her down and she began smothering him with kisses, dragging his head down to her level with both hands.
“Look at your hair!” She cried. “You swore to me you’d get it cut for Christmas!”
“Forgot,” he mumbled. “New Year’s, yeah?”
“When will you shave this awful beard?”
“It’s not a beard, Mum.”
“I’ve no idea why you keep this scruff. You’ve a lovely chin, you have. You could be a model, you could! I don’t know why you hate your dimples so much.” Cash’s mother appeared to be slightly deaf. Her every utterance was at least ten decibels louder than necessary. But Bailey couldn’t bring herself to mind.
Then the older woman turned to Bailey, her gaze inquisitive. “And this is your friend!” She trilled. “How lovely! What a very pretty friend she is.” She pulled Bailey into a hug that smelled strongly of ginger and syrup and face powder. “I’m Karen. Now, please make yourself at home, sweetheart. I want you to be perfectly comfortable, I do. Oh, bugger.” She hurried back towards the Aga, where the pot she’d been stirring was threatening to bubble over.
“I’m making spaghetti!” She cried. “Your favourite, Cashew Nut!”
“Mum,” Cash sighed. “Could you please not—“
“Oh, yes! I’m sorry. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friend now do I?” She gave him a theatrical wink. “Is spag bol alright with you, Bailey darling? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“Oh, no,” Bailey reassured her, still trying to hide her smirk at the nickname Cashew Nut. “Spaghetti sounds great.”
“Not gluten intolerant, are you?”
“Um, no.”
“Not on the Atkins?”
“No?”
“The 5:2?”
“Mum,” Cash interjected. “She’s not on any kind of special diet.”
“Oh, good! Good! I mean, I made spare food just in case. I wasn’t sure! Anyway, dinner won’t be long, but there’s snippets if you’re hungry, loves.” She waved vaguely at the island.
It was piled high with a buffet of food, from pigs in blankets on a hotplate to foil hedgehogs stabbed with pineapple and cheese cocktail sticks. Monroe leant at one end, munching on a cracker.
“We won’t be able to eat all this, Mum,” Cash laughed. “You must know that.”
“Rubbish,” Karen cried. “Nonsense! You’re a big strong boy! It’s Christmas! I got you some Terry’s Chocolate Oranges, Cash my love, they were on offer at Sainsbury’s. Do you like Chocolate Oranges, Bailey?”
“I do, Karen.” Bailey grinned, thoroughly enjoying herself. This was like something out of a film; like the kind of mother she’d dreamt of as a kid, someone soft and warm and silly and sensible all at the same time. Like Molly Weasley, or something. Only she felt disloyal for thinking such thoughts, as though her own mother hadn’t been good enough. She shook her head, pushed the pang of disquiet away.
“Excellent!” Karen was saying. “Wonderful! I was hoping you might, so I got plenty. I got After Eights as well, just in case you were a mint girl.”
“I’ll have any kind of chocolate,” Bailey admitted.
“Oh, don’t tell her that,” Monroe warned. “We’ll be rolling you out of this house by the time Christmas is over.”
“Cash,” Karen said suddenly. “What on earth are you still doing here, boy! Bugger off, will you? Go and see to your nephews. Or find George. He’s here somewhere on one of his bloody computers…”
“My brother-in-law,” Cash explained with a wry smile. “Will you be okay, if I…?”
“Be off with you!” Karen insisted. “We’re not going to eat her. We want some girly time, don’t we Bailey?”
“Um…”
“Don’t worry,” Monroe grinned. “I’ll rescue you if she gets carried away.”
Bailey gave Cash a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine,” she said softly. But he reached out and caught her hand in his, pulling her to him. Her heart leapt at the contact, and at the concern in his eyes.
“Are you sure?” He murmured, leaning over her. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”
“Honestly, it’s okay,” she told him. And it really was. She felt as though she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and ended up in the very best of wonderlands. And the way his big, warm hand felt in hers… That was something she could get used to.
Just like all of this.
“Alright,” he relented. He moved to leave, but then at the last moment he turned back and pressed a swift, light kiss to her forehead. She stood and watched him walk away, her heart threatening to float right out of her chest.
She had no idea what was going on with that man. But she was starting to like it.
She turned back to Karen and found the older woman giving her a knowing look, her cheeks plumped up into a smug smile. “You’ve softened up my boy,” she said, speaking at a normal volume for the first time.
Bailey felt herself blush. “Oh, no, I just—I work with him. I mean, he was kind enough to help me out when I… Well—”
“Never mind all that,” Karen said. “I know my little Cashew Nut. He’s a funny boy, and he doesn’t know where his own head’s at half the time. But I know.” She nodded wisely, waving the wooden spoon in her hand from side to side. “Oh, yes! A mother always knows!”
“Mum,” Monroe said, coming to join them at the Aga. “Leave Bailey alone. I’m sure she and Cash are just friends.”
Bailey sent the other woman a look of gratitude.
“I’m also sure that my brother would jump in front of a speeding train to protect your cat—do you have a cat, Bailey?”
“Um… No.”
“Your dog? Guinea pig? Goldfish? The house spider under your bed that you’ve grown strangely fond of?”
“Ah…”
“What I’m trying to say is, he’s smitten.” Monroe smirked. “I’d be concerned if i
t weren’t obvious that you are too.”
“Oh, Roe!” Karen cried, whacking her daughter’s backside with a tea towel. “You’re awful! You’re terrible! And you think I’m a problem! Leave the poor girl alone. Get her some wine!”
“You want some wine, you mean.”
“Behave yourself, child! You’re not too big to go over my knee, you know.”
Bailey might be utterly mortified, but that couldn’t stop her from laughing hysterically at the woman’s antics.
In fact, over the course of the night, she learned that laughter came easy in this house.
Chapter Eighteen
Bailey didn’t meet Monroe’s husband, George, until they all sat down for dinner an hour later.
Monroe and her mother led Bailey into the dining room before setting the table together, moving like two halves of one whole in a choreographed dance. Monroe would carry a steaming dish, raising it high as the shorter Karen swept past her and back into the kitchen. Karen would pour Bucks Fizz with a practiced hand, swinging artfully past her daughter without even looking as the younger woman arranged napkins.
“There!” Karen cooed when all was ready, a soft smile on her face as she looked over the beautifully laid table. Then she bellowed, “Boys! DINNER!”
Out of sight, Bailey’s fingers tangled with the tablecloth as the sound of thundering feet drew closer.
The children arrived first, Will in the lead, with little Charlie dragging at his dressing gown.
“Oh, for God’s sake, take those off,” Monroe ordered, pulling the thick layers from her sons’ shoulders. She turned an exasperated stare at the man who’d just stepped into the doorway. “Why did you put them in these? They’ll get bloody heatstroke!”
“Not a pyjama day without dressing gowns,” the man said mildly. He was tall, like Monroe, but slight. His brown hair was thinning and his mouth was a touch too narrow; his grey shirt was wrinkled and his glasses were slightly wonky. But he had an endearingly distracted air about him that made his appearance somehow charming. His gaze came to rest on Bailey and he gave her a nod, his lips tilted in the ghost of a smile. “Hullo,” he said. “George.”
“Uh, hi. I’m Bailey. Cash’s friend.”
“You’re Uncle Cash’s girlfriend,” giggled Charlie.
“He likes you,” Will whispered, much more seriously. His small face was grave.
“Hey, now,” Cash’s voice came, playful and warm. “Don’t give away all my secrets, boys.” He walked into the room with his usual confidence, but there was something more there, after just a few hours at home—a kind of comfort, an inner contentedness that smoothed his sharp edges. He put his hand proprietorially on the back of Bailey’s chair, then, after a moment’s hesitation, bent down and kissed her forehead. The boys exploded into fits of laughter, and Bailey felt her cheeks heat.
“Quiet!” Monroe demanded. “Sit down. It’s time to eat.”
The chortles continued at a lower volume as the boys moved to the table, nudging each other hysterically. Monroe rolled her eyes and sat beside them, opposite Bailey. And then Bailey found herself between Cash on one side, and his mother on the other.
But by this point, she and Karen were practically best friends. Aside from Bailey’s crippling fear of rejection and strong suspicion that no mother could ever truly accept her darling son’s potential love interest, all was going swimmingly!
Or something.
“Help yourselves, help yourselves!” Karen cried, waving her hands expansively. “Dig in! George, what are you doing loitering by the window?”
George looked at the table with a faint expression of surprise. “Oh. Sorry, Karen.” He wandered over to sit by his sons and began nibbling at a piece of garlic bread, his plate otherwise empty.
“Eat something, silly boy!” Karen demanded, piling her own plate with a small mountain of Bolognese.
“Daddy ate a whole box of After Eights,” Charlie said around a string of spaghetti. “And he didn’t let me have any.”
“Bad for your teeth,” George mumbled.
“Bad for your teeth,” Monroe frowned. “Have some pasta.”
“Leave me, Roe.” But a smile played faintly about his lips
“Have some pasta,” she said again, her voice firm.
He sighed dramatically, then reached for one of the huge serving dishes. Monroe rolled her eyes again.
Bailey hid a smile, her own eyes sliding to Cash. He winked at her, and she shovelled in a mouthful of Bolognese to stop herself from laughing.
“So!” Karen said. “Bailey. What a lovely name that is.”
“Thanks,” Bailey smiled. “It was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Really?” Karen let out a peal of laughter. “That’s wonderful; you match my two! Last names as first names!”
“Oh, right,” Bailey nodded. “Cash and Monroe. Yeah.”
“Everyone thought I was a bit of an odd duck, with those names,” Karen said, leaning in conspiratorially—as though the entire table and half the village couldn’t hear her foghorn voice. “But I was being modern! Before my time, I was! Old is always new again, my love, you remember that.”
“Where is your mother?” George asked suddenly.
Bailey looked up at him, startled by the question. “Um… She passed away. A couple of years ago.” Her gaze flew awkwardly to the kids, who were looking at her with twin expressions of fascination. Charlie’s little mouth hung open, exposing a chewed up mound of Bolognese.
“Oh. You have no family?”
“George,” Monroe hissed, widening her eyes over the boys’ heads.
“What?” He asked. “You told me to make conversation.”
Monroe heaved out a sigh and let her head fall into her hands.
“Daddy,” Will said helpfully, “I think you’re doing the thing Mummy tells you not to do.”
“Oh, dear,” tutted Karen. “You must excuse our George. He’s a bit funny.”
“Mum!” Monroe cried.
“What, love? He is!” She turned to Bailey, patted her arm reassuringly. “He’s very clever, you see. Clever people have nothing about them, everyone knows that!”
Monroe groaned into her hands. Bailey sat stiffly, a polite smile pinned to her face. She had no idea what the appropriate response was here. All she knew was that she couldn’t bear to look at Cash in this moment.
“I’m just trying to find out why she’s here,” George said. “If she’s not Cash’s girlfriend, as he insists, then why has she come to take part in another family’s Christmas? But of course, now that I know she is an orphan—.”
“George, mate,” Cash said, his voice low. “Stop talking.”
“But—”
“Stop. Talking.”
The table fell into an uncomfortable silence. Bailey chewed her spaghetti mechanically, the pasta congealing in her mouth. Through the dining room window, she could see various Christmas lights flashing in the back garden. An illuminated Santa’s grotto blinked red and white.
Suddenly, Cash set down his fork with a clatter. Bailey jumped, finally turning to look at him, and found his eyes boring fiercely into her.
“Bailey is here because I want her to be,” he said. “I invited her because she’s important to me and because I wanted to spend Christmas with her.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tight on top of the table. Then he turned to look at his brother-in-law. “You understand?”
George nodded as though nothing untoward had occurred. “Yes. Thanks, Cash.”
Cash sighed. “No problem.”
And then, as if on cue, the boys dissolved into fits of laughter again.
“Uncle Cash,” Will wheezed between giggles. “You’re holding hands with a girl!”
Cash gave Bailey a slow smile, the kind that felt like melted chocolate on her tongue. “Yep,” he said.
Bailey aimed for a demure expression, one that showed she accepted all public admiration as her due. But she failed monumentally, and felt her face stre
tch into a goofy grin instead.
She could get used to this.
∞∞∞
Hours later, after dinner had been cleared up and the kids had been put to bed, Bailey found herself sitting in the living room with Monroe and a half-empty bottle of wine.
The room was vast, yet comfortable and homely. A fireplace sat at the far end, the mantelpiece covered by photographs and children’s paintings. A wood fire burned merrily in the grate, the only source of light in the room aside from the tiny, winking bulbs adorning the Christmas tree.
And what a tree it was. The monstrous thing grazed the ceiling, with no room for a star or angel at its tip. Still, it was weighed down with crimson, gold and cream baubles, along with metres of tinsel and little plastic-wrapped candy canes. Underneath, a sea of beautifully-wrapped presents spread out on the carpet, eating into the room’s space without remorse. It would take all bloody day to open those presents, Bailey thought, but she was more excited than annoyed at the prospect. Watching the kids open their presents, watching the adults share gifts… It would be so different to the Christmases she and her mother had had, along with whichever man might be around at the time.
Not better, she told herself. Never that. But definitely something she’d always wanted to experience.
“You want more wine?” Monroe asked, and Bailey realised with a start that the glass in her hand was empty. Oops.
“No, I should slow down.”
“Rubbish. It’s Christmas. Get wasted in the comfort of your own home.”
Bailey chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Anyway, it’s not my home. I’d hate to embarrass myself.”
Monroe rolled her eyes. “Just you wait. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve; Mum will crack open the sherry and won’t stop till Boxing Day. Then we’ll see who’s embarrassed.”
They laughed together, and Bailey marvelled at how quickly the warm, open woman had started to feel like a friend.
But then Monroe’s expression sobered. “Listen,” she said, filling up her own glass. “About George—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Bailey said quickly. “Honestly. Don’t.”
Merry Inkmas: A BWWM Romance Page 11
