Among a Thousand Stars

by Jo Bartlett

  ‘What did you have in mind?’ Tom didn’t comment on the broken eggs and over-cooked bacon. She might not be able to cook, but he evidently had other priorities.

  ‘Shopping?’ She’d realised with some horror that, without a shopping trip, Christmas dinner would consist of Findus Crispy Pancakes and oven chips. Worse than that, she had absolutely nothing suitable to give him as a Christmas present. She had the lime green sweater she’d bought for Stevie, who she wouldn’t now be seeing until after Boxing Day, but it was about as far removed from being Tom’s kind of thing as possible and two sizes too small to boot. So even desperation ruled that out.

  ‘Not quite what I’d hoped for, but okay.’ He attempted to spear a piece of bacon, which promptly shot across the table and on to the floor. ‘And maybe we should think about getting you a dog while we’re at it.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The shops were horrendously busy, just as they’d expected and having spent £300 in the supermarket and overloaded the trolley so much that even Tom could barely push it in a straight line, it was as much as she could do to persuade him to drop her off in Sandgate High Street to ‘pick up a few last minute bits and pieces’. Giving him the key to her flat, she’d dashed up and down the high street in a wild-eyed panic. What on earth could you buy the man who had everything when the extent of your options were limited to a handful of small independent shops in a quaint little seaside town? After almost buying him a whisky decanter – she wasn’t sure if he even drank the stuff – and a ridiculously over-priced digital photo frame she finally found something suitable in Sands art gallery. It was a small seascape, probably only twelve inches by ten inches, but something about it drew her in. It pictured tempestuous grey skies and inky blue water, capturing the malevolence of the sea in the eye of a storm. There was the back view of a young woman in the foreground of the painting, watching the storm unfold from the shoreline. It was difficult to date, her clothing could have been from the Fifties or, with the cycle of fashion, it might have been painted a week ago.

  ‘I don’t know much about it to be honest love. That’s why it’s only eighty quid.’ Jim Clutterbuck, the owner of Sands, shrugged his shoulders as she handed over her credit card. ‘Sonny got it from a house clearance this week; I reckon it’s a few years old and I had to clean it up a bit. It’s signed by an R Thomas, never heard of him though, so don’t buy it if you’re hoping to take it on the Antiques Roadshow in a couple of years’ time!’ He let out a raucous laugh, as though he’d just told a filthy joke to the rugby team first eleven.

  ‘Thanks Jim, but it doesn’t matter who it’s by, you’re still a life saver.’ Giving the shopkeeper, who had made a pass at her mother a couple of years before, a quick peck on the cheek she dashed out of the shop and headed up the road to home, hoping against hope that Tom wasn’t the sort of person who snooped through your underwear drawer when left alone in your flat. There were some very un-sexy greying bras in that drawer, which were headed for the bin at the first available opportunity.

  ****

  Tom had, in fact, resisted the urge to go searching through her drawers. He’d made a couple of phone calls, including one to his mum to tell her about Ashleigh. He admitted to Isobel that his ruse about Ashleigh being a lesbian had been just that, but their relationship was very casual and that she shouldn’t get any ideas, or her hopes up, whatever she might read in the paper. He would definitely see his mum at some point on Christmas Day and he was tempted to take Ashleigh with him. His mother’s theory rested solely on the premise that he hadn’t found love because he hadn’t met a nice girl. Once Isobel met Ashleigh, her whole argument would be undermined – if anything she was too nice for the business they were in. If it hadn’t happened with someone like Ashleigh, his mother might finally accept it never would, she might also realise it didn’t have to stop Tom enjoying himself and she could quit worrying.

  After he’d finished his calls, Tom spent a while looking around the flat and at the bank of photos on one wall of the living room, which seemed to depict every major milestone in Ashleigh’s life. Stevie was in most of them, but she clearly wasn’t the sort to display pictures of ex-boyfriends.

  Unpacking the shopping whilst he waited, he noticed how simply she lived. It was amazing that she’d remained so unaffected by the celebrity nonsense they’d both chosen for their professional lives. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much he’d missed being around her when she wouldn’t return his calls. The deluge of texts she’d sent him on the night of her kiss with Zac had freaked him out a bit, but he felt reassured by what he saw. There was no evidence in the flat that she’d misunderstood their no-strings agreement, no wedding magazines stuffed behind the cushions on the sofa or half written love letters that she hadn’t got round to sending. It must have been relief he was feeling, but it was a strangely hollow sensation. Perhaps it was just shock, after being with someone like Susie-Anne who had suffocated him planning their ‘lives together’.

  Tom checked the latest stream of messages on his phone, which had appeared as soon as he’d turned it on. Ignoring them all, he switched it off again. He needed a break from the other nonsense and everyone deserved one day off, didn’t they? More than anything he wanted to spend that day with Ashleigh.

  Staying in her flat, he could sense her warmth even when she wasn’t there. He liked her, really liked her, she knew the importance of honesty. It was the thought that he might have been wrong about her that had caused him to over-react when he’d seen her kissing Zac, nothing else. The intense physical attraction aside, he actually enjoyed her company and it was no more or less than that. Having given himself a good talking to he set about creating a Christmas concoction to make the atmosphere in the flat even warmer.

  ****

  The aroma of Christmas greeted her as soon as she opened the front door. Tom was seated by the window watching the afternoon light fading to grey, warming his hands on a cup of cinnamon coffee. Shoving the painting in the hall cupboard, she sat opposite him, accepting the drink he already had waiting for her.

  ‘This place has you written all over it.’ He smiled and she searched for something self-deprecating to say in response, it had become a bit of a defence mechanism over the years.

  ‘What a bit tatty and in need of a make-over?’

  ‘I think it’s beautiful and the view is breath taking.’ Tom drained his coffee and moved his armchair until they were side by side, taking her hand in his. ‘I could more than happily look at it for a very long time.’

  ‘I loved it the moment I saw the place.’ Ashleigh fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of the chair; she may as well bite the bullet sooner than later. ‘My mum has a great view from her place too.’

  ‘It’s the cottage up on the cliffs by the church, isn’t it?’ Tom smiled as she widened her eyes. ‘It’s okay, I haven’t been stalking you. Zac told me about it when he rang up to explain what really happened that night.’

  ‘Oh.’ She could just imagine how that conversation had gone. ‘Well, anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to see the view from up there?’

  ‘Are you inviting me to meet your mum?’ A look of surprise flitted across his face and she was anxious to reassure him that she didn’t have any ulterior motive.‘Well I wouldn’t put it as formally as that.’ Ashleigh shrugged. ‘But I’m going up to the service at the church tonight and they’ll all be there. I mean you don’t have to come or anything, you’re welcome to hang out here or there are probably other things you want to do.’ She was rambling now, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘Except if you do come with me, they’ll expect us both to go back for a drink, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I can’t say church is my usual priority on Christmas Eve or any other time, but I have to admit I’m tempted if only to find out whether your mother is as eccentric as you say she is.’

  ‘Trust me, she’s way worse than I’ve painted her.’ She gri
maced slightly at the thought.

  ‘In that case, how can I say no?’ He smiled again. ‘But only if you do me a favour in return. My mum’s invited us for breakfast tomorrow, before she goes to her sister’s for the rest of Christmas and New Year. She’s got this theory that all I need to do is meet a nice girl and I’ll suddenly realise that love isn’t a crock after all.’

  ‘So, I’m your social experiment, is that it?’ She tried not to let the reason for the invitation upset her. It was nothing if not honest and that’s all he’d ever promised.

  ‘No, what you are is much more than the nice girl she was asking for.’ He kissed her neck. ‘But it still doesn’t change the situation and I want her to know I’m happy with things the way they are, so she can be too.’ His lips brushed her neck and she knew she’d be powerless to say no to him at that moment, whatever the question.

  ‘Are you sure she’ll want me there?’ Nerves swelled in her stomach at the thought of meeting Tom’s mother, even though it was just to prove a point. One upside was that she wouldn’t have to subject Tom to another of her burnt offerings. Added to which there’d be no chance of Carol press-ganging them into breakfast at the cottage, with her Heston Blumenthal inspired menu of roast marrowbone and nettle porridge.

  ‘Trust me, Mum will love you’. He grinned and her stomach flipped again. The shops were already shut, so what the hell was she supposed to buy his mother?

  ****

  Having spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, they almost missed the Christmas Eve service at the church. The six p.m. timing was aimed at families, with the midnight mass a more adult affair, give or take the immature behaviour of those in the congregation, who made a last minute decision to attend on the way home from the pub. As a result, the nativity service featured a real donkey and an ensemble of local children dressed as shepherds, angels and even the odd Mary and Joseph.

  ‘It’s beautiful, don’t you think?’ A thirty-foot Christmas tree totally dominated the nave of the church, decorated with just rows and rows of tiny white lights and a single star. Breathless from the dash up the hill and the emotion of being in church on Christmas Eve, Ashleigh caught her breath.

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Tom winked. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have made you come.’ A burning sensation stung the back of her eyes. He couldn’t know how important it was to her. ‘It’s just I always come to this service on Christmas Eve, it’s a kind of tradition.’

  ‘Hey, Ash, I was only joking.’ Tom furrowed his brow; he must think she was mad. ‘You’re not crying are you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I really thought I’d be okay this time.’ Her words were punctuated with sharp intakes of breath, as she struggled to keep hold of her emotions. ‘It’s stupid, but it just makes me feel close to my dad to be here, he brought me every year without fail.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve ever told me what happened to your dad.’ Tom placed an arm around her shoulder and she allowed him to usher her into an empty pew towards the back of the church, the last thing they needed right now was an audience.

  ‘He died when I was fourteen, not long after the last time he brought me here.’ He might as well know everything. If she didn’t tell him, her mother was bound to get maudlin after a few drinks and the whole thing would come out in a dramatic monologue. ‘It was New Year’s Eve and he and Mum had another blazing row, just the latest in a series of many.’ She paused and he squeezed her hand. ‘He’d had more than a few drinks and got in his car when he shouldn’t have. He took a bend on the coast road far too quickly and went spinning off it and into the garden wall of some poor family just seeing in the New Year. Thankfully no-one else was hurt, but he was killed outright.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry I was flippant, no wonder this is so difficult for you.’ His voice was monotone, as though he couldn’t really connect with what he was saying and found her show of emotion uncomfortable. ‘You and your mum must have been devastated.’

  ‘We were.’ She hesitated for a moment, perhaps she should just gloss over it, but she couldn’t pretend she felt nothing. It was hard enough pretending to Tom that she was entirely comfortable with the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing they had going on. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘In truth, Mum’s heartbreak was borne out of guilt more than anything.’ Ashleigh sighed and ploughed on. ‘She was already seeing Geoffrey on the side. She and dad would never have got married if she hadn’t got pregnant with me. They stayed together for nearly fifteen unhappy years and I think they both had affairs to be honest. It was all so messed up.’

  ‘It sounds like your parents set you the same example as mine did for me, but at least it’s made us into realists.’ He gave her a wry smile, but didn’t elaborate on his own dysfunctional parenting. Perhaps that was why he’d been attracted to her, recognising her as someone who didn’t automatically assume that all relationships ended with the couple skipping off into the sunset to live happily ever after. ‘It also explains why you thought I was making such a mistake with Susie-Anne, apart from the obvious personality defects of course.’

  ‘Maybe they were just doing the best they knew how to do.’ Ashleigh waited for him to say something, uncover a little bit more of himself, but the church organ burst into life at that moment with a somewhat wobbly rendition of Silent Night. The congregation rose to their feet to belt out the hymn, the most vocal of all was a woman at the front wearing a foot-high hat in the shape of a Christmas tree.

  ‘No-one could accuse her of having a Silent Night!’ Even as he said the words, a look of horrified realisation spread across Tom’s face.

  ‘My mother never does.’ Ashleigh laughed, causing two of the regular church members to turn around and shush them.

  ‘It must be my day to put my foot in it.’ Tom grimaced. ‘Perhaps your mum is the one who needs a warning about my big mouth, rather than the other way round!’

  ‘It’s okay, honestly.’ Ashleigh giggled, earning another tut from their neighbours in the pew in front. Tom’s eyebrows shot up in shock as Carol’s Christmas tree hat was suddenly illuminated by her switching on the battery-operated fairy lights at the crescendo of the song. ‘At least you know what I was talking about and meeting her won’t be quite so traumatic.’

  The service wasn’t too long and the kids in their nativity outfits looked incredibly cute, with proud parents and grandparents on hand to capture every precious moment on film. There was a faraway look in Tom’s eyes a couple of times as if he might be thinking about the baby who never was and the fact that his mum might never get to see a grandchild of her own. Of course, Ashleigh couldn’t know that for sure, it might have been something different altogether, but Christmas was a time when emotions ran high. The tension was broken towards the end of the service when the children followed the donkey down the aisle towards the mocked up stable at the far end of the church. Albert, the elderly donkey, had slightly less control over his bowels than in previous years and decided to leave an unexpected gift halfway through the procession. Several of the children were a bit too close behind and, when the manure hit the slate floor of the church, there were more than a few in its line of fire. Much screaming of little girls and hysterics from the adults ensued as a result. Tom’s ludicrously expensive suede shoes hadn’t escaped the onslaught and Ashleigh began to giggle, until there were tears streaming down her cheeks. To Tom’s credit he started to laugh too, not remotely fazed by the fact that his shoes were probably beyond rescue.

  ‘That’s why I live in London, you might have to dodge the odd pile of vomit on the pavement but I can honestly say that I’ve never been sprayed with donkey shit before.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Carol’s house was literally a stone’s throw away from the church and half the congregation had been invited back for Christmas Eve drinks. Ashleigh for one was pleased; it meant that
they’d be able to slip out after a little while without her mother noticing. There were so many people crammed into the small cottage that she had to get more intimate with the vicar than she’d ever planned to, just to get into the kitchen and find herself and Tom a drink to make the ordeal more bearable.

  ‘Ashleigh, my darling, I thought I saw you lurking at the back of the church.’ Carol enveloped her in a theatrical hug. The Christmas bauble earrings she was wearing bashed against Ashleigh’s cheekbones.

  ‘Mum, this is my friend, Tom.’ Having extricated herself from her mother’s embrace, she pulled Tom forward by his wrist and propelled him into the Lion’s Den. Never one to hang back, Carol flung her arms around him in a similar fashion.

  ‘You’re right, he is gorgeous.’ Her mother howled with laughter, whilst a familiar warmth flooded Ashleigh’s face; she’d said no such thing.

  ‘Pleased to meet you Mrs Harper.’ Tom smiled as he disentangled himself from Carol’s clutches and reached out to squeeze Ashleigh’s hand briefly.

  ‘Ooh, Carol, please.’ She threaded her arm through his and propelled him away from Ashleigh, ensuring that his full attention was on her. ‘You’re much nicer than that last one she brought home. That rock star fella.’ Carol, who must have had a fair bit to drink even before the church service, struggled to remember his name. ‘I mean what kind of bloke wears bloody sunglasses in a church when it’s dark?’ Ashleigh, desperately wishing the ground would just open up, said nothing. If her mother knew how much trouble Zac had caused her that night, even she might have shied away from talking about him.

  ‘The kind that’s a total prat,’ Tom said, much to Carol’s delight.

  ‘Exactly. Now come on darling boy, let me introduce you to the verger, she’s got a hilarious story about losing a sticking plaster in the Christmas pudding that you absolutely have to hear!’