by Kiley Dunbar
They skipped through the crowds, dodging the shoppers, and crossed over the road through the end-to-end crawling cars, their eyes fixed on their prize and already celebrating their victory, but just at the moment they stepped onto the pavement and were reaching for their table a woman threw herself into one of the chairs with an exhausted sigh, letting her shopping bags fall to the ground, the gift-wrapped contents of one spilling onto the pavement at her feet.
Kelsey and Jonathan drew up short just as a man passing the woman stopped and helped her bundle the gifts back into the bag. The strangers were oblivious to them watching them with their mouths crumpled in confounded surprise; already absorbed in what any passing fool could see was their split-second attraction. They overheard the man asking the woman if she was meeting someone before he claimed the spare chair, even though less than sixty seconds ago he had been bustling past with no intention of sitting.
Astonished, Kelsey smiled at Jonathan. ‘Cute,’ she whispered, and they both diverted inside the café doors shaking their heads with amusement.
Once inside the cosy, shockingly pink café where condensation steamed up the windows and a white Christmas tree twinkled at its centre, Kelsey told Jonathan to sit down and ordered two hot chocolates at the counter, not even having to ask Jonathan if he wanted one.
Soon they were pulling their chairs closer to each other, taking the first sips of their drinks and laughing at the whipped cream on their noses and lips.
‘Aww, man, we really are that couple,’ Jonathan laughed, swiping a slow thumb over Kelsey’s mouth. She just knew he was going to offer it up for her to lick away, which he did.
‘Sickeningly in love, you mean?’
‘Infuriatingly so.’
‘I love it.’ Kelsey grinned.
‘Me too.’
No one in the café minded their laughter as they hunched their heads closer and talked over the sounds of Brenda Lee’s ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ from the café radio.
‘My sisters would love this place, especially Daisy,’ Jonathan said.
‘She’s the littlest, right?’
‘She’s fifteen. I think she’s a budding actress. Someone should really have a word with her about that,’ he said in his drollest voice, deep and crackling with humour, as he stirred the candy cane in his drink. ‘It’s no life, pretending to be someone else half the time. Then there’s the stage fright and the late nights and the being away from the people you love.’ Another kiss pressed to her lips; this one tasted of peppermint. ‘I guess you’ll get to meet them all in April.’
‘Are all your family coming to see you in Love’s Labour’s Lost?’
‘Sure are. Opening night. Dad’s already booked the flights so there’s no getting out of meeting the entire family.’
‘I can’t wait.’
Jonathan called Art his ‘dad’, of course, Kelsey thought. Because he was his dad, the only one he knew, and the warmth and affection with which he spoke about him lit his face.
‘Jonathan… did you even want to meet your father?’ Kelsey blurted it out, eyeing him warily.
He returned her stare with a look that asked where did that come from? ‘Nope. Never,’ he replied. ‘I have my family back in Tulsa, they’re all I ever needed.’
‘OK,’ she nodded. ‘You’re right, I shouldn’t have brought it up.’
‘Hey, we can talk about anything. I don’t know the first thing about whoever that guy was and I don’t wanna know. I’ve made it to the age of thirty-two without knowing him, I think I got it from here, don’t you?’ He winked to show he didn’t mind. ‘Hey, don’t look so sad. Art is a great dad and he makes Mom happy, and you know he raised me since I was seven, so…’
‘He’s your dad.’ Kelsey was nodding. She’d done the right thing. Keeping schtum, not spoiling things. This was further confirmation, if she needed it, that she had to respect Jonathan’s wishes in this.
‘Are you thinking about your own dad?’ he was asking.
‘Oh, no, not really. I mean, I’m always thinking about him one way or another. It’s worse at Christmas, you know, the car accident happened just after New Year… I’m missing all of my family, really.’ She took a sip of chocolate and shrugged. ‘Never mind, can’t be helped.’
‘Like heck it can’t!’
‘What?’
‘Let’s go see them.’ He said it as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
Kelsey’s eyes bulged.
‘They won’t mind us showing up, right?’
‘Mind? They’d be over the moon. Are you talking about surprising them? Just turning up for Christmas?’
‘Sure! You’ve got a driving licence, right? I do too. What is it, like a ten-hour drive? There’s a car rental place nearby?’
Kelsey was nodding. ‘Six hours, maybe seven? We’d be there by bedtime. Oh my God, are we doing this?’
‘As long as we’re back for my flight to LA on the twenty-sixth.’ Jonathan looked at his watch before calling for the cheque and reaching for his wallet to pay. ‘We’re doing this.’
As they left the café, Kelsey suddenly remembered to look back at the two strangers who had thwarted their re-enactment of the day they’d met. They were standing by their empty coffee cups now and sheepishly swapping numbers into mobile phones.
She grinned and nudged Jonathan to look around. Another chance meeting had taken place. Another couple were about to embark on a new love affair. Good old Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of English love poetry, was working its romantic magic once more.
Jonathan swung his arm over Kelsey’s shoulder, locking her in tight to his long body and they bustled happily home to stuff bags for their Christmas Eve journey north.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Now I see the mystery of your loneliness’
(All’s Well That Ends Well)
The text had been left on ‘read’ for three days when Mirren woke that Christmas Eve morning. The little tick confirmed Preston had seen it. She was just beginning to accept the fact that he wouldn’t be replying and that she’d made yet another error of judgement and no doubt hurt him all the more when the notification sound pinged. She’d just been getting out of bed and reaching for the frying pan for the festive bacon-wrapped-sausage on a roll she’d promised herself when she grabbed the phone and read feverishly.
Merry Christmas! It was good to hear from you. I’m good thanks. We’re out on tour at the minute. Listen, you don’t need to apologise again, OK? You’re not the big bad wolf you think you are. I thought a lot about what happened and you know we would have broken up somewhere along the line, right? We should have split as soon as you knew the magic was going but in the end I guess we did our best. I’m glad you messaged actually. I’ve felt weird not letting you know I’ve been seeing someone. She’s our new drummer. I hope that doesn’t hurt you. I don’t want it to. I hope you can move on and find someone really special too. Go and have yourself a merry little Christmas, miss you, P, x
At first his message had made her smile – once she’d stopped shaking, that was. After the adrenalin burst of hearing from Preston again faded she was left with an ache inside. One line stood out more than the others. ‘We should have split as soon as you knew the magic was going.’
He was right, of course. She should have had the courage to break it off there and then, all those years ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
‘Ugh,’ she grumbled into her hands, standing by her unmade bed. Even his texts to his ex-girlfriend were considerate and sweet. Suddenly she’d lost her appetite for the breakfast she’d been looking forward to alone in the silence of the barge, by the light of the little coloured bulbs she’d strung around the galley kitchen window.
She poured a long glass of water, thinking of Preston’s message and hearing all the while her mum’s voice telling her how cruel she’d been, how skittish and disloyal all those years. Typical Mirren.
The voice, and Preston, were right. She’d staye
d with him and tried to pretend things were fine, hiding her deepest wishes – for change, a little adventure, a lot of passion – and hoping they’d go away, senselessly redirecting them towards brief bursts of something that felt daring – the cheating – and every time finding she felt even worse afterwards. Then she’d be consumed with the effort of burying all that guilt, along with all her desires, until there was very little left of the real Mirren; instead she had been a knot of remorse and self-loathing, and yet somehow all it took was a plastered-on smile and a bit of swagger to cover it up.
Another text pinged onto her screen and she almost choked on her water.
BTW, did your mum mention I dropped by with some of your old clothes? I was really there to give her the leaflet. Did she mention it? I’m guessing no? Remember my uncle is in that alcohol dependency support group? It was one of their leaflets. Anyway, you might want to mention it? Follow it up, if you want? You know what to do for the best. OK, got to go, we’re playing in Birmingham tonight. X
Mirren felt the tears welling. Kind, loving, wonderful Preston. She’d forgotten what a relief it was to have somebody know her and understand her life. Preston knew, even better than Kelsey did, what growing up with Jeanie had been like, and he knew she kept it secret from everyone she encountered. He’d cared enough even after they’d broken up to visit her mum. Jeanie was right; she hadn’t deserved him. She pulled the duvet over herself and cried until it was time to leave for her shift at the Yorick.
* * *
Mirren tried to get a good look at John Wagstaff’s face. He was right under the bar lights ordering his usual ale and a glass of sack so it was the perfect opportunity to get him chatting and scan his features for any hint of Jonathan Hathaway in them, but her eyes were tired and gritty from crying and the old man’s whiskers hid most of his face anyway.
‘Not spending Christmas Eve with family?’ she asked, focusing on his eyes, ice-blue, just like Jonathan’s.
‘Not I. I’m a solitary swan, always have been,’ he said, almost sadly. ‘May I enquire about your plans, far from home and hearth, what will you be doing tomorrow?’
‘Hah! I’ll be here. At least for the afternoon shift. Can’t have the people of Stratford going without their Christmas drinks, can we?’
Maybe something in the set of his mouth, she thought, looked familiar too, but age, booze and the bachelor life had done a number on old Wagstaff’s handsome face. She knew he was telling the truth about being a solitary swan, his autobiography had confirmed it; never married, no mention of any children, and he’d lived itinerantly after his infamous leg-breaking fall from the stage at the end of the sixties, going from regional theatre to film set to whichever hostelry was nearest the stage door.
The book had been an interesting enough read, written in Wagstaff’s own bright and witty words but not exactly a tell-all exposé. A part of her, the part that didn’t like the idea of stalking elderly men, told her to give her curiosity a rest and she turned for the till.
Kenneth appeared by her side, settling a glass of bubbly in front of her. ‘Compliments of the Yorick. Drink it up girl and get your Christmas spirit back, you look like a damp dishcloth draped over the beer taps.’
‘Charming,’ she said with a roll of her eyes, throwing a smirk at her boss who she had warmed to a little more with each shift. He was staid and quiet, yes, but kind too, just a no-nonsense kind of bloke; all that mattered to him was that everyone was happy in his little kingdom, and that started with his staff. He had already disappeared into the little snug bar to clear glasses so Mirren clasped the champagne flute and raised it to Wagstaff who had settled himself by the bar to read his newspaper.
‘Cheers,’ she said.
‘No, no, no,’ Wagstaff blustered, reaching out a hand to stall her. ‘That’s no Christmas Eve toast. Try this one.’ He lifted his own drink in salute. ‘Heaven give you many, many merry days.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ She threw back the champagne and when she lowered the long-stemmed glass again the vision before her made her splutter.
Adrian Armadale was by the bar in an oversized cream fisherman’s jumper – not a woolly snowman or knitted reindeer in sight; she bet he’d never once known the itchy discomfort of a tacky Christmas jumper. He had one hand stuffed into the pocket of his black jeans, the other grasping a bountiful bouquet of roses with petals the colour of antique lace. He was wearing those spectacles again with his hair ruffled and jaw lightly stubbled, giving the impression of a Dior model off duty for the holidays.
‘Hi,’ he said, smiling unassumingly.
She warily eyed the flowers and when he caught her expression he brought them abruptly down to his side. ‘Oh! Sorry, I didn’t bring these for you, they’re for someone else.’
Mirren could feel her colour rising and wished the cellar door beneath her feet would fall open, taking her with it.
‘I’m paying a visit to family after this, these are for… anyway, look, I was just passing and… uh…’ he rambled.
Mirren took the opportunity to swig the last of her bubbly and pretend this wasn’t horribly awkward. She thought of his words last night by the river: ‘In case one day you change your mind. I’ll be here, waiting…’ Is that why he was here on Christmas Eve when he had better things to do and other people to be with? Was this a reminder of his promise to wait for her?
‘Ah!’ John Wagstaff boomed in interruption, gesturing to the roses with expressive hands which told Kelsey they were in for another of his frequent dramatic monologues, and she was right. ‘Let thy love be younger than thyself, or thy affection cannot hold the bent,’ he orated, making half the bar turn to look around. ‘For women are as roses, whose fair flower being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.’
The look this drew from Adrian reminded Mirren of how angry he’d been the night of the spilled pint. In an attempt to intercept some of Adrian’s ire and to prevent Wagstaff proclaiming any more dubious guff about women displaying their flowers, she threw the actor a free bag of scratchings by way of applause – which he greedily tore into – and hastened Adrian to the furthest end of the bar.
‘I’ve told you before, you have to leave him alone.’ She almost said ‘he’s harmless’ but she’d been told this once herself and it hadn’t ended well.
‘Are you drinking on duty?’ Adrian said with a smirk, ignoring her warning.
‘It is Christmas Eve.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Every journalist I know back home would be up to their eyeballs in empties by now. Are you having one?’
‘Coke, please.’ His phone rang as Mirren was pouring his drink and he stepped away into the inglenook to talk. She heard him saying, ‘Mr Ferdinand? I’ve got today off, remember?’
At that moment the brass bell over the door rang out through the sound of chattering diners and the pulling of crackers. Mirren was astonished to see Jonathan Hathaway bounding in with a very flustered-looking Kelsey behind him.
‘Wait a sec, Jonathan. I’m sure Mirren’ll be busy…’ she was saying in a pitchy voice.
‘She’s right here,’ said Jonathan, coming round to the side of the bar to wrap her in a quick hug. ‘Good to see you, how are you?’
Over his shoulder Mirren looked from Kelsey’s startled eyes to the oblivious Wagstaff still sitting by the bar absorbed in his paper. Kelsey was shifting from foot to foot and Mirren realised no one was talking but Jonathan.
‘We wanted to let you know in person… we’ve hired a car. We’re heading to Scotland!’
Kelsey took over now, coming to stand by Jonathan’s side. ‘I told Jonathan we should just ring you and get going but he wanted to see you.’
‘Didn’t want to skip town on Christmas without letting you know first. Sure you can’t come with us?’ Jonathan threw in, still grinning with the excitement of heading north.
Mirren took them both by the shoulders and turned them for the door. ‘What a great idea, getting away to Scotland for a while. You should really get going or it
’ll be dark by the time you hit the Borders.’
‘You don’t mind?’ Jonathan was asking as Mirren yanked the door and bustled them out into the chill.
‘Me? No, I’m working, can’t leave Kenneth in the lurch. Have a few of Mari’s kilties for me, OK?’
Jonathan was looking at Mirren perplexed but still letting her shove them both down the pub steps to where their hire car was parked.
‘Is that yours?’ Mirren asked. ‘In you get then. Get out of this cold.’ She rubbed her arms and gritted her teeth with an exaggerated, ‘brrrr!’
‘Uh, OK, well, happy holidays, Mirren,’ Jonathan said, unlocking the car and getting into the driver’s seat.
When he was out of earshot Kelsey gripped at Mirren’s arms and whispered urgently, ‘Oh my God, that was a close one. I tried to dissuade him but he’s surprisingly determined when his mind’s set on something. He wasn’t going to go without making sure you didn’t mind us leaving town first.’
Mirren was dismissing his concerns with the wave of her hand. ‘Pfft! I’m fine, never mind all that. Did you see him? By the bar? Wagstaff.’ The whispered name was barely audible over the hire car’s engine starting up.
Kelsey nodded rapidly. ‘I saw him. I just knew he’d be there the minute Jonathan suggested visiting you, but how was I supposed to put him off without looking suspicious? What if they’d had a father-son recognition scene like in a Shakespeare play? Can you imagine? My heart’s pounding!’ Kelsey had her hand over her coat lapels trying to settle her breathing.
‘They didn’t even notice each other. Why would they? They’re strangers.’
‘I know, but still, I thought maybe they’d see something in one another…’ Kelsey had a faraway look in her eyes that betrayed all her hopes for a reunion between them.
