‘So? I’m looking at you right now.’ Sort of. I’m looking at her ear, under the guise of looking her in the eye.
‘No, you’ve been looking at each other all gooey-eyed. Like this.’
I’m treated to a wide-eyed, lash fluttering demo when I brave a proper glance at Lily.
‘It’s like you fancy each other or something.’ Lily’s eyes widen even further as she gasps, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. ‘Oh my God. You fancy each other.’
My gaze flicks to Karina, but she’s busily trying to plait her doll’s hair, a look of ferocious concentration on her face as she entwines the strands.
‘We do not.’ It’s gone way beyond that, but I don’t want to reveal all to Lily, not when Jonas is leaving in a couple of days. It feels too special to share.
‘You do. You’re into each other.’ Lily jumps up from the sofa, but I grab her arm and pull her back down again, fearing she’s about to burst into the kitchen to divulge her new theory with Jonas – and anyone else within hearing distance.
‘Lily, don’t.’ My eyes dart towards the kitchen, even though I know the door is closed. ‘We don’t fancy each other, and you can’t go around saying things like that. I’m with Jonathan, remember? He means the world to me and I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardise our relationship. I’m in love with Jonathan.’
Obviously the kitchen door has opened. And obviously it’s Jonas on the threshold, hearing every single word.
Christmas Day loses its shine after that. Jonas leaves shortly after, declining Lily’s suggestion that we head over to the Farthing for a festive tipple, though we do meet up in the pub for a goodbye drink before my shift starts on Boxing Day. We don’t talk about what happened on Christmas Eve, or what will happen in the future, and Jonas never acknowledges overhearing my conversation about being in love with Jonathan. Lily is devastated at the news that Jonas is moving to Japan, and the mood remains strained for the entire night. When Annie aims her camera in our direction, I’m more than happy to pose for a photo, hoping it’ll send me back home, because I’ve said goodbye to Jonas at the airport once before and I’m in no hurry to do it again.
‘Cheer up, guys.’ Annie tuts, but she takes the photo anyway. There’s a blinding flash and the pub vanishes around me.
I’m safely cocooned in my own bed, alone. I’ve spent the past few years on my own and it hasn’t been a problem – I’ve actually enjoyed the freedom of being single after Jonathan – but I suddenly feel the lack of a big spoon to keep me warm. I crave companionship, intimacy. I miss Jonas more than ever, but I’ve probably managed to push him even further away.
THIRTY-ONE
I expect to travel back the next night, but I have a normal dream and wake up feeling frustrated. Perhaps this is it; I’ve had my second chance with Jonas and I’ve blown it, but how could I choose him over my daughter? Without Jonathan, there would be no Annabelle, and as much as I love Jonas, I can’t wish my beautiful girl away.
I try to keep myself busy when I’m not working, to prevent my mind from wandering to Jonas and what could have been. I nip into town on my lunch break to buy a secret Santa gift for my colleague, and accept Lily’s invitation to join her at the after-show party to celebrate the final performance of A Christmas Carol. I even earn myself some major brownie points by bringing Annabelle along.
‘How did closing night go?’
My ribs are being crushed as Lily wraps me in a massive, post-performance-high hug, but I just about manage to squeak the question out.
‘Amazing.’ Lily releases me, and I can see from the grin on her face how proud and relieved and delighted she is. ‘The Ghost of Christmas yet to Come did trip over her robe, but she styled it out and turned it into an interpretive dance of sorrow.’
‘It was incredible.’ Anya and her dad have joined us, and Anya presses a glass of mulled wine into my hand. ‘I can’t believe it wasn’t rehearsed, especially when the others joined in.’
‘Definitely wasn’t rehearsed.’ Lily holds her hands up before she accepts a drink from her groom-to-be. ‘And it was nothing to do with me. It was all them, the little stars.’
‘I happen to think you’re a little star too.’ Aaron kisses Lily, making Anya roll her eyes and fake-gag.
‘Too cheesy, Dad. Way too cheesy.’
‘Rubbish.’ Aaron wraps his arms around Lily and kisses her again. ‘There’s nothing cheesy about being in love.’
‘It is when it’s your dad. Seriously, guys.’ Anya turns to me and makes a face as they kiss again. ‘How do you put up with them?’
‘I think it’s sweet.’ I take a sip of my wine as I scan the room, checking on Annabelle. She’s chatting with Bob Cratchit and his friends as though she’s known them forever. She gets her confidence from her dad, so at least Jonathan got something right. ‘Lily’s had some dodgy boyfriends and crushes in the past, so it’s nice to see her with a decent bloke like your dad.’
‘Ooh, I feel a gossip coming on.’ Anya guides me away from Lily and her dad. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Did Lily ever tell you about the time she had a thing for our history teacher? Our Japanese-speaking history teacher?’
‘Don’t you dare.’ Lily has wrenched herself off Aaron’s lips so she can leap in front of me, her finger pressing against my lips. ‘That was one of the most embarrassing things that has ever happened to me. And I had to work with him until he transferred to St Thomas’s last year. He has not aged well.’
I can’t help giggling, despite the obstruction over my mouth.
‘Okay, now I really need to know what happened.’ Anya flicks her gaze from Lily to me, her eyebrows rising.
‘You really don’t.’ Finally removing her finger from my lips, Lily hooks her arm through mine and pulls me away, hissing threats of violence if I spill the beans. She doesn’t let go until we’re safely on the other side of the room. I watch Annabelle from my new vantage point, marvelling at the assured young woman in front of me, chatting easily, laughing readily. I wonder what would happen if I had even an ounce of her courage. Would I have left Jonathan earlier, knowing I was worth more, that I was strong enough to be on my own? Or perhaps I would have put the hurt behind me and given love another chance. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken a bout of time-travelling for me to realise I had feelings for Jonas.
‘Everything okay?’ Lily puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. ‘You look deep in thought.’
‘I’m just wondering how I’d react if someone told me I was marrying the wrong person.’
‘What?’ Lily whips her arm away from my shoulders and shifts so she’s standing in front of me, one hand on her hip. ‘What do you know? What’s he done? And who with?’
‘Aaron?’ I’m appalled with myself and my lack of consideration. ‘He hasn’t done anything, with anybody. I wasn’t talking about you guys.’
‘Then who?’ Lily’s eyes are slits, her hand still planted on her hip.
‘Just someone from work.’
Lily’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead and she purses her lips. She doesn’t need to speak to voice her disbelief.
‘Fine. I’m talking about Jonas.’
Lily looks confused. ‘Jonas is getting married again?’
‘No, I’m talking about the first time. When I told him he was making a big mistake. That she wasn’t right for him.’
Lily’s hand slides from her hip as she moves to my side again. ‘You told him that? When?’
I close my eyes. I don’t want to reveal just how bad a friend I was, but Lily’s waiting.
‘About five minutes before the wedding.’
Lily covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head. ‘You didn’t…’
‘I had to, because he did marry the wrong woman. She made him miserable. She cheated on him, with his boss, and he lost everything – his job, his home, his self-respect.’
‘So that’s what happened between you guys.’ Lily nods slowly. ‘That’s why you and Jonas h
ave avoided each other for the past few years. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I was embarrassed! I didn’t want to admit what a terrible friend I’d been. I should have kept quiet, should have let him make his own choices, even if they did make him miserable, because then at least we’d still be friends.’ I groan as I lean against Lily. ‘Why did I have to open my big gob?’
‘Oh, sweetie. Do you really have to ask?’
‘I think I just did.’
Lily strokes my hair, and it almost soothes away the melancholy. ‘You said what you did because you love him. You didn’t want him to marry her, because you were in love with him.’
‘I still am.’ I manage a wobbly smile and take a sip of wine. ‘Let’s get horribly drunk. It’ll make me feel better for a little while.’
‘It won’t, but let’s do it anyway.’ Lily grins at me before glugging back her wine.
Mission accomplished: I’m at the can’t-quite-walk-in-a-straight-line stage of drunkenness by the time Aaron folds me into his car.
‘God, Mum, you are so embarrassing. Look at the state of you.’ Annabelle looks me up and down (at least I think she does. My vision’s a bit on the hazy side). ‘You’re supposed to be setting a good example.’
‘I am.’ I thrust my chin in the air to give Aaron more room to buckle me into the back seat. ‘Am setting a very good example by demonrating – no, demonstatering. No, dem-on-strat-ing – why you really, really shouldn’t drink so much that you think you might puke.’ I splutter out a laugh as I clock Aaron’s stricken face. ‘Don’t worry.’ I shake my head, over and over again, a goofy grin spread across my face. ‘Won’t puke. And if I do, I will open the window. Like this.’ Batting at Aaron until he steps out of the way, I attempt to open the window but fail to find the button. In the end, I conclude it doesn’t have one. ‘Doesn’t matter. Won’t be sick.’ I lean my head against the corner of the back seat and close my eyes. ‘Promise.’
The car rumbles into life and the swaying motion, along with the gentle tones of Bing Crosby dreaming of a snow-filled Christmas drifting from the radio, lulls me to sleep. But no, it isn’t Bing serenading us. It’s Paul McCartney, singing about having a wonderful Christmas-time. It’s brighter in the car now, as though we’ve emerged from a tunnel into daylight.
‘Sorry. I’ll turn it off.’
I open my eyes, blinking against the bright light. I’m in what appears to be an office masquerading as a lounge. I’m sitting in a squishy armchair, but there are filing cabinets lining the wall opposite, beyond the matching chair occupied by a woman rifling through her handbag, and a desk in the corner, sitting beneath a pin board crammed with Christmas cards.
‘I thought I’d switched it off. Sorry.’ The woman pulls out a mobile, pushing a couple of buttons until the music stops. She pushes another button before dropping the phone back into her bag, which she nudges under her chair with her foot. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay.’ My words come out slightly slurred, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I reach for the glass of water on the table beside my chair and take a sip. I feel queasy, so I must still be drunk, even though I’ve travelled to … whatever year this is. I have no idea, but I’ve obviously qualified as a counsellor because I recognise this office now. I worked here for a few years, before Woodlands. Long before Woodlands. More than a decade ago, I know that much.
‘Anyway, as I was saying, I’m terrible at relationships.’
The woman – my client – looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. I’ve seen a lot of clients over the years and I can’t remember any details about her. There’s a notebook on my lap, but I can hardly start reading my notes right now.
‘Why do you think that is?’
I take another sip of water as I try to calm the panic that’s building up inside. How can I continue with this session when I don’t even know my client’s name, never mind her history?
‘I have trouble expressing myself, I guess. I keep my feelings to myself, afraid I’ll get hurt if I admit how I really feel about someone.’
‘I see.’ I sip my water again. This is sounding oddly familiar. ‘You’ve been hurt before.’
The woman snorts. ‘Too many times to count. I’ve put myself out there, only to be dumped or cheated on. And it chips away at my confidence. Why wasn’t I enough? What’s wrong with me? It’s just not worth it any more. I’d rather be single.’
I don’t believe her – and not just because she’s refusing to look me in the eye and is instead focusing on tracing the patterns on the chintzy armchair with her finger. I leave her to her patterns as I try to work out when I am. I know where, but this isn’t 2002, when I was still juggling my shifts at the Farthing with my work placement and diploma. I’ve skipped a couple of years, at least.
‘The thing is, I would like to be in a relationship, but I’m not ready to let go and put my trust in somebody else. Not after Ray.’
‘Tell me about your relationship with him.’ My back’s aching, so I shift position slightly. I feel a jab of pain in my belly as I settle back into the chair. But no, that’s not pain. That felt more like… I shift the notebook and stare down at the voluminous blouse I’m wearing. Yep, that was a kick. I’m pregnant.
THIRTY-TWO
No wonder I have an underlying queasy feeling; that didn’t shift until the beginning of the third trimester and I’m around twenty-four weeks, judging by the bump and the hints of Christmas-time. As well as the festive ringtone and Christmas cards pinned to the board, there’s a tiny Christmas tree sitting on top of the filing cabinet. I can hear my client murmuring in the background, but my attention is entirely focused on the movements I feel as I shift again. That’s Annabelle in there. Tiny and vulnerable and perfect. It’s hardly professional to zone your client out, but I can’t help but be mesmerised. I thought I’d do this again, the baby thing, over and over. I wanted a big family, with at least four of the little darlings running around the place (I hadn’t quite grasped what the teenage years of these little darlings would entail back then), but it never happened. Jonathan and I split up when Annabelle was small and I never really moved on. I had relationships, but they were fleeting and I held myself back, never investing myself fully into them. Annabelle was my top priority; everything else paled in significance.
‘And it isn’t as though I haven’t got anything else going on in my life.’
Annabelle has settled down. I wrench my attention away from my bump and tune back into my client.
‘Ray wasn’t everything. I’ve got my family and my friends and my career.’
I wish I could remember what her career involved.
I wish I could remember her name.
‘I think that’s what I’m going to focus on from now on.’ She gives a firm nod. ‘I lost focus when I was with Ray. He became all-consuming. Everything was about him – when was I going to see him again? I wonder what Ray’s doing now? Is he thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about him? I was obsessed.’
‘You were in love.’ I’m glad I can finally contribute something, however vague. ‘This is all perfectly normal behaviour.’
‘But I let him walk all over me. He wasn’t thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him. He was too busy thinking about himself. And sleeping with other women.’ Her words are flippant, but there is still deep-seated hurt in her eyes, and she’s taking a sip of water right now to mask her trembling bottom lip. ‘It just isn’t worth it, is it? I’m better off focusing on my career. Finally making something of myself instead of passing up promotions because work would take up more of my time and take me away from my unworthy boyfriend.’
‘Focusing on your career is a good, positive step, but in time you’ll be ready to start a new relationship.’
My client shakes her head and gives a hollow laugh. ‘No way. I’m never putting myself through that again.’
It’s like an echo of my own words, after Jonathan, when the pain of discoveri
ng the extent of his infidelity was still raw. When my whole world had crumbled around me and I was left with a little girl to somehow raise by myself. My confidence and my faith in mankind were at an all-time low and I didn’t think I’d ever regain any of it again.
Perhaps I still haven’t fully.
There’s a light tap at the door. I excuse myself to go and open it. My heart sinks when I see the all too familiar pinched, leathery face of my ex-boss. I’d been happy to shelve Helen Robertson in the ‘never to be seen or dealt with again’ part of my brain when I’d moved on from here, but here she is again, her beady eyes boring into mine, her eyebrow slowly arching as she takes a step backwards and motions for me to follow her out into the hallway.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but you have a client waiting for their two o’clock appointment and it’s…’ – Helen flicks her wrist out in front of her and squints down at its face. Her glasses are perched on top of the stiff curls on top of her head – ‘Four minutes past. Is there a reason for the delay?’
‘Sorry. I must have lost track of time.’
‘Perhaps it’s the infamous baby brain, hmm?’ Her lips part to reveal a yellow-toothed smile.
‘Perhaps.’ I back away, reaching for the door handle. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Helen glances at her watch and gives it a tap. ‘Please do hurry. Ms Lewis is growing rather impatient down in reception.’
Ms Lewis? Georgina? At least this is one client I do remember. How could I forget? Georgina came to me to work out some anger issues after she attempted to smash her ex-boyfriend’s windscreen … using his head as a battering ram. We spent many hours together, Georgina and I. It’ll be nice to catch up.
It’s 2006 but I’m still driving the same battered car I was five years ago, which actually comes in handy as it’s easy to locate in the staff car park. My feet are throbbing and my back is aching even though I’ve been sitting for most of the day, so it’s a relief to finally go home, where I’ll be able to clamber into a warm bubble bath. I’d forgotten how much pregnancy takes its toll on your body.
The 12 Christmases of You & Me Page 20
