If there was one thing Miriam loved, it was reading out a charge sheet of everything I’d ever done wrong. Starting at a birthday party I missed ten years ago, she rattled off my misdemeanours up to and including the year I couldn’t get annual leave to visit her when Mum and Dad did. There was the year I’d been sent to Canada to report on something when it was Dad’s birthday, and not flying over to New Zealand when each of her kids had been born, regardless of the fact I was in north-western America for one, and Mexico for the other. Both times I’d tried to bargain for a different trip, but life and my boss had other plans.
‘Can I say something in my defence?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure what there could possibly be but go ahead.’
‘Once upon a time, there was a small girl named Miriam, worldly and fierce. She doth fell in love with a man from over the ocean. She loved him so much that she packed up and left everyone without as much as a farewell party.’
Today, it seemed that I could repeat over again that I was coming home, and she wasn’t listening. In cases like that, a dose of her own medicine usually worked but, like all great wristwatches, Miriam came complete with a self-winding mechanism.
‘You know what? I’ve had it. I don’t care if his penis is made of the same stuff Captain America’s shield is made of, you can either come home or you’re dead to me.’
‘If that’s the case, do I get a funeral? RIP me.’
She hung up.
I sat and listened to the drip of a broken tap. Deflated, punched in the guts, I made my way back to the theatre for the final half of the play. Returning to my seat, I saw that Tom and the rest of the cast were sat along the edge of the stage, feet dangling and answering questions from eager students.
‘Here she is.’ Tom swung a hand in my direction.
‘Sorry?’ I froze on the spot, halfway in and out of my seat as heads turned in my direction. Thank the theatre gods that the lighting team wasn’t on the ball, because I don’t think I could have handled a complete spotlight right now.
‘Everybody, this is Isobel, she’s a reformed journalist who’s running her own blog now,’ Tom added. ‘She’s moving away from travel writing on to personalities and deeper pieces.’
‘I suppose you’re one of those deeper pieces, are you Tom?’ someone onstage quipped.
I wanted to fold myself away in my backpack. Insults were such a regular reaction from most people. Instead, I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. ‘He is, actually,’ I said. ‘I’ve spent this week with Tom getting a better understanding of his work, what his goals are and where he’s headed.’
‘And I’ve also touched on the accessibility of theatre, which I know is a huge topic of discussion for all of us,’ Tom carried on for me. ‘That, and how we can help more undiscovered voices to be heard. I’m going to be handing out Isobel’s email address after we’re done today, so feel free to make use of it.’
I offered him a tight smile and sat back down. While I was utterly blown away by Tom’s generosity, it didn’t stop Miriam’s words swimming around in my head for the rest of my time at the theatre. I hadn’t gone out of my way to be deliberately selfish with my career. I was more for letting the chips fall as they may and sometimes that meant not being in town for important events. Surely that didn’t make me selfish. It wasn’t as if she’d upped stumps and made sure she’d been at my birthday parties or awards nights since she’d moved away.
So much for not beating myself up.
I looked at Tom up on the stage, vibrant, in control and seemingly on a path with no opposition, and I wondered how he handled his family, whether he’d had these kinds of problems. I made a note to ask him when he appeared from the change rooms an hour later.
‘I’m sorry that wasn’t a particularly Christmassy endeavour.’ Tom took my hand as we stepped out into the street. ‘But I’m glad you came along.’
‘Sorry?’ I asked.
‘I said I’m sorry it wasn’t a very festive activity,’ he repeated. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Me?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, you.’ He stopped on the spot and frowned. ‘You didn’t like it, did you?’
‘I thought you were wonderful.’ I turned to face him as I walked backwards along the thoroughfare. ‘You’re so physical when you’re up on stage. It felt like it wasn’t you that I was watching, if that makes sense?’
‘That’s exactly how I want it to look.’
‘Then you’ve succeeded.’ Holding his face in my hands, I kissed him. ‘Now, how do you feel about just walking around and doing some window shopping?’
‘I have a better idea.’ He kissed me again.
‘You do?’
Tom nodded. ‘How do you fancy dinner at my local?’
I reached out and slipped my fingers through his. ‘Lead the way.’
‘You know, I like this “Lead the way” business. You say it quite often.’
‘I do?’
‘You say that a lot, too.’ He popped a kiss on my cheek.
I laughed and followed him towards the first train out of there.
Chapter 18
In the quiet corner of a small mews, not unlike the one I was presently residing in, Tom and I found ourselves heading towards the Holly Bush pub. With a heavy dusting of snow, the white-clad building with a glowing Christmas tree and blinking lights in the front window looked like a hand-painted postcard. We brushed ourselves down as we pushed open the heavy wooden door and glanced around for an available table.
‘This is adorable.’ I leaned into Tom’s side.
‘Food’s even cuter.’ He kissed my temple. ‘And I am starving.’
Woodsmoke warmth of an open fire drifted up and mixed with the yeasty leftovers of beer and a cooked roast. We found ourselves a table by an open fire, tucked in a tight corner that offered us a level of privacy not otherwise experienced in some of the bigger inner-city pubs. I hung my coat and slid into the dark red leather booth. Tom had already made for the bar, returning with two drinks and a menu.
‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ He crossed his arms and leaned into the table. ‘You barely said a word the whole way here.’
I frowned. ‘My sister called earlier.’
‘Ah.’ He sank back into his seat. ‘You want to talk about that?’
I threw my hand out, as if that were going to help me grapple for the words I needed. ‘It’s just the usual stuff, isn’t it? Are you coming home? You said you were coming home, but you’re on social media with that guy from the telly.’
‘That guy from the telly.’ Tom snorted. ‘Eagle eyes are everywhere when there’s criticism to be doled out.’
I tore at the napkin in front of me. ‘She read out a list of all the things I’ve done wrong or missed in the last ten years.’
He sat, pensive for a moment as he fiddled with his cutlery. ‘Look, part of me wants to say I’m surprised, but this sounds no different to about a dozen conversations I’ve had with my brother.’
‘Really?’
‘When my own niece was born, I was away on a promotional tour.’
I scoffed. ‘Good luck getting out of that.’
‘See!’ he enthused. ‘And yet my brother refused to speak to me for twelve months after the fact. He took my not coming home immediately to mean that I didn’t care when, in fact, I just couldn’t. And I think that, at some point, especially with both our jobs, we need to accept that these types of arguments are always going to happen.’
‘You’re right, it’s part and parcel, isn’t it?’ I sighed and drew my fingers through my hair, detangling it from the wind as I went.
‘Was that the heart of the argument? Because I feel like I’ve heard the same so often I could almost write the script.’
I plucked a menu from the side of the table even though the words read like a jumble sale. ‘I was told that if I didn’t come home for Christmas, I could consider myself not part of the family.’
‘Ah, okay.’ Tom’
s chin dipped towards his chin. ‘I guess now is the time to have that conversation.’
This wasn’t exactly the way I envisaged having the ‘Should I stay or should I go?’ discussion. It was always going to happen, but I had hoped it would be under happier circumstances, possibly involving flowers and, if I won the lottery, some between-the-sheets action and middle-of-the-night declarations. In the back corner of a pub surrounded by strangers was maybe the last place I’d hoped for.
‘What do you want from this?’ Tom asked. ‘I mean, from us. Where do you stand right now?’
I reached across the table and touched the tips of my fingers to his. We sat in silence for a moment while I considered a dozen ways to dress up my thoughts. This week had been an epic whirlwind but, beneath that, Tom had somehow become my normalcy in an otherwise hectic schedule. There was no question that I wanted to keep it that way and, in the end, simplicity won out.
‘What if I said I wanted to stay?’ As I spoke, a lump rose in my throat.
‘I would say that I’d kind of hoped to discuss this with you the night before you flew home.’
I withdrew, confused, and wiped at my eyes with a shaky hand. ‘You don’t want me to stay?’
‘On the contrary, I do want you to stay,’ he said. ‘There was a moment last night where you rolled over and reached out to me, and you didn’t stop until your arm landed over me. It was then that I realised I couldn’t think of a better end to the week, but I am also acutely aware of both of our situations and, with that knowledge, it’s entirely unfair for me to ask you to choose between me and your family.’
‘So what do you suggest we do?’ I asked.
‘I was going to suggest we coordinate calendars and see when our next openings were so that we could meet somewhere.’
‘I guess I better get my website kicked up a notch?’ I said with a relieved smile. ‘That way the diaries will align a bit better.’
‘That is the perfect plan.’ Tom looked up and smiled at a waiter who approached. ‘And may I also suggest a change of topic to something a bit lighter?’
‘You know what, you’re right?’ I sat a little taller. ‘Tying myself up in knots isn’t going to help anything, is it?’
‘No, all you can do is live your life and hope that others understand.’
Over dinner, we compared movies and music and all those usual first-date topics we seemed to have skipped over in our rush to talk about the pressures of work and family. We came full circle and planned our ideal holidays, though we couldn’t get past the northern or southern hemisphere argument. I wanted to head north for another winter, and Tom wanted to escape somewhere that was warm, but not too warm.
‘I guess Melbourne’s out then.’ I reached across his plate and stole the last of his potato.
‘For you, I’d make an exception.’ Tom asked.
‘Oh, something else I’d really like to talk about is your very sweet name-dropping gesture this afternoon.’ I held my glass up to him. ‘Cheers to you.’
Fork in his mouth, he smiled. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. You didn’t have to mention my blog at all. It was totally unexpected.’
‘I think you’ll find I did have to,’ he said. ‘A high tide raises all ships and if I can help my friends, I will.’
‘Still, it was very humbling that you’d think my writing good enough to share.’
‘It is good enough to share.’ He reached for his drink. ‘Has anyone contacted you yet?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that I know of, but I haven’t checked my phone or my mail, either.’
‘Not to worry, they will.’
‘Is that one part of the reason you want your own production company?’ I asked.
‘It’s part of the reason,’ he said. ‘A large part of me is looking forward to being able to create my own projects, as we were saying the other night. But, yes, I have a lot of friends back home who are still trying to break into the business. I make connections where I can, but they don’t always play out. And these guys are people I’ve been friends with since we were ten years old, running through fields with a VHS camcorder, using fake blood and sticks for guns. If I’m lucky enough to be in a position to help them, then I will.’
‘You’ve already got your first dream project lined up, haven’t you?’ I asked.
‘Course I do.’ Tom’s nose wrinkled. ‘How about you? What does Isobel want thirty years from now?’
‘Well …’ I pushed my plate aside and stretched out across the table like a languid cat. ‘It’s not entirely related to my profession, but I would hope that I would have a loving partner, that I would be content and that I would be surrounded by family. A Sunday roast, a few drinks and a relaxed comfortable vibe in my home. I want my family to know they can come and go as they please and are welcome to spread their wings or return to the nest as they see fit.’
The corner of Tom’s mouth pulled into a smile. ‘If it’s all good with you, we could just go and get married right now.’
‘Oh, no.’ I chuckled. ‘My mother would kill me if I didn’t do a froo-froo dress and giant cake. Thanks for the offer though.’
‘Maybe we should just start with heading home?’ he suggested, as we prepared to leave.
‘Yes, let’s,’ I said.
‘Your place or mine?’
‘You at yours, and me at mine.’ I pouted as we stepped out into the street. ‘As much as I’d love to follow you home, if we’re taking photos and having them in charity auctions, I want an online presence before that happens. I think tonight will be my last chance to sort a website before the auction.’
‘Good,’ Tom said quietly, though I was sure he wasn’t convinced. ‘I’m really glad you’re doing that.’
Under the glow of the streetlight and with the faint sounds of a busy city in the background, Tom held my face in his hands and kissed me. So many times, I’d thought about what this might have felt like, tasted like, and whether I should have wanted it to begin with. But, right now, as it stood, as his lips brushed against mine and my heart picked up in my chest, I could think of no better way to end the night.
Actually, who was I kidding, of course I could. Oh, ambition, you heartless wench.
* * *
An hour later as I sat in bed with my duvet over my legs and laptop propped on my knees, I offered up my credit card details to a web hosting service. A friend from home had directed me to the most cost-effective, reliable service and, at 11.25 p.m., under lamplight, I finally kickstarted my new career.
I’d done it, and there was a not so small part of me that was thrilled at the possibility. Whether the site was blank or not didn’t matter. I’d taken the first, most important step. While I was busy congratulating myself, my phone lit up; it was Tom.
‘Hello?’ I whispered. Estelle was asleep in the next room.
‘Fancy opening the front door?’ he asked.
I tossed my laptop aside and crept downstairs as carefully as I could. When I unbolted, unlatched and unlocked the front door, Tom was standing there in more layers than an archaeological dig, a beanie pulled down over his ears and a scarf wrapped around his mouth.
‘I’m not sleeping with you,’ I warned. ‘I’m working.’
‘You’ve made that perfectly clear already, but we only have a very short time left before you leave.’ He held up a bag of groceries. ‘I just found it silly that I would go home now and read, and you would go home and read, when we could be doing that together. I don’t expect anything more of you but your company. I have sweets and sours, and I’m happy to administer foot massages in lieu of more pleasurable activities if it helps you get this site up and running.’
‘I’m not available tomorrow morning either,’ I whispered, pulling him in out of the cold. ‘Just so you know.’
‘That’s okay, neither am I.’ He hung his coat behind the door. ‘But we do have the portrait tomorrow afternoon.’
‘We do.’ I waved him upstairs. ‘Be quiet. Estelle’s asleep.�
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Chapter 19
4 Days ’til Christmas
It had seemed a long way to go, two different trains and a walk through the snow, but Estelle was determined to get to the farmer’s market in Hampstead Heath. The good news was, I could stop and post my gift boxes for my nieces along the way. Armed with her list of ingredients, I trailed closely behind, canvas bags ready to carry the load.
‘What is it you’re actually making for Christmas dinner?’ I cradled a sack of very expensive, completely organic flour.
‘Some roly-poly cake thing that’s supposed to look like a fallen tree in the forest. I’ve got some little animal trinkets to jam in the top of it. Might even mix it up with a Sleeping Beauty doll, dust it in icing sugar and call it a woodland wonderland.’
‘Sounds fancy.’ I peered over the table to check the price on some raw sugar. I put it back, sure that I made less than that per hour.
‘Not as fancy as your boyfriend.’
‘Shhh.’ I blushed.
She offered me a saccharine smile and ticked another item off her list as she handed me a half-dozen eggs. ‘He is thoroughly lovely.’
‘He is,’ I agreed.
‘Was that him sneaking in the front door late last night?’ Estelle watched me from the corner of her eye.
‘It may have been, yes.’
‘It’s so, so good to see you so stupidly happy.’ Estelle clapped a hand to her chest and offered me a suitably soppy look. ‘I loved meeting him the other night.
‘Thank you.’ I packed everything away in a canvas bag while she paid. ‘And, hey, another photo for the exhibition this afternoon.’
‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that.’ Estelle waved me over to a dairy stall. We both picked through samples. ‘Did I mention that his people called the gallery yesterday to okay the shoot?’
‘They did?’ I asked. ‘He didn’t mention it.’
‘He’s just incredible.’ She looked at me. ‘Do you see men like him and think maybe they’re just a fever-dream?’
‘He’s certainly something else,’ I said. ‘But, hey, I did a big thing last night.’
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