The Other Woman(15)

His answer made me wish I’d never asked.

‘But anyway, enough of all that,’ he said, as if shaking himself out of the place he was in. ‘I wanted to ask how you’d feel about spending some time together over Christmas. If it’s difficult, I understand . . . you know, if it’s . . . I just thought . . .’

I reached across and put a finger on his lips. Smiling, he said, ‘Is that a yes, then?’

He pulled me towards him and kissed me. ‘So, you’ll come for Christmas dinner?’ he asked excitedly.

I wrinkled my nose up. ‘I can’t come on Christmas Day.’ His shoulders dropped. ‘But you could come down to my parents. They’d love to meet you,’ I added.

‘And you know that I can’t,’ he said, sadness in his voice. ‘Mum’s on her own as James is having lunch with his girlfriend Chloe, so she needs me there. It’s a tough time of year for her.’

I nodded. He’d already told me that his father had died two days before Christmas.

‘Why don’t you come down on Boxing Day?’ he said.

‘But my brother and his wife are coming for lunch, and they’re bringing the baby.’ Though even as I was saying it, I knew it was an easier ask of me to go to him, rather than him come to me. My parents had each other and Stuart, Laura and the baby. Pammie would be lucky to see a neighbour.

‘I guess I could drive down late afternoon . . .’ I offered.

‘And stay over? We could go for a drive the next day, find a nice pub or something.’

We sounded like two over-excited children hatching a plan.

The next day, I called Pammie to check that she was okay with it. It seemed the courteous thing to do.

‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books,’ she said, which immediately put me on the back foot.

‘I’m so sorry, Pammie. I thought Adam had already spoken to you. He said he’d call you first thing this morning.’

‘No, dear,’ she said. ‘But no matter. It’d be lovely to see you. Will you be staying down here?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Though I probably won’t be there until early evening.’

‘So, will you be wanting tea with us?’ she asked.

‘My mum’s doing a turkey for lunch, so just a little something in the evening would be lovely,’ I said, not wishing to come across as rude or ungrateful.

‘But we won’t wait for you . . .’

‘Goodness no, you just carry on and I’ll be there when I can.’

‘Well, it’s just that Adam gets so hungry and he’ll be starving by then,’ she went on.

‘Yes, of course. I understand. You go ahead and I’ll just have tea with you all later.’

‘So, we’ll all eat together then?’ she went on, as if she wasn’t hearing me.

‘Perfect,’ I said, though I didn’t really know what I was agreeing to anymore.





7

It had sounded a great idea at the time but, in reality, once I was at Mum and Dad’s, I’d have been happy to stay there. It was warm and cosy and reminded me of Christmases past when, as an excited seven-year-old, I’d shake my little brother awake in the middle of the night. We’d creep down the stairs, so terrified of seeing Santa Claus, yet not wanting to miss him either.

‘He’ll know we’re not asleep,’ Stuart would whisper. ‘And if we’re not asleep, he’ll not leave any presents.’

‘Ssh,’ I’d reply, my heart in my mouth. ‘Cover your eyes with your hand and just look through the tiniest crack in your fingers.’

We’d feel our way along the banisters and shuffle slowly towards the tree in the corner of the front room, passing the fireplace where we’d left a glass of milk and a mince pie. I’d peer out between my fingers, the light of the moon illuminating the room just enough to see the remainder of a mince pie on the plate. I’d gasp.

‘What is it? Has he been?’ Stuart would cry eagerly.

I would be able to make out the shapes of wrapped presents under the tree and my heart would leap for joy. ‘He’s been,’ I’d say, barely able to contain my excitement. ‘He’s been.’

Twenty years on, and not much has changed. Despite it being Boxing Day, we’re still treating it as if it was Christmas Day itself. We’re still gathered around the same old tree. ‘If it’s not broken, don’t fix it,’ Dad has repeated for the past decade, even though there’s clearly a withering branch or two needing assistance. Mum is still insistent that the presents underneath it have nothing to do with her, and Stuart and I exchange a look, as if willing ourselves to believe it.

‘So, how’s the new romance going?’ my sister-in-law, Laura, asked in between mouthfuls of Mum’s famous roasties.

I nodded, my own mouth full of crispy Yorkshire pudding. ‘It’s going well,’ I said, smiling.

‘Ah, she’s got that twinkle in her eye,’ said Dad. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Valerie? I told your mother you had that twinkle in your eye again a couple of weeks back.’

‘Again?’ I asked.

‘Didn’t I, Val?’ he called out to the kitchen, where Mum was filling a second boat with gravy. ‘Didn’t I say she had that twinkle in her eye again?’