This Could Change Everything(24)

‘Do you do this all the time?’

‘No, just when the mood takes me. It’s fun. Once you get to my age, it’s nice to have a hobby.’ Her tone grew mischievous. ‘For the sake of a few pounds I can cheer someone up with my ill-gotten gains! Who wouldn’t want to do that?’

The noise of a bus trundling past had all but drowned out her words, but Essie was almost sure she’d just said ‘ill-gotten gains’. Opening her mouth to ask the next question, she was cut off by Zillah coming to a dramatic halt in the street. ‘It’s no good: if someone else grabs it, I’ll never forgive myself – I have to buy that velvet beret! Is it OK if we just pop back to Jolly’s?’

‘No problem,’ said Essie.

Ill-gotten gains. Hmm, intriguing. And now Zillah was desperate for a beret . . . very Bonnie and Clyde.

Maybe she had once robbed a bank.

Then the seemingly endless run-up was over and it was Christmas Day at last. At nine in the morning, Essie and Conor both joined Zillah in her kitchen for a celebratory breakfast of smoked salmon, orange juice and chilled Prosecco. The three of them were heading in different directions – Conor was visiting his cousins in Cirencester, Zillah was spending the day with old friends at the Francis Hotel, and Essie was heading over to Scarlett’s mum’s house.

At ten o’clock, Essie’s phone rang while she was in the shower. Her heart did a weird little leap and she was out in an instant, shampoo pouring down her face and into her eyes as she skidded across the bathroom floor to reach her mobile. Because she’d watched enough Richard Curtis films in her time, and it was Christmas morning, after all. What if it was Paul?

It wasn’t, though.

‘Ho ho ho,’ Scarlett bellowed over the sound of carols playing in the background. ‘Happy Christmas! Mum says you can come over whenever you like but lunch is going to be served at two thirty. Oh, and she’s making that stuffing again, the one with the apple and sultanas, because she knows it’s your favourite.’

‘And that’s why I love her,’ Essie said fondly. ‘I’ll be over in a bit.’

Forty minutes later, dressed in a festive red dress and black lacy tights, she was putting the finishing touches to her make-up when the doorbell rang downstairs.

Her heart, like an ever-optimistic puppy, did yet another foolish leap.

Because what if Paul had woken up this morning and realised that he couldn’t stand being without her for a moment longer, that life had become meaningless and he had to let her know how he felt? What if he was standing on the doorstep right now, clutching a huge bunch of flowers, ready to tell her that he still loved her, and to beg her to forgive him for overreacting to something that had been a complete accident?

What if her life was about to turn into the last scene of one of those movies that made you want to cry with happiness because it was about to end in the most perfect way imaginable, with snowflakes tumbling down, Christmas music playing in the background and Paul’s Santa hat tilting jauntily over one eye as he drew her into his arms?

OK, scratch that. Paul might be fond of a romantic gesture, but he would never wear a Santa hat.

Essie put down her lipstick and did her best to breathe normally. Yes, she was perfectly capable of being single, but she did miss being one half of a couple. Downstairs, the front door was being pulled open. She deliberately hadn’t run to the window because that would jinx the fantasy instantly. For the same reason now, she remained where she was and stared at herself in the mirror.

Is it Paul?

Then she heard Conor call up the stairs, ‘Essie? It’s for you!’

It’s him, it is him, it’s actually happening.

The things you do when something completely unexpected catches you by surprise. Still gazing at her reflection, the first thought whooshing through Essie’s brain was the one reminding her that she was wearing red lipstick and Paul didn’t like her wearing red lipstick. Her hand grabbed a tissue from the box on the dressing table and she hastily scrubbed off as much of it as she could.

At the top of the stairs – please don’t fall down them – she called out in a casual yet festive manner, ‘Coming!’

OK, hold onto the banister, cue that end-of-the-movie music and appear completely surprised when you see him.

Oh, and look adorable too.

‘Hi,’ said Lucas. ‘Happy Christmas.’

The end-of-the-movie music skittered to a halt. The look of surprise was spot-on. As their eyes met, humiliatingly, Essie realised that she’d not only failed to conceal her disappointment, but that Lucas knew exactly why she was disappointed.

‘Sorry, it’s only me.’ He was wearing black jeans and a pale grey V-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up. ‘Look, I’m a bit stuck so I have to ask, but it’s OK to say you can’t do it. Jude was going to help me with the lunchtime shift but she’s gone down with a bug. It’s not one of Hopeless Henry’s excuses; she’s properly ill. You wouldn’t be able to step in, would you? We’re only open from twelve until two. But like I said, if you can’t manage it, that’s fine.’

He stopped, waited. It clearly wasn’t fine, but nor was it a matter of life and death. The Red House was a bar, not an operating theatre.

‘If I say no, is there anyone else who can help out?’

‘Not really. I’ve already tried everyone else and they’re busy with family. I left you till last.’