One Day in December(100)

I follow the recipe, weighing out the rest of the ingredients as he takes a couple of calls, one from a guy who wants to tell him about the fight he got into today with the Santa at his local garden centre, and another from a woman whose decree absolute arrived in the mail this morning; she feels like the luckiest woman alive because her husband had been the very definition of The Grinch. It’s all very light-hearted; Jack is an old hand at keeping the tone just right.

I scrape the cake batter into the tin I’ve lined, licking my finger to test it as the next caller comes on.

‘I want to tell my girlfriend that I love her, but I can’t,’ he says. From his voice, I’d say he isn’t much more than a teenager.

‘What do you mean, can’t?’ says Jack. ‘Do you love her?’

The guy doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Oh yes. I nearly told her today after college. I was looking at her, and she asked me why I was looking at her oddly, but then the words got stuck in my throat. I can’t get it out.’

Jack laughs softly, and the sound is so familiar that I can see him clearly in my head, that amused glow that lights his eyes. ‘Look, if there’s one bit of advice I can give you, it’s for the love of God, man, just say it. You won’t die, I promise. What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘She might laugh?’

‘And she might not. The way I see it is you’ve got two choices here. Take the risk and tell her you love her or wait until it’s too late and someone else tells her they love her. How will you feel then?’

‘Like a fool?’

I stand there with the cake tin in my hands, ready to put it in the oven.

‘For the rest of your life, mate. Trust me, I know, because it happened to me. It’s Christmas – take the risk. You’ll always regret it if you don’t.’

I stare at the radio, and then I put the cake tin back down on the table and reach for my phone.

I’ve lied to the radio show producer about my name. I’m Rhona, and I’m up next.

‘Hi, Rhona,’ Jack says. ‘What would you like to talk about?’

I’ve turned my radio off because of feedback, so it’s just me and Jack chatting on the phone, like always.

‘Hi, Jack,’ I say. ‘I was listening to your earlier caller and I wanted to say how much your advice rang true with me.’

‘It did? Why’s that?’

I can’t gauge whether he’s realized it’s me or not yet. I don’t think so.

‘Because I know what it’s like to miss your chance and to spend the rest of your life waiting to feel that way again.’

He pauses for a beat. ‘Want to tell everyone your story, Rhona?’

‘It’s pretty long,’ I say.

‘That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Well, it started on a snowy December day almost a decade ago.’

‘Fitting,’ he murmurs. ‘Go on.’

‘I was on the bus home from work. I’d had a God-awful day and I was done in, and then all of a sudden I looked out of the window and saw the most beautiful man – or boy as I thought of him then – sitting at the bus stop. I looked right at him, and he looked right at me, and I’ve never in my life felt anything like it. Not before and not afterwards,’ I say, letting it all out in a rush. ‘I spent a whole year looking for him in bars and cafes, but I didn’t find him.’

Jack’s breath is uneven in my ear. ‘You never found him?’

‘Not until my best friend found him first and fell in love with him too.’

‘Wow … Rhona,’ he says slowly. ‘That must have been tough.’

‘Unimaginably,’ I say. I’m done, and I have no idea what to say next.

‘Can I tell you something you probably don’t know?’ he asks after a second of silence. ‘I bet it was as tough for him as it was for you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘I asked him once, stupidly, if he remembered me from the bus, and he said no.’

I hear him swallow. ‘He lied to you. Of course he saw you sitting there. He saw you there with tinsel in your hair, and he felt the exact same way, and he wished like hell that he’d got on that damn bus before it was too late.’

‘Do you really think so?’ I ask, my eyes closed, remembering. I’m that girl again.

‘Yes,’ he breathes. ‘But he didn’t know what to do. So he did nothing, like a mug, and then he stood on the sidelines and watched you fall in love with someone else, and still he didn’t say it. He had his chances and he missed them all.’

‘Sometimes you just meet the right person at the wrong time,’ I say softly.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘And then you spend every day afterwards wishing that time could be rearranged.’

I can’t speak; tears clog my throat.

‘Did you ever tell him how you feel?’

‘No.’ Tears spill down my cheeks. ‘He told me a while back that he loved me, and I didn’t say it back.’

‘No,’ he says, low, fractured. ‘You didn’t.’

‘I should’ve.’

‘Is it too late?’

I take a second to get my breath and hope his listeners will bear with me.