So this is christmas, p.8
So This is Christmas, page 8
‘I wondered whether you had. You’ve been talking about doing so for a while.’
‘And yet I’m so pathetic I haven’t.’
He stretched his hand across the benchtop to reach hers. ‘It’s not pathetic. It’s not an easy history to recount, especially when you aren’t sure about a person.’
‘That’s the problem, I’m more sure about him than any other man.’
‘Then I can see how hard it must be.’
‘I should’ve done it before. How would you feel if a woman kept something so major from you?’
He took his time to find the right words. ‘Hurt maybe, like she didn’t trust me.’
‘I’m scared he’ll think differently of me. I’ve never felt as if I’m good enough for him.’
‘What? Of course you are.’
‘But I’m not the person he thinks I am.’
‘You are. You just have a bit more of a story behind you, that’s all, and if he’s a good man then he’ll understand. It might take him a while to work through any of his own hurt, but if he’s right for you he’ll get there.’
She smiled. ‘You seem to know how to say the right thing.’
‘Funny, my ex-wife didn’t think so.’
Nick’s ex-wife had criticised him all the time. Nothing was ever right – he worked too much, he was never home. She made those sorts of complaints never thinking that perhaps she could get a job and take some of the weight to give him more time with their son.
‘I know I have to do it. I need to talk to Elliot and tell him everything,’ she said as if saying it out loud would propel her into action. ‘He might walk away from me when I do, though.’
‘Then it’s his loss.’
They finished their coffees and once she was ready, she hitched a lift with Nick back to her apartment.
At least she had one person on her side.
Jennie sent a message to Elliot before she got to the hotel, letting him know what time she’d be at his apartment. She knew the restaurant he’d booked them into was a nice one so she’d grabbed an outfit from home that would be suitable.
When she stepped into the foyer of the hotel her nerves felt as if they were being ripped to shreds. She’d felt the same way when Nick had dropped her at her place on his way to work this morning, and she wasn’t sure at what point she’d ever be able to relax again, wondering whether her mother was going to pop up at any moment.
A busy day brought some relief from her personal problems, at least. They were short-staffed with a few workers off due to seasonal bugs doing the rounds, so it was all hands on deck. Jennie got stuck into the deep clean of their largest suite – she dragged out furniture, cleaned behind it, wiped the insides of the windows, replenished the elaborate mini bar. Being busy stopped her thinking about the obvious. What it didn’t do, however, was stop her being cautious whenever she was in the body of the Wynter Hotel. The rooms and suites and her office were safe spaces but each time she went into the foyer it was done slowly, pausing and taking in the clientele, trying to spot a face that might have aged but one that would be wholly familiar. When Hans asked her what was going on she realised that if she didn’t pull herself together then other people were going to start noticing, and she wasn’t going to let her job suffer. She’d worked too hard over the years to fail in that area.
The hour before she was due to leave the hotel dragged. Her paranoia didn’t help. But come end of day, she got changed into her outfit for the restaurant, bundled up in her winter gear, her favourite woolly hat pulled down to stop the wind getting at her ears, and walked to Elliot’s place.
Elliot lived in a two-bedroom top-floor apartment with an abundance of natural light in the day and a smattering of stars at night, and as she walked she imagined what it would be like to tell him everything at last, get it all out in the open. She’d do it tonight, get it over with, but the thought utterly terrified her. And when he answered the door while he was still on a phone call, slowly her resolve began to fall away. She was fast losing her nerve.
When he was finally finished on the phone, he wrapped her in a hug and kissed her. ‘I left the office early but the work followed me unfortunately.’
It was so warm inside the apartment she had to undo her coat, and he smiled at her straight away when he saw her wearing her best black velour dress and heeled boots. Elliot always dressed so impeccably, so she followed suit whenever they were going out somewhere special.
‘You look beautiful.’ His smile and his love broke her heart just a little and the impetus to tell him everything was fading so fast.
He picked up his coat. ‘Shall we go? I thought we might walk to the restaurant if you’re happy to do so.’
She looked at her boots. ‘I’ve had practice with these, don’t worry.’
As they walked, they chatted. Her every word felt forced in a way it didn’t usually. Around every corner she thought she saw her mother, and her heart thudded with the impending doom of being honest with this man who deserved better. She had to tell him, she couldn’t keep putting it off.
Elliot answered another call, this time from his dad, and apologised yet again but it was easier to listen to him chat away than pretend to be more upbeat than she really was.
There was no hint of an Austrian accent for Jennie and not for Elliot either. He still had his Scottish burr but it had been somewhat diluted, given he’d worked all over the world.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said once he was finished with his call. ‘Dad is clearing out the shed – why he’s doing it in winter, I’ll never know – but every time he finds something he calls me, and I’m too scared not to take the call and then find he’s thrown something special away.’
‘You still have things at his house?’
‘Things from my teenage years. Not much, but we were a family of hoarders. I left home, went off to work full-time, and none of us thought to have a clear-out. Mum and Dad would like to downsize so I guess he’s doing this in preparation for putting the house up for sale.’
Once upon a time, she’d had a family like his, a family with happy memories, but as a distraction – because he was bound to again mention her meeting his family – she gestured to the big doughnuts on the stall at a smaller Christmas market she hadn’t known was there.
He pointed out the novelty cups. ‘Look, they’ve got their own design for hot beverages too.’
‘So many of our guests come back and show me the cups they’ve found,’ she said. She liked that he noticed the little things. ‘Some of them come back year after year to collect more.’
‘That’s what I call dedication.’
As they walked, Jennie wondered if her mother had been to any of the markets yet. Was she being a tourist as well as closing in on the daughter she’d despised and blamed for taking away her son and her husband?
When Jennie was little, the Clarke family had always loved Christmas. Gwendoline had gone all out every year to get the house ready and make the most of the time as a family. They’d always decorated the tree together, all four of them, and their mother had hosted a Christmas Eve gathering for a handful of their friends. But none of that ever happened again after Donovan died and Jennie lost her dad.
‘Jennie…’ When Elliot said her name, she realised she must have zoned out.
‘Sorry, thinking about Christmas,’ she said with a smile.
‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year, isn’t it?’
She opened her mouth to say that there was something she really had to tell him.
Should she do it right now?
Or should she wait until they were sitting down? Perhaps it would be easier while they were eating a meal, easier for her to just get everything out in the open.
Then again, could she really tell him over an à la carte menu? Or should she do it without the possibility of interruptions, in a place where they definitely wouldn’t be overheard?
The urge disappeared once more as Elliot led the way down the small set of steps and in through a wooden door.
In the restaurant they ordered the set menu and as soon as the waiter left them to it, Jennie excused herself to use the bathroom.
Her nerves were wrangled, she didn’t know what to do with herself.
‘Are you all right?’ Elliot asked the moment she returned to the table and sat down again.
‘Yes, sorry. I had too many coffees at work this afternoon, then far too much water.’
He didn’t look convinced, but she was good at pretending everything was fine and soon the food began to arrive. Unfortunately, rather than enjoying the meal, all she could think about was how she felt like an imposter. She’d lived on the streets, she didn’t eat at places like this. Some of the time she could ignore those facts, but tonight she couldn’t get away from the thoughts spinning in her head. She felt detached from this world, Elliot’s world, like she had no right to inhabit it.
When the waiter brought over a bottle of champagne, she knew she couldn’t divulge the truth in this moment.
‘I’ve been bursting to share my news,’ he said.
‘You do look like you’ve got something to tell me.’ She loved watching him like this, so happy, and she couldn’t bear the thought of ruining that.
‘I got a promotion.’
She felt her insides flip with excitement. ‘The position you’ve been after for a year?’ He’d worked incredibly hard for this.
‘Yes.’
And now she couldn’t stay seated. She went around to his side of the table and wrapped him in a hug. ‘I knew you could do it. Congratulations.’
He kissed her on the lips and she went to take her seat, well aware they were drawing attention, not something she particularly liked. Maybe the other customers thought it was a proposal of sorts.
They toasted and talked more about his new position and she felt herself relax a little in his company. This was his moment and he deserved it.
The waiter brought over their main course, chicken with velouté sauce and some other additions which sounded equally delicious.
As they chatted and laughed, she wondered what Greta would make of her still not being honest with Elliot. Greta put a lot of value on the importance of honesty from the start and had always urged Jennie to do the same.
A foundation of lies was no way to go.
But Jennie was terrified of losing the only man she’d ever let herself fall in love with.
8
SOPHIE
Sophie almost thought these last few days since Bea had died had been a bad dream, except this morning she’d woken up thanks to her body clock rather than an alarm and remembered it all. Every single detail.
She briefly thought about staying in bed all day, but after half an hour of trying to close her eyes and push the misery away she knew it would only make her feel worse if she resorted to that.
She got up, wrapped her dressing gown around her and looked out of the window. England had brought the worst of its weather today, as if it wanted to pummel Sophie’s mood. It was raining so hard that she could barely see beyond the water streaming down the glass.
It was miserable outside and there wasn’t much to smile about inside either.
Downstairs she flicked on the television for some company. It was far too quiet in the house when Hayden wasn’t here, and some music or the television usually did the trick.
She went into the kitchen to make a big mug of tea.
As the kettle boiled she stared at the space in the living room that was still waiting for a Christmas tree. She’d planned to get one from the local garden centre in the next couple of days because she was scheduled to work all the way up to and over Christmas, but now she was free as a bird. She couldn’t bear to think about how she was going to feel over the festive season, with or without a tree.
She’d called Jessica yesterday to tell her everything, but her husband had answered the call. Poor Jessica had not only had the terrible cold that was going round but was now down with a tummy bug and probably had no idea what was going on at the lodge – that Bea had died, that Sophie had accused Amber of theft and had subsequently been fired.
She flopped down onto the sofa with her cup of tea. Christmas was well on its way and not only was she alone, she had nothing much to occupy her time. A lady of leisure, that’s what she was now, and she wasn’t sure she liked it at all. She sometimes wondered whether she got her need to be busy from her mother. Her mother had always worked; Sophie couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t. She was a dinner lady at the local middle school, plus she spent Saturdays working at a garden centre. Sophie remembered going with her to the garden centre on one occasion and being allowed to help out, filling the tiny pots with soil while her mother took charge of planting the saplings. Those days were some of the few she remembered fondly, but at least they were there.
When she met Martin and they talked about her family and her unhappiness growing up, he’d helped her dredge up some of the nicer memories. With the not so nice parts he’d comforted her and told her that she shouldn’t blame herself for her mother’s behaviour, but she had felt in part like it was her fault. When the dementia diagnosis came, it had got Sophie wondering whether something might have been happening inside her mother’s brain for years. But of course she wasn’t a doctor and she didn’t even want to ask the question because somehow her theory had given her enough comfort that she was able to see past her childhood and visit her mother in the care home before she lost her for good. Her theory had allowed her to let go of some of her resentment.
Still in her pyjamas, she hated having no focus or very much to do and so she fired up her laptop and spent most of the morning online, trawling the web for jobs. There wasn’t much going. Maybe there would be more opportunities in the new year, but she didn’t even want to think about being out of work for that long. Financially she was all right for now, but emotionally she needed something. Anything. She wasn’t even picky.
She applied for two jobs she was vastly overqualified for and another that she had no hope of getting because she was underqualified. There was always agency work too. She preferred to be in one place and get to know the people she was looking after, but if there was nothing else then at least it could be an option.
By the time she looked up from her laptop the rain had miraculously stopped. She’d stayed inside all yesterday feeling sorry for herself and so she switched off the television, dragged herself upstairs, took a shower and got dressed. And then, with the rain pelting the windows yet again, she found the big umbrella she kept for such days and set off for a walk.
The rest of her street in Greenwich, less than ten miles from central London, was far more ready for Christmas than she was. Christmas trees were shown off in front windows, lights around porches and roofs suggested a cosiness hidden inside that she would really love to feel, and she only hoped that somehow she could summon a bit of enthusiasm for the season she really loved. She thought of Martin throughout the year of course, but particularly in December. Christmas with Martin had been the first time she’d felt that it really was a wonderful season, the way people described it, magical, a time for family and love, and then with Hayden she’d always thought of it the same way when she gave him everything she’d missed out on as a kid. Her mother had once referred to the ridiculous amount of presents children received, said that they were spoiled, and while Sophie had bought Hayden some of the things from his Christmas list it had been about so much more than that. Her mother had never seen past the commercialism. Perhaps if she had she might have been able to embrace the season for the other things that it brought, like the togetherness and a chance to share traditions and create memories.
She managed an hour’s walk in the rain before she headed for home. She pushed her keys into the lock of the cobalt blue front door Martin had painted the month they moved in. The paint was chipped in places and desperately needed redoing, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Whether it was lack of time, energy, or simply the thought of erasing another thing that Martin tenderly saw to in the short time they were together, she wasn’t sure. She let herself inside the brick terraced house she’d called home for over two decades. This house had seen the birth of her son, the death of her husband, a struggle to make ends meet. She’d taken in lodgers one after the other for a number of years, she’d worked hectic hours on occasion, her son had grown from a baby to a man who was making his own way in the world. This house had been her home, her comfort, her sanctuary in good times and bad.
So much was the same in this house as it had been when she and Martin stepped over the threshold for the very first time as the owners. The floorboards along the hallway were still the originals and led all the way into the lounge where an enormous wool-blend rug in front of the fire kept the room warm and cosy. The bathroom upstairs had seen only a partial remodelling, retaining its tiling and layout. The kitchen was still the original with a repeated need to fix the wooden doors that fell off their hinges time and time again, and the replacing of shelves that had seen too much weight over the years.
Hayden’s bedroom had undergone a major redecoration every time he’d reached a new stage. Robots had adorned one round of wallpaper when he was first in his big boy bed, and in his teens those robots had been swapped for plain walls and the odd poster. When he’d turned twenty, Sophie had finally got rid of the same desk and bed he’d had for over a decade and made his space that little bit more grown up, with modern furniture in bigger dimensions with a proper desk lamp and space for his computer as well as a double bed. He might not move back in fully ever again, but this would always be his home and it was ready for him whenever he needed it.
So much in this house was the same, and yet so much was different. She was different, but in many ways she hadn’t fully moved on. She still held on to her frustration and sadness about a childhood that had been lacking in the love she should’ve had, she still clung on to the hurt that Martin had been taken away too soon, she still felt the guilt about her past. But she’d put one foot in front of the other, pushed away all of that, thinking that was what you did as a grown-up.
