Kitabı oku: «It Won’t be Christmas Without You», sayfa 2

Eighteen days to Christmas
Chapter 3

“You coming?”

“Huh?”

Jen rolled her eyes, absently tapping her card wallet on the dividing wall around Cara’s desk. “Starbucks. I literally just explained. You said you were listening.”

“Sorry.” Cara stared intently at her screen, eyes scanning the email once more, deleting one more exclamation mark before she hit send. She looked up at Jen again. “Sorry. I swear I’m listening this time.”

“Starbucks time. Are you coming?” Cara’s eyes flicked towards Dave’s office, and she barely opened her mouth before Jen added, “Dave was the one who asked if anybody else wanted to go out and grab a Christmas coffee in the first place.”

“I don’t know. I’ve just got so much to get through for next week’s last-minute gifts campaign …” As if on cue, an email from some boutique candle company from North Wales pinged into her inbox. Promptly followed by a reply from the high street retailer they were still hoping to pin down. “I’m just …”

“Oh my God,” Jen sighed, exasperated but half-laughing, “don’t bother. You’ll just have your nose in your phone. What shall I bring you back?”

Jen had started her role in the PR team the same week as Cara had joined the company. Despite the four-year age difference, they’d clicked instantly. It hadn’t been long before their joint coffee breaks and lunches turned into after-work drinks and weekend wanders around the shops. Jen was a brilliant friend, especially at times like this, when she understood how much Cara had on her plate.

The company – Klikit – had been around for maybe four years now, but it had only really started taking off about a year ago, hitting the front page of the App Store, their followers spiking on Twitter until they were real competitors, a real household name. They still had a way to go, and everyone in the office worked hard to make it happen – and Cara loved it. She thrived on the pressure, the new challenges that hit her email inbox every day. She loved the team, the platform, the work, all of it.

But she also loved a good Christmassy coffee.

“Toffee nut. With cream. Unless you end up at Costa instead, then I’ll have the gingerbread latte. Ooh, and grab me a muffin while you’re there? Something festive-flavoured. I don’t care what. So long as it’s not a mince pie. I might vomit if I have to see another mince pie.”

People had been bringing boxes of them into the office for about a month now.

Eloise would have loved it. And Cara had at first – but there were only so many mince pies a person could eat. What was she – Father Christmas?

“Gotcha.” Jen waggled her fingers as a few others wandered over, already wrapped in coats and ready to go. “We’ll see you in, like, an hour.”

Cara waved them all off as they passed by her desk and stuck her head back into her computer, sucked into a world of draft posts and stock images and emails, barely looking up until the smell of toffee nut slid under her nose.

“Love ya.”

“You’re welcome,” Jen sang back. Cara looked up long enough to roll her neck, reviving the muscles there, and taking a long sip of her still-steaming hot latte. Heaven. This was liquid Christmas. Sod eggnog: this was the real magic, right here.

Jen was already chattering away, telling her about the latest office gossip that had surfaced, and Cara gave herself ten minutes to indulge in it. (Because damn, was Molly in Finance really hooking up with Patrick from IT? Didn’t she have a boyfriend, or something?)

Eventually, Jen wandered back to her desk and Cara shifted back into full-on work mode.

When six o’clock hit and she broke off another bit of muffin to munch on, Dave passed by her desk.

“Dude,” he said, “go home.”

He called everyone dude. He even called the cleaning lady dude.

“I will, in a minute. I’ve just …” Ping. Who the hell was even still working at six o’clock to reply to her emails now? Weren’t office hours over?

Cara started replying.

Dave laughed, leaning against the desk next to her. “You don’t have to keep working twelve hours a day, you know. You’re already a shoo-in. You work twice as hard as anyone here. You already do half of my job for me.”

Cara dragged her face away from the screen, and then her eyes a moment later. She smiled and said, “I swear, I’ll go home as soon as I’ve sorted this. I just want to make sure it’s done before I head off.”

What she didn’t add was that she did have to keep working like this, to prove herself. That was how she’d always been, though, in fairness, it wasn’t so much to do with the company as it was her. But, even so, there were people who’d been here since Klikit started who would be interested in Dave’s job. She was twenty-two and had been here only eighteen months. It seemed like way too soon to be looking for a promotion. So yes, she did have to work like this.

If she didn’t get the promotion, nobody could say it was because she didn’t work hard enough. Besides, she loved her job. It didn’t feel so awful working this much when she enjoyed what she was doing.

Dave shook his head, laughing softly. “Alright, but seriously – get yourself home.” He nodded at the screen. “That’ll still be there in the morning. And hey – make sure you turn your phone off at the Christmas party next week. We can’t have you working all night. This place won’t fall apart if you take a break, you know.”

She laughed. “Roger that, boss.”

It was eight o’clock before she walked through the door at home. It was pitch dark outside, but the house was warm (for a change) and smelled like enchiladas.

With all of her housemates working such different jobs (a bar manager, someone in digital marketing for a chain of clubs, one girl in HR for a high-street fashion brand, and another guy working as a journalist), they didn’t always get to spend a lot of time together. And some people (not that she was naming names, but it was totally Henry) never replaced the toilet roll when they used the last of it.

But times like this – when they made more than enough food and told her there were leftovers in the fridge – she loved them dearly.

Cara dumped her backpack near the door and tossed her coat onto the peg in the hallway.

“There’s food in the fridge!” shouted one of her housemates, Jamilla, from the living room. “Elliot made enchiladas.”

“Thanks!” Cara called back, heading straight for the kitchen now and digging the leftovers out of the fridge. Ooh, and they’d left some salad too. Absolute angels.

The idea of living with four total strangers had been terrifying at first, for Cara. A new city and a new job? Sure, that was exciting. But sharing a house with four totally random people?

A couple of people she knew from uni had done it too, and she’d heard a few horror stories of nightmare housemates or awful landlords, so she had to count her blessings: her housemates were so easy to get on with. And they did things like cook enough food for everyone and keep the house clean, which was a huge step up from some people she’d lived with at university.

Enchiladas reheated, Cara headed into the living room, where she could hear some of her housemates talking over the TV.

“Alright, Cara?” Elliot said, glancing up from his own plate of food. Jamilla was there too, stretched across the other sofa flicking through a magazine. While Cara ate, the three of them swapped stories about their days until Cara’s phone buzzed.

She’d not checked her phone since she’d left work and noticed she had a few notifications. A text from Eloise. A photo from her mum in their family group WhatsApp, of the matching #Elfie T-shirts she and Cara’s dad had bought to take on holiday. A missed call and now a text from George.

Her face lit up: it must’ve done, because Jamilla promptly said, “Oo-ooh, let me guess. A text from the famous George.”

“Maybe.”

“He’s a keeper, C, I swear to God,” Elliot pitched in. “How many guys do you think spend their lunch break coming to your office just to bring you your favourite Starbucks?”

“That was one time.” But it had been a really nice surprise yesterday: he’d had to cancel their date the night before at short notice and wanted to make up for it, even though she’d understood.

“Go on, abandon your friends; call lover boy back,” Jamilla told her, grinning. “If you don’t, I will.”

Cara stuck her tongue out, collecting the empty mugs, cereal bowl and her own plate to take to the kitchen. She called George back, sticking the phone on speaker as she loaded the things into the half-full dishwasher.

George answered almost straight away. “Hey! How are you? Are you back from work now?”

“Yeah. Sorry I missed your call; it must’ve been when I was on the Tube. I’ve only just had tea.”

“I’m visiting a mate about two stops from you – is it alright if I pop in tonight? If you’re not too tired? I’d love to see you.”

“Oh! Um, sure. Yeah, absolutely!” She cringed, gritting her teeth. Did she sound too keen? Too late now. “Text me when you’re here; I’ll come down and let you in.”

She’d been looking forward to cuddling up under the duvet with one of the Hallmark Christmas movies on Netflix. Eloise had been messaging her recommendations and out-of-five-stars reviews all week. But she could pass that up to see her (sort-of) boyfriend.

She hoped he was her boyfriend.

God, she hated this whole label thing. Talking to each other, seeing each other, dating – why were there so many labels for it now? Why was it so bloody intimidating to just ask him if they were a couple?

She hadn’t even wondered about it too much until she’d gone to buy him a Christmas card the other day – and realised maybe he’d be freaked out if she got him a boyfriend card. Or disappointed to get one that didn’t say ‘boyfriend’.

“I have to ask you something.”

“Sounds serious.” Cara twisted towards him. They were lying side by side on her bed under about three blankets, her laptop propped on George’s knees with the credits of Jingle All The Way rolling.

“Is it too weird if I get you a present? For Christmas? I mean, I know I said the other week about you meeting my parents, but you can back out of that easy with some excuse about work and I wouldn’t even know if you made it up or not.”

Cara wondered who’d made him so cynical about relationships.

She’d also never been so relieved to find a guy who didn’t mind tackling head-on the kind of questions she worried about herself.

“I’ll outdo you on the weird serious question front,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “Do I get to call you my boyfriend yet, or do we have to go through some weird phase of casual-yet-exclusive dating for a few more weeks before that?”

George laughed so warmly that she felt she already knew the answer. It gave her the same warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach as she got whenever she watched Love Actually.

“I think we can skip that phase, don’t you?”

“Skip it all,” she deadpanned, waving a hand. “I’ll expect a Tiffany ring for Christmas. June wedding. Kids by October.”

“Steady on. It’ll have to be a winter wedding. My step-mum will murder me if she’s stuffed up with hay fever in all the wedding photos. You think your parents would mind a child out of wedlock?”

“Hmm, not sure. Or we could just elope.”

“Las Vegas at New Year? Elvis can officiate.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Well, thank you very much, little lady, thank you very much,” he said, in possibly the worst impression of Elvis she’d ever heard.

Cara broke into peals of laughter and George set the laptop safely to one side before rolling on top of her, propped up on his elbows and kissing her softly. Cara sighed, leaning up into it, smiling against his lips.

“I can’t stay too late,” he murmured, breaking away with a groan and pushing his forehead against her cheek. “Early start.”

“Or you could just … stay here.” Cara felt herself blushing furiously. Even though they’d had sex (after date number six) they hadn’t actually spent the night with each other. “I’ve got a spare toothbrush in a drawer.”

George laughed. “Well, that was the deal breaker.”

Clearly she’d done something right to get on Santa’s Good List this year, because George was utterly perfect.

Fourteen days till Christmas
Chapter 4

She could do this. Only a few more days of school to go until they broke up for the holidays, and then – then she’d never have to go through another run of that bloody nativity again.

If Eloise had to hear Away in a Manger or Don’t Stop Me Now again any time soon, she’d scream. They’d been playing on a constant loop all day while the children did full run-throughs. And much as Eloise loved seeing them so happy and so full of Christmas spirit, it was driving her a little nuts.

Pouring herself a generous glass of white wine, she’d never been so glad to sink into her sofa. She FaceTimed Cara, but the call cut off before it was answered and she got a text instead.

Still in work and going straight to meet George. I’ll try to call you later xxx

PS How’s the nativity going? On the vino yet?

Eloise couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even as she typed out upbeat replies filled with emojis. It was gone six and she knew from Cara’s Instagrammed coffee at 7.32 a.m. that morning that she’d been in work early.

At school and at uni, Eloise always thought they’d both worked as hard as each other. They’d both fallen in love with Birmingham, and had lived in the same halls and house share throughout their degrees. Eloise wasn’t finding it hard to be away from Cara lately so much as she found it hard to just talk to her sister. Especially with all this promotion stuff going on. Cara worked too bloody hard.

So bloody hard she was even skipping Christmas and had encouraged their parents to do the same.

Eloise fired off the last few wine glass emojis to Cara and a Snapchat to match, then set her phone aside. “Humbug,” she muttered.

And giggled. A half-glass of wine and she was already tipsy. She probably should’ve eaten something before opening the bottle.

By the time she’d finished her glass, a movie had started on one of the TV channels and she left it to play, snuggling into her woolly cardigan and snapping off the lamp beside her. The Christmas tree and the fairy lights were all on, and she’d lit a cinnamon sugar-scented candle, so the room was lit with a warm, festive glow.

Bliss.

Lonely bliss, but still some kind of bliss.

Wryly, she thought this was probably more festive than Christmas morning would be.

Cara’s fault.

She’d barely settled in with the movie when there was a knock on her door.

Eloise sat up, muted the TV. Cocked her head and listened.

Another knock. Definitely her door.

She didn’t understand who it would be. Someone in the block, surely. You had to have a key to get into the building, or a special code for the intercom. If someone wanted to actually, physically knock her door, they had to get into the building first.

Another knock, this one harder, more insistent.

Eloise clambered up from the sofa, staggering a little as the wine hit her, and giggling while she steadied herself. Once she got to the door (which took at least three times as long as usual) she peered through the peep-hole.

Jamie knocked again, hammering his fist against the door. “I saw your lights on from outside, Eloise. I can hear you moving around.”

She undid the chain and opened the door. She lifted her chin primly, pursing her lips. “Can I help you?”

She hiccupped.

Giggled again, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her whole face felt warm.

Jamie raised an eyebrow, but then went back to looking sullen and moody. Brooding, maybe. Brooding was a word that suited him. In a very Jon Snow-esque way. And ooh, he was wearing glasses. She’d never seen him in glasses before. Rectangular, black frames. They suited him. A lot. He cleared his throat, distracting her from looking at him. (And she really was only looking, definitely not staring. Not at all.) “I, um, I need a favour.”

“Do you need more wrapping paper?”

He’d knocked on her door two days ago, needing paper to wrap a Secret Santa gift for someone in work. He’d laughed at her collection of ribbons and bows and tags, but taken some anyway, smirking when she told him he’d picked the wrong ones to match the paper.

“No. I, um …” Jamie cleared his throat and stood up straighter, which was when she realised he’d been slouching. He was so much taller than her when he didn’t slouch, and she wasn’t in her usual heeled boots. His cheeks reddened. “I locked myself out. I went to take the recycling out and just … I forgot my keys. Obviously I can get into the building, but … not my flat. I tried the estate agent for a spare key, but they’re shut till the morning. I know this is a really weird favour to ask, but …”

“You can stay here,” Eloise said, before he could stammer and drag it out any more. God, he was making it painful. Like this was more trouble for him than it would be for her. Prick, she thought, but smiled politely. “It’s not a problem. Have you eaten yet? I might order some pizza. I’m starving.”

“I could eat.”

Eloise stepped aside, waving a hand grandly to admit him into the flat. She closed the door after him, and was pleased that he made use of the shoe rack without her even having to ask.

Jamie followed her into the living room, perching on the other end of the sofa. He looked awkward and out of place. He must’ve felt it too, because he ran a hand back and forth through his hair, mussing it up, cleaned his glasses on his T-shirt, rubbed his jaw.

Had he always looked this cute?

Maybe it was the glasses. Or the messy hair.

He might be too long for the sofa, Eloise wondered. But she could hardly offer him the bed. That was where she was sleeping.

He pointed at the TV and she followed his finger while she picked her phone up from where it had fallen on the floor earlier. She checked it for notifications, even though she knew there would be none. “Good movie.”

“Is it? I’ve not seen it before.”

She couldn’t even remember what it was called. Just that it was some movie with Daniel Radcliffe, about magic, and not Harry Potter. Mark Ruffalo was currently on screen.

Eloise loaded the Dominos app, picking a two-pizza deal and choosing one for herself before handing the phone to Jamie to pick what he wanted.

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow, when I manage to get into my flat.”

She waved him off as she tapped in the credit card details she knew off by heart. A side-effect of a lot of online shopping at university and a lack of ability to budget. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. You want some wine? Tea? I’ve got some coffee, but it’s only decaf. Um … there’s some lemonade too. Or orange juice. Or –”

“Tea would be nice. I’ll make it, though, don’t worry. Do you want one?”

“Um.” Did people actually do this? Make themselves at home in someone else’s kitchen? She’d only ever seen that in movies before. Was it arrogance, or was he being polite? It was hard to tell. She’d have opted for some more wine if she’d been on her own, but sobering up seemed like a better idea now she had company. “Yeah, go on then.”

She half-watched the movie while she listened to him fill her kettle, look through a couple of drawers for the teaspoons, take mugs off the mug tree and open her tin labelled, unambiguously, TEA.

She wanted to text Cara. She wanted to call her and have a whispered conversation to say her arsey neighbour was spending the night at her flat. But Cara would be with George now, and she didn’t want to disturb them.

Jamie handed her the tea. “Sorry – I forgot to ask if you take sugar. But, given that there’s a canister of tea bags out and no sugar, I’m guessing not.”

Eloise shook her head. Her fringe was falling out of its hairpin, tucked off her face. “Nope. Thanks.”

“No – thank you. Honestly. I really appreciate this. I know it’s – I know I’m not exactly neighbourly, so I appreciate this.”

Aww. That might be the first genuinely nice thing he’d ever said to her.

“It’s no problem. Although, honestly, I’m a little worried you’re too tall for the sofa. And I don’t have an airbed.”

He assured her it’d be fine; he was just grateful he wasn’t stuck outside in the hallway all night. He asked her how the school nativity was going, so she spent the next twenty minutes until the pizza arrived (and she sobered up a little more) regaling him with mishaps and adorable moments and the teacher who’d tried to swan in during their second dress rehearsal today and change half the songs.

Jamie, it turned out, was a great audience. Maybe he was just being especially nice because she was letting him stay. He hadn’t even made a sardonic comment about her Christmas tree yet.

And by the time they’d finished the pizzas they were barely paying attention to the movie anymore. Jamie was sat twisted towards her, one leg up on the sofa and his arm slung over the back; Eloise had her legs crossed, pizza box balanced there. He reached across to take a slice, even though he had some of his own left in the box on the floor, and she didn’t even mind.

He was funny, too, now he wasn’t being her grumpy neighbour.

She’d learnt more about Jamie in the past hour than she had in any conversation they’d had previously.

He worked at a mental health charity. It was a national one, with a local branch. He had a psychology degree and was a year older than her. He had three younger brothers and his family were from Nottingham, like hers. A few towns over, though. They had a couple of mutual friends on Facebook.

They had a few things in common too: a mutual love of Star Wars, The Crown and Game of Thrones; they’d both tried to read Lord of the Rings and given up after a couple of chapters; they’d both done French A levels. There were a lot of things they didn’t have in common too – like the fact he thought the Harry Potter books weren’t much cop, so hadn’t read past the second one. Eloise found it hard to let that one go.

“So, right, tell me, then,” she said, turning towards him and being careful not to spill her wine. They’d both had a glass, and she’d had to open another bottle. Eloise typically tried to avoid drinking on a school night, but it had been a rough day, and she figured tonight was as good as any to make an exception. She’d regret it like hell tomorrow, when she had a hangover and had to deal with another nativity practice, but right now it seemed like a great idea.

Jamie’s cheeks were ruddy under his is-it-stubble-or-is-it-beard, his green eyes bright. “What?”

“Why are you always so grouchy? Like, every time we’ve spoken, you’re just – you’re like Oscar. The Grouch. Not quite a Grinch.”

He laughed. It was a nice, full sound. “I’m not grouchy.”

“You are. You’re like full-on Mr Darcy.”

“Please, Mr Darcy is my father.”

Eloise snorted before saying, “I’m serious. Like at the start of the story. All aloof and moody.”

Jamie laughed again but looked abashed. “I’m not, am I? I’m not that bad. I know I’m a little … I’m a bit shy, but I’m not aloof.”

“You so are.”

“No. Nope, impossible. I’ve been told I’m approachable and friendly. Nobody has ever told me I’m aloof.”

“Well, you are here.”

“Maybe it’s just because you’re cute, and I’m shy.”

Eloise’s face was on fire in seconds, and Jamie laughed again, so at ease and smiling so widely she figured he had to be joking. He had to be, didn’t he? He’d said himself, he was shy. Shy people didn’t just say things like that, did they?

“I’m lucky you even opened the door to me, then, if I’m so bloody moody all the time.”

“It’s Christmas,” Eloise said, smiling and hoping she wasn’t still blushing. “’Tis the season for forgiveness and goodwill and all that jazz. Even if Christmas is turning into a pile of shite this year.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Jamie leant towards her. “You’re basically Buddy the Elf compared to most other people I know. And you’re calling Christmas a pile of shite?”

“Well, not Christmas exactly,” she conceded, nabbing another slice of pizza and taking a bite. She’d not even mentioned any of it to the other teachers at school, or any of her mates – because her mates were also Cara’s mates, and she didn’t want her sister to think she was bitching about her.

“What then?”

And despite the fact that Jamie Darcy from Number 3 was the last person she’d have imagined talking to about this, Eloise spilled it all, totally embarrassed when she even teared up a little, telling him how miserable and lonely she got sometimes, how homesick she was, how Cara didn’t even seem to notice she’d abandoned her for her fabulous, flashy London lifestyle. Her wobbly voice made him look away at the TV awkwardly, not sure whether to acknowledge it or not.

“That sucks,” he said eventually. “I can’t imagine not spending Christmas with the family. Or going abroad for Christmas. Who wants sun, anyway? You want to go out for a walk after dinner with your breath fogging up, everyone moaning about how cold it is, and kind of wishing it’ll snow but also glad it doesn’t, because snow’s a pain in the arse.”

“Oh, my God, no! I love the snow. Everything’s so pretty. Especially when it’s early and nobody’s been out in it yet.”

Jamie pulled a face. “Nope. It’s awful. Everything just comes to a standstill, and then it turns to slush and ice and that’s even worse.”

“Oh, humbug,” she snapped, laughing. It was easier to laugh over snow than go back to talking about what a loser she was. She realised then how late it was. It had been dark since four o’clock and was raining heavily against the windows of the flat – but she realised with a start it was already past ten. She was usually fast asleep by now.

“I’ll sort you out a pillow and some blankets,” she said, standing and tidying some of the empty cups around, and pushing the pizza boxes out of the way. Jamie tried to help her, offered to wash up, but she waved him off. She’d sort it all tomorrow, after work. Right now, she should get to bed.

She took the couple of blankets she had off the top shelf of the wardrobe and put fresh pillowcases on two of her pillows, carrying the lot back in to Jamie. “I’ve got a T-shirt that should fit you, if you want something else to sleep in.”

He cast a disbelieving glance over her, eyebrow arched. “Why, did you lose twelve inches? Go on a spin cycle when you’re not tumble dryer-safe?”

“Funny. No, it’s just a T-shirt I got from some night out at uni. I don’t know why I’ve still got it, really.”

She did know, but she wasn’t about to share. She knew how pathetic it’d make her sound. Eloise disappeared back to her room for the T-shirt, a black one that had a club’s logo on the left side of the chest and giant white lettering on the back saying ‘Don’t be #whiskeysour’ and ‘£1 shots all night’.

It wasn’t even something she should have felt sentimental about, and she knew it was stupid that she did. But Josh had been with her that night. He’d played beer pong and won the shirt, which he’d given to her. She’d worn it over her dress all night.

It was just a stupid T-shirt, but that had been the last time she’d been with Josh before everything had gone wrong.

Over five years together, and he’d ended it out of the blue to go travelling with some girl he knew from his uni course.

As if it was Eloise’s fault she’d been on her teacher training and then starting a job in a primary school. As if it was her decision to be sensible about her career when it was just starting out that had been the last straw in their relationship. Not his decision to pass up a really good grad scheme and go gallivanting around Europe and Asia for months on end instead.

A holiday to Thailand – sure, she’d have loved it. But months backpacking around, and sacrificing a job she really wanted to do it? He’d always known that wasn’t her thing.

(It hadn’t been his thing either, until Alyssa had convinced him to go along with her.)

It didn’t stop her from checking Josh’s Instagram before she went to bed, though, bitterly realising how happy he was without her. He’d been updating all his social media with photos of him and his new girlfriend all over the world, rubbing salt in the wound.

It stung, when she’d worked so hard to keep their relationship together while they had been studying at different universities.

It stung even more when she thought about how she was the one who’d always had to put in that effort: he always had some excuse why he couldn’t visit her, but she could come to him, or why he hadn’t been able to text her back (but had no problem uploading Snapchat stories with his mates).

“’Night, Eloise,” Jamie called from the living room.

She almost dropped her phone on her face, but composed herself quickly, the wine already wearing off.

“’Night.”

It was nice to have someone to say goodnight to, for a change.