‘Winter Wonderland?’ Brooke questioned.
‘Yeah. It stays open through to January but they do a cheesyopening ceremony. Do you have that back home? Everyone counts down and then they turn on the fairy lights. Sometimes they drag out a local celebrity – and I use the wordcelebrityvery loosely. But sometimes it’s funny.’ Ivy smiled, remembering. ‘One year they got this talking dog from a few towns over to do it. Only he couldn’t really talk, obviously, given that he’s a dog, so he barked the countdown.’ Ivy found her smile widening at the memory. She had actually loved the Winter Wonderland when she was younger. It had felt magical.
‘There’s more,’ said Brooke, tapping the flier with a manicured nail. ‘Stalls, artisanal crafts and carol singers. It sounds like a Hallmark film.’ There was real excitement in her voice and she took out her phone and began to type. ‘I’m texting Trip. This is so far up his street I can’t even tell you. He’lllovethis. You’ll take us along, won’t you, Ivy?’
Ivy hesitated. They finally had a night off from rehearsals, and she had been hoping for a peaceful evening of moody music and tortured creative brainstorming. The days were slipping by and all she had were her handful of scrappy, salt-water-stained sketches, even if Fin’s pep talk had made her feel better about them. But she had always loved the lights. Maybe this would improve her mood? And Brooke looked genuinely thrilled. Trip would love it. It might be fun to go along …
Just then, her phone buzzed so she pulled it out. It was her WhatsApp group with Mei, Erin, Callum and now, of course, Trip.
Mei: is everyone going to the lights tonight? Shall we get there early to get a good spot? Hot chocolates, cider?
Erin: Absolutely! I heard Fin is going to dress up as Jack Frost.
Callum: There’s live music from six. One of the bands sounds cool, here’s the link.
Mei: Can’t wait! I feel like the holidays have well and truly kicked in when the lights go on!
Trip had thumbs-upped every message. Obviously.
And then another text came through, from her mum:
Hey love! Just a reminder about the lights later. I imagine you’ll come straight from work so we’ll see you there? Waffles and hot chocolate like the old days! Oh and Miss Wheeldon will be there. She can’t wait to hear all about art school. Love you.
Suddenly, panic swept over Ivy like cold water. Miss Wheeldon, her adoring Sixth Form art teacher, who had predicted great things for Ivy and raved over her final piece. No – she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t spend the evening with her hyper-enthusiastic-sort-of-school-friends and her over-excited mum and sister, allof them radiating jolliness while she felt like the ghost of a festive dishcloth. She couldn’t tell her old art teacher, who had always had such high hopes for Ivy, that she was about to fail.
‘Sorry, Brooke,’ she said. ‘I can’t make it tonight. You and Trip should totally go, though. If anywhere is excessively welcoming, it’s Fox Bay.’
To her surprise, Brooke paused her typing and looked up, a glint in her eye. ‘Come on, Ivy,’ she said. ‘Ditch the snark for five minutes. Whatareyou going to do this evening? Sit around feeling sorry for yourself?’
Ivy flinched, startled at the confrontational note in Brooke’s voice. ‘I don’tfeel sorryfor myself,’ she said defensively. She gathered herself. ‘Why is it any of your business what I do tonight anyway?’
Brooke shrugged, going back to her phone. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I forgot I was talking to Fox Bay’s biggest rebel. Of course, you wouldn’t go to something as cheesy and tacky as a Winter Wonderland. What would Patti Smith say?’
Ivy stared at her, then looked down at her vintageHorsestee, temporarily too indignant to speak. Brooke typed away, unconcerned.
‘Look, we can’t all be ridiculously cheerful like your brother,’ Ivy said at last. ‘Life isn’t that easy for everyone, you know. Some people don’t lead a charmed existence just because they have a great smile.’And amazing hair, she thought.
Brooke glanced up at her again, an odd expression crossing her face. ‘Is that what you think about Trip?’ she askedcuriously. ‘Like he has everything easy all the time? A charmed existence?’
‘Look at the evidence,’ said Ivy. ‘He’s barely been here a fortnight and the whole town has fallen at his feet. He’s charmed the show committee and all the kids. Swapped recipe tips with Fin and taught Old Bill yoga.Everyoneloves him. And when he’s done here he’ll fly off to Florence or Mexico City or Osaka or wherever he’s decided to go to next and everyone will love him there too. He’s clearly one of those people.’
Brooke nodded slowly. ‘I’d say Trip gets back what he gives out,’ she said. Then she stretched. ‘I’m going for a walk. Sorry about what I said.’ She nodded at Ivy’s shirt. ‘I like Patti Smith. And I forget you’re just a kid.’
Ivy stared after her as the door banged shut, fuming, mouth wide open. Just a kid?Well, of all the patronising, stupid, unfeeling …
She looked down at the flier.Shouldshe go along tonight and prove to Brooke she could be as full of Fox Bay festive cheer as the next person? No. She wasn’t in the right place for it. Another evening with Mei, Erin and Callum, pretending not to care that everyone else seemed to be thriving, while she was horribly stuck.
She was sitting this one out.
Instead, as soon as work was over, she holed up in the school art room, surrounded by paint pots, vast quantities of cardboard and the beginnings of a moody, slightly lopsided backdrop ofTintagel Castle, with the beach below. Liv’s big Arthurian death scene needed atmosphere, and Ivy had decided foggy cliffs and dramatic skies were the way to go. She jammed her headphones on and let angry, crunchy guitars fill her ears as she scowled at the scenery and painted in big, angry brushstrokes.
How, Ivy thought, had it come to this? The most promising art student in her year, who had always received top marks and glowing feedback from every teacher, painting the backdrop for a kid’s show in a deserted primary school on a Thursday night while the rest of the town partied under sparkling lights?
When Ivy had last been in this room, her future had felt full of promise and excitement. She had expected big things for herself. And now she was back, sitting on a bench that seemed far too small, knees hunched up, trying to work out why Arthur’s horse looked more like a cow.
Whatareyou going to do this evening? Sit around feeling sorry for yourself?
Ivy caught herself. Was Brooke right? Was she wallowing in self-pity?
