I shake my head, pulling my scarf up over my mouth so when I speak my lips graze against the wool. “He thinks I did the bad thing, too. He hates me. That’s over.”
I blink back tears, hating myself for getting emotional. Tom and I didn’t even go on a date. We kissed once. There’s nothing I really lost.
But it feels like I have. It feels like I’ve lost a lot.
“Your mum thinks it’s something to do with Daniel,” Cara says, amused.
“What? Why would she think that?” I find myself pleasantly surprised that I haven’t thought much about Daniel recently. Maybe bumping into him and meeting Francesca was a strange type of closure. A wake-up call that he’d found someone special, and I couldn’t dwell on the past.
“She thinks you’re coming to the end of the year and you’remusing over everything that’s happened. Him inviting you to his wedding and stuff.”
“I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m happy for him.”
“Yeah. That’s what I told her.” Cara grins. “And you’ll be busy skydiving that day, anyway, so who cares?”
“You shouldn’t tease people who just told you they got fired.”
“I can see you rocking a parachute. Just saying.”
When I get home that night, I put the TV on in the background as I pack some clothes for Mum and Dad’s. I ponder over my feelings, miserably acknowledging that, although I’m sad about what might have been with Tom, I’m more cut up about losing Cordelia.
I feel like I’m back at school and the popular girl, whom I’ve spent all term winning over, doesn’t want to sit at my table anymore. I wish I didn’t care so much, but I’d put a lot of time and effort into gaining her trust. We’d formed a strange, reluctant friendship that had ended up meaning something to me, whether I wanted it to or not.
As the days go by, I realize how angry I am with her for not trusting me. We haven’t known each other very long, but it hurts that she thinks I could betray her like that.
Nothing about my life has really changed. That’s how I’ve been comforting myself. I’ve still got all my real friends, I’ve still got my wonderful brides and grooms who do trust me, and it’s unlikely this will damage my career. Lady Meade won’t splash about what went down because, as long as I don’t go to the press with my story, they’ll want to keep my role in the wedding a secret outside family ranks.
She won’t be recommending me for any other high-society weddings any time soon, like I’d hoped, but that’s OK. I don’tneedthe kind of money she’d been paying me. I was absolutely fine doing more weddings and earning the same amount. I mighthate that the Marquess and Marchioness of Meade, Cordelia and Tom think I’m somebody I’m not, but does that really affect my day-to-day? Does it really matter? Cordelia said I cared too much about what people think. So, I won’t care.
I’m fine.
On Christmas Eve, I get myself home to my parents’ house in the mindset that I will not let this work hiccup ruin my Christmas. I arrive with a big smile, dump my bags in my old bedroom, and go into full holiday mode, placing my bag of presents under the tree, fishing the board games out from the broom cupboard, where they’re stowed for the rest of the year, and declaring I’ll make some mulled wine if anyone else would like some. I don’t want to give myself any time to wallow.
“It’s so lovely to see you, darling,” Mum says, throwing her arm round me as I stir the wine in the saucepan. She smells so comforting that I almost start crying there and then. I can’t bear to tell her about being fired quite yet. She’ll be so lovely about it and tell me that it’s their loss, and I know that will set me off. I’ll tell her after Christmas, when things are quieter.
“I’m really happy to be home,” I manage. I mean it.
She squeezes my shoulders, giving me a kiss on the side of my head, then hurries off to ask Dad to do something or other in preparation for Cara’s family coming to lunch tomorrow. He grumbles about having to spend his holiday being ordered around like a servant, then winks at me when Mum’s back is turned. He makes me laugh.
You see?I tell myself.You’re fine. Nothing’s changed. Why are you letting this affect you so much?
Christmas Day is a blur of noise and chaos as various members of the family arrive. The morning starts well when we’re treated to the wonderful entertainment of Uncle Fred attempting the harmonies of all the hymns at church, and by the end of the service Dad and I are shaking with silent laughter, tears streaming down our cheeks as he belts out “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” an octave or so too high. No one gets into an argument all day, which is a wonderful surprise, and we listen to the Queen’s speech in respectful silence, Dad nodding to everything she says, while Cara makes the annual comment of how amazing she is at her age.
I think I’m being perfectly normal, trying to be helpful and smiling whenever I can, but mums always know.
“You’re being very quiet,” Mum says, when she catches me alone in the kitchen.
“Am I?”
“You seem sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m great!”
She doesn’t buy it, but she leaves it. During the afternoon lull, I check my phone and am disappointed there are no messages. I don’t know why I would expect Cordelia or Tom to contact me, but I guess I was hoping the season of goodwill and forgiveness might have seeped in and grabbed hold of their subconscious. As I watch Cara snuggle up to Mike to watchPaddington 2,it’s hard not to feel so… single.
I make the decision to date more next year. I’ll put myself out there. I’ll be bold and unafraid, go on dates and feel that spark. The one I had with Tom. I’ll get that with someone else.
“Count yourself lucky you don’t have the fights about where to spend Christmas every year,” Cara told me once, when she was preparing to go to Mike’s. “His family have the weirdest traditions. You know, they don’t do smoked salmon and champagne. What’s wrong with them? Everyone knows it’s a Christmas-morning thing! Do you know what they do? Olives. What sort of fucked-up person eats olives on Christmas morning?”
