Matt snorts into his wine and the laughter that follows is a welcome relief. I’ve never been so pleased to hear a dad joke in my entire life.
After dinner, I help clear the dishes while Matt and his dad go outside for their annual festive cigar. I tried to smoke one three years ago and it made me greener than the Christmas tree. I like helping Maureen clear up anyway, it makes me feel like I’m somehow earning my keep.
‘Is he really happy?’ she asks, scraping a plate into the bin. ‘I do worry, you know – this girl has a son and—’
‘He’s fine, Mrs B,’ I reply. ‘You should see them all together. . . they are like a proper little family. I actually introduced him to Sarah: she works at the shopping centre too, and Alfie came into the grotto. He’s a great kid. And honestly, Matt’s happy. You don’t need to worry about him.’
She laughs. ‘I will never not worry, it comes with the territory. . . but this Sarah, does she have her head screwed on properly?’
‘Oh, she’s very down to earth,’ I interrupt, almost defensively. ‘Sharp as a tack. She isn’t—’
‘She isn’ther, Nick.’ Maureen’s face looks strained as she sighs and folds over a dishtowel.
‘Karen?’
She nods. ‘And that’s what worries me.’
I understand her concern – sometimes it feels like Karen’s the bloody Voldemort of the Buckley household. Even after three years, her name is still tiptoed around, like somehow actually saying it out loud will summon her directly in front of Matt to break his heart again. Christ, he can’t even see a fucking wallet without pining.
It wasn’t hard to see why Matt was so smitten with the tall strawberry-blonde he sat next to at his very first lecture; she was stunning. But for him it was more than that. She was his equal: his tennis-playing, career-driven, frustratingly stubborn equal. With Karen, he’d met his match.
Matt’s mum pulls out a stool at the cream kitchen island and motions for me to join her.
‘You remember how Matt was when she left for New York,’ Maureen continues. ‘I’ve never seen him so shattered. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t moved in with him.’
I nod. Matt had been there for me after Mum died, so there was no way I was going to let him deal with his heartbreak on his own. I knew Matt needed company – that being on his own in the flat that he had shared with Karen was the very last thing he needed. Matt isn’t the type to show vulnerability, but he thought Karen was the one, and losing her hit him really hard. I still shared a flat with Greta and Harriet, and Harriet’s sister had been looking for a room anyway, so getting out of the lease wasn’t a problem. I moved in with Matt the day after Karen left and became his rock, propping him up until he was standing firmly on solid ground again. It took time but we got there.
‘He got through it,’ I insist. ‘He’s moved on.’
‘Gettingthroughsomething isn’t the same as getting over it,’ Maureen replies. Mrs B is so bloody wise. ‘It would have been entirely different if they’d split up because they weren’t in love anymore, but she was just on a different path.’
‘Sarah is good for him,’ I say firmly, not sure whether I’m trying to reassure her or myself. ‘You’ve seen how his face lights up when he speaks about her.’
She bobs her head in acknowledgement and smiles, trying to mask her visible concern. ‘I hope you’re right. It’s a whole other ball game when there’s a child involved. . . I just don’t want him to let anyone down, if he’s not ready for that.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I reply. ‘Sarah is no idiot, and neither is Matt. He’s the best. . . in fact, they both are.’
The conservatory door opens and Matt’s deep, hearty laugh floats through the house.
‘You’re a good boy, Nick,’ Mrs B says, standing up. ‘We all think the world of you; Matt’s lucky to have such a good friend.’
As she leans in for a hug, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Matt’s been more than a friend to me; he’s my family. They all are. I’m the one who’s lucky and I swear to myself that I won’t let what I feel for Sarah override my loyalty to Matt. Regardless of what that little voice in the back of my head is telling me, Sarah isn’t my Karen. She is not the one who got away, because she was never mine in the first place, and if Matt can get over the love of his life, then I can get over the best thing I never had.
The next morning, Matt takes Harvey for a walk and I join him. His parents live a few minutes’ walk from a huge open field where everyone walks their hairy best friends. I don’t really get dogs. They just seem like a whole load of work, only to be slobbered on in return. Cats are more my vibe. Well, technically reindeers have been my vibe for the past few weeks, but a cat seems like a more realistic choice for a Londoner. I don’t see Rudolph fitting into our two-bed.
‘I spoke to Sarah this morning,’ Matt says. ‘Sounds like they’re having a blast. Alfie asked for you, but I didn’t want to wake you.’
‘Aw, I wouldn’t have minded,’ I reply, picking up the stick that Harvey has dropped at my feet. ‘I hardly have a barrage of people wishing me Merry Christmas. . .’
I throw the stick, and Harvey gallops after it, but he’s intercepted by a plucky little boxer who grabs it first, returning it to a woman in a bright orange jacket. Matt gasps.
‘No way. I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, it’s a stick. It’s kinda what dogs do.’
Matt waves at the woman who’s now walking towards us, smiling.
‘Kirstie Jardine,’ he says under his breath. ‘God, I haven’t seen her since high school.’
