I rush out of the kitchen and back to the dining room. My heart is beating so fast, I fear I might pass out. God, I think I still fancy my boyfriend.
Ed
I sheepishly nod to Gary as I leave, pulling down my shirt to cover any lingering evidence of how turned on I was two minutes ago. As much as I want to disembowel Gary with a rusty spoon for interrupting us, I cannot imagine how he felt, seeing his stepdaughter getting groped in his own kitchen.
I nip to the toilet to clear my head which is spinning. For a moment there, we felt like us. Like the people we used to be, uncomplicated and unable to keep our hands off each other. It feels like we’re both trying here. It feels like maybe—
I’m interrupted by a faint buzzing sound. No, not a buzz– more of a vibration. I follow the sound behind me, reaching behind the toilet brush. Kate’s phone with three new WhatsApp messages from Tara. Her client. She’s been sneaking work calls the whole holiday. I put the phone back and leave the bathroom.
Everyone has decided to have dessert while we open our presents. I briefly lock eyes with Kate as I enter the room but do my best to avoid Gary’s until he makes contact first. Tom is sitting beside Kate, so I park myself next to Gubba, who playfully slaps my knee.
‘My Tom was about your height,’ she tells me. ‘Big six-footer. We looked ridiculous together, what with me only being five foot two in me heels.’
Gubba’s told me this numerous times but it’s not because she’s getting on a bit; it’s because she’s slightly pissed. That sherry bottle will be in her handbag by the end of the evening.
‘Right, everyone, I thought we’d have something a little different this year,’ Gary announces. ‘We have panettone with mascarpone and non-flammable figgy-pudding-flavoured ice cream.’
He lays the desserts out on the table and stands back to admire his work. I don’t blame him; the whole concept is a thing of beauty.
The annual Christmas-gift exchange is pleasant enough, with everyone pretending to love their gifts a little more than they actually do. I’m off the hook, as Kate picked out the gifts for her family, so I cannot be held responsible. Gubba, of course, brings everyone back to reality by asking Paula what in the hell made her buy a ‘Born in the 40s’ sweetie box when she hasn’t had her own teeth in years.
‘How am I supposed to eat Bonfire Toffee with dentures in, Paula? Give it to the wee fella. He still has his baby teeth.’
Finally, as I hand Kate her gift, I start to panic a little. The timing couldn’t be more unfortunate, given our current situation.
Before I can make up an excuse, she starts to open it. My wrapping skills aren’t the greatest but with Kate it doesn’t matter anyway, as she claws at the paper without even looking.
‘A scrapbook?’ she asks, looking confused, probably because she’s been hinting for months about a pair of Vivienne Westwood earrings she’s absolutely in love with.
‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
She tentatively opens the blue cover and pauses, staring at the first photo.
‘Who’s that?’ Paula asks, peering across the room.
‘It’s us,’ she replies, her voice breaking a little. ‘Me and Ed. Atschool.’
She starts flipping through the pages, running her fingers across every memory of us I could find. The notes we passed in class, which I kept, the ticket stubs from the Reading Festival where she lost her favourite sunglasses headbanging to Metallica, photos from our school hoedown, the booking receipt from the dodgy hotel we stayed at when I visited her for a weekend in Durham, even the cinema ticket stubs from the first time we hung out together outside of school. It’s a history of us.
‘Do you like it?’ I ask, noticing that she hasn’t said a word.
She starts to cry.
‘Kate?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, closing the book. She grabs my gift and leaves the room, almost at a sprint. I can still hear her sobbing as she goes upstairs. I immediately follow her up.
I go into the bedroom and close the door behind me. Kate’s sitting facing the window with her back to me, her head in her hands.
‘Look, I know the book was bad timing,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t even your proper gift, I’d just forgotten all about it, until—’
‘I’m just so sad, Ed,’ she responds. ‘Looking through that book. . . I just can’t get my head around the fact that it’s over.’
I sit on the opposite side of the bed with my back to her. ‘You wanted this, Kate,’ I remind her. ‘I’m not the one who suggested we split.’
‘I know,’ she replies, sniffing loudly. ‘I was just so frustrated. . . not only with us, but with everything. I feel stuck, Ed. And confused. I have all these feelings and. . . I mean. . . in the kitchen. . .’
Her voice trails away and she starts to cry again.
