Page 7 of Christmas, Actually

‘I’ll explain everything to Clara tomorrow, when she’s not so tired,’ Eleanor interjected. ‘Nothing to worry about, love. Liam, don’t worry about us either. You get off.’ She untangled her arm from Clara and wagged it towards the door.

Liam nodded, then he took off with Figgy trotting by his side trying to keep up. He wasn’t running, definitely not running – he was just worried he was going to be late. He felt a buzz in his pocket indicating he’d received another message just as he broke into a sprint.

I doubt this surprise is on your Christmas list. Good luck, because you’re going to need it.

Liam was reading the ominous text on his mobile – which was from the same number as the mysterious voicemail – and had almost reached his car when he saw the man and his whole body froze. It shouldn’t have been a surprise really. What was more surprising is that he hadn’t seen him in almost seven months. They lived in the same small village, but he usually managed to avoid bumping into him. Did everything in his power to make sure he didn’t. It was just tonight hadn’t exactly worked out the way he’d planned.

‘Liam!’ He heard the gravelly voice – so like his own – and stopped in his tracks on the cobbled pavement wishing he could just ignore it. The man walked slowly towards him and as he approached, Liam could see he’d lost weight. He looked older – older than Liam, which made him a little sad. Perhaps the guilt of what he’d done kept him up at night? Liam wasn’t evolved enough not to feel a spark of satisfaction.

‘You look good,’ the man said as he drew to a stop, close enough to talk but not so close that Liam could take a swing at him. He studied his twin brother, waiting for the bubble of anger to rise in his throat, waiting for the fury that would make every muscle in his body tense. Waiting for the grief too. But it didn’t come. He just felt numb.

‘Graham,’ he said simply, rolling the name around his tongue. He hadn’t said it aloud for a long time and it felt odd to do it now. ‘You don’t. Look good I mean.’

His brother jerked his chin, acknowledging the observation which was more truth than retribution. ‘How’s…’ Graham cleared his throat.

What had always been so natural between them – conversations, the sharing of secrets, the kind of teasing you could only do with someone you knew well – had been pummelled to nothing. Now all they were left with was this awkward fumble for words.

‘Your nephew, Charlie?’ Liam asked sharply. ‘Good.’ It took all of his self-control not to add ‘despite what you and Mia did’. He wasn’t petty. At least he hadn’t been once.

Graham nodded, his face twisting as if he was in pain. ‘I’d like to see him. I’d like to see you so I can explain,’ he said, the flush creeping up his cheeks signalling he was uncomfortable about asking.

‘No,’ Liam said firmly, eyeing his car. He was so close. He could release himself from this horrible situation in less than seventeen steps, only his feet didn’t seem to want to move.

His brother nodded, his lips twisting further downwards, mirroring one of Liam’s own expressions. His chest heaved. ‘You have every right to hate me. But I’ve told you I’m sorry in every way I can think of. I’ve said I made a mistake.’ He paused. ‘Only mistake doesn’t feel like a big enough word to describe what I did.’ Graham’s whole body seemed to sag as if he couldn’t hold the weight of his cold, cheating heart. ‘Now I suppose I’m just offering an open invitation.’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. ‘Please come to the pub so we can talk. I’m not asking you to forgive me, I’m not even asking you to move on. I just want…’ He ground his teeth. ‘I want my brother back. I’m sorry.’ His voice broke on the last couple of words, and he tipped his head backwards, signalling the direction of The Silver Bells pub. The spray of warm Christmas lights along the pavement that would take him straight to its door suddenly seemed too bright in the darkness.

Liam knew the pub, though, knew every inch of it. His brother had been running it for the last six years. Liam hadn’t crossed the threshold for two and a half.

He’d once helped behind the bar. They’d laughed and joked while they served customers. It had been his second home. And that whole time, he’d been oblivious to the fact that his brother had slept with his wife.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said roughly, and this time his feet did move. He sidestepped Graham and began to walk, tugging Figgy who was sniffing his brother’s trousers. Thick corduroy this time – another of his dog’s favourites.

‘Please think about it.’ He heard the echo of Graham’s voice as it followed him. Felt the wave of anger finally bite. The swirl of emotion he thought he’d buried.

It wasn’t as strong now, though – time hadn’t so much healed, it had paralyzed. But it was still there. For the first time since Liam’s life had imploded, he wondered if it was holding him back. Wondered if this cold, stark loneliness that seemed to have marred the edges of his soul could be erased and if he could ever find his way back to the people he’d once loved.

But as he unclicked the locks on his car and swung the back door open for Figgy, he dismissed the thought. He wasn’t ready to forgive any of them. He was fine as he was.

6

CLARA

I saw you kissing Abigail Penny. Clara

Clara stared at the words she’d typed on her mobile as she lay in the double bed in the spare room of her godmother’s cosy flat. She’d been toying with the idea of sending the message for two hours. She’d even contemplated adding a kiss – had keyed in a couple before deleting them.

She’d put ‘Clara Frost, your fiancée’, before deleting that too because it felt passive aggressive. But when your intended sent you a text that read, Where the hell are you? Are you in a mood? Hudson Astor, when you’d left the country more than twenty-four hours ago, after catching him kissing the HR director of his company – who also happened to be your only friend in New York – it was difficult not to be annoyed. Or feel like your heart had been snipped up and discarded like an old credit card.

Clara put the mobile back onto the oak bedside table without sending the message and stroked a hand over the double duvet, which featured Father Christmas’s grinning face, and looked around the room.

It was comfortable, with a large oak wardrobe and a matching sideboard which would be roomy enough to take all the clothes in her case three times over. The bathroom was on the opposite side of the hallway outside. Eleanor had an en-suite so had declared the one opposite Clara’s for as long as she stayed.

They hadn’t talked in detail after the meeting. Clara had been too tired. She’d told her godmother that she’d caught Hudson kissing someone in the office and needed time away to process, time apart from her fiancé to give him a chance to realise what he’d done, but hadn’t elaborated. Eleanor’s gentle acceptance that she simply wanted somewhere to escape to without having to answer numerous questions – or justify her decision to leave – was exactly what she’d needed.

Clara had practically been asleep on her feet when they’d arrived at the shop and could barely take in anything as Eleanor gave her a tour before leading her to the flat above. Although Clara did get a lingering sense of glitter, sparkle and twinkling fairy lights in every imaginable colour and size. Had there been a bird and a rabbit too? She might have been hallucinating.

Her godmother had offered her drinks and food, which she’d refused, before handing Clara a snuggly white bath towel and pointing her in the direction of the bed.

Clara could barely remember anything after that. Until she’d woken at six am, her head resting on a pillow that felt like a fluffy cloud and had sat bolt upright. That’s when she’d seen the text message from Hudson.