Page 69 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

She giggled, covering her mouth to smother the sound.

Ted sighed. ‘Oh, boy. This is giving me flashbacks. Here.’ He took the key off her and quietly turned it, pushing the door open.

‘Hey,’ she said in a stage whisper that echoed round the empty street, wobbling a little and resting her hand against his chest to steady herself. ‘Hey, hey. Do you remember all those nights at college? All the – all those nights? And we’d sit up and do all the talkings and the drinking? Together? Remember?’

She looked into his dark eyes, saw something there, something she couldn’t fathom. It looked like pain.

‘Every moment,’ he said softly.

She stood, caught in his gaze, trying to read it. His arm was warm around her waist, and he looked down at her, and she felt safe there, after the turmoil of her evening.

She shivered, and he gently eased her through the door. He gave her a little nod, and then went back to his car. The house was in darkness, and Jen tiptoed into the hall, banging against the bottom step of the stairs and shouting as she stubbed her toe, knocking a picture off the wall and sending it crashing to the ground.

Quietly cursing herself, she went into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. And there, sitting at the table in the half-light of the twinkling little Christmas tree and the garlands strung over the cupboards, was Julia.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, standing to give Jen a hug. ‘Where have you been? I was getting worried.’

Jen looked in confusion at her sister, in her pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown. ‘You waited up?’

‘Of course. Are you OK? You look . . .’

Julia was too polite to actually say what Jen looked like. But the concern on her face, the kindness of her gentle touch as she placed her hand on Jen’s arm, was enough to bring the tears back to her eyes. She gave a half-sob, half-hiccup, and collapsed onto a chair, resting her head in her hands.

Julia filled a glass with water and placed it in front of her, then sat next to her. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

And so, once again Jen told the sorry tale.

‘So you can tell me you told me so,’ she said, sniffing and feeling extremely sorry for herself. ‘Perfect Julia, always knows what’s best.’

She sighed, digging her hand into the massive bag of salt and vinegar swirls that Julia had put in front of her, and chewing morosely. Something snapped across Julia’s expression, and then was gone. Hurt.

‘I’m not going to say that, of course I’m not, you deserve so much better! I can’t believe he did that to you. What an arse. True Gent, my God, he wouldn’t know the meaning of the word!’

She shook her head, her eyes filled with rage, and then sadness. ‘And I don’t know why you always say that, about me having some kind of perfect life,’ she said. ‘It’s not true.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Jen munched through the crisps. ‘Your life is exactly what it should be, what everyone’s should be – husband, house, kids, blah blah.’

Julia stared at her, her cheeks flushing. ‘You’re kidding. You knew about the redundancy, right?’

Jen stared at her. The salt and vinegar swirls were sitting uncomfortably on the gin in her stomach. She pushed the bag away.

Julia rubbed her forehead. ‘I mean, I know you don’t read my messages or listen to my voice notes.’ She gave Jen a sad look. ‘But Mum must’ve told you.’

Jen thought back, her scrambled brain struggling to remember. Now Julia mentioned it, their mum had said something, a few years ago. ‘Well, I think – yeah, she did, but I just assumed you were OK with it. I mean, you were expecting George anyway, right? I thought you’d enjoy a big payout and let Dan take care of the bills for a bit. Thought you’d enjoy being a yummy mummy.’

Julia shook her head. ‘No, it was horrible actually. I felt really – I felt kind of lost. Like I didn’t know who I was any more, you know? And—’ She looked around at the kitchen, the pictures stuck to the fridge the door, the plastic bowls on the draining board. ‘I love being their mum, don’t get me wrong, but – I don’t know. I feel like I’m not contributing anything. Like I’ve lost a part of myself. And – we can manage, but things are tight and it’s a lot of pressure on Dan to be the only one earning. I keep applying for stuff, but it’s hard to fit around childcare and now I’ve been out of the market a while, no one seems to want me, so . . .’ Her voice wobbled and she shrugged.

There were tears standing in Julia’s eyes, and even through the fug of drink and the raging of her own hurt and humiliation, Jen began to understand that perhaps everything in Julia’s life was not as rosy as it appeared.

‘But I thought – you always seem so happy. I didn’t know you were struggling.’

Julia gave her a level look. ‘You never asked.’

Jen opened her mouth to protest. That was unfair. Wasn’t it? But now she thought about it, she’d been consumed with her own problems. Her own fears about getting hurt again, her own doubts about her abilities to hold down a career. She’d let her humiliation about how her life had gone make her defensive and – she could hardly admit it – a little bit selfish.

Julia had messaged, called and sent cards. And Jen had mostly ignored them. She’d never asked Julia what was going on in her life. She would ask after Amy and George when she spoke to her mum, but never about Julia, changing the subject if she came up.

And all the while, Julia was dealing with redundancy, and financial pressures, and worries about her career.