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Miss Monkton grabbed Mark after the panto, and Lizzie grabbed me.
“Urgh,” she said. “Crappy show. Good set though, great painting, Hels Bells.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She pulled me to the side of the aisle as everyone filed out. “Sorry I haven’t been too chatty, it’s just, things with Scottie, they’ve been so hot. You know how it is.”
My tummy niggled at the distance between us. “Sure. I know how it is.”
She grinned. “But I’m cool now, for the holidays. I’ve got so many plans for us. I thought we could maybe go hang out in Hereford, go shopping. We haven’t done that in ages. Maybe catch a couple of films, too, head out for a pizza.” She squeezed my hand. “Got Christmas money through early from Nan, so it’ll be my treat.”
My heart dropped. “Sounds great, but I, um… I’ve got some plans already… with, um…”
Her eyes flicked away at my words, over towards Mark. I followed her gaze and he was still caught up in Miss Monkton’s monologue. He ran a hand through his hair and his curls bounced against his collar. Gorgeous. He had a Christmas tie on, in reds and greens, and his shirt didn’t even have any paint on it.
Lizzie broke my trance. “You, um, planning on seeing him much, then?”
I took a breath. “As much as I can…”
“So, that’s like a lot, right?”
“I just… I don’t have long, before we go… not really.”
She shrugged. “I guess our BFF bonding time just got a little screwed, then, right?”
“No… I don’t mean…”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Hels. I get it. You want him, and it’s Christmas, and you’re not gonna be around.”
“I will be around…”
She groaned. “You won’t. You totally won’t.”
And I felt so bad. “I’ll make time…”
“I don’t want you to make time, Hels. If you want to be there then be there.”
“But you…”
“I’ll survive. I’ve got Scottie, right? Things are really hotting up, too. It’s the real deal.”
I smiled. “It is?”
She nodded. “Totally. He’s crazy about me, have to keep telling him to cool it off, I mean, who wouldn’t be, right?” She grinned.
“Of course he is, you’re amazing.”
“Just hang out with me a bit, yeah? If you want to. I’d like that.”
My heart hurt, with guilt. Lizzie practically lived at ours over Christmas these past few years. Like a piece of the furniture. I took a breath, for myself. She had Scottie.
“Of course I will.”
***
I packed an overnight bag. A proper overnight bag, with a few days’ worth of clothes, and hair products, and my phone charger and everything.
And then I got Dad to drop me at the train station and pretended I was nipping up the line to Oakwall, where Harry Sawbridge lived.
I felt so guilty as I waved Dad away and joined the straggly little crowd on the platform, but that soon disappeared when Mark’s car pulled into the car park. I threw my bag in the back and slipped into my seat and I was beaming.
“Ready?” he said.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my entire life.”
I gabbled on and on throughout the journey up to his, my mouth running with everything and nothing. He listened and laughed, and smiled, and my stomach rolled over with nerves as he pulled onto the lane up to his. I watched the twinkly lights approach in the distance, and gave a big sigh as he pulled up outside.
“Home sweet home,” he said, then reached in the back for a shopping bag. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“You have?”
“Don’t get too excited, it’s not your Christmas present.”
Christmas present.
My heart was on fire.
He took my bag from the backseat and I followed him inside, and it was magical. The fire was already burning in the grate, and he’d filled the place with tinsel and fairy lights. And candles. So many candles. He dropped my bag on the sofa, and the shopping in the kitchen, then started lighting them up.
“I haven’t had decorations since Anna. Seemed little point. But now…”
“It’s beautiful.” And it was. It was so beautiful.
Holly and mistletoe hung from the ceiling beams, and there was a real tree in the corner of the dining room, decked out in reds and golds and flashes of white.
And then I noticed the table. It was clear of canvases and laid for two.
“You’re cooking?” I smiled. “For me?”
He beckoned me into the kitchen and rustled in the shopping bag. I laughed as he pulled out the box of potato waffles.
“What the lady wants…”
“I love you, Mr Roberts.”
God, how I loved him.
He fired up the oven, and put the dinner on, chicken breasts and waffles and baked beans on a low heat in the pan, only stopping when my fingers slid around his waist. I pressed myself into his back, breathing in the scent of his shirt, and he twisted, and pulled me under his arm and tipped my face up to his.
