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Now it’s the twenty-third of December and I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon. It's snowing outside. Looks like I'll be leaving behind a white Christmas. Tonight, I need to fling my things in a case and make arrangements to get to the airport. Because of the snow, I'm worried about driving myself. It's not bad, but the roads are get a bit slithery. I'd be happier if I could organise a taxi to pick me up.
I’ve booked Archie into a cattery for the first time and I haven’t had the nerve to break that news to him yet. He will not be a happy puss.
I take off the Santa hat I’ve been wearing all day – and every working hour for the last few weeks - to help engender festive spirit in the salon and hug Nina as I get ready to leave.
‘Be careful,’ Nina warns. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Is that the same as “have a lovely holiday”?’
‘You know what I mean,’ my friend scolds. ‘I just hope this works out OK for you, that this bloke is worth it.’
‘I think he is.’
‘I’ll worry about you,’ she adds.
I’ll worry about her too. Christmas is always a fraught time in the Dalton home, as I suspect it is in many homes.
‘Text me,’ my friend instructs.
‘I will. Have a happy Christmas, Nina.’
‘You too, babe.’
We all kiss each other – Cristal, Steph, Kelly, the boys. I’m getting quite tearful now. I’ve never spent Christmas out of this country before and nerves are beginning to set in. All my recent Christmases have been spent with Paul and his family doing the usual stuff that Christmas brings – eating too much, drinking too much and watching too much rubbish television – and now I’m feeling well out of my comfort zone. Would I have been better to have accepted Mike’s invitation to spend it with him instead of chasing halfway around the world for another man?
Driving home, I listen to Christmas carols on the radio and wonder if they have them in Africa. I also wonder how Dominic is feeling now, whether he’s looking forward to seeing me, whether he’s as anxious as I am. It’s been nearly two months since we were last together and communication, in the interim, has been at best sporadic – mainly Facebook messages once or twice a week when he can get the time to walk all the way to the next village.
When I pull up outside the cottage, there’s a dark shadow by the front door and for a moment my heart stops as I think it might be Lewis. He sent an enormous Christmassy basket to my house last week, packed with poinsettias and glittery leaves, and I took it into the salon and left it there. Kelly thought that it looked pretty on reception. But when the figure moves from the shadows and is caught by my security light, I see that it’s Mike and a wave of relief washes over me. By the time I get out of the car, he’s leaning against the doorframe.
‘Hi.’ My smile is warm, genuine. It’s all I can do not to grab him in a great big bear hug.
‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Me too,’ I admit.
‘I wanted to wish you all the best for your trip and if you want me to take you to the airport, then I’m around tomorrow. I’ve got nothing else to do.’
‘You’re not spending Christmas alone are you, Mike?’
‘Well . . .’ he says, ‘I could do with a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘Oh, Mike.’ Now I feel even more guilty.
I open the door and he follows me inside. Archie greets me with complaints about the dark, the cold, his hunger.
‘What are you doing with this little fellow?’
‘Cattery,’ I mouth.
‘Cancel it,’ Mike says. ‘He’ll hate it. You know that I’ll always look after him. Why didn’t you ask?’
‘Mike,’ I let my hand rest on his arm, ‘I didn’t think that things were right between us. How could I ask you to have Archie?’
‘I’m over my sulk,’ he says, trying to sound light. ‘I’ll be pleased to have some company.’
My heart goes out to Mike. Fancy having no one but my ill-tempered cat as a companion over the holidays. I can hardly bear to think of him alone here.
‘I don’t want to impose.’
‘Nonsense,’ Mike says. ‘Just tell me what time I need to pick you up.’
‘My flight’s at four o’clock. It’s a three-hour check-in.’
He does a rough calculation of how long it will take to drive to the airport. ‘Then I’ll see you just before eleven-thirty.’
I nod.
‘Have you packed?’
‘Not yet,’ I admit.
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ He turns towards the door.
