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I shake my head. “Nope. If I’ve a new man in my life, you’ll be the first to hear.”
I can’t afford evenings out. In fact, I can’t afford to do much at all. I think Craig’s mum forced him into letting us stay in the house we once shared, for Ella’s sake, because she alluded to this the many times she’s ‘popped over’ out of the blue. Bad enough Ella is named after Marcella so I’ll always have part of her in my life, but she owns this house.
Marcella also owns the house Craig lives in — another rental property to fund her early retirement to Italy. We’d visit the widowed Marcella once a week, but now Craig is gone the torturous trips to her house are replaced with her equally excruciating visits to ours. Visits, which include endless stories over how wonderful her son is and hints that anything wrong between me and Craig is my fault. Marcella won’t accept Craig chooses not to see Ella and the undertone of our conversation is that I stop him.
“But Liam said...” whines Ella. Is there something we genetically share that stops us forgetting about Liam?
Thankfully, the doorbell rings, and the distracted Ella runs off to greet her first guest.
Mid-way through the third ‘pass the parcel’ and third tantrum from a child who doesn’t want to let go of the newspaper wrapped bundle, and I’ve had enough. The wine grows more tempting by the minute, and the bottle of white beckons me each time I open the fridge for more juice. Three other mums have stayed for the fun and half-heartedly helped out. Their scrutiny unnerves me—I feel like every part of my house and life are sized up and noted.
As I mop up spilled juice, I resolve that next year Ella’s party will be at an indoor play gym, far away from my house, even if I have to save all year.
“I’m taking a breather,” I whisper to Phoebe, “Find me hiding in the kitchen if you need me.”
Phoebe rubs my arm. “You okay?”
“Yes, overwhelming day. I’ll tidy some of this away.” I head into the kitchen with hands full of plastic bowls and plates.
In a way, the noise is good because it drowns out thoughts over how Craig let down Ella by not being here, and my frustration that I need to cope with this alone. Why did Ella have to mention Liam’s name? Since the card last month, he’s moved from hovering on the edge of my thoughts back into the forefront. I want to slap myself; I’m no better than the sixteen year old who lusted after a rock star. And he’s no more attainable.
Although he is, because Honey is out of his life.
Shit, Cerys, get a grip.
The doorbell rings and I glance at the clock. 4 p.m. I hope that’s the first of the parents arrived to collect their little darling. I pick up the box full of party bags containing sweets and plastic toys and head past the screaming hordes to the front door.
Phoebe reaches the door first and, when I walk from the kitchen, I see a hesitant and bewildered Liam. He’s standing in the hallway at the edge of the lounge, holding a gift wrapped in bright red paper. Taking the merest glance at him, I step back into the kitchen and stare at the box of party bags.
Liam.
I peek back around the doorway and the definitely-not-an-illusion Liam remains in the same place. He looks no different after six months. On this warm summer’s day, he wears a dark T-shirt, stretched across the defined muscles of his chest and no jacket. His bright, tattooed arms and red-haired ponytail draw attention from the party guests and ironically, he’s quieted the riot over ‘pass the parcel’ prizes.
“Uncle Liam!” Ella’s voice shrieks through the room.
The bemused look he gives the chocolate-faced princess charging toward him softens his image. And the warm smile he gives Ella squeezes my heart until it shatters into tiny pieces—the pieces I’ve fought to hold together because I know my mind will follow.
The strength I need to hold myself together everyday comes from closing out emotion, and the sight of my daughter’s face filled with excitement at seeing the man from Christmas blows a hole in the defences so big I won’t be able to patch in a hurry.
Phoebe appears in the kitchen and shoves my arm. “Cerys! Is that who I think?”
I put down the box and wipe biscuit crumbs from my blue top. “Liam? He’s an old friend.”
“A member of Blue Phoenix is an ‘old friend’?” she splutters, making quotation marks around ‘old friend’ with her fingers. “You never said he was coming to Ella’s party.” Lost for words, I shake my head. “Hmm, the lack of colour in your face says this is a surprise.”
“Yeah.”
Phoebe leans around the door, then back to me. “Wow. Make sure you introduce me before he leaves.”
“Of course.”
“I mean, I’m a married woman and everything but... rock star!”
I bite back a smile, remembering the conversation I had with Liam about lollipops and kittens. The guy who’s crouched down talking to the five year old continues to ruin his badass rock star image.
Hiding in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon isn’t an option, especially since his arrival paused party proceedings. I sidle out of the room and lean against the wall, tucking my trembling hands beneath my arms. The other group of mums whisper and stare at him as if he landed from another planet.
Ella turns and points in my direction and Liam spots me. As he crosses the room, everything from Christmas crosses with him: the excitement of the unknown, the longed-for sensation of his lips on mine, and the ache when he left. His eyes meet mine as he stands in front of me and his soft look holds wariness too. I’m glad my hands are tucked away because my palms sweat. I’ve dreamed about this man—fantasised he’ll return and that our Christmas romance could continue.
