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“The carols droveyou to drink, eh?” The Uber driver started in on the chit-chat the moment Heath slid into the back seat.
“Yeah, nah. Not really into the Christmas stuff.” He was not in the mood for pointless small talk either. His phone vibrated again. Another message from Lena. “Sorry, mate. Got to deal with this.” He waved his phone by way of explanation, then forced himself to read Lena’s messages in order. He needed to know what he was walking into when he got home.
She’d sent the first message maybe fifteen minutes after he’d left her in the car park.
Grinch Guy where’d you go? I’m at the car. Will wait here until you’re ready or else come get you if you want. Cute emoji btw.
I’m worried about you.
Please don’t ignore me.
Of course, he had ignored her. She’d called him, too, but she hadn’t left a voicemail. Finally, about an hour after her first message, she’d sent another.
Going back to the cottage. Can come get you whenever.
She’d sent more messages than he’d realised, and the pit of dread in his stomach only widened as he read each one.
I’m scared you’re not OK. I’m sorry I pushed so hard.
She thought it was her fault, but it was his. He was the one who was broken, while Lena was so full of life. He’d given her false hope about who he was or what he was capable of. He had just started to type a simple message when another message arrived.
Hope you’re OK. Heading to bed.
He felt an unpleasant kind of relief that he wouldn’t have to confront Lena until morning—until the Uber driver pulled into his driveway. The porch light was on and the Christmas lights blazed in the front windows, which was thoughtful of her. As the driver parked next to his ute, he realised: Lena’s car was gone. Which didn’t make sense. She’d said she was heading to bed. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Where would she go? Out for a drink maybe. He couldn’t blame her if she’d needed something after the fiasco that had been their evening. Maybe her car wasn’t there because she’d taken her own Uber home, too tipsy to drive.
The house was too still when he stepped inside.
“Lena?” He kept his voice low, in case she really was asleep. There was no answer. Not even from Copper, which wasn’t right. He went to the bedroom door, his heart a lead weight dragging him down. He half hoped, half expected to find it closed, but it was wide open. Copper should have been on the rug, thumping his tail against the floor, but there was no dog.
He flicked the light on, and staggered.
The perfectly smooth duvet and freshly plumped pillows on the bed felt like a gut punch.
There was no pink suitcase spilling clothes on the floor. There was no dog bed. He flung the bathroom door open. There were no toiletries scattered on the counter.
His room was back to how it had been before she’d knocked on his door and he’d invited her in.
Empty.
When he turned back to the living room, he saw what he’d missed before: each of Lena’s special ornaments that he’d rehung on the plastic tree was gone. The gaudy decorations had been stripped from the room, too.
Lena was gone.
Then he saw the spare key he’d given her. It sat on the coffee table next to the remote, a folded sheet of paper tucked underneath.
He pulled it out, opened it.
Heath,
Thank you so much for your hospitality—truly. I’ve found other accommodations so you can have your space back.
You have my number, and I’m always here if you want to talk.
With warmest wishes for a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,
Lena
The only things left to show Lena had ever been there was the fake tree itself, the one nameless stocking that still hung from the TV console, and the Christmas lights.
