Читать книгу Wishes Under a Starlit Sky - Lucy Knott - Страница 14

The next day I make my way down to the kitchen with the hope that Madi might have decided to treat herself to a lie-in, so that I can grab some coffee and sneak in an hour or two of editing before she wakes. But the minute I enter the kitchen I’m greeted by my one and only, who informs me that my parents are out and that the day is ours for the taking. She’s wearing her signature turquoise headscarf and her blonde hair is pinned up in a bun, with mint Converse and a white tee under a thin strap denim playsuit. She looks perky and bright making me yearn for a dose of what I would really prefer right now: a day with my favourite person. All thoughts of writing dissipate.

In comparison to Madi, I haven’t parted with my oversized olive cardigan since we got off the plane, my hair is a tangled and knotted mess, and the black leggings I’m sporting could do with a wash. I have yet to put any make-up on my face. I stare at Madi’s bold pink lips and envy them a touch. I catch her looking me up and down and I can see her brain ticking. My ensemble represents my frazzled state. I can’t actually remember the last time I felt one hundred per cent myself, but looking at Madi I feel motivated to channel my usual vigour when it comes to choosing outfits every day.

I look up from my comforting mug of liquid gold in time to see Madi curiously give me a once-over, and then she smiles. I smile back, an idea coming to my mind.

‘Mads, will you do my make-up today?’ I ask, feeling a spark of happiness ignite in my stomach. I love it when Madi does my make-up. If she wasn’t so brilliant at writing screenplays and if I didn’t love working with her so much, I’d suggest she become a make-up artist. Madi responds by shooting up off her chair, grabbing her mug of coffee and hooking my elbow.

‘Absolutely, Harp. It would be my pleasure. Then I thought we could go to the Handmade Holiday Market. Everywhere is within walking distance around here and Jerry was telling me whichever way we walk we will find something to do or see,’ she says, marching in the direction of my room, taking me with her.

The spark in my belly is now a full-on flame; warmth takes over my body. The Handmade Holiday Market sounds perfectly idyllic and wonderful. Madi knows me so well. Plus, looking through the glass double doors and the large windows that surround my parents’ house, I can’t hide the patter of excitement that awakens in my stomach when I see the high mounds of snow and forest that they look out on to. I can see why my parents love it here. The trees are magnificent, towering over the house with their thick trunks and spindly branches with deep green thistles and a coating of icing-sugar snow. You could get lost pointing out every intricate detail that made each one so unique despite their shared name. In fact, I am getting lost in them and momentarily forget that Madi is waiting for my response.

‘That sounds lovely, Mads; maybe I can pick up something for Mum and Dad,’ I say. It’s been ages since I got my parents anything truly thoughtful and the guilt hits my gut as I remember yet another gift card that I sent them in the post last year. Living so far away, it became the most practical option. It wasn’t like it was entirely thoughtless. I love gift cards and think they’re the perfect gift for people to treat themselves to something they ordinarily might not allow themselves to. I often used to get so busy at this time of year, what with Scott’s family living long-distance too and him having a brother and sister and nieces and nephews to accommodate, gift cards were the easiest options all round, even though I hate to admit it.

‘Ooh and we can find a cute brunch spot while we’re out too. I wonder if the markets are like back home.’ Madi cocks an eyebrow at me. We love finding local family-run cafés whenever we visit a new place. Even back in London we like to make it a fortnightly affair to visit a place we haven’t eaten at before and go for a coffee or have a change of scenery while we’re writing. And at Christmas, Nutella crepes from London’s Winter Wonderland are a must. The guilt is stacking up this morning as I think of all the things I have neglected and brushed to the wayside over the past year.

‘Brunch out sounds perfect,’ I say as we enter my room. I rummage through my suitcase and pull out knits, leggings and floaty dresses while Madi sees to collecting my make-up. In the bathroom I throw some water on my face and with one look at my hair, decide that I’ll let Madi see to it; she’s been brushing my hair since we were three and always manages to detangle it without causing me too much pain. I go to hang up my dressing gown on the back of the bathroom door when I hear the sound of Elton John’s ‘I’m Still Standing’.

For a moment I don’t know what to do. I haven’t listened to break-up songs, because it feels like I don’t deserve them. My fear over not being stronger since Scott left and the fact that I’ve allowed my situation to get me down, made me feel like a fraud. And forget about the sad ones – knowing I wasn’t the only one in Scott’s life, that I wasn’t enough? Well, those sad songs rendered me crushed and humiliated.

I pause at the bathroom door at the sound of Elton’s voice, mixed with the softer melodies of Madi’s voice, and catch her wielding a hairbrush, twirling around the room singing along. Without warning, laughter bursts out of me as I watch her swinging hips. The beat of the song reverberates off the walls. She spots me and throws me the can of hairspray. The chorus kicks in at the same time as my adrenaline takes over. Memories of dancing with my parents when I was a kid at all the festivals come flooding back, loosening my limbs. Gripping on to my make-believe microphone I join in Madi’s impromptu karaoke and let Elton’s words revive my spirit.

*

My dad was right. We’ve walked a stone’s throw from the house and are currently contemplating which direction to take. One way looks to be nothing but forest, the most glorious trees that made visions of Snow White dance in my brain; the animals that we might come across, the trees that told stories in their bark. To the left stands gingerbread house after gingerbread house. If we go that way, I feel we will be gone for days exploring every minute detail of each garland and decoration that adorned each house. The path straight ahead bears no immediate destination, just a road that gleams with slippery snow and ice. In the distance, through the misty fog, there is a faint outline of mountains.

The cold air hits my face and I wave my arms out to the sides of my puffer coat. I feel like I am the leading lady in one of my holiday rom-coms, the world in front of me for the taking. A choice awaits me. For a moment I feel a shot of adrenaline course through me. There is beauty everywhere I look, and I want to run in all the directions, but I don’t quite feel courageous enough and fear takes over the adrenaline abruptly. I look over to Madi, whose blue eyes are gazing somewhere far away. We tend to share the same dazed look when stories and plots are zipping through our minds. She’s grinning broadly with her hands on her hips. I try to dispel my fear to appreciate this moment with her and take it all in.

‘Which way?’ I shout. My lips are buried behind my woolly purple scarf.

‘I have no idea,’ Madi shouts back, then she takes my hand and laughs. ‘How about we take the path that looks to lead to the unknown? It seems like the more adventurous and dangerous option.’ She wiggles her eyebrows at me, then hooks her arm through mine as we begin to walk up the treacherous path straight ahead.

‘You forgot to add terrifying?’ I say, raising my eyebrows at her, catching the double meaning behind her choice of words: the unknown path and the adventure. I know that, good or bad, what lies before me is going to be an adventure. I grew up with parents who believed the universe had plans for us and that we just had to trust it. I just hadn’t accounted for those plans to include divorce and my heart feeling like it was in a million pieces.

Quite frankly, I am petrified of what is lurking in the unknown. But the less I think about that now, the better. I put one foot in front of the other and focus on the golden sun reflecting off the snow, causing rainbows to dance in the trodden-down snow that has turned to ice. If I don’t quite trust the universe yet, one thing I know is that I trust Madi. I follow her lead and we walk in a calm and comfortable silence for what I feel is coming up to a mile.

I’m taking in as much of the surroundings as I can, but my head is down much of the time as I shield my face from the frosty breeze and do my best not to fall.

When I do look up, I feel as though I have walked through a portal that has transported us to The North Pole. Then I remember how my mother described Main Street at this time of year. It is like London’s Winter Wonderland but the decorations, the atmosphere and the aromatic smells are multiplied by a thousand. The old-town-USA-style shops resemble nothing short of Santa’s grotto. Each one bears unique tinsel, ornaments and magical window displays. The streetlamps are wearing candy cane stripes and the further we walk into the square, the more stalls we see selling everything from homemade fudge and chocolates, to homemade soaps and jewellery. Off to one side they have a Santa station and right before my eyes …

‘Are those real reindeer?’ Madi gasps. Her mouth opens wide.

‘I’m going to say yes,’ I reply, unable to take my eyes off Santa’s pack animals. They are beautiful; their fur is shining as they make soft grunting sounds as the children put their palms out to feed them.

‘This place is amazing,’ Madi gushes as we begin to move again. I can sense Madi is walking towards the smell of whatever is floating up in the air that is making me drool. I can smell fried potatoes and tomatoes and hear sizzling coming from a giant pan. Then cinnamon hits me in a wave of sweet pleasure. I will be happy if the only decision I must make today is savoury or sweet or, more realistically, which to eat first.

The stalls are catching my gaze, but my stomach is following Madi, letting my brain know that food will be sourced and eaten first and then it can divulge in its creative need.

We find a stall that is serving pancakes and I can see Madi’s eyes bulge as she stops before it, her eyes wandering over the menu. I know full well that she wants to order everything. I surprise myself having already made my decision that I want the pancakes with fried peaches. They smell heavenly. I watch Madi and then turn my attention to the man behind the counter. I give him a small smile to apologize for the hold-up, but he seems happy to study Madi and give her all the time she needs. He has a kind face when he nods at me to acknowledge my smile. His hair is blonde, his eyes are hazel, and his features are warm. He returns to preparing food.

Madi’s thorough read of the menu is something I’m used to so patience isn’t a problem as I am enjoying observing the scenes around me. I am fascinated by people-watching and have been from a young age. My parents always had the most interesting people round to our house when I was growing up from doctors, to gardeners, to struggling artists and teachers. I loved watching them interact with one another. My parents welcome everyone. It’s not surprising really that I started writing stories and scripts in my head, imagining the exotic lives that these people led. But it was the love and passion that burned in the eyes of my parents and all those who visited that captivated me most, be it the love they had for each other or the love they had for their work and the world around them. It’s no wonder I became a fan of Pegasus Entertainment.

The man finishes serving a lady in front of us and then leans casually against the wooden wall frame. He catches me watching him and gives me a confident nod. Madi looks over at me and follows my line of vision to the man and chuckles.

‘I am so so sorry,’ she says, waving her hands around. ‘Sorry for holding you up, everything just sounds so good. Right, I know what I’m having,’ she says, standing tall and pushing her shoulders back. Her cheeks are flushed red from our cold walk and her red lips are glistening with the morning dew. She looks beautiful. I step forward and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I love Madi and I love her confidence.

‘No need for apologies, what can I get you …?’ The man sticks out his hand and raises his eyebrows, searching for our names. His cheeks are flushed pink and my heart tugs a little at his kindness.

‘I’m Madi and this is Harper,’ Madi says, reaching out to shake his hand.

‘I’m Colt, it’s nice to meet you both.’

‘It’s nice to meet you too Colt,’ Madi says. His eyes linger on the both of us for a few minutes and I wonder what’s going through his head. Our accents give away that we are tourists, but maybe he knows my parents? My mum and I sometimes get mistaken for sisters. The thought makes me smile.

Madi reaches up to grab my hands that are dangling from around her shoulders.

‘Please can we get pancakes and peaches for me and, Mads, what are you having?’

Madi orders her peach-stuffed waffles and Colt gets to work informing us that we can take a seat and he will bring out his creations once they are ready. Madi and I fall in step to find a table. I release my arms from around her neck but tuck an arm into hers as we walk.

We take a seat at a wooden table with little log benches; a heat lamp is standing tall to the side of us and I must admit that between Madi’s and my impromptu dance party earlier this morning, the Colorado air, Colt’s kindness and the smell of cinnamon peaches toasting, my fragile heart feels full. Currently my biggest concern is if Madi will let me try some of her waffles.

‘Colt is sweet,’ Madi expresses, rubbing her hands together. ‘Everything on the menu looks so good, we might have to come back later,’ she adds, excitement in her tone.

‘This place is magical,’ I say, looking around. I breathe in a lungful of the crisp air just as Colt appears and places two plates of incredible-looking – and smelling – dishes in front of us.

I thank him through a smile and give Madi a wide-eyed grin. It’s hard not to smile genuinely when you’re looking at a plate of bright orange peaches that are covered in sweet cinnamon syrup, alongside a stack of golden-brown pancakes drizzled in dark chocolate and a heavy helping of vanilla whipped cream. I think I love Colt.

The flavours hit my taste buds and I relax into each bite as it warms my body. My shoulders uncurl from around my neck where they were trying to keep the icy bite at bay, and I have to admit it’s monumentality difficult to be unhappy with a mouthful of all the combinations that make up my pancake dish.

There’s a long silence while Madi and I consume half of the contents on our plates, then without saying a word we each pick up our plate and hand it to the other, swapping dishes and digging in once more. We barely stop for breath. Not to be outdone by the pancakes, the waffles are out-of-this-world delicious.

Without warning on my last bite of waffle, my chewing starts to slow, my hands begin to tremble, and my eyes have gone misty.

I feel an overwhelming sense of happiness to be here in this setting with my best friend, but the love is suddenly mixing with a cocktail of unwelcome feelings inside of me. I don’t deserve this happiness. I don’t deserve this delicious food. I don’t deserve for Colt to smile at me – he doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know the person I am.

‘Am I a nice person?’ The question comes out of my mouth before I have time to stop it. I can’t quite figure out the inner workings of my brain. One minute it’s happy, the next I feel like my soul is suffocating. When will the intensity of emotions that came with learning of Scott’s affair and him walking away in such an unpleasant fashion leave me alone?

I didn’t have the slightest clue that I wasn’t satisfying him. Images of me wrapping my arms around him when he came home after work, smothering him with kisses and giddily talking about our future together are playing in black and white. How could I have been so selfish? What kind of wife was I?

I swallow down my waffle. My salty tears mix with the sweet syrup on my lips. My whole body has stiffened except for my hands that are trembling.

I must look like a right sight to the shoppers milling about the square.

Madi puts down her knife and fork and leans over to me, grapping my wrists. I’m chewing and sobbing simultaneously.

‘Oh, no, no no, sweetheart,’ Madi says, dabbing at my face with a napkin. ‘Sweetheart, you have been my best friend since we were three. You know I tell you how it is. Harper, you are the nicest person. Do you drive me mad sometimes? Yes. Does your ability to talk for hours on end about a script you’re working on sometimes make me crazy? Hell yes. Do I like pulling hairballs out of my drain every time you stay over? Heck no. Do I enjoy when you get hangry or when you are stubborn and won’t let me choose the movie on a Friday night? Not really. But all those things do not make you a bad person. Scott choosing to lie to you and cheat and disrespect your marriage does not make you a bad person. We all have things to work on, either together in a relationship or on our own. We can always better ourselves and our relationships; no one is perfect, including you, Harp. But that doesn’t mean what he did was anything short of selfish, cowardly and cruel. This is on him, Harper, not you.’

Madi is leaning over the table, propped up on her elbows, looking me straight in the eyes and catching my tears with her tissue.

‘Why does it hurt so bad, Mads?’ I stutter. Madi brushes the hair from my eyes and wipes some more tears away.

‘Because you loved him with all you had, and you shared a part of you with him that no one else got to see. Besides yours truly being your number-one best friend forever, he was your best friend. It’s OK to miss him. It’s natural to miss him. But don’t ever let his actions make you feel guilty. What goes on in a marriage is discussed within a marriage by the two people in it. He should have respected you enough to communicate with you, to give you the chance to figure it out together and to look after each other the way you always have, and he didn’t. I don’t care if you made him listen to that Beach Boys song you love and he hates, on repeat every day, he should have talked to you about it and that’s on him.’

I take a shuddery breath, grateful for the heat lamp that is keeping me warm despite my insides feeling frozen. I feel a mixture of pathetic and thankful, wondering what on earth I would do without Madi. She has been on this crazy roller-coaster ride with for the past year and has yet to try and jump off. I appreciate her for allowing me to voice my pain, as the minute I get my thoughts out in the open I feel freed.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper, picking up a tissue and seeing to my own probably very smudged make-up face, and dabbing the tears away. Allowing Madi to sit back on the bench, being propped up on her elbows couldn’t have been the comfiest.

Just then Colt comes over and puts what looks to be a milkshake with two straws in front of us. He smiles, his warm and awkward smile. ‘It’s a Rocky Mountain hot chocolate. It makes all your troubles go away. I say that, but I can’t guarantee it as you two are my guinea pigs – it’s a new concoction. I was feeling inspired.’ He glances sweetly at us both.

Colt nods and walks away after we thank him, and I notice Madi’s lips already on her straw. As I see the creamy chocolate slowly shrinking further down the glass thanks to Madi devouring its contents, I quickly take a sip. I don’t want to miss out. Not only does it look incredible, but it tastes it too.

With one sip I am transported to toasted marshmallow and creamy chocolate heaven. It’s like a campfire in my mouth, in a good way. We devour the shake, which I’m certain had medicinal properties – maybe it’s the cacao they use – before we walk past the hut to inform Colt that he must add his inspired concoction to the menu. Then we thank him for a scrumptious brunch before we go on our merry way for a mooch around the stalls.

I have enough sugar in my system giving me a high that I hope will keep me afloat for the rest of the day.

The Handmade market is everything I thought it would be and more. The stall owners are friendly and eager to talk to us about their crafts. I feel inspired to pick up my pen and write about it all. I manage to pick up something special for my mum and dad and my heart is warm with the anticipation of being able to give them their Christmas present in person this year.

I don’t think about Scott for the entire afternoon as I take in every stall. Colt’s milkshake worked wonders. Unfortunately, it worked too well as by the time we venture back to the house, my good intentions of turning on my laptop and looking over my edits have disappeared faster than our plate of pancakes and waffles, and I feel like I could fall asleep standing up the minute I lay eyes on my bed.