Читать книгу Mills & Boon Christmas Delights Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 32

Chapter Twenty-Three

Bolting the door behind me, I hoiked up the wet hem of my dress, kicked off my shoes and squelched through to the bathroom. Whacking the shower on full, I stripped off and stepped under the water. Tipping my face to the stream of water, I let it pour down, enabling me to convince myself that it wasn’t tears flowing down my face, just the shower water. Admittedly this charade became harder to keep up when I stepped out, wrapping myself in an oversized fluffy towel, and found that watery tracks continued to trickle down my cheeks. I sat down heavily on the side of the bath.

There was no denying it. After so many years of holding back, of seeing what sort of destruction loving the wrong person could wreak, promising that I would never be a part of anything like that again, never be part of such pain, here I was. My throat hurt, my chest hurt, my head hurt and in amongst it all, there was more pain in my heart than I’d thought possible to feel. I thought I’d protected myself against all this. And I had when I’d been paying attention. But falling for Michael had been gradual. Unplanned. Unexpected. And now unbearable.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and padded into the bedroom. It was freezing. The outdated storage heater was having another of its moments. I stuffed my foot into a trainer, gave the thing a kick and made a mental note to give the landlord a call in the morning. Although, this close to Christmas I had a feeling it might not be the most successful call I’d ever make.

Shivering, I pulled out my fleeciest jammies and then shoved my arms into my cosy dressing gown, wrapping it around me tightly, making myself into a human fleece burrito. Pulling back the covers, I hopped in and quickly yanked them back up over me, leaving just my eyes peeking out. Closing them, I tried to push away all the thoughts of what might have been tonight. It wasn’t like me to be fanciful and imagine what could be. I’d learned from my mother that that sort of thinking only brought heartbreak and disappointment.

Michael was someone else’s. Maybe he always had been. And if he had a chance at making his marriage work again I should be happy for him, shouldn’t I? But inside there was a voice that questioned this new turn of events. It was clear from his behaviour and the way he’d run his life since Angeline had left that he’d been totally in love with her, and that her infidelity, her leaving, had devastated him. But in the past six weeks he’d changed. He’d begun to get back to who he really was beneath all the hurt and anger that he’d been holding onto. Even Janey had said she couldn’t believe the difference in him and that he seemed happier than she’d seen him in years.

I could understand why he would want to let Angeline back into his life – you only had to take one look at her for the most obvious reason. But beyond that, he’d loved her with everything he’d had. And now she clearly wanted another chance. Her request for a dance for ‘old time’s sake’ hadn’t fooled me. The way she looked at him? That request wasn’t anything to do with the past, it was all about the future. And I wanted to wish him well. But I couldn’t help it. Something grabbed at me and just kept screaming that she was the one who broke his heart. She was the one who’d sent him spiralling down until he’d lost all sense of who he really was, and all that he could be, distancing him from the family he adored. And yet, I couldn’t deny him happiness, if that was where he thought it lay. I cared about him too much for that. I loved him. And that was the real problem here. I loved him. And he loved her.

When I woke the next day I blearily realised that the room wasn’t quite in the realms of ice hotel temperatures any more. Apparently the emotional impetus behind my trainer clad kick last night had had some impact. Unfortunately, the bathroom mirror confirmed that same emotional impetus had also had another effect and this one wasn’t anywhere near as successful or welcome: My eyes were puffy and although the shower had got rid of some make-up, I hadn’t bothered to finish my cleansing routine yesterday as I usually did. I imagined my pillow was going to need a bit of a soak in some Vanish if the state of my face was anything to go by. Cleaning my teeth, I made a point of not looking in the mirror again. Once done with that, I set about removing all traces of last night’s make-up and starting again. In more ways than one.

***

I checked my watch as I waited for the train to appear through the tunnel, pushing the warm air out in front of it, thawing shivering tourists and commuters alike. The heavy rain of yesterday evening had, at some point during the night, turned to snow and I’d stepped out of the flats this morning to find my neighbourhood draped and muffled beneath a powdery white covering, inches thick. Instead of my heels, I wore a pair of fur-lined riding-style boots that served well as my stylish-but-still-practical option when the weather necessitated.

Two minutes: The display board indicated the arrival time of the next train as more people entered the platform. I shuffled further up and took my phone out of my bag as I waited. I’d switched it on earlier when I was getting ready but hadn’t yet had a chance to check my messages. Again, not like me. Normally I was far more organised and efficient than this in the morning, even after two bottles of wine with Janey (pre-baby-bump, obviously). All I needed now was to have received a message from the client I was rushing out first thing to see to say that they’d changed their mind. But there wasn’t one from my client. At least not that particular client.

There were now, in total, eight missed calls from Michael, as well as voicemail notifications. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily him. But the fact that one of the six texts he’d sent said that he’d now left three voicemails and would I please call him gave me the idea that it probably was.

I closed the phone as the train pulled in, engine slowing, squeaky brakes protesting as it came to a full stop. Hearing his voice, that hint of gravel that made him sound slightly sleep roughened, even when he wasn’t, all wrapped up in that soft Irish accent was exactly what I wanted. And exactly why I couldn’t listen to them. His texts didn’t say a lot, but they told me enough. Michael might have played the lothario in the last two years but he wasn’t uncaring, as I’d first thought. He’d been hurting, and ashamed of the way his place looked and what he felt that said about him. It wasn’t just the whole wham bam thing. It was detachment masking the pain. The pain caused by the woman he now wanted to try again with.

But he had asked me to that function and I’d left alone, something he apparently wanted to talk about. But what was there to say? It was my choice to leave. And he’d made it clear there was nothing romantic about the invitation anyway – at least initially. It was hard to deny that as we’d sat at the table and then taken to the dance floor together that maybe…

I grabbed for the pole to steady myself as I gathered my concentration in staying upright as the train swayed on the track. I leant my head against it momentarily, just as it shunted on a bend. Thanks to the laws of physics, this resulted in me swiftly head butting the pole. Two people sat on the seats across from me suddenly disappeared behind their copies of Metro, but not before I saw the hint of a snigger on their faces. In another mood, I’d have probably joined in their amusement. But today it just seemed par for the course. I gave my forehead a quick rub, not caring what anyone thought. As I’d hinted to Michael yesterday, I’d spent years hearing much worse things directed my way, thanks to the, let’s say, unusual domestic arrangement of my childhood. At least something good had come from the mess of my younger years: I could nut a pole in a crowded tube train and still walk out with my head held high – even if it did now sport a bit of an egg.

***

The snow appeared to have no intention of relenting. Checking our diary it looked like Bernice didn’t have any clients this afternoon so I knew she would be getting back to the office soon. I gave her a call.

‘Hi Kate! I just got back and was about to call you. How did it go last night?’

‘Fine. Everyone seemed to really like him.’

Including his ex-wife.

‘Right,’ Bernice said slowly, and I could practically see her frowning down the phone. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I was getting at.’

‘Oh?’

‘Come on Kate! You, super hot ex Grinch, twinkly Christmas lights, open bar, good food… You can’t tell me nothing happened.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘I just said you couldn’t tell me that.’

‘Sorry. Anyway, I just called to tell you to go home now. This weather’s getting ridiculous and I don’t want you stuck out somewhere.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. It’s fine. There’s nothing that can’t wait.’

‘I didn’t mean about work. I meant are you sure nothing happened, between you and him.’

I let out a sigh. ‘I think it’s safe to say that any woman would remember if something happened between her and Michael O’Farrell.’

‘You sure you didn’t have a few too many glasses of champers?’

‘Bernice. Really. Nothing happened. I actually left a little earlier than him in the end anyway.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, alone. Now please, can we just move on?’

‘Of course. Are you seeing him again?’

So much for moving on.

‘No. There’s no need. The house is all done. I’d said something about helping him decorate the tree and stuff, but I’m pretty sure he’s got that covered now, so he’s all ready to go for Christmas.’

‘Right,’ she said again.

‘Just before you go, there’s a little something for you in my bottom drawer. You know where the keys are.’

‘Oh Kate. You shouldn’t have.’ It was one of those phrases that trips off the tongue, but in this case, I knew it was meant. It was one of the things I loved about my colleague and friend: Her honesty. Even when it meant she enquired a little further than I might have liked, it was all done with the best intentions and came from a good place.

‘You mustn’t open them until Christmas Day though!’

I heard a squeak. ‘That’s ages!’

‘It’s a few days!’ I replied, laughing at the level of excitement for the season Bernice still managed to achieve. When it came to Christmas, it was like she’d never got past aged five. In a good way. And I loved that.

She let out a sigh and I heard background noises as she found the key and opened my drawer. The deep file drawer held a bag full of goodies.

‘Not all of these?’

‘It’s just a few bits.’

‘Kate! It’s too much!’ Her voice was serious now.

‘No, it’s not. I’m not always the greatest at saying…stuff. And I just want you to know how much I value you and the huge contribution you’ve made towards the business and its success.’

‘Thank you.’ Bernice’s voice was soft and I could tell she had tears in her eyes. Admittedly, that was pretty easy to make happen. She was soft as a brush. Another thing I loved her for.

‘You’re welcome. Now go home to that lovely fiancé of yours and have a wonderful Christmas.’

‘Thank you Kate. You’re a very special person. I hope you know that.’

We said our goodbyes and I headed in the direction of the office, pulling my hat down further against the weather and making a couple of stops on the way for some food. I stood in the queue, glancing at the other shoppers with their trolleys piled high with festive fare. Placing my basket down on the self-service till, I scanned the few ready meals I’d chosen and prayed that today was the one time there wasn’t an ‘unexpected item in bagging area’ because right now, I really wasn’t in the mood.

When I finally got in, the office was quiet, most of our neighbouring businesses having closed for Christmas already or perhaps headed out for festive drinks. I switched on the little pre lit tree by the door, its glow casting enough light for me to do the things I needed to – grab some paperwork to work on over Christmas, collect the exquisitely wrapped gift Bernice had left for me and update our client spreadsheet. Quickly, I fired up the computer, opened the programme and scanned down to find Michael’s name. In the end column I put a tick: Project Completed. I hit ‘save’, made sure it updated and then closed everything down. As I left the office, I unplugged the tree, then shut and locked the door.

I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I wandered up and down Oxford Street and then made my way to Piccadilly and the huge bookshop in which I could quite happily spend an entire day. Or more, given the opportunity. Aimlessly wandering between the different genres, I ended up with an eclectic handful of reading matter. My phone beeped for the third time, notifying a missed call. Knowing Michael, he wouldn’t give up until he’d said what he had to say. Except that nothing he could say mattered now. I didn’t blame him for wanting to give things another go with his ex. They had history. Watching them last night, it was easy to see that familiarity, how well they fit together, how easily they remembered what they’d had. Yes, he’d flirted with me, but it was harmless. How was he to know what I felt for him? I hadn’t even known it for sure until I’d seen his ex standing there and realised that I’d left it too late.

My phone cheeped a text alert.

Katie. Just answer the damn phone, will you? Please! I need to talk to you!

I didn’t want to talk to him. I had no intention of embarrassing myself in front of him again and, if I actually spoke to him, I wasn’t entirely sure that wouldn’t happen but clearly I had to do something so I opted for another tactic. Settling into a bench seat in the basement café, I popped my books next to me. A sweet man brought my tray of tea and cake – needs must – out to me, laying it gently on the low table in front of me. I thanked him and pulled the phone from my bag. Opening my email account, I chose ‘new message’.

Dear Michael,

I’m sorry not to have got back to you today. It’s all been a bit of a rush with one thing and another.

This was sort of true. Besides, telling him that I didn’t get back to him because I might end up saying something I couldn’t take back and cause myself mortifying embarrassment as a result, wasn’t really the tone I wanted to go for.

Thanks for a lovely evening last night. As I said in the text, it seemed to be going well from what I saw, which was great! I know from your texts you feel bad that you didn’t see me home, but it was no problem. It’s not like we were on a date or anything so you have nothing to feel bad about. I had a lovely meal and met some very nice people – and I may have even got some work out of it, so I must thank you for that too.

I hope you are happy with how everything turned out at home and that you can now enjoy your beautiful house. I sincerely hope that your grandfather approves too when he visits you over the holidays. I’m sure he will. We were both a little (a lot!) sceptical at the beginning of this project – you as to how it all worked and me as to whether you would actually commit to it. But I think that we have both been pleasantly surprised – at least I know I have been. I’d like to say how much I enjoyed working on this project with you and helping you bring the house back to a place you love to be again.

I’d also like to thank you for giving Pilot a wonderful home. Please give him a hug from me.

And lastly, although this may not be my place to say, and perhaps I am overstepping the mark, but I saw the way your ex-wife looked at you last night and how you were together. I know she hurt you before but it’s clear that she wants to try again. I wish you all the luck and happiness in the world with this and for a wonderful, family Christmas in your ‘new’ home – as well as for the New Year and beyond.

Take care of yourself Michael.

Of course the next question was how I signed off. ‘Yours sincerely’ seemed way too formal, but ‘lots of love’, although nearer to the truth, was a definite no-no. I settled on ‘Best Wishes, Kate’.

My finger hovered over the send button. Goodbye Michael. The thought ran around in my head as I lowered my thumb onto the button and the message shot off into the ether.

Pouring my tea, I plopped in some milk, took a big forkful of lemon cake and picked up one of the books and started reading. Another pot and another slice of cake later and I thought I’d probably better start heading home. I took the books to the counter, paid and got my loyalty points, feeling slightly guilty but reasoning that they were Christmas gifts to myself. And if the festive TV schedule turned out to be a bit naff I at least had these and Netflix to disappear into as others around the country contemplated the wisdom of having eaten that ninth sausage roll.

The snow was still falling as I plodded down the stairs of the nearby Underground entrance, entering the swarming flow of humanity down there. A woman next to me slipped on the wet floor and I automatically put out a hand out to steady her.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled. I returned it, unable to dismiss the flash of joy at the thought that the Christmas spirit was apparently even permeating the depths of the Victorian tunnels, and causing a break in that cardinal sin of strangers actually talking on the Tube.

After arriving at my station, I marched carefully up the pavement, enjoying the sound of my boots crunching and squeaking on the freshly fallen snow. But no matter how much I tried to push them away, thoughts of Michael kept barrelling back in: his voice, his laugh, the way he’d pulled me closer to his body as he’d bent to talk to me last night. Tears pricked at my eyes and I knew that this time it wasn’t just from the cold weather.

Turning up the pathway of the flats, a gust of wind blew tiny shards of icicles and snowflakes across my face. Lowering my head against it, I shoved my hand into my bag to grab my keys. As I lifted my head back up, keys now gripped in one hand, I jumped. Sat on the front step of the building, looking decidedly damp, cold and serious – not to mention, wantonly gorgeous – was Michael. He stood as he saw me approach.

‘What are you doing out here?’ I asked. ‘You’ll catch your death!’

‘Waiting for you.’ He reached out and took the bags from me. ‘You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts so I came in person.’