Читать книгу A New Year Bride - Scarlet Wilson - Страница 16

SHE COULDN’T DESCRIBE the emptiness inside her. It was impossible to put into words.

She stared at the texts on the phone from her friends, teasing her about the party and assuming she’d had the time of her life.

She had—almost.

But last night when she’d opened the door to the cold and empty flat, everything had just overwhelmed her.

Silence echoed around her.

Unbearable silence.

The home that had once been filled with love and happiness shivered around her.

She actually felt it happen.

Even when she flicked the light switch, the house was dark. Emptiness swamped every room. She’d started to cry even before she’d made it to bed, wrapping herself in her gran’s shawl, her own duvet and wearing the thickest pair of flannel pyjamas imaginable—but nothing could keep out the cold. Nothing at all.

That feeling of loneliness was enormous. Somewhere, on the other side of the planet, her mother was probably cuddled up to her husband or sitting around a table with her two children. Children she actually spent time with.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. Getting pregnant at sixteen would be difficult for any teenager. But to move away completely and form a new life—without any thought to the old—was hard to take.

It made her more determined. More determined to never feel second best with any man. She’d spent her whole life feeling second best and a cast-off. Although her relationship with her gran had been strong and wonderful, there had still been that underlying feeling of…just not being enough.

For the briefest spell tonight, under that lamp post, she’d felt a tiny bit like that again. All because of that kiss. Oh, the kiss had been wonderful—mesmerising. The attraction was definitely there. But the connection, or the sincerity of the connection? She just couldn’t be sure if when Finlay kissed her he was thinking only of her.

She shivered all night. The heating was on in the flat and it didn’t matter how high the temperature was—it just couldn’t permeate her soul.

The night with Finlay had brought things to a precipice in her head.

Alone. That was how she felt right now.

Completely and utterly alone.

She’d thought being busy at Christmas would help. She’d thought decorating the flat the way it always used to be would help.

But the truth was nothing helped. Nothing filled the aching hole that her grandmother’s death had left.

A card had arrived from her mother. The irony killed her. It was a personalised card with a photo of her mum with her new husband, Ken, and their two sons on the front. They were suitably dressed for a Christmas in Florida. It wasn’t meant to be a message. But it felt like it.

Her mother had moved on—playing happy families on another continent. She’d found her happy ever after. And it didn’t include Grace. It never had.

She received the same store gift card each year. Impersonal. Polite. The sort of gift you sent a colleague you didn’t know that well—not the sort of gift you sent your daughter.

As she rode the Tube this morning people seemed to be full of Christmas spirit. It was Christmas Eve. Normally she would be full of Christmas spirit too.

But the sight of happy children bouncing on their parents’ knees, couples with arms snaked around each other and stealing kisses, only seemed to magnify the effect of being alone.

Tonight, she’d go home to that dark flat.

Tonight, she’d spend Christmas Eve on her own. There was no way she could speak to any of the girls. They were all too busy wrapped up in their own lives, finding their own dreams, for Grace to bring them down with her depressed state.

The train pulled into the station and she trudged up the stairs to work.

This time last year her stomach had been fluttering with the excitement she normally felt at Christmas. Christmas Eve was such a special day.

It was for love, for families, for sharing, for fun and for laughter. Tomorrow, she would probably spend the whole day without speaking to a single person. Tomorrow, she would cook a dinner for one.

She’d pushed away every single thought about how she might spend Christmas Day. It had been easier not to think about it at all. That way she could try and let herself be swept along with the spirit of Christmas without allowing the dark cloud hanging above her head to press down on her.

But now, it seemed to have rushed up out of nowhere. It was here and the thought of being alone was just too much.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled. ‘Clio? Are there any shifts tomorrow?’

She could almost hear the cogs whirring in Clio’s brain at the end of the phone. ‘Grace? What’s wrong?’

Grace sucked in a deep breath to try and stop her voice from wobbling. She couldn’t stop the tears that automatically pooled in her eyes. ‘It’s just the time of year…it’s hard,’ she managed.

‘Your gran. You’re missing her. I get it. But do you really want to spend Christmas Day working?’ The compassion in Clio’s voice made her feel one hundred times worse.

‘Yes.’

There was a shuffle of papers. ‘You can work at The Armstrong as normal. There are always lots of shifts at Christmas. I can put you on for that one.’

‘Great, thanks.’ The words came out easier this time; it was almost as if a security blanket had been flung over her shoulders. ‘And, Clio? Congratulations on your engagement. Enjoy your time with Enrique.’

She hung up the phone and sighed. She meant it. She really did. Clio was over the moon with her new relationship and she deserved to be happy.

She changed quickly and started work. The Christmas themed music that she’d chosen was playing quietly in the background everywhere.

Other members of staff were smiling and whistling. No one was rushing today. The whole work tempo seemed to have slowed down for the festive season. And Grace noticed a few sideways glances from people who’d attended the staff party.

Her list was long. Lots of people had the day off. But Grace didn’t care; it would keep her busy and give her less time to think.

It was surprising the amount of guests who checked in and out around Christmas. Something panged inside her again. People coming to visit families and friends.

Eight hours later her hair was back to its semi-normal dishevelled state and she really wanted to get changed. One of the staff called her over. ‘Can you do one more before you knock off tonight? I’m in a bit of a rush.’

Grace pressed her lips together. She knew Sally had four kids and would want to get home to them early. She held out her hand. ‘Of course I will. No problem.’

Sally gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Grace. Have a great Christmas.’

Grace glanced at the list and her stomach did a little flip-flop. She had The Nottingdale Suite to clean—Finlay’s place. She glanced towards the office. He’d be in there right now. If she was quick—she could get things done and get back out before he knew she was working.

It was a weird feeling. When he’d held her in his arms last night she’d felt…she’d felt…special. A tiny little fire that had been burning inside her for the last few days had just ignited like a firework—only to sputter out again.

The Nottingdale Suite didn’t feel quite so empty as before. One of her Christmas snow globes was sitting on the main table, with a wrapped parcel on the slate kitchen worktop.

Grace couldn’t help but pick it up. It was intricately wrapped in silver paper with curled red ribbon and a tag. The writing was copperplate. Grace smiled. She recognised it immediately and set it down with a smile. Mrs Archer had left a present for Finlay. How nice.

She made short work of cleaning the penthouse. The bathroom, kitchen area, bedroom and lounge were spotless in under an hour.

She stared out for a second over the dark London sky. In a few hours Christmas Eve would be over. By the time she got home, she could go straight to bed then get up early for her next shift. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second.

Please just let this Christmas be over.

‘Grace?’ She was the last person he expected to see at this time of night. ‘What are you doing?’

The words were out before he even noticed the cart next to the doorway.

She jumped and turned around. ‘Finlay.’ The words just seemed to stop there.

She was wearing her uniform again. But in his head she still had on the silver dress from the last night. That picture seemed to be imprinted on his brain. Seared on it, in fact.

She still hadn’t spoken. The atmosphere was awkward.

He wasn’t quite sure how to act around Grace.

That kiss last night had killed any ounce of sleep he might have hoped to get.

His brain couldn’t process it at all. There was no box to put it in.

It wasn’t a fleeting moment with someone unimportant. It hadn’t been a mistake. It wasn’t a wild fling. It hadn’t felt casual. So, what did that leave?

Grace’s eyes left his and glanced at the outside view again—exactly where she’d been staring when he came in. He heard a stilted kind of sigh. She moved over towards the cart.

This wasn’t going to get any easier. Neither of them seemed able to do the casual and friendly hello.

He had a freak brainwave. This was Christmas Eve. Grace was the woman that loved Christmas. No—she lived and breathed Christmas. What on earth was she doing still working?

Grace picked up some of the cleaning materials and shoved them back in her cart. ‘Merry Christmas, Finlay.’ The words were stilted. Was this how things would be now?

‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ His response was automatic. But something else wasn’t.

The feelings that normally washed around a response like that. Normally they were cold. Harsh. Unfeeling and unmeant.

This was the first time in five years he’d actually meant those words as he said them.

He wanted Grace to have a merry Christmas. He wanted her to enjoy herself.

What if…?

The idea came out of nowhere. At least, that was how it seemed. He was flying back to Scotland on Boxing Day to see his family. Chances were, this would be the last time he would see Grace between now and then.

There were a dozen little flashes in his brain. Grace on the roof. Touching the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Drinking hot chocolate with her. The gleam in her eyes when she was cheeky to him. The expression on her face when she’d tried on the pink coat. The wash of emotions when he’d spotted the little girl and bought the rocking horse for her Christmas. Grace’s ruffled hair and pushed-up shirt as she’d wound in hundreds of purple bulbs. The way she’d clapped her hands together when he’d first seen the tree.

And the feel of her lips on his. Her warm curves against his. The soft satin of her dress under the palm of his hand.

He’d felt more alive in the last week than he had in the last five years.

And that was all because of Grace.

He reached out to touch her arm. ‘It’s been nice to meet you. Enjoy Christmas Day.’

The words were nowhere near adequate. They didn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to say or what was circulating in his brain.

Grace’s dark brown eyes met his. For a second he thought she was going to say the same thing. Then, her bottom lip started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’ll be working as normal.’

He blinked. What?

Why would the girl who loved Christmas not be spending it with her family and friends?

‘What do you mean—you’re working? Don’t you have plans with those you love?’

As soon as the words were out he realised he’d said exactly the wrong thing. The tears that had pooled in her eyes flooded over and rolled down her cheeks.

He reached out his arms to her. ‘What on earth’s wrong? Grace? Tell me?’

She was shaking and when the words came out it was the last thing he expected.

‘There’s no family. My gran…she died…she died a few months ago. And now, there’s just no one. I can’t face anything.’ She looked at him, her gaze almost pleading. ‘I thought I could do this. I thought I could. I thought if I kept busy and kept working everything would just fall into place. I wouldn’t have time to miss her so much.’ She kept shaking her head. ‘But it’s harder than I could ever imagine. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I see people—families together, celebrating Christmas the way I used to. Even Mrs Archer—I love her—but I’m finding it so hard to be around her. She reminds me so much of my gran. The way she speaks, her mannerisms, her expressions.’ She looked down as she kept shaking her head. ‘I just want this to be over.’ Now, she looked outside again into the dark night. In the distance they could see the Christmas red and white lights outlining Battersea Power Station. ‘I just want Christmas to be over,’ she breathed.

Every hair on his arms stood on end. He got it. He got all of it.

The loneliness. The happy people around about, reminding you of what you’d lost. The overwhelming emotions that took your breath away when you least expected it.

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Grace, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to work at Christmas. It’s fine. We can cover your shifts. Take some time off. Get away from this. The last thing you want to do is watch other families eating Christmas dinner together. Stay home. Curl up in bed. Eat chocolate.’

It seemed like the right thing to say. Comfort. Away from people under her nose.

But Grace’s eyes widened and she pulled back. ‘What? No. You think I want to be alone? You think I want to spend the whole of Christmas without talking to anyone, without seeing another living soul? Do you think anything looks worse on a plate than Christmas dinner for one?’

As she spoke he cringed. What he’d thought might take her away from one type of agony would only lead her to another. He hated this. He hated seeing the pain in her eyes. The hurt. The loneliness. He recognised them all too well. He’d worn the T-shirt himself for five years.

He squeezed her shoulders. ‘Then what is it you want for Christmas, Grace? What is it you want to do? What would be your perfect Christmas?’

His agitation was rising. She’d got herself so worked up that her whole body was shaking. He hated that. He hated she was so upset. Why hadn’t he realised she was alone? Why hadn’t he realised she was suffering a bereavement just as he was?

Grace had always been so upbeat around him, so full of life that he’d missed the signs. He knew better than most that you only revealed the side of you that you wanted people to see.

He’d been struck by Grace’s apparent openness. But she’d built the same guard around her heart as he had. It didn’t matter that it was different circumstances. This year, she felt just as alone as he had over the last five.

He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for Grace.

What if…?

The thought came out of nowhere. He didn’t know quite what to do with it.

Her eyes flitted between him and the outside view. ‘Tell me, Grace. Tell me what your ideal Christmas would be. What do you want for Christmas?’ His voice was firm as he repeated his question. The waver in her voice and tears had been too much for him. Grace was a kind and good person. She didn’t deserve to be lonely this Christmas. He had enough money to buy just about anything and he was willing to spend it to wipe that look off her face.

Her mouth opened but the words seemed to stall.

‘What?’ he prompted gently.

‘I want a proper Christmas,’ she breathed. ‘One with real snow, and a log fire, and a huge Christmas turkey that’s almost too big to get in the oven.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want to be able to smell a real Christmas tree again and I want to spend all day—or all night—decorating it the way I used to with my gran. I want to go into the kitchen and bake Christmas muffins and let the smell drift all around.’ She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. ‘And I don’t want to be alone.’

Finlay was dumbstruck. She hadn’t mentioned gifts or ‘things’. Grace didn’t want perfume or jewels. She hadn’t any yearning for materialistic items.

She wanted time. She wanted company. She wanted the Christmas experience.

He glanced out of the window again. He was a little confused. Snow dusted the top of every rooftop in London—just as it had for the last week.

‘What do you mean by snow?’ he said carefully.

She opened her eyes again as he released his hands from her shoulders. She held out her hands. ‘You know—real snow. Snow that’s so thick you can hardly walk in it. Snow you can lie down on and do snow angels without feeling the pavement beneath your shoulder blades. Snow that there’s actually enough of to build a snowman and make snowballs with. Snow that, when you look out, all you can see is white with little bumps and you wonder what they actually are.’ He could hear the wonder in her voice, the excitement. She’d stopped being so sad and was actually imagining what she wished Christmas could be like.

‘And then you go inside the house and all you can smell is the Christmas tree, and the muffins, and then listen to the crackle of the real fire as you try and dry off from being outside.’ She was smiling now. It seemed that Grace Ellis could tell him exactly what she wanted from this Christmas.

And he knew exactly where she could get it. The snow scene in her head—he’d seen that view a hundred times. The crackling fire—he had that too.

This was Grace. The person who’d shot a little fire into his blood in the last few days. The person who’d made him laugh and smile at times. The girl with the warm heart who had let him realise the future might not be quite as bleak as he’d once imagined.

He could do this. He could give her the Christmas she deserved.

‘Pack your bag.’

Her eyes widened and she frowned. ‘What?’

He started walking through the penthouse, heading to his cupboards to pull out some clothes. It was cold up north; he’d need to wrap up.

‘I’ll take you home to grab some things. I can show you real snow. I can light a real fire. We can even get soaked to the skin making snow angels.’ He winked at her. ‘Once you’ve done it—you’ll regret it.’

Grace was still frowning. ‘Finlay, it’s after eight o’clock on Christmas Eve. Where on earth are you planning on taking me? Don’t you have plans yourself?’

He shook his head as he pushed some clothes in a black bag. ‘No. I planned on staying here and going up on Boxing Day to visit my parents and sister. My helicopter is on standby. We can go now.’

She started shaking her head. ‘Go where?’

‘To Scotland.’