Christmas with Billy and Me: A Short Story (3 page)

I wake the next morning to find that Billy is already out of bed and absent from my childhood bedroom – pink and girly, with a wall lined with photo frames. They used to be filled with just photos of me, my mum and dad, but a few more have been added recently. Some from my and Billy’s happier times in London, one from the day I reopened Molly’s, one of Molly and me on her birthday one year when we’d invited all our regulars in for a cakefest of an afternoon (she’s got cream on her nose and is pulling the funniest expression while I’m cracking up with laughter – there are even tears in my eyes) and one of Charlotte, Aaron, Colin, Billy and Mum – taken by me on a trip to feed the ducks. A wall of memories – although now I’ve started adding to it, I fear I’ll never stop. Every morning I look at this wall and smile – it’s my own little highly addictive collection of happiness.

It’s very much MY room – poor Billy hasn’t really had much of a say in its décor. When he turned up one day with his suitcases in the boot of the car, Mum and I couldn’t refuse him entry into our humble home. Well, it’s not that we couldn’t – we just had no desire to. Since then, time has flown by,
leaving us little time to think about our future plans. Plus, it’s so easy for us both being at home that we haven’t given our living arrangements much thought at all. It’s quite nice having him live with us in the house I grew up in. After all, it’s a place that holds a whole heap of memories for me – some good, some bad – but all have played a huge part in who I am today. Billy’s brought with him a load of new energy, charm and charisma – reviving our tired little home and bringing it back to life in a whole new chapter.

When I eventually walk down the stairs a little later, Billy and Mum are already sitting at the kitchen counter talking animatedly. Mum is wide-eyed with excitement as she listens to something Billy is saying.

‘Let me hazard a guess at what you two are talking about,’ I tease, pulling out a seat and sitting next to Billy.

‘Oh, Sophie, isn’t it lovely?’ Mum beams, totally side-stepping my sarcasm as she pours me a cup of tea from the pot and places it in front of me.

‘Very romantic,’ I agree, pouring in a splash of milk before taking a gulp. ‘Now I’ve just got to make the whole thing perfect so that I don’t disappoint the proposer … or the one being asked. Imagine if I totally ruin it!’

‘You won’t. You’ll do a wonderful job, love,’ Mum encourages.

‘Thanks,
Mum,’ I smile.

‘Nervous?’ Billy asks with a grin, already knowing the turmoil that’ll be making its way around my head.

‘Of course,’ I puff, feeling my cheeks redden slightly at the mere thought of the task ahead. It’s a massive flipping deal. I’ll be playing a role in the life-changing event of two people and I haven’t the foggiest who they are. It’s crazy.

‘Have they emailed back?’ Billy asks.

Once we’d stopped speculating over the identity of The Proposer last night, and became calmer about the whole thing, we wrote a reply confirming that we’d love to help – although I did include a few giddy lines of excitement. I couldn’t help myself.

‘Only a short one saying thanks and checking that I’d got the attached details of what he’s after,’ I say, gesturing to the piece of paper in my hand that I’d just got from the printer.

‘Or she,’ Billy whispers under his breath, while raising his eyebrows at me in a knowing manner.

‘So, let’s have a look at the specifics,’ Mum says, angling the paper so that it can be read by all three of us at once. ‘Oh, that all sounds so magical,’ she grins as she glances over what’s been requested.

Essentially I’ve been given a budget of £500 (but can ask for more if I think it’s necessary) to transform the shop into a beautiful Christmas grotto with fairy-lights, hanging snowflakes (I’ll make my
own, with some paper, thread and glitter glue), candles, cakes and champagne … There’s a woodland theme running throughout the specifics, so I think the idea is for it to look homemade, rustic and outdoorsy – it’s a look I know I’ll enjoy creating, and I completely understand why they’ve chosen Molly’s as the location. It’s perfect in its mismatched beauty.

‘I don’t think it’s going to be too time-consuming either,’ I think out loud, biting my bottom lip as I plan. ‘The shop is already looking festive because of last night’s party and the extra decorations can be made in the evenings here … In fact, I should probably keep everything away from the shop anyway. If any of the customers catch wind of what’s going on it’ll be spread around the village before we know it. There’ll be a gathering of people turning up waiting to see who the mystery couple are, spoiling the whole thing. We don’t want the girlfriend to suspect a thing before she walks in.’

‘Good thinking,’ chuckles Mum. ‘I can just imagine Miss Brown and co., with their faces pressed up against the windows, trying to see what’s going on.’

‘Or refusing to leave on Christmas Eve,’ jokes Billy, although I’m sure it’s a pretty accurate description of what would happen if the news were to get out – all my wonderful elderly ladies would tie themselves to their chairs in protest, wanting the best view of the action.

‘That’s settled, I’ll make the stuff here and will
store it and anything else I buy in a couple of boxes that we can drive over just before setting up the shop for our special guests.’

‘What do you want us to do?’ asks Billy.

‘Just keep quiet and don’t tell anyone.’

‘Oh …’ groans Mum, visibly shrinking beside me.

‘What?’

‘I might’ve told Colin.’

‘What? When? You’ve only just found out,’ I shriek in surprise at the speed of her work.

‘He called this morning when we were sitting here, just after Billy had told me. Sorry love, I didn’t think.’

‘Don’t worry. I might need Colin’s help anyway. Plus, he’s not exactly a gossip, is he!’

‘True, true.’ Mum smiles proudly at my positive assessment of Colin. ‘And he said he’d love to help in any way he can.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘I bet even the kids would love helping out with things like the snowflakes,’ she suggests.

‘That’s a lovely idea.’

‘Should I make some mulled wine?’ smirks Billy.

‘Funnily enough, it’s been requested,’ I laugh, pointing it out on the list of requirements.

‘See? What did I say?’ he laughs, fist pumping the air.

I roll my eyes at him.

‘Are you sure you didn’t write this?’ I tease, raising my eyebrows at him.

Seemingly
at a loss for words, Billy blushes ever so slightly before looking at Mum with a lost expression.

It’s all a bit awkward, so I find myself giggling into my tea not knowing what to think.

The following Saturday night Colin arrives at the house with Aaron and Charlotte, clearly having driven to the nearest Hobbycraft before heading over. They were each carrying a plastic bag of creative fun, filled with pencils, felt-tips, glitter, tissue paper, sequins, tinselly bits and pieces, as well as dried rose petals, little paper birds and twigs to go along with the theme. Colin blushes as he spots me looking down at the bags.

‘Charlotte wouldn’t leave until we had all the right tools …’ he shrugs.

I can’t help but laugh as I look at Charlotte and see a gleeful look on her face at getting her own way.

‘It was all so pretty,’ she smiles with a shrug as Aaron silently takes the bag from her and carries it himself – unburdening his little sister from the heavy load and leaving her with just her tattered Minnie Mouse.

Colin and Aaron walk past me to join Mum and Billy in the living room (they’re already busy sticking bits and pieces together), but Charlotte holds back and lingers – her big brown eyes looking up at me imploringly.

‘You OK?’ I ask, twiddling one of the long brown plaits that hang in front of each of her shoulders.

She
nods, sheepishly.

‘You sure?’ It’s not like her to be shy around me – maybe in the beginning she was, but not anymore.

‘Am I allowed to make an angel to go on top of your Christmas tree?’ she asks quietly.

‘Of course!’ I beam, cupping her face in my hands and giving her a hug as she giggles.

Happy with my answer, she proceeds into the room of chaos – the momentary meekness behind her.

We’d decided a night in front of the TV watching
Strictly Come Dancing
and
The X Factor
with an Indian takeaway would be the perfect conditions for working on our secret project that evening – we were quite excited to get cracking and barely spoke as we silently went about our individual tasks.

Charlotte took the most care over her angel. She is after perfection from her masterpiece, something I admire in someone so young. I watched as she delicately glued sequins and beads onto the cardboard figure Colin had assembled, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she did so.

And, two hours after starting on her creation, she presents me with the finished piece – sitting down next to me and placing her head on my shoulder as I inspect her work.

‘It’s gorgeous, Charlotte,’ I say, leaning my head over to one side so that it touches hers.

‘Do you think so?’ she asks, concern in her
voice – unsure of her own success or perhaps longing to be praised some more.

‘Definitely. I’ve never seen an angel as pretty as this one.’

‘Can we give her a name?’ she asks, stroking the feathers she’d patiently stuck on to her angel’s wings.

‘Yes, why not. What would you like to call her?’

‘Pauline …’ she almost whispers, not taking her eyes away from the angel in my hands.

It wasn’t what I was expecting. A lump forms in my throat, stopping me from answering straightaway. Instead I lean over, kiss the top of her head and play with her hair fondly as I nod in response.

She looks up at me then and searches my face with a smile – such a sweet, adorable and loving smile, with only a tinge of sadness in it. Before I can smile back she clambers to her knees and puts her arms around my neck, tightly. I squeeze her back.

Sometimes words are unnecessary. Occasionally they can’t match up to the mammoth feelings churning away through our veins. Every now and then, silence is best, for it speaks louder than any vowel, consonant or syllable ever could.

Breaking the moment, Charlotte gets to her feet and disappears off to the sofa to sit next to Aaron, who has already got bored of sticking and cutting and has decided to just watch
The X Factor
instead. As she hugs Minnie Mouse into herself and her eyes settle on Louis Walsh and Simon Cowell disagreeing
over a contestant’s talent (‘But she’s only sixteen, Simon!’), Charlotte looks utterly content.

My heart melts a little further.

* * *

‘That was lovely,’ Billy says as we are washing up the dishes once Colin, Aaron and Charlotte have left. Mum has decided to get cracking on her Christmas cards on the sofa – an arduous task that always offers such relief once completed.

Looking at my mum, and knowing her organizational skills, you’d think she’d be the sort to get them all written in September and into the post before others have even got their address books out, but it’s actually a huge deal that she even does them. For years we used to skip Christmas altogether, refusing to acknowledge that the world was still turning in festive merriment when our world had been torn apart by grief. Her writing them is yet another symbol of how far she’s come since those dark days of despair. It’s funny to think that Christmas – a time known for its joyful togetherness – can be the loneliest time of the year for some. I’m so thankful that we’re no longer lonely. That we’ve been found. Not by the men in our lives, either, but by ourselves.

‘I miss having my family around at times like this,’ Billy continues sadly as he scrapes the remains of my chicken tikka and pilau rice from my plate and into the bin.

‘Oh, darling …’

‘It’s
my fault; I sent them packing to LA, didn’t I?’

‘Not really,’ I offer. ‘You all just did what you thought was best.’

Once Billy’s acting career had really taken off, the whole family decided to move over to America so that they could be together. Years later and they’re all more than settled into their lives in the sunshine, whereas Billy decided (before meeting me) to move back to England and treat himself to the most amazing flat in central London that I’ve ever seen.

‘Yeah … my mum must hate it though. She thought I’d be back over there within a few months – longing for the ease of California living, but it never happened. I stayed here.’

He rarely speaks about missing LA, his family or wanting to move back across the pond, and I wonder if a part of that is so I don’t feel like I’m stopping him from being elsewhere. Now that Billy isn’t tied down to acting commitments, I’m surprised he hasn’t made plans to go over and see his mum, dad and siblings – instead, he seems to have been enjoying the simple life in Rosefont Hill, which, to a certain extent, I can totally understand following the mayhem of his life as a highly in-demand actor.

‘Do you wish you were over there?’ I ask.

‘Not really. Nowhere does Christmas like England,’ he smiles. ‘But I just wish I could see them a bit more, you know? We used to do everything together. We were with each other all the time. And now there are only splatterings of conversations here and
there. Skype can only offer you so much …’ he exhales sadly.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘Keeping you here.’

‘Oh really?’ he smiles, raising his eyebrow. ‘You think you’re keeping me here?’

I shrug in response.

‘Well, I do worry about what you’d do without my exceptional culinary skills.’

‘I’ve taught you everything you know!’ I laugh.

‘True …’

‘But I would clearly be lost without your mulled wine,’ I offer.

‘Exactly,’ he quips before putting his arm around my waist and pulling me in for a kiss. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m happy.’

‘You sure?’

‘There’s nowhere I’d have rather been tonight than here, in this house, with your patchwork family.’

‘I like that … patchwork family.’ I repeat, mulling over the term. In my head I think of all those discarded pieces of fabric that come together to make one complete piece – something that should never work, but totally does.

‘You can have it,’ he winks. ‘Call it an early Christmas present.’

‘Argh,’ I groan, his words reminding me of what’s been tormenting me for weeks. ‘Can we talk about this again please? What on earth can I get you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Seriously,
you’re impossible to buy for – anything I think of buying you I realize you can afford to buy yourself better versions of.’

‘Erm, are you aware of how little you pay me?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously.

‘I don’t pay you …’

‘Exactly,’ he laughs.

‘Sorry, Mr Hollywood – I’ll rectify that shall I? How much would you like?’ I ask, grabbing my purse from the side and jokingly scrambling together a few coins before holding them out in my hand for him to take.

‘Oh, I don’t think anything of monetary value would suffice … I’m too good,’ he teases, cupping my hand so that it closes before pulling me in to his body.

‘Is that so?’

‘You’ve seen the demand for my goods,’ he smirks with a playful shrug, his eyes sparkling in a cheeky manner. ‘But …’

‘Yes …?’

‘I have some ideas about how you can keep my talents close by …’ he whispers, his mouth brushing against my ear and causing me to giggle.

‘Billy! My mum’s in there.’

‘I wasn’t planning on getting her involved. I mean, I’m really not into that kind of thing,’ he gasps in mock defiance.

‘Very clever, Mr Buskin. Just don’t moan when you
wake up to a lump of coal on Christmas morning,’ I smirk coyly, pulling away from his clasp and continuing with the washing-up.

‘Baaaaaah, humbug,’ he guffaws, grabbing a tea towel, his belly laugh booming around the kitchen and filling the house with its warmth.