The Christmas Party (42 page)

‘You’re leaving?’

Kirsten nodded. ‘I told Tyler he could come home,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘I just didn’t tell him I wouldn’t be here waiting for him.’

‘Where were you planning to go?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said candidly. ‘Maybe to the Seychelles. Alone.’

‘Wherever we go, whatever we do,’ Simon said, ‘let’s make sure it’s together.’

‘You really phoned Lance to turn him down?’ Kirsten asked.

‘Yes. When push came to shove, it wasn’t half as difficult as I thought it was going to be. Fossil Oil or you? No contest.’

Simon folded her into his embrace and at that moment she believed that he would never let her go again. Somewhere deep inside her she was still as dry and as crusty as week-old bread; she would need to soak in the milk of Simon’s kindness for a long time to have any hope of rescuing that inner gentleness that had once been there. Gazing up at Simon, despite looking ridiculous with his diving-mask-and-snorkel attire, she could see the love for her shining in his eyes.

‘I think we’d better make a move,’ Kirsten advised, reluctant to leave the warmth of his arms. ‘Tyler won’t be far away, and I can’t face another confrontation.’

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I still don’t know.’ She gave an uncertain laugh.

‘Well, at the risk of being called a realist again, I suggest we go back to my place in Milton Keynes and lie low for a few days.’

‘You certainly know how to bring a girl back down to earth with a bump,’ Kirsten replied wryly. ‘Milton Keynes? Mind you, I do like the sound of the lying-low bit.’

Simon regarded the sleek black sports car balefully. ‘There’s just one snag,’ he said. ‘Either that turkey or this case will fit in my boot. Not both.’

Kirsten frowned.

‘What do you want to do? Eat, or dress nicely?’

‘I have an extensive range of designer lingerie in that suitcase,’ she informed him.

‘Sorry, old pal,’ Simon said to the turkey as he left it on the pavement along with the carrier bag of vegetables.

He picked up the case and swung it into the boot of the two-seater. Then he turned to her, his face lit up. ‘You know, if we’re travelling light, we could just go straight to the airport and get the first flight out of here.’

Kirsten stared at him agog. ‘Where to?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It would be a symbolic gesture to mark the start of our new, free-spirited life together.’

A shiver of fear and excitement went through her. ‘Could we do it?’

‘Why don’t we try? I’m game if you are.’

‘I am.’

It started to snow again. Heavy, lazy, lacy flakes that drifted serenely to the ground. So it was set to be a white Christmas after all.

‘I wonder what the odds are on a white Christmas in London this year?’ Kirsten said.

Simon pulled her to him and kissed her softly. ‘I wonder what are the odds on you and me finding that we’re still hopelessly in love after all these years?’

She stared at him thoughtfully. ‘Will you still love me when I’m old and grey?’

He stared back at her. ‘I will. Will you still love me when I’m bald and have dentures on the bedside table?’

‘I still love you even though you’re wearing a snorkel in Hampstead,’ she said.

‘That’s good enough for me.’ His warm mouth found hers again.

Kirsten closed her eyes and let Simon’s arms fold round her, nestling into his body. She didn’t think she’d ever felt such happiness.

It made her think of Tyler and whether he realised that this time it was over for good. A momentary cloud of sadness flitted over her brightness, and she wondered what the future would hold for him. An empty life of booze and broken relationships? She hoped not. Who knew, he may enjoy his life better now that he was free to dedicate himself fully to Fossil Oil without compromise. Maybe, for some people, that was what life was all about. Work, work and more work. She looked at Simon, a smile curling her lips and the love she felt for him rising to the surface like the bubbles in champagne. There was certainly more to life for her.

‘Let’s get going,’ Simon urged. He pulled off his snorkel and tossed it carelessly into the boot next to the suitcase.

Kirsten took a last lingering look at the house. It was a beautiful house; she just wasn’t sure that it had ever been a home. Tyler had worked hard for it, too hard, and perhaps ultimately that was what had caused their downfall. Too much time for work and too little time for each other. Well, he could have it all. With pleasure. All she would walk away with was this small suitcase and her sanity. What she had found was worth far more.

Propping the dejected-looking turkey and the bag of vegetables just inside the front door ready for Tyler’s return – he might as well make use of them – Kirsten closed it behind her for the final time and ran to join Simon.

She slipped into the car next to him, happy to get out of the falling snow, which was clinging to the spindly trees along the pavement and starting to look alarmingly like the winter wonderland at the Fossil Oil Christmas party. Kirsten shuddered at the memory.

‘Ready?’ Simon asked.

She nodded silently, unable to speak, her eyes burning with tears of both happiness and regret.

‘One thing’s for certain,’ Simon said lightly as he put the car into gear: ‘I’ll make sure that the parties are a lot tamer in the Seychelles or wherever we end up. All things considered, that was one hell of a Christmas party.’

Kirsten laughed tearfully. ‘I suppose it was,’ she agreed.

He squeezed her hand comfortingly and eased the car into the street.

As they turned the corner, neither of them looked back. If they had, they’d have seen Tyler pulling up behind them in his car and bounding up to the house with hope in his step.

Chapter Sixty-two

So, I lied to Josh about showing him a wild time. Though I have to say he doesn’t seem to be minding too much.

We’re currently at the shopping centre in the city, which is beautifully decked out for Christmas. When I say ‘we’, I mean all of us. There’s Mum, Dad, Mia, me and Josh. I’ve decided not to go for the gentle introduction. If Josh thinks he wants to be involved in our lives, he might as well have it full-on.

On the very rare occasions I have seen other men, I took it gently – had at least a few dates before the subject of Mia even cropped up. It may have been the types I unwisely chose to date, but the minute most men realised I had a daughter in tow they went scuttling to the hills. So far, Josh hasn’t done any scuttling at all. He’s been treated to the unexpurgated Young Family Experience package and he hasn’t flinched once. I admire that in a man. He currently has my daughter on his shoulders so that she can get a better view, and she doesn’t seem to be fazed by that either. As I watch her giggling and wriggling, Josh holding tightly on to her sturdy legs, there’s a little lump closing my throat that might be happiness, or it might be sadness that she hasn’t had this before.

This year the shopping centre seems to have gone completely over the top with the decorations, and it’s none the worse for it. The place looks fantastic. Middleton Hall, the main square in front of John Lewis, is sparkling under a gossamer canopy of silver threads. Iridescent stars hang down, catching dazzling, twirling lights.

Santa’s grotto is under the watch of a benign snow queen. She stands impeccable in white robes and silver crown, welcoming the children. Her attendant fairies fly on transparent wings above the magical scene that’s been created to great effect. There are miniature castles with fancy turrets surrounded by sparkling moats and rivers of glitter.

Mia, of course, is speechless with awe.

Mum looks up at her. ‘It’s your turn now, little lady,’ she says, checking her watch against the number printed on our timed ticket.

So Josh lowers her from his shoulders and we join the queue that snakes towards Santa’s grotto.

As we get to the turnstile, Josh’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket. When he glances at it, his eyes widen. ‘Lance Harvey,’ he says to me with a puzzled frown. ‘What can he want?’

‘Take it,’ I tell him. ‘We can go and see Santa and meet you out here later. We won’t be long.’

Mum hands over our tickets and they’re clipped by a grinning elf.

‘Why would Lance be ringing me?’

‘It might be important.’

It also might be about him being sacked by Tyler, I think, but I obviously can’t say that with my parents here. They’re already fussing over Josh as if we’ve been together for years. Not only is my mother thinking about a hat, I suspect she’s already mentally compiling a guest list. I don’t want to tell them yet that all is not quite hunky-dory in Team Louise. I try to convey this message to Josh with my eyes and he winks back at me that he’s understood.

‘He might just be wishing me happy Christmas,’ Josh says, laughing at how unlikely that is. ‘Whatever it is, it can wait for a few minutes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ He lets his phone go to voicemail and pockets it again. ‘I’ve never seen Santa in real life before. We can’t wait, can we, Mia?’

He high-fives my daughter and I can tell she’s already smitten by him. As I may well be too. Suddenly, I find myself hoping Josh Wallace is going to be in our lives on a permanent basis.

We’re ushered into the grotto, which is a marvellous creation of a cave fashioned from fake snow and glitter. Mia slips her hand into mine while we walk through the twisty-turny corridor until we reach the man himself.

Santa’s sitting on a silver chair and looks suitably rotund and ruddy, just as he should. I thought Mia might be shy, but I should have known my daughter better. As soon as she sees him she runs to hug him, squashing herself into his pillowy stomach.

‘Now, Mia,’ he says, checking the card that my mum has handed to him. ‘What would you like for Christmas?’

Alarmingly, my daughter holds up her fingers to count. ‘I’d like a micro-scooter in pink,’ she starts. ‘A Furby Party Rocker. A ballerina jewellery box.’

Even though she has no jewellery.

‘An It’s Teatime tea set. A ballerina Barbie. A KidiPet cat.’

‘My, my,’ Santa says, peering over his fake glasses. ‘That’s a long list.’

‘I haven’t finished,’ Mia informs him.

Josh and I hide our giggles and he looks at me as if he can’t believe what my daughter is coming out with. I feel much the same.

‘A My Little Pony Crystal Empire. A trampoline.’

Over my dead body. I have no desire to spend every weekend in A&E.

‘A Baby Born doll.’ She takes a deep breath. Thankfully, she’s running out of fingers. ‘A Sleeping Beauty Glitter Dress.’

‘My, my,’ Santa says again. The poor man looks a bit shell-shocked now.

‘Or a Cinderella Glitter Dress, if you can’t get that one.’

I blame Mum for going through the Argos Christmas catalogue with her in September. I’m just glad there are a few of these things at home already, under the tree or stowed in the loft for tomorrow. Most of it has been bought by my indulgent parents, but I’m glad I was able to contribute. Without wanting to wish away Christmas, I do wonder what next year will hold.

‘Have you been
very
good?’ Santa asks my child.

‘Yes. I am the bestest girl in the whole wide world,’ she says proudly, quoting my parents.

Despite not having a father in her life, my child doesn’t seem to suffer from self-esteem issues.

‘Well, then,’ Santa says. ‘I can’t promise that you’ll get everything, but if you put out a little cake for me tonight and a carrot for Rudolph, I’ll make sure that you get some lovely presents.’

‘We put out whisky and one of Granny’s mince pies,’ Mia says. ‘Do you like that?’

‘Yes,’ Santa says, trying to hide his grin. ‘That’s very thoughtful.’

‘Last year Gramps drank the whisky,’ she says, dobbing in my dad.

Gramps admits his guilt with an accepting shrug. Josh just shakes his head in amused bewilderment. Now he can be in absolutely no doubt what he’s planning to take on. Brave man.

‘I think I could get her a job in sales,’ he whispers to me.

‘Sometimes grown-ups do that,’ Santa says, letting my dad off the hook. ‘But I don’t mind. Now, Mia, would you like to choose a present?’

Mia grabs a prettily wrapped present from the pink pile. The biggest, of course.

Then we head outside with my beaming child and my parents, who both have tears in their eyes. I feel a little bit choked myself. It won’t be long before she learns that Santa doesn’t really exist and that everything she asks for won’t automatically be delivered to her door.

When we’re back out in the shopping centre, Josh says, ‘Thanks so much for including me in that.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Now I think I should treat us all to a twirl on the merry-goround.’

‘Yay!’ Mia shouts and takes me by the hand to drag me there.

We all head over to the carousel with its pretty prancing horses. They’re painted in pink, yellow and gold, suspended on twirling poles like candy canes.

‘My Little Pony,’ Mia says excitedly.

At the booth, Josh shells out a small fortune for tickets.

‘Not for us,’ Mum protests as he hands over a great wodge of cash.

‘For all of us,’ Josh insists, and my mother goes all girly. She’s already his number-one fan. Poor Dad won’t get a look-in tomorrow. Josh will get the juiciest cut of turkey, the crispest roast potatoes, the biggest bowl of Christmas pudding.

‘I haven’t been on a carousel in years,’ she twitters. ‘What do you think about that, Bernard?’

Dad just nods, but is clearly pleased to have the unique pleasure of some male company while undertaking these unseemly activities that are so often required of him. He’s always the one stoically accompanying Mia into the swimming pool, ball-pit or bouncy castle as my mum doesn’t like to mess up her hair.

While we wait for the carousel to stop so that we can get on, I say to Josh, ‘You’d better check what Lance Harvey wants. Everyone will have disappeared for Christmas soon.’

‘You’re right,’ he says, and pulls out his mobile.

He moves away from us slightly, clamping the phone tight to his head to try to block out the hurdy-gurdy music while he listens to the voicemail. As he does, I can see the colour of his face change. It goes from red to white and back again in seconds. Something is obviously very wrong.