Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he journey back home was an odd affair.
Normally, I would’ve been excited at the prospect of a few days off, relaxing in the warm and cosy festive surroundings of my old family home. But without Marcus, it wouldn’t be the same.
As I drove along the network of quiet country roads, which were bursting with holly, ivy, and glistening berries that the blackbirds were busy feasting on, my thoughts flicked from my brother to Zach.
What would he be doing on Christmas Day? Would he be spending the day with someone special? Family members or … someone else?
I refused to expend any more energy thinking about him. I was sure he wasn’t thinking about me half as much as I kept thinking about him. If someone could walk away like that and refuse to talk to me about it… I didn’t want to be with someone like that anyway.
And to think I’d started to believe there was something growing between us. Yeah, fungus , snorted my head.
The car radio was blaring upbeat Christmas tunes and although I wanted to switch it off, the empty silence would’ve been even worse. I was just relieved to arrive home before the snow started to coat everything in ethereal dustings of white.
Mum and Dad tried to jolly me along, but we were all upset by the absence of Marcus. When Mum was out of earshot, Dad pulled me aside.
“Marcus definitely isn’t coming for Christmas,” he said with a grim look. “I managed to get hold of Anthony, that chap he plays squash with.”
It wasn’t a surprise, but disappointment still kicked me in the stomach. “Marcus won’t be on his own, will he, Dad? I couldn’t bear it.”
“No, he won’t be alone. Apparently, he’s decided to go away with a couple of friends to a rented cottage up by Inverness.”
I began to fiddle with one of the white ribbons on the nearby tree. “But Dad, Marcus doesn’t know the whole story. If only?—”
Dad gently took my upper arms in his hands. “Marcus is hurting, darling. Give your brother time and he’ll come around. Then the three of us can talk to him and explain, ok?”
I gazed up at my dad and sighed. He was like a cooling breeze on a blistering hot day. “Yes. I suppose so.”
But the next day, Christmas Day, carried on in the same anti-climactic way, with me, Mum and Dad sharing tales about past Christmases, Dad regaling us with stories from the golf club and Mum trying to interrogate me about Ezra, while flapping over Ezra’s party. I just missed Marcus.
The roast turkey lunch was delicious, but once Mum had indulged in one too many glasses of Mo?t, her tongue loosened.
“I wish I’d seen through Declan and all that Irish charm. I wish I hadn’t taken him at his word. Then you wouldn’t have run away from here and your duties.”
“I didn’t run away, Mum. I wanted a new start, away from everything.” I eyed her across the expanse of sitting room. “And as for my duties, I have a duty to myself. To my own happiness.”
“What did I do to deserve such feckless nearly-weds for my children?” growled Mum to herself. “Neither of you can be trusted to make good choices.”
“Vanessa,” warned Dad.
“Oh, it’s true, Henry,” she scoffed, gulping another mouthful, as the fresh logs in the fire grate spat and crackled amongst the flames. “We knew Anastasia was making a mistake, but we did nothing to stop it.”
Dad made us both jump by banging his glass down on the coffee table.
“Just stop this, for Christ’s sake! It’s upsetting at the best of times, but not on sodding Christmas Day!” My mum stared up at him in shock over the top of her glass. “For heaven’s sake, Ness! I thought we were trying to put all that behind us, not drag everything up again. I know our daughter is.”
But before Mum could reply, I’d already leapt up from the sofa and strode off to fetch my hat, coat, and scarf from the cloakroom.
I needed to escape into the gardens for a walk.
If Marcus had been here, he would’ve been my ally. We would’ve been too busy laughing and gossiping to take any notice of our mother’s alcohol-induced psychotherapy.
It was a relief to get away from the family tension. I realised how much I liked the life I had built for myself, on my own terms, out of their sphere of toxic influence.
I huddled deeper into my winter coat and reached inside one of the pockets for my mobile phone. The mid-afternoon light was growing tired already and there was an icy hush.
I attempted to call Marcus, but it went straight to voicemail. I hung up and stared down at my phone, deciding to text him instead, with a few green heart and Christmas tree emojis:
Hi Marcus. Merry Christmas!
I’m at Mum and Dad’s. I’m missing you so much.
Hope you’re having a lovely time at the cottage.
Love you XXX
I pressed the “send” button and strode on, tugging my dusty-pink pom-pom winter hat further down over my ears. My long brown leather boots scrunched on the snow and the naked trees had layers of ice dripping from them, like ostentatious Christmas baubles.
I paused, breathing in the tang of winter and relishing the way the bitter cold skimmed its way across my cheeks.
The ping of my phone made me jump.
I scrambled around in my coat pocket to find it again.
It was a reply from Marcus:
Merry Christmas
X
Not exactly War and Peace , but it was a start.
Boxing Day was a test of endurance because Mum had invited some old friends of hers over for afternoon drinks and nibbles. I managed to make polite conversation, but this wasn’t the Christmas I was used to or loved. It felt like forced, contrived joviality. I missed my brother and I didn’t feel like this was where I belonged anymore. I couldn’t wait to head back home to Heather Moore and reopen Flower Power on the 28th.
Home. Yes. Heather Moore was home to me now.
The realisation made me prickle with an independent excitement.
“So that’s you setting off then?” Dad said, shuffling from foot to foot as I came down the stairs with my bags.
“Yep. I’m opening the shop tomorrow and I have a lot to do.”
Dad pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry this Christmas hasn’t been the one you hoped for, sweetheart.”
“It’s not your fault, Dad.” I planted a kiss on his cheek, just in time for Mum to appear. “Drive carefully, won’t you? Please let us know when you get back.”
“I will.”
My mother gave me a prolonged hug and kiss, before drawing away from me.
“I’ll be back in a few days anyway to set up for Ezra’s party. I’ll let you know when Amber, Rowan, and I will be arriving, Mum. And thanks for insisting they stay here.”
My mother’s dark blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. “No problem at all. Always glad to accommodate the hired help.”
I ground my jaw and Dad rolled his eyes.
“I’ll make sure Mrs Bamber has all the guest rooms ready.” She studied me from under her lashes. “I hope you have your little flower displays for Ezra well in hand, darling.”
I gave my dad a quick glance. “I can assure you, Mum, that Ezra doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘little’. These floral arrangements make Kew Gardens look like a tawdry affair.” I couldn’t resist adding: “Oh, and by the way, Mum, we’ll be arriving in my Flower Power delivery van, as we’ll have the flower displays with us.”
Mum’s glossed lips parted in horror. “What? Not that pink and white thing that looks like the van in Scooby-Doo ?!”
From beside her, Dad was clamping his lips together, trying not to laugh.
“You mean The Dream Machine?” I asked, hiding a smile. “Yes, that’s it. See you in a few days!”
I couldn’t wait to get back to my real life, and as I drove out through the gates of my parents’ home, I wondered when Bailey McArthur, resident of Heather Moore and proud business owner, had become my “real” identity.