Chapter Twenty-Eight
On the First Eve of Christmas,
My True Love Gave to Me… A Headache from a New Hobby
‘I can’t do that! I’ve never done it before!’
Matt took a sip of beer and Gemma stirred under his ever-fixed eye.
‘And think what the world would be, if that was everyone’s attitude. What if Neil Armstrong felt like that when he was about to step onto the moon’s surface. Imagine if Paul McCartney had backed away from picking up a guitar because he hadn’t done it before? Hell, where would we all be now, if Eve had said no to Adam because she didn’t fancy an apple or—’
‘Stop it!’ Gemma couldn’t help but laugh.
‘It’s words, Gem. Putting down one word after another. I’ve read some of your journal. You write fluently, beautifully. Lyrically, in fact.’
‘But you’re good with words too. You wrote most of BorderLine Beat’s lyrics. Why don’t you do it?’
‘Because music is my first love and English my second.’
Gemma drew in a short breath. ‘Does it have to rhyme?’
Are you seriously considering this?
What? Work closely with this cute man on words instead of washing his socks?
Well, he didn’t say you’d be excused your other duties…
‘Hey.’ Matt waved a hand in front of her eyes. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes. Yes, sorry.’ Gemma grabbed her glass and took a refreshing swig, then coughed, hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled again.
‘No, it doesn’t have to rhyme. Look, give it a go. I’d rather try this than work with someone I don’t know. At least, at this stage of—’ He broke off, then picked up his glass and drained it. ‘Come on, let’s get back and I’ll play you the song demo I’ve put together.’
No dessert then?
Gemma sent the menu a regretful look and dutifully drained her own glass.
Soon they were retracing their steps. Neither of them spoke. Gemma’s mind buzzing with their recent conversation, spinning first in one direction, then another. This she had not seen coming! Matt seemed likewise engrossed in his thoughts, and, although he held out a hand to help her over the stile, it continued that way until Rivermills House came into sight through the trees.
‘Home again,’ Gemma’s heart whispered, and she followed Matt down the steep bank, stepping over the exposed roots and skipping past him before the wooden bridge.
‘I’ll get the coffee on the go,’ she called over her shoulder.
By early evening, Gemma’s head was reeling, and not from the proximity to Matt and his divine aftershave. She’d had quite enough of sitting in the studio, her mind awash with a jumble of words she didn’t use every day, like ‘chords’, ‘melodies’, ‘sequences’ and ‘vibes’.
Excusing herself by saying she needed to think about what to prepare for dinner, Gemma relished a return to the kitchen for the first time since she’d arrived at Rivermills. She wasn’t sure Matt had even registered her departure, so engrossed was he, his guitar plugged into the MacBook to record yet another sequence.
Darkness had crept into the creek as Gemma emerged into the fresh air and crossed the lawn, taking the wooden steps up to the deck two at a time. She’d become excited by the idea of working with Matt, of creating something with him. It felt as though she’d always be able to retain a connection to him, even after they went their separate ways, but now her head ached, and she felt daunted by the prospect of leaping into the unknown.
‘Come on, girl. Wasn’t your desire for a change in your boring life why you took this time out from the bank?’ Gemma admonished her reflection in the conservatory mirror.
She sent herself a stern look, then headed into the kitchen and opened a drawer containing a variety of medicinal items. After swallowing two painkillers with a glass of water, she switched on all the Christmas lights and then got the log burner going.
‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ she asked the room, and it twinkled back in a satisfying manner. ‘Oh!’ Her eye landed on the neglected advent calendar, and she dug deep into the pocket labelled ‘21’. Smiling, she ripped the tissue from her mum’s latest offering: a nail varnish from her favourite brand, and suitably festive, being a rich green with glitter sprinkles.
She whizzed her mum a thank-you message and was amused and excited by her reply, hinting at a big surprise to come, then returned to the kitchen. What could she do for dinner that could tempt Matt to stop vibe-ing, or whatever it was?
‘Honestly,’ Gemma grumbled to the open fridge. ‘It’s like doing a Duolingo course and then realising you’re visiting the wrong country.’
For all her sense of floundering, Gemma found it hard to switch off from her new challenge over the next forty-eight hours. As she stripped beds, washed towels, ironed, cooked and cleaned, her head merrily hopped from word to word and phrase to phrase, and she stopped every now and again to scribble on a pad or tap into the Notes app on her phone.
Matt was gently tolerant of her initial attempts, rejecting them so kindly she wasn’t sure he’d actually said they didn’t work.
She wavered, initially turning to novels for research, then starting to think about songs that resonated, words that had lingered over unrequited or failed love. Diligently, she started to scribble lyrics from Google into one of the journals she hadn’t used before. As part of her research, she studied the practicalities as she wrote out the words: syllables to each line, whether they rhymed or not, working out whatever the heck the mysterious middle eight was.
More enjoyable was absorbing the meaning of the lyrics, attempting to understand what the songwriter had been trying to convey, and becoming so fervently embroiled as she entered the words to ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ into the back of the music journal, she almost shed a tear. Listening to George Michael’s powerful rendition on YouTube, she realised the lyricists knew exactly what they were writing about, and almost quivering with emotion, she highlighted the opening lines of the chorus.
Matt himself, had he but known it, also became a focus of her studies – or rather, his relationship with his fellow bandmates. As for his continued stream of calls with Sophia, Gemma tried to close her ears to them, vacating the room if Matt didn’t. To be fair, he usually did, but she wasn’t sure if that was for privacy’s sake or to prevent Gemma from nagging him about his phone.
When she wasn’t being housekeeper or wrapping gifts, attaching ribbons and writing out tags in her neat hand, Gemma studied the lyrics of some of the artists Matt had suggested: Adele, Ed Sheeran and Lewis Capaldi. She also went back over BorderLine Beat’s most popular tracks, again, looking at the ‘beats’, as she called it in her head – the patterns of verses and choruses.
A theme had formed in the back of Gemma’s mind, and, although it wasn’t quite what Matt had asked for, one of his demos wouldn’t leave her. It had a sound of Lily Allen meets Dido and, excited by it, she started to add to the journal a song about an imagined date that only happened in hopes and dreams.
Moved by the emotion the idea stirred in her breast, Gemma slowly pulled together what she hoped were catchy lyrics, though she wasn’t sure she’d ever share them with Matt. They were far too personal.
Had a shower, washed my hair, no idea what to wear , she scribbled, and so on, until the sad reveal, In my mind, you’ll be kind, but no, it’s all despair. An empty glass, a vacant chair. It’s no date, you’re not there .
With Matt’s demos on repeat, it was gradually turning into something.
For now, however, everything would have to stay a-jostling, like a washing line of knickers in a Cornish breeze. Christmas was upon them, and never had Gemma approached one with such a tumult of inexplicable feelings.
Up early on Christmas Eve, Gemma switched on the Rivermills illuminations, as Matt – who claimed they could be seen from Bodmin Moor – had dubbed them, to the sounds of Leona Lewis’ ‘One More Sleep’.
Once that was done, she cleaned out the fireplace and set it ready for their return, squashing a momentary regret that by then she’d be eyeing January and her potential departure from Cornwall.
She carefully packed the gifts she’d bought for everyone, placing the sketch on the top. Would Matt appreciate the significance, or would it forever languish in a loft somewhere?
‘So long as he doesn’t work out how much he’s coming to mean to you, you’ll be fine,’ Gemma said softly, ferrying the bag to the door for their departure at high tide.
A quick shower, and, soon dressed in her favourite cord skirt and a festive green jumper, Gemma returned to the main living area, eager to delve into the twenty-fourth and final pocket of the advent calendar.
‘Good old Mum!’ she said softly as she extracted a tissue-wrapped package. As always, the Christmas Eve gift was a pair of festive earrings, and Gemma popped them on, delighted with the little green furry trees, which matched her top.
Taking down the calendar, she stroked a hand over the ageing fabric, filled with warm memories of family Christmases past.
‘I’ll miss you all, but this makes me feel we’re together at heart, and…’ She stopped as she noticed something sticking out of the last pocket and, filled with delight, she withdrew a familiar, rolled-up piece of paper, tied with a thin piece of ribbon.
Gemma moved over to the window to read it, but her attention was caught momentarily by the prettiness of the creek covered in a thick frost. It wasn’t snow but it was the next best thing, embracing the bare branches of the trees and the lawn with a glistening gossamer-fine cloak.
Unfurling the paper, she held it up to the light. So this was the extra surprise her mum had hinted at a few days ago!
As always, the words were typed (Santa was way too busy on Christmas Eve, her mum had always explained, to handwrite notes, although funnily enough he had a stock of fine paper just like Mrs Merriott’s in the sideboard at home), and to the point:
Let the Christmas Eve treasure hunt begin!
Try looking somewhere you visit often,
even though it’s located in a place not your natural habitat…
Emitting a small laugh, Gemma pressed a kiss to the paper. Bless her mum. She knew how much Gemma and her sister had loved the search for something to open the day before. Had she somehow involved Matt without Gemma’s knowledge?
‘Well, you did tell him about the tradition,’ she whispered as she looked around. ‘Not my natural habitat…’
She tucked the slip of paper and sliver of ribbon back into the 24th and laid the advent calendar on the sofa. Her mum knew the property. After all, Gemma had video-called her often enough and even given her a full virtual tour.
It had to be the kitchen. A thorough search of the cupboards left Gemma empty-handed, and she thought again about the riddle.
‘Where in the kitchen do I go often?’ She walked up and down, her hand trailing across the countertops, then suddenly turned for the fridge. There was no hidden piece of paper, but as she closed the door she clapped a hand to her head.
‘Of course!’
Opening the freezer, Gemma had to laugh at the thin scroll of paper, again tied with a small piece of ribbon, sitting on the ice tray, this time enclosed in a small zip-lock bag to protect it.
Despite appearances, you’re getting warmer
Where might the source of heat come from?
Gemma threw the empty hearth a wary look. Totally unfeasible. She checked the box of matches and the almost empty log basket, then headed back through the hallway to the boot room. The box of kindling yielded nothing. Surely it wouldn’t be outside?
She opened the door, shivering as an icy blast swept in, then padded over to the log store, where she immediately spotted another small zip-lock bag, this time secured with some festive ribbon.
Hurrying back into the house with her find, she returned to the sitting room and removed the thin ribbon from the scroll.
Gemma sank onto the sofa with a happy sigh. She was so touched by the treasure hunt, but it was tempered by a fleeting sadness at not doing it with her sister. Even after Rebecca had married, if she and her family came to stay for Christmas (which was most years), she and Gemma had done this together.
Pushing aside the thought, Gemma opened the third piece of paper as ‘Last Christmas’ came on the radio. Singing along under her breath, she read the lines, knowing this one would lead to the hidden gift.
My first goes in a curry
My second goes well with soup
To find me in a hurry
Search the place that is a dupe
Brow furrowed, Gemma mouthed the words again. Why would her mum use culinary references when she knew her daughter was somewhat challenged in that department? Or was that the point?
She looked up, her gaze roaming around the room. It must be in the kitchen again, but she’d already checked everywhere. She reviewed the riddle. Would a recipe help?
Extracting the folder Anna had given her, Gemma flicked to the curry she’d managed to serve as a grey mass, running her finger down the ingredients.
‘Chicken, garlic, onion, turmeric, ground cumin, ginger, seasoning, chicken stock— ginger !’ Gemma’s head shot up. ‘Ginger… bread!’ She started to laugh, approaching the artificial gingerbread house on the windowsill beside the tree.
Lifting the snow-scattered roof, her eyes lit up as she retrieved a pretty gauze bag.
Tucking her feet up on the sofa, she balanced the gift on her palm. What could her mum have sent? And how fun to get Matt to do the practical part! He must have thought her family mad when they’d instructed him on what to do.
There was a small tag attached, the typed words saying nothing more than, ‘For new memories’.
Gemma opened the drawstring of the bag as the melodic notes of Greg Lake’s ‘I Believe in Father Christmas’ floated across the room from the kitchen, and her heart swelled with the delight of it being her absolute favourite time of year.
Inside the bag was a leather box, old-fashioned in style, with a metal clasp, and Gemma raised the lid, then released a small gasp.
Nestled in the velvet lining was an old gold necklace attached to a delicate pendant with amethyst droplets. It wasn’t entirely identical to the one she’d lost in the fire, but it was pretty damn close, and her throat ached with emotion.
Gemma lifted the necklace from its box and held it up, the tree lights causing it to shimmer and sparkle as it swung to and fro. Bless her mum for finding a similar one!
She tucked the necklace back into its velvet embrace and pocketed the box, giving a watery sniff as she did so. She would treasure it forever. It may not have been the necklace her great-grandmother wore but, as the note said, time to make new memories with this one.