Nine
Now that I knew the story of Adele and Marcus’ past, I was aware I had my work cut out to get them to become friends again, let alone more, especially as I only had twenty-two days until Christmas Eve, including today.
Marcus had accused Adele of saying hurtful things to Cara, and later, of lying. He’d ended their friendship because he believed Adele was effectively, stalking him, lying about his wife and his best friend, and trying to break up his marriage. To top that off, he’d threatened Adele with litigation.
Not exactly friendly, was it?
And although Adele had been more than a little in love with Marcus for several years, his behaviour towards her after Cara had come into their lives, had turned that love to hate.
And yet, as Adele had regaled me with their sad and sorry story, I got the feeling that the line between love and hate was wafer thin.
Perhaps there was some hope.
Or perhaps there had been too much water under that particular bridge.
Marcus had been completely wrong about Adele. It would’ve been good if he could have found the heart to apologise. Obviously, he was caught up in his own sadness and he might have resented Adele for being the one who had first made him aware of his wife’s infidelity, which he had chosen not to believe. He might have felt foolish for allowing himself to be blind to the betrayal by his wife and his best friend.
Yet, without knowing any of their history, I had seen how much Marcus and Adele had in common. And Adele had said they were such good friends before he had met Cara.
Was there any way that I could get them to at least, share the gift of friendship again this Christmas?
I would have to give the matter some serious thought. I’d discuss it more with Madi.
And maybe with Berry too. I might also ask Paul for his opinion, merely to get the male perspective, although I wouldn’t tell either of them all the details, or give them names. That wouldn’t be fair to Adele and Marcus. I’d simply tell them that two friends had fallen out when the partner of one of them had had an affair with a third friend, and that one of the first two had revealed the affair. Hopefully, that would sort of explain it.
But for now I needed to make some Christmas decorations.
The cottage was lovely and warm, the heating having been on ever since I’d come home from Adele’s, and I had enough hot chocolate to last me for a while yet. Adele had kindly offered to make me a fresh flask later, or to make tea if I would prefer that.
Life was strange sometimes and often threw us surprises. If I hadn’t spent the night with my parents, and if Dad hadn’t given me a lift, and if I hadn’t stopped on the wooden bridge and marvelled at nature, I might not have seen Adele open her front door, and I wouldn’t have waved, and I wouldn’t have been invited in for coffee.
That string of events had meant that Adele had poured her heart out to me, and in doing so, we had finally struck up a friendship.
I munched on one of her delicious cinnamon cookies. She’d given me a plastic container with enough of them to last me for a week. As I savoured the second one and washed it down with some more of her equally delicious hot chocolate, I had an idea.
Adele had told me she was struggling financially. She needed extra cash; I was thinking of taking on some help. Would she be interested in helping me with my Midwinter Cottage Decorations? I knew she worked shifts in Fairlight Bakes, but I was happy with someone who needed flexible hours. I’d run it by her later. But I’d mention it to Madi first to see what she thought.
What Adele should really do was set up her own small business, selling her scrumptious cookies locally. She could have a market stall like Berry and me. And maybe sell them online, too. I didn’t know what was involved with edible goods, but I was sure Adele could soon find out, or might even know already.
I could offer to sell a few batches on my stall on Thursday and again on Saturday. Christmas cookies and Christmas decorations went together like Santa and his reindeer.
And then I had another idea. I could buy several batches from Adele and give them as Christmas presents. That would help both of us.
And what if…?
‘Wow!’ I said aloud. ‘Ideas are coming to me like snowflakes on a wintry day.’
Although there wasn’t any sign yet of the snow that had been forecast. But it was only Monday.
Which reminded me. I had told Mum I would call the heating guy to see if there was any chance of an earlier appointment. I knew it was a long shot but it was worth a try. I’d do that after lunch.
I glanced out of my sitting room window and saw Marcus trudging across the bridge. I jumped to my feet and raced to the front door, flinging it open in such a hurry and with more force than I realised. It hit the rubber door stop on the hall wall, bounced back, and knocked me forward. I almost lost all the cookies on the plate I was holding.
Thankfully, I didn’t. But Marcus gave me an odd sort of look as he strode up his path, having clearly quickened his pace, no doubt in an attempt to avoid me.
‘Hi Marcus!’
I smiled my sweetest smile as I stepped out onto my lawn and walked towards the fence, the red noses of my reindeer slipper boots, lighting up and flashing with each step I took.
A tight smile tugged at his mouth as his eyes travelled to my feet. ‘Hello, Noelle.’
‘I thought you might like a cinnamon cookie. I’ve got loads and they’re so scrummy.’
Did his gaze dart towards Adele’s cottage? Or did I imagine that?
‘Homemade?’ he asked, eyeing them with longing as he walked towards me.
‘Uh-huh.’
That wasn’t a lie. They were homemade. Just not homemade by me.
‘Then, yes please. I haven’t had a cinnamon cookie since … for a long time.’
He reached out and took one.
‘Take the plate,’ I said, and then grinned. ‘Just the plate. Not the cookies. Only joking. Take the plate and the cookies. I have more.’
He laughed and for the first time since I’d met him I noticed how lovely his eyes were. They were a greenish-brown with sprinkles of gold. And his mouth was the perfect shape and size. I could see why Adele had fallen for him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a bite of the cookie in his hand. His eyes lit up even more and his entire face brightened, and then it was gone and a frown formed between his brows.
‘What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?’ How could anyone not like it?
‘It’s … it’s perfect,’ he said, a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Did you make them?’
‘Here. Take the rest.’
I held the plate out to him and he eyed it with suspicion.
‘Noelle? Did you make them or not?’ The softness in his voice was gone and there was a hard edge to it, and to his eyes now, as he stared at me.
‘Does it matter who made them? It’s Christmas, Marcus. It’s the season of goodwill. Of forgiveness and love. Of friendship and good deeds.’
‘Of betrayal and divorce papers. Of lies, and deceit, and of moving on and leaving people heartbroken. Thanks, Noelle. But I think I’ll pass.’
He tossed the rest of the biscuit back onto the plate and turned and marched away.
‘Marcus? Marcus!’
My appeals fell on deaf ears and he slammed his front door to make his message clear.
I hadn’t thought it would be easy, but I hadn’t expected that.
I turned and went back inside, peeking towards Adele’s and hoping she was in her kitchen and hadn’t seen what had just transpired.