Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
I have two sensations when I wake up the following morning, one coming hot on the heels of the other.
The first is sweet and sensual and makes me smile – the memory of Liam’s kiss.
Of Liam’s warm eyes on mine. Of our promise that we would see each other again today.
I feel as excited as a teenager at the prospect.
The second, chasing all that away, is guilt. I didn’t only break Tyler’s heart, I made a liar of myself. I told him that nothing was going to happen with Liam, and it took me just a few minutes to prove myself wrong.
I roll over in bed, torn between the two conflicting emotions.
I drag the duvet over my head, and am glad that I have a busy day ahead.
There is nothing I can do to change what has happened, and also, I don’t want to.
I don’t know what the future holds with Liam, but I cannot regret that kiss. That magical moment.
I can regret hurting Tyler, but none of it was deliberate.
I don’t think I’ve behaved like a terrible person – I have always tried to be open with him, even when it was difficult.
It would have been so much easier to go along, to say ‘I love you’ and not mean it, to let him believe that we would have the happy ending that he wanted.
I never did that, though I know it doesn’t exactly qualify me for sainthood.
I want to call him, to check that he is okay, but I’m not sure it would be appropriate.
Can I be both the person who wounds him and the person who expresses concern for him?
In the end I settle on sending a message.
A simple one, that wishes him a merry Christmas, and tells him to stay in touch if he wants to.
He might not, I know, and I will have to accept that. I cannot have it all my own way.
I stare at my phone screen for a few more seconds, wondering if I should also message Liam. But what would I say? Last night was amazing, but this morning comes with its own set of complications.
I find myself going round and round in circles, and eventually give up and climb out of bed. For once, I could have had a small lie-in, but I’m too tied up in mental knots to rest.
I go downstairs into a still-cold inn, wrapped in my bathrobe and wearing fluffy bed socks. The bar isn’t as much of a disaster as I’d expected, because Sean and my dad had started the clean-up while the party continued. The pub isn’t open today, so there is no sense of urgency anyway.
The couple who are staying as guests were up until the early hours drinking with my father and the rest of the locals, and had declared very forcefully that they would not be down for a cooked breakfast. Instead, I make up a tray for them.
Some granola, a pot of honey and nuts, some fresh berries and milk.
A couple of croissants and jam, yoghurt, and a cute little gift box that contains two pralines.
I add two glasses of Buck’s Fizz, because hey, it’s Christmas.
I tiptoe past their room as I go to deliver it, not wanting to wake them up, and then make my way back to the apartment.
My dad is still asleep, and I am happy to let him rest. I am not a little girl anymore, up early and wondering if Santa has been.
I smile as I imagine the scenes at Rosings, and later at Bernadette and Brian’s home.
I know the plan was for the twins to wake up in the big house, open their gifts, then head to their grandparents’ for one of Bernadette’s trademark full Irish fry-ups.
Then lunch back at Rosings for all of the clan, and into the village for late afternoon cake and company.
I have my part to play in that, and I am looking forward to taking over for Maggie.
I am looking forward to a lot – certainly more than I was this time last year.
I shudder a little as I remember my sad, desperate trip to see Father Christmas in his grotto, and the dreadful way I felt about my life back then.
This has been a year of transition, and this will be a Christmas unlike any other. There is no exchange of gifts, but that is fine by me. My dad and I agreed not to buy each other presents, but instead to use the money to treat ourselves to a night out together in London before I finally go home.
Home, I think, as I get dressed. Where is that, now?
I have never loved New York and have often thought about leaving.
Then I started to build my little business, and I met Tyler, and things improved.
But everything has changed now. There is no more me and Tyler, and I have no idea what is going to happen next. It is both exciting and terrifying.
If Liam and I lived in the same place, we would be able to let this thing between us develop organically.
We would be able to see where it led. But he lives in Dublin, and I live in the US.
He was already toying with the idea of coming back here more permanently, and truth be told, I am not repulsed by the idea myself.
I have enjoyed being back in St Tilda, and could see a future for myself here – but how much of that is influenced by Liam?
How much of my yearning to stay is built around being with him?
That feels like a lot of pressure, for both of us.
I creep out of the house, and go for a quick constitutional on the beach.
It has stopped snowing, but the temperature is brutal.
Seabirds huddle in groups in the cliffs, their white feathers puffed out against the chill, and the roll and crash of the waves competes with the whistle of the wind.
A pale wash of sunlight is battling through the clouds, and the air is fresh with the aromatic tang of seaweed and salt. It is absolutely beautiful.
I sigh contentedly, and pause to appreciate that. Contentment is a very under-rated quality.
After that, I set off for Maggie’s café.
Her husband, Mike, had called into the pub last night, passing me the keys and updating us all on her progress.
He took a quick pint, but soon left – he was clearly lost without her, the sweetheart.
He was invited to Rosings for Christmas, and probably several other places too, but politely refused them all – he is spending the day where he has spent every Christmas Day since they met, at Maggie’s side.
The café and bakery are much warmer than the inn, with heating on a timer, and I appreciate the cosiness as I set to work.
As Maggie had already explained, a lot of the classics were already done, Christmas puddings drenched in the smell of sherry, and rich fruit cakes crammed with plums and nuts.
One seems to contain so much rum that I assume she’s baked it for a sailor.
Four big cheesecakes are already made and in the freezer, and I get them out and put them on the counter to start defrosting.
Baileys, Tia Maria, cherry brandy and Champagne flavour – genius.
I think we might need a whole table just for adults-only cakes.
I smile as I get going, relishing the well-stocked kitchen with all its flashy appliances.
I find the supplies Maggie told me about, filled with edible Christmas decorations, icing, and little plastic snowmen, and go over her suggestions.
‘But feel free to do your own thing,’ she added to her messages.
I spend the first thirty minutes planning, taking into account bake times, chill times, and storage, and then I get to it, rubbing my hands in glee. I was on something of a high already, and the thought of spending the day in this kitchen just sends me even further into the clouds.
The next five hours are lost in a solid whirlwind of measuring, mixing, whipping, beating and rolling.
Things go wrong, but as Maggie always told me, that’s an essential part of the process.
I thoroughly enjoy myself, and take pictures as I go to send to my baking mentor.
No reply, so she’s either conked out on the good drugs, or too horrified to respond.
Lucy arrives at about four, accompanied by Bella and their other cousin, Patrick Junior. Bella looks slightly weary, and I pass her a Diet Coke from the café’s big fridge. She stares at it then shrugs and pops it open.
‘How was your morning?’ I ask, knowing she’ll have been woken early.
I find that I am eager to hear news about Christmas Day at Rosings, about the spectacular lunch that I’m sure was served up, about the presents and the fun and the shenanigans.
Mainly, of course, about Liam. I still haven’t heard from him – but then again, he hasn’t heard from me either.
I’m sure he’s been busy, and he will be here later anyway.
‘It was too early, and it was too loud,’ Bella groans.
‘But… it was okay, I suppose. Actually, it was good. I got some new headphones. And they’re “definitely your last, young lady”, apparently.
’ She says this in a mock Liam dad voice and makes me laugh.
‘The twins were really excited. And Liam was happy, having the whole family around. Yeah. It was all right.’
I know that in teenager world, that is as glowing as it’s likely to get.
I nod, warm inside at the thought of Liam hosting his first Christmas in the big old house that was once our derelict playground.
At the thought of Liam, full stop. Some of that must show on my face, because Bella grimaces, tells me it’s disgusting again, and strides away swigging her Diet Coke.