Chapter 15 December 15th #5
He passes our coats to the cloakroom attendant and gives his name to the ma?tre d, who guides us through the tables to the very back.
It’s no quieter, but at least it’s no louder.
Dec pulls my chair out and orders water.
“Give me two minutes,” he says, dipping and kissing my hair, before strolling away, presumably to find somewhere quieter and call his sister back.
A waiter introduces himself and hands me a wine and Christmas menu.
“Thank you.” I put the wine menu at Dec’s place and cast my eye down the Christmas menu. “Excuse me,” I call as he’s walking away. “I don’t suppose you have the normal menu?”
He recoils like he’s been shot. “The normal menu?”
“Yes, the normal menu. The one that doesn’t have everything Christmas on it.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We only serve the Christmas menu from December tenth through to January.” And then he wanders away, passing Dec as he goes.
“What’s up?” Dec asks as he lowers.
I wave the menu at him. “I hope you like Christmas food, even if you hate Christmas.”
“I don’t really hate it,” he says, picking up the wine menu. “I just don’t love it. I’m indifferent.” I remain quiet as he peruses the choices, eventually peeking up at me. He sighs and lowers the menu. “Christmas doesn’t hold fond memories for me.”
“Oh.” I have no idea what to say.
“Like I said, my father’s an arsehole.”
“You called him a self-important wanker, actually.”
He laughs as the waiter pours us some water. “No wine, but we’ll take two dirty martinis.”
“Do you actually like dirty martinis?” I ask.
“I hadn’t tried one until recently.”
I smile. “They’re not my favourite,” I admit.
“Then why do you drink them?”
“Because they’re strong.” I shrug. That and my words are very revealing. The sharp hit of alcohol was like taking a pill, instantly numbing me. Then it became habit. A habit for a dark, bleak moment of time that stretched into years.
Dec’s eyes squint as he sips his water, his arm raising in the air. “Excuse me, sir,” he calls, getting the waiter back. “Scrap the martinis. We’ll take a bottle of champagne.”
My lips twitch with my smile. “What are we celebrating?”
“Mr. Percival’s saved turkey.”
A sharp shot of laughter rises and flies out of my mouth, and Dec rests back in his chair looking very satisfied with himself.
“Laugh often, Camryn.” He puts his hand on the table palm up, his smile small but telling.
I rest my hand in his and relish the feel of his fingers wrapping around mine.
“I want you to feel like you can talk to me,” he says.
“About anything. Nothing will change. I’ll still feel the same way about you. ”
The promise of acceptance and understanding hits me hard in my chest. It makes me fall that little bit more.
How open he is. How he communicates, both with words and actions.
I should be crawling into my shell, retreating.
The walls should be flying up, but I’m trying to digest what’s happening.
What he’s saying. I’ve thought about it, of course—this has been happening for a few weeks—but I don’t think I truly appreciated what this could mean for me.
And as I sit here now, looking at this man across the table, his eyes molten on me, for the first time, I do.
I’m sitting in this absurdly busy restaurant at a time of year I absolutely abhor, and today it’s not so bad. I’m coping.
Dec is peace in a world I don’t recognise anymore. He’s a second chance I never considered or expected. “December isn’t a good month for me,” I say, digging deep, my eyes dropping to the table. I feel Dec squeeze my hand, and I look up to see him rising from his chair.
He comes to my side of the table and crouches beside me.
“Let’s not do this now,” he says softly.
“I can’t hear myself think. Let’s eat, go home, let me hold you, and if you feel like it, you can talk, and I will listen.
Like I said, nothing changes for me.” He rises to half height and kisses my cheek, and the threat of tears gets me good. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, soaking up the feel of his lips on my cheek. “Thank you.”
“Shut up.” He takes the bottle of champagne from the waiter and pours me a glass, putting it in my hand. “I have everything we need for a martini at home if you need something a little stronger.”
Something stronger for when I talk. “I don’t want another martini ever again.”
“Then I’ll make you something else.” He sits and rests his elbows on the table. “Back to Percy Percival. Ninety-fucking-nine?”
And just like that, he brings the conversation round. “Incredible, isn’t he?”
“Sharp as a pin, too.”
“Oh, he is.” I laugh, the unusual sound becoming more familiar again.
“And what’s with the hundreds of gnomes?”
“They were in his garden at his previous home.” I pout, taking a sip of the champagne and humming, the cold, sparkly liquid waking up my taste buds. “I think he’s lonely.”
“Old and lonely,” he muses. “You know that’s how I’ll end up one day.”
“Old and lonely? A good-looking, successful man like you?” Women must be lining up to bag him. Which begs the question . . . Why me?
He shrugs. “I’m not very good at letting go of grudges.”
“Your father,” I say, speaking my conclusion, leaning back in my chair as Dec fingers the stem of his glass, so obviously uncomfortable. “Tell me why you’re indifferent about Christmas.”
“It was always a bit of a farce. Dad disappearing, Mum pretending she hadn’t noticed.”
Ohhhh. “Your mum knew?”
“She knew. I think she would have left, but then she fell ill. The treatment she needed was insanely expensive, not that it mattered in the end. She died when I was thirteen, and I was shipped off to boarding school while Dad cracked on with his bit of stuff like my mother never existed. Had the Christmases that I never had with his new kids. I stopped going home in the holidays, and Dad didn’t seem too bothered by that. ”
“And your sister?”
“She was traveling the world.”
I sink into my chair, disturbed, and feeling horrible guilt.
Especially when Dec peeks at me and gives a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
There’s so much resentment in his gaze. So much anger.
It’s what drives him. The anger for his father.
It’s why he’s so successful, almost a fuck you to his dad.
“How successful have you been at ruining him in business?” I ask.
“Enormously.”
“And does that make you feel better?”
He shifts in his chair, his discomfort getting worse .
. . as is my guilt. He’s just given me a pass to spill, and here I am grilling him.
And yet I sense he wants to share. As do I, except unlike Dec, I’m struggling to figure out where I’d start, and I know the words won’t come as easily.
“Well, it worked better than therapy,” he says flatly, raising his glass.
“And I have April who makes sure Christmas remains a thing, even if it’s hard work. ”
I sigh, standing, and round the table, crouching next to him. I smile when he frowns down at me. “Let’s not do this now,” I say, mimicking his words.
He laughs lightly. “We just did, Camryn.”
“Humour me.”
“Okay.”
I lean up and kiss him gently. “Let’s eat and go home.” It’s my way of telling him I’m ready to share too. Because . . .
Shit.
Because I love him. I love him deeply, and to love someone, you have to expose the ugliest parts of yourself.
You have to be sure the person you hope they can love back is the real you.
This darkness isn’t the real me, and yet there’s still a niggling fear that I’ll never cleanse myself of it, even with Dec in my life.
But I’ll never know unless I take that leap.
He saw something me I didn’t see in myself.
Hope. Softness. And for that, I love him more.
Understanding is powerful in his gaze. “Let’s order.”
I nod and rise to full height, but my backside doesn’t make it to the seat, my body freezing halfway when I see someone enter the restaurant.
All the blood drains from my head and runs cold through my body.
“Camryn?”
I drop to the seat, numb, dizzy, short of breath, and reach for my water, my mouth suddenly parched, but my shaking hand fails me. I knock the glass over, sending water spilling across the table.
“Camryn, what the fuck?” Dec flies up from his seat to avoid the waterfall landing in his lap, and the table is suddenly surrounded by waiters rushing to help, flapping around us, causing a scene.
I can’t move, can’t breathe, but I can see, and all the commotion around us means he’s just spotted me too. His face falls as I cast my eyes to the woman with him. She’s smiling. Oblivious.
Happy.
“Camryn?” Dec’s voice is close to my ear, and I turn my eyes onto him. He withdraws, shocked as he scans my blank face. “Baby, what’s going on?”
I need to leave! Get me away!
I shoot up from my chair, clumsy and chaotic, knocking things over as I do. “Camryn?” Endless waiters block my escape, forcing me to push my way through them. “Camryn!”
I can’t feel my legs as I walk, my heart pumping wildly, my throat thick with anger and angst. He sees me heading for the doors and moves to the side, pulling her with him, avoiding me. She looks up at him in question.
“Camryn,” Dec says, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and tugging me to a stop.
I wrench it out. “Leave me,” I snap, losing my footing and grabbing a nearby chair to steady myself.
When I’ve found my balance, although still terribly wobbly, I turn back around.
She’s seen me too, and her face falling tells me she knows who I am.
Whether from a picture or because I’m staring at them like I hate them, I don’t know.
My ability to walk has left me again, and I stand here in the middle of the restaurant a blank, shaking mess of a woman wanting to scream.