Chapter Nine #2
“Crown goes on,” Priya instructed, already wearing a purple one. “It’s the law.”
“Is it really?” Eva asked.
“Absolutely,” Tom said solemnly. “Section 4, Subsection C of the Christmas Act of 1847.”
Eva placed the flimsy, paper, orange crown on her head, catching Charlie’s eye as she did. He was wearing a green one, and for just a moment, his expression softened with what might have been amusement.
“What’s your joke?” Charlotte demanded.
Eva unfolded the paper. “What do you call a sleeping bull? A bulldozer.”
The collective groan was impressive.
“Still better than mine,” Marcus said. “Mine’s just a statement: ‘I used to hate facial hair, but then it grew on me.’ That’s not even trying.”
Food arrived in waves of food that Eva had learned to appreciate. Fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash, and mince pies for dessert.
“They’re not actually meat,” Charlotte whispered to Eva as she bit into one, “despite the name. Americans always think we’re feeding them minced beef in a sweet pie.”
“I may have had that concern,” Eva admitted, savouring the spiced fruit filling.
As the evening wore on and the drinks continued to flow, Eva noticed how Sophie’s attempts to monopolise Charlie’s attention were becoming more obvious.
Whether that was down to Sophie’s boldness, or her own inability to stop staring down the table at them, she wasn’t fully sure.
Either way, Eva was becoming irritated by it.
Sophie kept finding reasons to touch his arm, to lean in close when speaking to him, to reference shared memories that excluded everyone else.
“Remember that Christmas when we went to Edinburgh?” Sophie was saying. “That tiny hotel in the Old Town? The power went out and we had to—”
“I’m sure no one wants to hear about that,” Charlie cut her off, his jaw tight.
“Oh, come on,” Sophie laughed, a tinkling sound that seemed practiced.
“We’re all old friends here.” Her gaze swept over Eva, taking in the green sweater and dark jeans with an appraising look that made Eva suddenly conscious of every thread on her cashmere, every crease in her denim.
“Though I guess we have adopted a stray tonight.”
Charlotte caught Eva’s eye and made an apologetic grimace on her friend’s behalf.
“Jesus Sophie, you’re more of a stranger than anyone these days,” Marcus said dryly. “Get off your high horse, now that you’ve come home for your one visit of the year.”
“Shut up Marcus,” Sophie murmured, adjusting herself in her seat. “It’s not my fault I’ve been so busy overseas. I’m here now aren’t I? Don’t say you haven’t missed me.” She smirked raising her glass and sending Charlie a wink.
Eva felt her cheeks burn. After all that agonising over how Charlie’s friends would perceive her, she felt the coldness of being shoved into Sophie’s shadow. Clearly, she didn’t want her here.
“Speaking of overseas,” Charlotte said warmly, opening the floor for Eva to speak, “tell us about home Eva.”
“Dolly wannabes and rhinestone honky-tonks, right?” Sophie said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Personally, I’ve never felt the pull to Nashville, the class and progress of New York always called more to m—”
“So Eva,” Priya intervened, clearly practiced at overriding Sophie’s barbs, “Charlotte mentioned you’re investigating some local history?”
“Just following a trail of interesting places I’ve found,” Eva said, still recovering from the volatility of the conversation. “York has so many hidden stories,” she continued trying to remain lighthearted.
“That’s what Charlie’s always saying,” Tom mused. “He’s always going on about preserving the city’s history with those maps of his.”
“Still playing with your little drawings, Charlie?” Sophie asked syrupy sweet. “I thought you’d have moved on to something more … substantial by now.”
“They’re historically accurate reproductions,” Eva heard herself say. “They’re important. They preserve things that might otherwise be lost.”
The table went quiet. Sophie’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly.
“How sweet,” she said. “The American tourist defending our local mapmaker. Though I suppose you haven’t been here long enough to understand how … limiting such devotion to the past can be.”
“Sophie,” Charlotte warned.
“What? I’m just saying, some of us believe in moving things along. In making something of ourselves beyond what our grandmothers might have wanted.” Sophie’s eyes never left Charlie’s face. “Not everyone can live in the shadow of the dead forever.”
Charlie stood abruptly. “I need some air.”
He left through the back door that led to the pub’s small garden. After a moment’s hesitation, Eva followed.
She found him leaning against the brick wall, looking up at the narrow slice of sky visible between buildings. The night was cold, their breath forming clouds in the air.
“You don’t have to check on me,” he said without looking at her.
“I’m not checking on you,” Eva replied. “I needed air too. Sophie’s perfume is … aggressive.”
That surprised a short laugh out of him. “It’s new. She used to wear something subtler.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the muffled sounds of the pub creating a comfortable backdrop.
“How long were you together?” Eva asked gently.
“Six years. Engaged for one.” Charlie’s voice was carefully neutral. “She got a job offer in New York. I had the shop here, my grandmother needed me … I thought we’d work it out long distance. She thought I was holding us back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She was right, in a way. I wasn’t willing to leave York. She wasn’t willing to stay. Simple as that.”
“Nothing about that sounds simple,” Eva observed.
Charlie finally looked at her, and Eva was struck by the vulnerability in his expression. “You’d have gone, wouldn’t you? If someone you loved asked you to choose between them and everything you’d built?”
Eva considered this honestly. “A month ago? Yes. I’d have gone without question. I spent years being what Richard wanted, living where he wanted, dreaming his dreams instead of mine.” She pulled her coat tighter. “Now? I don’t know. Maybe the right person wouldn’t ask you to choose.”
“Maybe,” Charlie said softly.
The mention of his grandmother intrigued Eva, but before she could ask more, the back door burst open, and Charlotte’s head appeared.
“There you are! We’re doing the annual terrible Christmas karaoke. Marcus is murdering Fairytale of New York and it’s spectacular in all the wrong ways.”
“We should go back in,” Charlie said, but Eva caught his arm.
“We don’t have to. We could leave, if you want.”
He looked down at where her hand rested on his sleeve, then back at her face.
“No. I’m not giving her the satisfaction.
Besides,” a small smile tugged at his mouth, “you haven’t experienced Christmas until you’ve heard Tom’s rendition of I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day.
It’s been known to make grown men weep. In horror. ”
They returned to find the back room transformed into a makeshift karaoke stage. Sophie had claimed a seat closer to the ‘stage’, seemingly absorbed in Marcus’s enthusiastic destruction of The Pogues’ classic.
“Eva!” Charlotte waved her over. “You’re up after Tom. What’s your go-to karaoke song?”
“Oh no,” Eva protested. “I don’t sing. At all. Dogs howl when I sing.”
“Perfect!” Priya said. “That’s the whole point. It’s meant to be terrible.”
What followed was an hour of spectacular musical carnage.
Tom’s performance was indeed tear inducing, though from laughter rather than emotion.
Priya and Charlotte duetted on Last Christmas with choreography that seemed to have been invented on the spot.
Even Charlie was convinced to join Marcus for Merry Christmas Everyone, which they performed with surprising competence.
“Your turn, Eva!” Charlotte insisted, pressing the microphone into her hand. “What’ll it be?”
Eva scrolled through the options, her finger stopping on All I Want for Christmas Is You. She caught Charlie’s eye and winked. “This is for anyone who’s ever judged American contributions to Christmas music.”
Her performance was, as predicted, terrible.
But she threw herself into it with abandon, complete with pointing at random audience members during the chorus and attempting Mariah’s notorious high notes.
By the end, everyone was singing along, even Sophie, though she looked pained by the entire experience.
“Brilliant!” Tom declared when she finished. “Absolutely dreadful, but brilliant!”
As the evening wound down, people began making their farewells. Sophie approached Charlie while he was getting his coat, placing a proprietorial hand on his arm.
“We should catch up properly while I’m in town,” she said, loud enough for Eva to hear. “Maybe dinner? For old times’ sake?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Charlie replied, gently but firmly removing her hand.
“Oh, come on. We’re adults. We can have a civilised meal.” Her smile was sharp. “Unless your new American friend has issues with that?”
“Eva has nothing to do with this,” Charlie said quietly. “You made your choice, Sophie. You chose New York. I’ve made peace with that. You should too.”
Sophie’s perfectly composed mask slipped for just a moment, revealing something that might have been genuine hurt. Then it was back, sealed tight. “Of course. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’ll be here through New Year’s. Plenty of time.”
She swept out with the practiced exit of someone used to having the last word. Marcus followed, throwing an apologetic look over his shoulder.
“Right,” Charlotte said into the sudden silence.
“We should go,” Charlie said. “It’s getting late.”
The remaining goodbyes were warm, with Charlotte hugging Eva fiercely and whispering, “He’s never brought anyone here before. Not since her. That means something.”
Eva surprised herself and smiled, feeling oddly proud.