Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SASHA
“This isn’t a Christmas movie,” Charlotte says, the words garbled around a mouthful of popcorn.
We’re stretched out on the sofa in the comfy living room, heads at either end and our feet meeting in the middle.
A bowl of popcorn rests in Charlotte’s lap, and Serendipity plays on TV. A Christmas-themed Monopoly set abandoned mid-play sits on the coffee table, along with empty cups of hot chocolate, an opened bag of marshmallows and M&M’s, and a can of whipped cream that should’ve been re-refrigerated hours ago.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Just because there’s one scene set at Christmastime doesn’t make it a Christmas movie. This is like Dad with Die Hard all over again.”
I laugh. I’m not wading into that debate, but she may have a point.
“ Serendipity feels like a Christmas movie to me because that’s when they meet. Plus it’s the magic of it all.”
“I don’t know. I preferred While You Were Sleeping . Now that was Christmassy and romantic, especially for a movie from olden times.”
“Olden times,” I mouth with a grin.
“I’m definitely gonna watch that again next year,” she carries on. “I think my mum’s gonna love it too.”
“Well, I agree with you there. Also I love Bill Pullman.”
“Who’s that?”
“The guy who played Jack.”
“Ohhhhhh.” It takes a few seconds for Charlotte to wrinkle her nose. “No.”
I laugh again, although I haven’t really stopped.
We’ve been watching Christmas movies for hours now. Before that, we baked tree and star shaped cookies that all melted together in the oven, and then picked at the remnants as we played board games. Sebastian disappeared a while ago, something about a problem with one of the fences on the estate, so it’s been just the two of us alone for the first time.
There’s always been someone else around when we hang out, so it was nerve-racking at first. But now I find myself wondering what on earth I was so worried about.
She’s an absolute joy.
“Can I ask you something, Sash?” she says.
“Sure.”
“Do you think my dad’s upset with me?”
I shift upright, on alert suddenly. “No way. What makes you say that?”
She shrugs and stares at her fingers twisting in her lap. “It’s weird, but lately I felt like he was kinda mad at me. He looked upset when I went to the cinema with Sara, but I really did want to see that film. And then he looked mad when I went sledging without him the other day.”
“Oh, honey no. He’s not mad at you at all. He just misses you sometimes.”
“How? I’m right here.”
“I think it’s more that he misses you being so small. You’re growing up. You have friends and places to be. You don’t need him as much anymore. I think he’s feeling that.”
“Oh.”
“I think he feels it a lot in the lead up to Christmas too. You make Christmas for him.”
Charlotte glances at me in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Because he told me. You’re what makes Christmas so special. I think he’d be a bit of a Grinch without you.”
She lights up. “You really think so?”
“I know so. He loves you very much. He’d do absolutely anything for you.”
Her chin dips, but there’s a ghost of a smile playing with her mouth. “I love him too. Even if he is annoying sometimes.”
“Well, that’s normal. It’s a parents’ prerogative to be annoying and embarrass you, I think. Lord knows my parents did it often enough.”
Charlotte nods, seeming satisfied now. We go back to watching the movie and it’s another five minutes before she says, “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“Are you and my dad a thing now?”
What?
“What… what do you mean?”
“Like a real thing.”
“A real thing,” I repeat, confused.
It’s five days before Christmas. It has snowed for three days straight, and I’ve spent two of those sleeping over on Sebastian’s insistence so he can drive me safely to work. I told him that my cottage is closer and a much quicker commute, but he wouldn’t hear anything about it, mumbling about the traction of his Land Rover in the snow. We’ve kissed all over this house, spent evenings draped over each other, sneaking touches and holding hands, and Charlotte has witnessed all of it.
Isn’t it obvious it’s a real thing now?
“At first I didn’t think it was real,” she goes on to say, making my stomach drop. “Like I thought maybe you were just having sex or something, but you’re both different now. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“I—”
“I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend before and it’s nice. He’s not as moody, and he smiles more. I like it.”
“Oh.”
She’s thirteen and never seen him with a girlfriend before?
“So don’t break his heart, okay?”
Panic surges inside me, and I have to choke it down even though it feels like I’ve swallowed a piece of lego.
For the first time in weeks, I’m reminded of the very real stakes of this relationship, and how many people will be affected if everything goes up in flames.
“Charlotte, I don’t want to break your dad’s heart,” I tell her. “I hope you know that. It’s actually the last thing I ever want to do.”
“Well, no one wants to do that, do they?”
“I—you’re right.” I give her a nudge with my foot. “You’re very mature for your age, has anyone ever told you that?”
Charlotte nods, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and throwing her head back to catch it in her mouth. She misses, shrugs, and tries again. “My mum tells me all the time.”
The next day, I’m standing in the Mistletoe & Mine window display spraying fake snow across the glass when my phone rings.
“What’s this I hear about you dating Sebastian King?” My mother’s voice booms down the line in lieu of hello.
“I’m fine, Mum,” I mutter. “Thanks for asking.”
“Well? You didn’t answer my question.”
“How did you find out?”
“I’m in a Walmsley WhatsApp group,” Mum says. “Edith added me months ago.”
“There’s a WhatsApp group? Is that where everyone is talking about us?”
“Yes. I would’ve found out sooner, but reception has been terrible these last few weeks.” She giggles, the sound so familiar I can almost picture the way her shoulders lift as she laughs.
“Your father and I have had quite the laugh reading all the updates of your little dates together. You have quite the following on our cruise. It’s like a mini soap opera.”
“Oh my god. Why does anyone care?”
“Sebastian is a celebrity.”
“He’d say otherwise actually.”
Her dismissive hum buzzes down the line. “I must admit I was surprised.”
I tense at this. I love my mother, but she has the uncanny ability of dropping an emotional bomb and walking away as it detonates, leaving me with the splintered aftermath and feeling like absolute shit.
“Why?”
“Well, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” And there it is… “Even you can admit that.”
“I do. I haven’t hidden that.”
“And he has a daughter. That’s something you should keep in mind.”
“Keep in mind for what?”
“For the future. You shouldn’t get serious until you know if that’s something you want to take on.”
Fury stiffens my spine. “Don’t talk about Charlotte like that, like she’s a burden to carry.”
“No, Sasha,” Mum hurries to add. “That’s not what I meant.”
“If anyone is taking anything on, it’s them. They’d be taking me on.”
Mum gasps. “Don’t say that.”
“Well, it’s the truth. I’m a disaster. I can barely afford to keep a roof over my head and the shop will probably have to close. My own grandmother gifted me her life’s work and I’ve squandered it. Not much of a prize, am I?”
“Sasha,” she breathes out, and the line is quiet for a long moment. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I’m an adult, Mum.” I toss the spray can of fake snow and slide down to the floor, right there in the shop window for all to see. “This was my problem to deal with. Maybe I was also ashamed to admit it out loud.”
“Are things that dire?”
I think back to the growing stack of bills and the minus in the business bank account, how the payment I received from Edith for decorating Walmsley Manor barely made a dent. I’m lost at sea and can no longer see land.
“Yes.”
I’m not sure what else to say.
“How did things get that bad?” Mum asks.
“Because I’m not Nan,” I choke out, tears beading at the corners of my eyes. “And I miss her, and it hurt so much to come here some days. To open the shop and carry on as if there wasn’t a huge hole in my heart.”
“Oh, sweetie. I wish you would’ve told us you were suffering.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done anyway.”
“I don’t know about that. We have some pension money and?—”
“Absolutely not,” I snap, horrified by the thought. It’s one thing to lose my own inheritance, but to take my parents’ hard-earned cash too? I’d rather die.
“What are you going to do then?” Mum wonders.
I peer out at the tourists drifting by, dawdling outside shop windows, fingers and noses pressed to the glass. My gaze falls on Bert and Ernie, two giant Nutcracker guards standing proud outside the door now, and how long ago I wished for a sign to keep going. It feels like a lifetime, and maybe it wasn’t a sign. Maybe there’s no such thing as signs at all.
“I wish I knew.”