Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘Merry Christmas,’ I said, shuffling into the living room in my dressing gown and fluffy slippers. Dad was sitting on the sofa, his leg outstretched as ever, the crutches he’d just started to use propped beside him. He stopped mid-slurp of a spoonful of Frosties and blinked up at me.
Swallowing, he replied, ‘Happy Christmas, pet. Where’s lover boy?’
I blushed a deep red. ‘He’s not…’ Well, he kind of was, but I didn’t want to get too far into it. ‘He’s just getting ready. And he’s very grateful for our hospitality, so please don’t give him a hard time.’
I’d awkwardly presented Penn to my parents last night, tactfully explaining his need for a room at the inn and, in their usual generous way, they’d agreed that he should stay. It was offered with much more enthusiasm from my mam, while the reception from Dad was a little on the cooler side. I suspected his last encounter with Penn was still on his mind.
‘I won’t. It’s Christmas after all. But I had no idea you were… stepping out with him.’
I sighed. ‘It’s complicated – it’s early days. And I hope you get a book on updated slang in your stocking later.’
‘Well, I don’t know what else to call it. Is he your boyfriend then, or are we just fetching any old waifs and strays to sleep in our spare room now?’
‘Yes, he is.’ I cringed. We hadn’t got far enough to put a label on it yet. ‘I think. But you know I wouldn’t bring him here otherwise.’
Dad nodded stiffly. ‘I suppose. You’ve always been choosy. I just hope he’s a decent lad.’ His brow knitted briefly. ‘Where’s he from originally? He doesn’t sound local.’
I opened my mouth, unsure what was going to come out of it – I didn’t know if I should tell him about Penn’s background or not, given that Penn seemed to prefer his Newcastle alter ego. But I was saved from making that split-second decision by a call from the kitchen.
‘Happy Christmas, darl. Do you want a cup of coffee?’
‘Yes, please,’ I replied and skipped off to the kitchen, leaving my dad to the distraction of itching under his cast.
I plonked myself down on one of the kitchen counter stools and accepted a mug from my mam. She leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, mug in hand, an amused expression on her face.
‘Care to explain yourself?’ she asked with a glint in her eye.
I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee. ‘Like I said, it was either this or him spending Christmas in his grotty flat with his grotty flatmate.’
‘You didn’t seem very happy to see him when he arrived. I saw the look on your face when he was with the carol singers.’
‘We’d had words. Back at the shop.’
‘Mmhm. Well, I had no idea you were courting him.’ Another worthy recipient of an updated slang phrasebook. ‘I did say he was dishy.’ Strike three on the lingo. She wiggled her eyebrows.
‘Stop it. Ugh. This isn’t how I would have wanted to tell you. But it’s not like we’re headed up the aisle or anything. Like I said to Dad, it’s early days.’
‘And you’ve already had a falling-out?’
More often than I’d care to tell you . ‘It’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding.’
‘And why’s he got nowhere else to go? What about his family? Is he not wanting to spend Christmas with them?’
I hesitated. ‘He… It’s complicated.’ This seemed to be my stock answer du jour , and I wasn’t sure how long I could get away with it.
‘How so? I mean, not being at home for Christmas – I can’t imagine it. What kind of people…?’ She shook her head, perplexed.
‘Mam, don’t stress. He’s not upset about it; it’s his choice. And we’ll make him feel as welcome here as he would be at Ash—’ I stopped myself just in time, or so I thought.
‘ Ash what? Is he from Ashington? I thought his accent sounded a bit peculiar.’
I grimaced and propped my elbows on the counter, pushing my eyes against my palms, then let out an exasperated moan. If I didn’t give in now, then my mam certainly wouldn’t – not when she was sniffing for information. ‘I didn’t want to go down this rabbit hole. Not yet.’
She said nothing, giving me just enough rope to hang myself.
I looked up at her, cringing. ‘He lives— his family live at Ashcliffe Hall. In Northumberland.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Ashcliffe Hall? You don’t need to tell me where it is – I’d be hard pressed not to have heard of it. So what do they do there? Do they work on the estate?’
‘They own the estate.’ The silence that fell after I spoke felt like it lasted forever. ‘His parents are Lord and Lady Ashcliffe.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked, and her jaw dropped. ‘Are you telling me he’s…?’
‘He’s not rich, before you start. He’s financially independent.’
‘I meant to say, are you telling me he’s an aristocrat? What kind of aristocrats call their son Penn ?’
I took a deep breath, both for my nerves and so I had enough air in the tank to get through the length of his real name. ‘He’s called Peregrine Burton-Edwards. Uh, the Honourable Peregrine Burton-Edwards. Actually.’
Mam started to laugh. ‘Behave. No he isn’t.’
‘He is,’ I said, squirming. ‘But don’t go talking to him about it, and please just call him Penn. He doesn’t like fuss.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, smiling and shaking her head. But then she suddenly froze, her face falling. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get the cloth napkins out. We’ve got paper serviettes for the dinner table! Oh, and I’ve only got Aunt Bessie’s roasties. What’s he going to think?’ She looked stricken.
‘Calm down! He’s not like that. He lives in a little flat that’s probably overflowing with ready meals and beer cans. Plus, he’s nice.’
I remembered how much I used to loathe him, how awful he seemed when we first met, and felt a little glow in the pit of my stomach, knowing what I knew now.
‘Okay,’ she said with a little sigh. ‘But you’d better skedaddle. I’ve got a turkey and a nut roast to cook, and I’d better dust off the good wine glasses. These ones from Home Bargains won’t do.’ She cast a worried glance at some perfectly nice-looking glassware.
‘I mean it, Mam. Just forget I said anything and act normal.’
I left her frantically opening cupboards and went back to the living room, where Penn was sitting in an armchair by the window. Dad was sitting where I’d left him, looking even more uncomfortable than usual, which was something, considering his current physical state.
Penn briefly raised his eyebrows. He had on last night’s clothes, naturally, but had tied his hair up in a neat man-bun, his perennial stubble looking not too out of place. After sleeping in his arms all night, I’d got kind of used to him being in my bed, but seeing him in the living room was a different thing altogether.
‘You alright?’ I asked, giving him an encouraging smile.
‘Yeah. We were just talking about the match.’
My dad nodded tightly. I knew he wasn’t into football, and I didn’t think Penn was either. I’d clearly walked in on a standard-issue male chat where there was nothing else to say. My heart sank, and I wondered if Dad would ever forgive Penn. Then I had an idea.
‘Right. Listen, I’m just popping upstairs, but I wanted to give you one of your presents first,’ I said to Dad. I rustled under the tree and produced a small package. ‘Go on – open it.’
He grinned and ripped open the paper to reveal an electronic guitar tuner.
‘You said yours was broken, so I got you a new one.’
‘That’s smashing. Come here, kidda.’ He pulled me in for a hug. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Why don’t you give it a try – make sure it’s working? Maybe Penn could come and see your guitars?’ I suggested.
‘Alright then, I will.’
I helped him up onto his crutches and steered him towards the garage. Penn stood up, and I gave him a meaningful look – he understood and followed Dad into the guitar cave. Crossing my fingers, I ran upstairs to throw on some make-up and Christmas tree earrings.
Twenty minutes later, I came back down and hovered near the garage door. From the other side, I could hear the strum of two guitars, murmured conversation then a salvo of loud laughter. Smiling to myself, I left them to it and went to help my mam peel some sprouts.
A few hours later, we were all assembled at the table, my dad and Penn still chuckling at a shared joke. I was very relieved to see that all seemed to be forgiven. Earlier, before she and I laid food on the table, Mam had excused herself and returned to the room wearing a smart blouse and a pearl necklace that she’d got from Next. She flicked a nervous glance at Penn, and I kicked her under the table.
We started to eat, and Penn enthusiastically complimented Mam on the turkey and stuffing, saying it was the best he’d ever tasted. She blushed and said that was surely not true.
‘So, what kind of Christmas Day do you usually have at home?’ she asked.
I gave her a warning glance, and she avoided my eye.
‘Oh, quite similar to this really,’ he said. ‘We have lunch, then presents, and then play games and what-have-you. Just normal stuff.’
‘That does sound normal,’ said Mam in a relieved tone. Dad screwed up his face at her, confused. ‘I hope you don’t mind the Aunt Bessie’s. I expect you have a professional at home.’
‘Mam,’ I whispered through gritted teeth.
‘What on earth are you talking about, Denise? Professional what?’ asked Dad.
Penn bit his lip and looked at me across the table, a patient smile hovering at the edge of his lips. I mouthed ‘Sorry’ and winced.
‘I think Annie’s been giving you all the gory details,’ said Penn gamely. ‘But yes. We do have a professional. Although I really do mean it – this is miles better.’ He took a big scoop of red cabbage and stuffed it into his mouth.
Mam seemed to glow with pride.
‘Have I missed something?’ pushed Dad, glancing at each of us in turn.
‘Penn’s family own a fair proportion of Northumberland,’ I muttered. ‘But we weren’t supposed to be making a big thing out of it.’ I threw Mam a scathing look.
‘It’s fine. Honestly!’ Penn said. ‘I did grow up at Ashcliffe Hall, but I have my own life too. I prefer it here in Newcastle.’
‘Oh, but it must be lovely, pet,’ said Mam. ‘If I lived in Downton Abbey, I wouldn’t be looking to move to Coronation Street.’
He smiled politely. ‘I think you’re doing Coronation Street a disservice.’
‘Mam, Penn has his own life now. Leave it, would you.’ I rubbed my forehead, wishing I could slither under the table.
‘I’m just curious,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met an Honourable before.’
‘Hang on. Are you telling me you’re some kind of lord?’ Dad asked Penn, incredulous. ‘Have I just been jamming to Def Leppard with an aristocrat?’
Penn made a nervous noise, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. ‘I’m definitely not a lord, and I identify a lot more with rock guitarists than landowners. It’s not a big deal – really.’
Dad shrugged, seeming to take this at face value, and popped another sprout in his mouth. Mam looked disappointed but then changed the subject to what we might watch on TV that afternoon.
‘Well, as long as we watch the King’s Speech,’ said Dad. ‘I’m still getting used to seeing Charlie instead of Liz, mind you.’
I noticed Mam out the corner of my eye, suddenly emitting excitement like static electricity. She sat up straighter, and I met her eye, shaking my head.
‘No,’ I mouthed. ‘Don’t you dare.’
Her smile turned stiff, and it was like watching someone trying not to lick their lips while eating a donut. I watched in real time as the temptation overwhelmed her.
‘Have you ever met him?’ she blurted in Penn’s direction. ‘King Charles?’
I put my head in my hands and sighed.
That afternoon, and into the early evening, we watched Christmas telly, my mam ticking off the programmes from her Radio Times shortlist. Call the Midwife came on, and Penn showed no sign that this wasn’t his cup of tea, even though my dad made efforts to get him onside in complaining about it. Penn was the picture of diplomacy.
As I snuggled into him, my legs curled up on the sofa, his arm around my shoulders, I couldn’t help but draw comparisons with the weekend I’d spent with his family. He was so good at fitting in here, from complimenting my mother to bonding with my dad – he made it look so easy. I imagined it was a product of his upbringing, that despite his family’s overt snobbery, there was a cultured, polite side to their nature that always sought to make a social event run smoothly. He’d been raised to schmooze.
My stomach turned over at the memory of my many faux pas at Ashcliffe Hall, realising that it would never work both ways. I was simply not equipped to slot seamlessly into his family life like he’d done here. But I was reassured in the knowledge that this was where he wanted to be. In Newcastle, living his own life… with me.
The roiling in my belly settled as he squeezed me just a little, and I took another Kettle Chip from the bowl, my body sinking comfortably against his. This felt so right, as if he’d always been here, like part of the furniture.
Finally, the programme ended, and Penn went to the kitchen to get himself and my dad another beer. Mam and I were still nursing a glass of Baileys apiece. He handed my dad his can and sat back down.
‘So, when are you back in the shop? Day after Boxing Day?’ asked Mam.
Before I could head him off at the pass, Penn said, ‘Yeah. There’s still a bit of cleaning up to do, but I think we can shift some of the stock they left behind before the new stuff arrives.’
I wilted. I’d forgotten to warn him I’d decided not to tell my parents about the burglary.
‘Eh? What do you mean “left behind”?’ said Dad, turning to look at me.
‘Um… I was going to tell you, after Christmas. The shop got burgled.’
Mam and Dad sat up straight, both clamouring to ask questions. Penn gave me an apologetic look.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘I can sell the rest of what I’ve got before I shut up shop, and I’ll pay you back for everything I’ve lost.’
Now it was Penn’s turn to look shocked. ‘Shut up shop? What do you mean?’
I put my hand on his. ‘I’m done, Penn. I’m not going to order any more stock. Once the last few bits are sold, I’m finished.’
His expression was a mix of confused and crestfallen. ‘I don’t understand. You can build the business back up again when you get your insurance payout, especially if you get some more Liaison Secrète gear.’
‘What’s Liaison Secrète?’ asked Dad.
‘Never mind,’ said Mam and I in unison, exchanging a furtive glance.
‘Listen,’ I said to them all. ‘I… I feel idiotic, but I didn’t take out an insurance policy. So that’s that. And it’s pointless now anyway. I thought I’d be in with a chance of making enough to stop you having to sell the house, but now I can’t.’ I stopped then suddenly. My voice had choked at the end of the sentence, and I felt my eyes grow wet.
I looked at the fireplace, the Christmas tree and all of our family’s belongings, and my heart hurt to think that this would be the last time we would spend Christmas here. My lip trembled, and a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. Penn caught it with his finger and caressed the side of my cheek.
‘Annie,’ said Mam. ‘You need to stop worrying about the house – that’s for us to sort out. You shouldn’t give up on the shop; you should be doing it for yourself.’
I gave her a watery smile. ‘Thanks. But I don’t think I’m quite so popular at the arcade anyway.’ Reluctantly, I explained the problems we’d had with the mysterious saboteur, whose identity was once again unknown. They looked shocked at first, but then Dad gripped my hand hard.
‘I’ll tell you what.’ His voice was fierce. ‘I didn’t raise a quitter. And I thought you’d learned not to give in to bullies.’ He gave me a stern stare.
‘I know, but…’
‘No buts,’ he said. ‘You’ve already shown how good you are at this job. You were meant to be a business owner; you’ve found the career you’ve been looking for all this time. Don’t give up, pet.’
‘He’s right,’ agreed Mam. ‘This time the shop will be all for you. You’ve taken care of us – it’s high time you took care of yourself. And I’ll try my best to get some more Liaison stuff…’
‘I still don’t know what you’re on about,’ grumbled Dad.
There was a moment, then Mam and I burst out laughing, my tears already starting to dry. Penn grinned conspiratorially, although I wondered if he’d fill in his new best mate with the details later on. Maybe they were all right. Maybe I shouldn’t give up so easily.
Later, in the darkness of the spare bedroom, Penn and I lay entwined together. Mam and Dad had turned in an hour ago, and I could hear gentle snores beyond the wall. After the bizarre and emotional day, I couldn’t fall asleep.
Penn and I had talked as we settled into bed. He told me that his parents had called that morning, to say Merry Christmas and to ask again why he’d refused to come home to Ashcliffe. He’d declined to comment. I asked him if he had any regrets, and he’d just kissed me hard and with feeling, which seemed to settle the matter.
The clock on the wall ticked, and Penn’s heartbeat thrummed against my chest; an alternating rhythm that soothed me. After the stressful conversation that evening, I felt like my anxiety was being dialled down with every beat. Things didn’t seem so bad, lying there with him.
The rise and fall of his chest, which I’d thought was deep and regular enough to suggest he was asleep, started to become more erratic. Against my leg, I felt his arousal. I shifted slightly, letting my hand fall between us, stroking him.
He gave a muted gasp and ran his hand down my back, pulling my thigh over his.
‘What about…?’
‘We’ll be quiet,’ I said, meeting his mouth with mine, gently biting his lower lip. He groaned. ‘I thought I told you to be quiet,’ I whispered, my voice more husky than reproachful.
He tried to push me onto my back, kissing my neck and running his hands all over me, but I pushed towards him instead, pressing his shoulders back so he was flat on the bed. Starting at his neck, I trailed a path of kisses down his chest, each kiss a stepping stone further down his body. I reached the achingly beautiful V-shape near his hip and paused there, running my lips across the softer skin and holding off on my travels just long enough to hear him make another quiet noise of frustration. As my mouth found its final destination, one of his hands gripped the bedsheets, the other weaving into my hair. I stayed there just long enough to leave him wanting more, and as he frantically reached for me, I knew how much he really did.
He drew me back up to face him, pulling me in for a deep kiss, smoothing my hair back from my face as it draped down over him. His hand snaked down between us to slide between my legs, and when he felt how ready I was, he smiled against my lips. In one movement, he guided my hips over his and thrust into me, taking my breath away.
‘Shh,’ he warned, one hand holding my buttock, taking control of my rhythm, the other tracing over my mouth to quiet me. I bit his thumb and tried to contain my ragged breaths against his palm. The feeling of pleasure deep in my body was already building, and he met me with the same urgency, like we were striking a match and both of us were starting to burn at the same time. His breaths began to shorten, and his hand squeezed my hip almost painfully, until he took my arm, pressing his mouth against it, his lips making a silent moan against my skin. In that same moment, my body answered his with sweet, nearly unbearable pulses, my back arching. We stopped together, almost frozen in place, panting and gripping each other. After a moment, he sat up between my legs, holding me to him, his hand cupping the back of my head.
‘How did you do this to me?’ he murmured, his lips against my cheek.
‘Do what?’ I answered, my voice lazy and spent.
‘Made me need you so much, so fast.’