Chapter 28 #2
“Right, I’d best get a move on,” Peter said, his voice still determinedly jolly. “Must see the children down at the beach. And I’m looking forward to a mince pie, myself.” Juliet watched as he passed a hand over his face, which unfortunately knocked his beard askew.
A burst of laughter erupted from the children; it wasn’t precisely unkind, but it wasn’t good, either. Juliet cringed. Even stolid, silent Andrew Lofton winced a bit. If Lucy were here, she thought, she’d manage to make this funny. She’d salvage something from it, but it’s just me instead.
“Get a move on,” she told Andrew, and he started driving down the main street again, even more slowly this time due to the crowds around them.
A few of the sneering boys followed the Land Rover; the younger children fell away as they made the turn onto the beach road.
“We know you’re not Father Christmas!” one of the boys jeered.
“You’re the stupidest Santa I ever saw,” another boy called.
“I know who you are!” This from the boy who had started it all, his voice crowing. “You’re Peter Lanford, the one with the crazy old father!”
“Right!” Juliet was unbuckling her seat belt before she even realized what she was doing.
She flung open the door and jumped out of the still-moving Land Rover, stumbling a bit before righting herself, and pointed a shaking finger at the three boys.
“Clear off, you lot, before I box your ears and send you back to your mothers. Look at you, terrorizing everyone and ruining Christmas for a bunch of little children. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
Only one of the boys appeared remotely cowed, and even more furious, Juliet took a step forward, her arm raised. “Get away with you!” she shouted, her voice carrying and cracking on the still night. “All of you clear off before I give you a good slap!”
“Juliet.” Andrew Lofton had stopped the car and now Peter clambered down from the trailer, and put his hands on her shoulders.
“All right, you three,” he said to the boys, who were still standing there, looking undecided as to whether they wanted to keep on with their taunting. “Clear off like she said.”
The quiet note of authority in Peter’s voice convinced the boys in a way that Juliet’s shrieking hadn’t, and they headed back down the beach road towards the village.
Peter stood with his hands on Juliet’s shoulders, and only then did she realize she was shaking. Wordlessly he turned her so she was facing him, and then he put his arms around and held her in an embrace that Juliet craved with her whole being.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his shirt. “I don’t know why I was so angry.”
“You’ve had a lot to deal with lately.”
“They’ll be talking about it for ages,” she said with a sniff. “How that old shrew Juliet Bagshaw lost it on the beach road, and spoiled Christmas for everyone.”
“Then let’s give them something else to talk about,” Peter said, and to her amazement he kissed her.
The first thing she thought was how cool and yet warm his lips were; the second was how scratchy his fake beard felt. Laughing a little, Juliet pulled back. Peter frowned.
“Juliet . . .”
“Your beard,” she said, and pulling it down, she leaned forward and kissed him again.
After a few minutes Andrew Lofton cleared his throat. “Areet?” he called, and Peter pulled back, grinning.
“Areet,” he answered, and still smiling, he climbed back onto the trailer. Juliet got back in the car, not meeting Andrew’s unreadable gaze.
“So.” She cleared her throat, just as he had. “Are we on time for the carol service?”
“I think we’ll make it,” Andrew said, and started driving.
A few minutes later he pulled the car up in front of the Royal National Lifeboat Institute, or RNLI, station, now festooned with Christmas lights, the strains of the brass band that was crammed into the narrow shed audible even from inside the car.
“Ho ho ho,” Peter called as he waved from the trailer, and Juliet felt herself start to grin again. Peter was a far jollier Santa now than he had been fifteen minutes ago.
He made his appearance, waving and handing out sweets, before the carol service started.
Then he changed clothes in the public toilets, bundling up the red Santa suit into a bag, which he left in Andrew’s car.
Juliet had been waiting for him outside, unsure what to say or even what to think, but knowing she wanted to be with him.
In the end she didn’t say anything, and neither did he. He simply took her hand and walked with her into the carol service. They sat in the back and held hands during the entire service; her hand rested on his thigh, feeling small and fragile clasped in his much larger one.
The service was over by nine thirty, and replete with several mince pies and paper cups of mulled wine, they declined Andrew’s offer of a lift back into the village and decided to walk instead.
Juliet almost regretted the decision as they started down the beach road; although the air was still, it was also freezing. But then Peter took her hand again and she knew she was glad they’d decided to walk.
She had no desire for some awkward conversation about the status of their relationship, and Peter didn’t seem to, either, for they walked in silence the whole way down the road.
Juliet’s steps slowed as they turned off the beach road and crossed the railway; she could see Tarn House in the distance, looking warm and snug and yet also empty. Should she invite Peter in? Ask him to stay? The thought made her hands clammy and her stomach leap with anticipation.
Then she saw the lone figure standing by the door, and her steps halted altogether.
“That looks like . . . ,” she began, and Peter finished it for her.
“Lucy,” he said.