Chapter 22 #2
‘Well, I did think your house would make anyone feel drab and miserable, so maybe that was my first clue.’
‘Rude. But not wrong. Once the decorations are down, I might splash out on some homely touches.’
‘So you’ve decided to stick around?’
I looked at him sharply. ‘What made you think there was anything to decide about that?’
Beckett gave me a pointed look. ‘Um, the drab, depressing house, for starters.’
‘Which suited me perfectly, at the time.’
‘But not any more?’ He grinned.
‘I was raised in a house where drab and miserable was the general style. I’m not doing that to my son.’ I conceded a smile of my own. ‘And, no. It doesn’t suit me any more. I’d say… cautiously hopeful? Nervous yet optimistic? Petrified yet valiantly pressing on?’
Beckett nodded. ‘I think John Lewis have a range called “stiff upper lip”. You could check out their cushions.’
‘Maybe I’ll add it to my Father Christmas list.’
‘Are you staying for a bit, or do you need to get back?’
‘Well, I’ve only one nappy left, but I think I can chance some of whatever’s in that box.’
Beckett held up the cardboard carton in his hand. ‘Cranberry cookies. Sofia and the kids went on a baking spree while they were snowed in yesterday.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘I feel like I should protest after you’ve spent ages decorating my house, but I’m too knackered to be a decent host.’
Beckett groaned as he lowered himself gingerly into a kitchen chair.
‘A good row?’
He rotated one arm, hand clutching his shoulder. ‘Yes and no.’
I started making the drinks and waited for him to elaborate.
‘Mentally, it was awesome, and Moses was a good partner. I’d forgotten how invigorating it is, skimming over the water, working in sync with someone.
The smell of the river, wind at my back, ducks bobbing past. I felt fully alive for the first time in…
so long it makes me want to cry thinking about it. ’
‘And the no?’
‘I think I might have to sleep in this chair tonight. The exhilaration was dampened by how disgustingly out of shape I’ve become.’
I gave Beckett, still wearing his skin-tight rowing top and legging thingies, an indiscreet once-over. ‘Looks like a perfectly good shape to me.’
‘It’s impressive what a six-foot-three frame can hide. I was so breathless I vomited.’
‘Nice.’
‘Not for Moses, sitting behind me. Every single muscle in my body is either screaming or playing dead in the hope I’ll not try to move it.’
I brought over our tea. ‘Proof that making the time to do something you love, to take care of yourself, was long overdue.’
‘Thank you.’ Beckett summoned up the energy to give me a faint smile. ‘For making me realise how much I needed it, and for being with Gramps so I could go.’
‘You’re very welcome. Now, I’m going to order a taxi before you fall asleep in front of me. I’ll leave the sewing machine here, if that’s okay.’
Beckett rested his head on his arms. ‘Could you do something, before you go?’
‘Of course, but I’m drinking my tea and enjoying a cookie first, seeing as Bob’s being quiet.’
‘Make sure all the candles are blown out. If Gramps decides to start another fire, I’m not sure I’d be able to get out of here before the whole house goes up.’
I savoured my drink and the cookie, which was crumbly and chewy with zingy lemon icing, kissed my friend on the head and left him to dream of water and wide open, winter skies.
* * *
I spent Wednesday at Beckett’s house, sewing furiously while Beckett drove the taxi until his painkillers wore off and Gramps read Bob stories about various daring deeds throughout history.
On Thursday, we brought some of the completed or mostly completed costumes to New Life Church.
I invited those cast members who happened to be at the lunch club to try their outfits on, one at a time in Sofia’s office.
‘Are you okay?’ Sofia peered at me. ‘Is Bob letting you get any sleep? You look ready to drop.’
‘She looks like she has a terminal disease,’ Gramps announced, in case anyone needed clarity on the matter.
I felt as if dropping dead in the middle of the hall would be preferable to showing someone the costume they were going to wear on stage in front of hundreds of people.
Why did I volunteer for this? I asked my stomach as it churned like a washing machine.
I wasn’t a designer, like Shay, or a creator, like Kieran.
Did I honestly think that somehow their skills and talents would rub off on me?
We’d all learned to sew together, as we’d customised bags and hats and scarves, even made jackets and T-shirts in those early days.
There was a reason I’d swiftly retreated to the business side of things.
There was a reason they’d so easily let me go.
Here I was, a hanger-on in a fashion company, a second-hand seamstress, about to utterly humiliate myself.
These people really cared about this concert.
It was their big Christmas opportunity to bless the community, and Miss Ex-Director had gatecrashed a lunch meeting and inserted herself into none-of-her-business because she was trying to prove some stupid point about not being a useless waste of space to no one who cared.
I ran to the toilet, threw up my breakfast, splashed some cold water on my face, and tried to tell myself what Shay and Kieran would say.
Would have said. Before they stopped speaking to me.
‘I can do this,’ I whispered in the bathroom mirror, my voice quaking.
‘Rosie loves the zebra bag. Beckett thought my decorations were incredible. What’s the worst that can happen?
’ I stopped, a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter spurting out.
‘Mary Whittington, you have faced far more difficult situations than the humiliation of letting an entire church and surrounding community down. Get some damn perspective. Princess Santa has seen your nether regions, for pity’s sake. ’