Chapter Thirty-Two
The twenty-second of December was not the best time to be planning a grand romantic gesture, especially when the object of your affections ran the village bakery, was up to his hairline in mince pie and yule log orders, and also might be a bit pissed off that, the day before, you’d gone to talk to your ex-fiancé when you were supposed to be rehearsing with him.
‘Why can’t you just talk to him?’ Birdie asked, as Imogen sat at the kitchen table, Sellotaping pieces of paper together, a large box of Sharpies in front of her.
‘You’re both adults.’ She picked up a neon-pink Sharpie and held it up to the light, as if it was some sort of precious gemstone she could use in one of her rituals.
‘I want to do something impressive, to show him that I’m staying, and that I care about him.
I spoke to Nikki last night, and I told her I was officially moving here.
She’s got the lead role in a play starting after Christmas, so I’ll have to go back and see her being brilliant in that, but when we were talking about Dexter, she said grand romantic gestures are the way to go. ’
‘And your grand romantic gesture is a … banner?’
‘People hold up banners at airports and races and things, don’t they?
To express their feelings.’ She had mulled it over in the middle of the night when she should have been asleep, thinking about what Nikki had said, worrying that just talking to Dexter wouldn’t be enough.
Actions spoke louder than words, and this was …
going to be a whole lot of words. Fuck. But she persevered, Sellotaping the next bit of paper, catching the large sheet when it started to slip off the table.
‘Where are you going to put your banner?’ Birdie’s tone put Imogen in mind of a parent placating a toddler.
‘I haven’t got that far. Maybe across the front of the village hall?’
Birdie looked out of the window. They hadn’t had any flurries for a few hours, but there had been more snow overnight and the sky was heavy with clouds.
‘Do you have a laminating machine?’ Imogen asked hopefully.
Birdie scoffed.
‘Fair enough.’ She drew a holly leaf, then started to add berries with a bright red pen.
‘You could just talk to him,’ Birdie said again.
‘Wait until he’s finished at the bakery, so you’re not trying to compete with a hundred Christmas order queries.
Go to his house, sit him down, and explain that you needed to speak to Edmund, to get things squared away; that you had meant to tell him you were staying before your ex interrupted the rehearsal. ’
‘I could do that.’ Imogen wasn’t entirely convinced. ‘What are we taking to Harry and Sophie’s for Christmas Day?’ It was a blatant change of subject, but she needed more time to think.
‘Cinnamon cookies, damson jam and a glut of veggies. Do you have presents?’
‘I was going to go to Sophie’s shop, to see about something for Lucy, and maybe Dexter too.
’ And you, she added silently, because her gran used notebooks for her tincture recipes and to keep track of her vegetable patch, when things were planted and when they needed harvesting.
‘Does everyone in Mistingham get each other notebooks and posh scarves for Christmas?’
‘You’ve already discovered that online orders can make it all the way to Mistingham.’ Birdie sounded amused. ‘And Norwich isn’t that far away.’
‘So going to Sophie’s won’t be too unoriginal?’
‘She sells beautiful things,’ was all Birdie had to say, so Imogen put on her green coat and her wellies, and went out into the snow.
The ice rink was open again, after the first heavy snowfall had closed it, and the soundtrack was subdued, instrumental versions of ‘Santa Baby’ and ‘Last Christmas’ accompanying the chatter of children and the whoosh of blades.
It felt like the calm before the Christmas storm, everyone getting their last-minute preparations done before the big day, when revelry would take over.
The Stationery Emporium was aglow, its fetching window display calling to Imogen with the promise of perfect pens and notebooks, but when she reached the door, she hesitated.
Were Sophie and May angry with her? She could see them inside, chatting animatedly, but they were Dexter’s friends.
She dithered, about to turn away, when Sophie caught her eye.
‘Imogen!’ She waved and beckoned her inside.
Imogen pushed open the door. ‘Hello. I made a banner.’ Why had she admitted that?
Sophie frowned, but May gave her a hug. ‘A Christmas banner? Are you all right?’
‘Oh, God.’ She rubbed her eyes.
‘I wanted to talk to you after the rehearsal yesterday,’ Sophie said, ‘but I didn’t get a chance. That’s the problem when you host something like that – there’s always so much to do, people pulling you in every direction.’
‘It was very well set-up,’ Imogen said.
‘Apart from there being no bouncer on the door. It must have been a shock, your ex turning up like that.’
‘I didn’t realize he’d found out where I was. I think my mum knew all along, though.’
‘Did you manage to sort things out with him?’ May asked.
‘I had a very honest conversation, and it was better than doing it over FaceTime. I came to get some presents …’ She scanned the shop, seeing at least four notebooks she wanted to get Lucy, and a pen with a furry, pom-pom-like dog on the end of it.
But would a present from her even be welcome any more?
‘Have a browse,’ Sophie said. ‘And if you want to talk?’
‘We’re always happy to talk,’ May confirmed.
‘Thanks.’ Imogen perused the shelves for exactly three seconds. ‘I have got so many things wrong over the last couple of months,’ she admitted. ‘I know I’ve made the right decision now, but I’m worried it’s too late.’
‘You know, you really don’t have to be perfect,’ May said.
‘And it’s so easy to overthink things,’ Sophie added. ‘It doesn’t sound like your situation in London was that great, and everyone makes mistakes when they’re stressed. You’ve spoken to Edmund now, and won’t your parents forgive you? Understand why you did it?’
‘Mum is Mum: she doesn’t really do forgiveness. And I’ve always thought things through, been so careful about everything, except for these last couple of months. It’s as if I’ve been letting the wind take me.’
‘You’ve been turning in the direction you want,’ May said with a shrug. ‘Of course that will feel strange, when you’ve had years of doing what you’re supposed to do. It’s as if you’re free-falling, and there’s no control.’
‘Exactly. I am always in control.’ Imogen thought of her beautiful edition of Northanger Abbey.
She’d finished it that morning, but she’d been so distracted that she’d had to go back and reread the last two chapters.
Catherine Morland said yes to everything.
She followed her heart without stopping to think – mostly – about what was sensible.
It got her into some scrapes, but she had ended up blissfully happy with Henry Tilney, who she’d liked from the very first time she saw him. ‘But if Catherine can do it …’
‘Catherine?’ Sophie looked confused, but May’s frown was decidedly half-hearted.
‘Nobody should let a book determine their whole life.’ Imogen laughed.
‘Debatable,’ Sophie murmured.
‘What really matters,’ May said, ‘is what makes you happy?’
An image popped into Imogen’s head of her, Dexter and Lucy, skating together on the ice rink, Wham!
playing over the speakers, the stars competing with the fairy lights, everything glittering and fresh.
But she couldn’t mention Dexter, because what if Sophie and May were angry about how she’d treated him?
Besides, a romantic gesture should be a surprise, and if she told them she was planning one – even if she didn’t yet know what she was planning, besides a banner that already seemed mediocre – then surely that would ruin it?
‘May’s right,’ Sophie said. ‘You have to stop making other people happy and listen to your own heart, or what’s the point? Now, what sort of thing are you looking for? I’ve done a whole range of notebooks for the new year, bold colours and a lot of foil. Let me show you.’
Imogen followed Sophie to a shelf, happy to surrender her thoughts to luxury stationery and the simple art of buying presents, at least for a little while. She couldn’t put the other things off for too long, though: she had a romantic gesture to finalize, and Christmas was only three days away.
She left the Stationery Emporium carrying a thick paper bag bulging with goodies. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, because she still hadn’t figured out what she was going to do about Dexter and Lucy.
A banner, she realized, as she passed Penny For Them – the doors open despite the frigid weather, the jingles of the arcade games bursting out onto the quiet street – was a stupid idea.
She didn’t have the tools or the time to do it properly, and a love declaration made out of paper and Sharpie pens, pinned to the village hall in the midst of a snow flurry, would not show Dexter how much she cared about him.
It would probably disintegrate before he even noticed it.
She was usually really good at planning, but then her PA job had never involved her heart or her entire future.
She walked down to the promenade, enjoying the crunch of snow under her wellies.
The sea looked almost black against the stark white of the snow-covered beach, but in the depths she could see slivers of teal and navy blue.
Up ahead, the coastal path called to her, but it was precarious at the best of times, and she didn’t know if there was black ice lurking beneath the packed snow.
There were three figures who had braved it, who were walking along it towards her, and it didn’t take her long to realize it was Harry, his strides long and determined despite the snow, and Darkness and Terror.
‘Hello.’ He was pink-cheeked and out of breath. ‘Hi,’ Imogen said. ‘Lovely day for it.’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘The dogs have the run of the estate, but the weather has unsettled them, so I thought I’d give them a good stride out through the village, take them around some familiar landmarks.’
‘No Felix?’
He chuckled. ‘He’s hunkered down in his pen, with extra blankets and food.’
‘Not in the house?’
‘Not until Christmas Day. Maybe the Snow Show, if he can promise to be good.’
‘And how will he promise that? It’s crazy that you’re even considering letting him loose when your home will already be full of people, and some of them will be trying to perform.’ Darkness nuzzled Imogen’s hand, and she stroked his silky head.
‘Felix likes being in the centre of the action,’ Harry said calmly. ‘He gets upset if he’s left out, though I’ve had to draw the line at ice-skating.’ He grinned, to show he was joking – probably. ‘You’ve been here long enough to realize that.’
‘I suppose I have. I’m looking forward to the Snow Show, even though Dexter’s and my rehearsal time has been woeful.’
Harry didn’t reply immediately, and Imogen peered up at him.
‘How are you, after yesterday?’ he asked eventually.
‘I’m all right. How’s Dexter?’
‘You haven’t spoken to him?’
‘Busted ovens and mince pie orders and it being three days before Christmas have got in the way, along with some cowardice on my part.’
Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘Understood. I haven’t spoken to him for the same reasons – cowardice notwithstanding. Do you know what you’re going to say?’
‘Sort of. I just … I need to come up with the right way to say it, you know?’
‘I do know,’ Harry said emphatically. ‘Believe me. And if I can help in any way – or Sophie and I, or anything we have at our disposal’ – he gestured towards the estate, the manor hidden somewhere beyond the snow-topped trees – ‘then please just ask.’
‘Oh no, I …’ Imogen started, but then an idea formed in her mind, sparking to life as she stood in the freezing cold, Harry’s pets pressed up against her legs, warming her through her jeans.
‘Actually, I’ve just had the most brilliant idea.
’ She smiled up at him, and hoped that, by the time she’d finished telling him what she proposed, he wouldn’t think she was the most ridiculous human being he’d ever met.