Chapter 15
DREW
I arrive at Chris and Gen’s a little after six – for me, practically on time – and let myself in, following the sound of Maisie’s voice into the kitchen.
Maisie, Chris, and Gen are at the table huddled around a tablet and Maisie’s mid-sentence, gushing about meeting Max.
Chris and Gen look up, Gen with a smile and Chris lifting his hand in a wave. I wait for a break in Maisie’s monologue, then lean down till I’m in frame.
‘Hi, Mom. Hi, Aunt Linda.’
There’s the usual gushing for their golden-haired boy, which has Chris muttering, ‘Oh, brother,’ under his breath.
I indulge them for a good ten or fifteen seconds, basking in the glow of motherly (and aunterly) love, then say, ‘So, there’s something we want to run by you.’
Chris nudges me, murmuring, ‘Maisie’s gonna ask.’
‘Over to you, Mais,’ I say, stepping back.
‘Nana, Great Aunty Linda,’ she begins, sitting up straighter, ‘we want to invite you to come for Christmas.’
‘Oh,’ says Mom. She and Aunt Linda exchange a look – Mom’s obviously excited, but Aunt Linda looks uneasy.
‘And, Aunt Linda,’ says Chris, ‘we know you don’t like to fly but—’
‘It’s not that I don’t like it, Chris,’ she says with a worried frown. ‘But I get so claustrophobic.’
‘What’s claustrophobic?’ Maisie whispers loudly to Gen.
‘It means I don’t like being cooped up, hun – it makes me uncomfortable,’ Aunt Linda answers.
‘We’ve thought of that, Aunt Linda,’ says Chris. ‘So, you’ll be in business class – plenty of space. You’ll even get to lie down and sleep.’
‘Ooh.’ Mom’s eyes light up, but almost as quickly her face drops. ‘Wait, I don’t know about that, Chris,’ she says. ‘Business class. It’s a lot of money.’
‘No, we get that, Mom,’ I say, stepping in. ‘We’re buying the flights. As a gift – to both of you.’
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Mom says at the exact same time Aunt Linda starts whooping and clapping her hands. Mom looks at her, horrified.
‘Linda! It’s too much.’
‘Lizzie, the boys are offering to fly us to London. For Christmas.’
Mom looks back at the screen, the corners of her mouth downturned.
‘Please, Nana. We go to Winter Wonderland and it’s amazing. There are rides and toffee apples and hot chocolate…’ says Maisie, eyes wide. ‘And we go to Hargreaves and see the window displays and there’s this enormous Christmas tree in Covent Garden.’
She’s really leaning into the adorable-granddaughter thing. I doubt Scrooge himself could resist. It also hits me that Mom hasn’t been here for Christmas since Dad was alive. Maisie was a little kid back then.
‘But it’s a lot of money,’ Mom says again. ‘It’s too much to ask.’
She starts shaking her head and waving off Aunt Linda’s cajoling. I really thought it would be Aunt Linda we’d have to convince, but it seems that the magical solution to claustrophobia is an upgrade. But she won’t come if Mom doesn’t say yes.
‘Mom,’ I say, ‘enough of the Minnesota nice. We want to do this for you. Besides, I just got this huge bonus at work, which I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for you. So…’
‘What bonus?’ she asks, perking up.
‘For the ad campaign with Max. See? If you hadn’t told me he was filming in London, I never would’ve had the idea to reboot Home for the Holidays and I wouldn’t have won the account.
So, really,’ I say, shrugging dramatically as if it’s out of my hands, ‘I owe it all to you. And Chris and Gen are loaded anyway, so—’
‘Hey!’ Chris backhands me, even though it’s true. He just doesn’t like to talk about it.
‘And look at this face,’ I add, clasping Maisie’s chin between my thumb and forefinger. ‘How can you say no to this face?’
Maisie doubles down on the adorableness, pouting and batting her eyes at the camera, and Mom bursts out laughing.
‘Okay, okay, fine,’ says Mom with a laugh. ‘We’ll come visit for Christmas.’
‘Hooray!’ shouts Maisie and Aunt Linda whoops again, jumping up and doing some kind of butt-wiggle dance.
We wrap up the call soon after, and Maisie skips up to her room to start planning Nana and Great Aunty Linda’s visit while Chris checks flights online.
‘You staying for dinner?’ Gen asks, taking a store-bought lasagne out of the oven.
‘Ah, no thanks. I’ve got a date.’
‘Anyone we know?’ she asks.
‘Not unless you’ve got connections at the London Lions,’ I reply.
Gen’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘You dating blokes now?’ she asks with a curious smirk.
‘If that ever happens, I’ll eat every hat in the milliner’s window,’ Chris interjects.
‘Never say never, bro,’ I retort.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Oh, come on,’ I say to him, leaning against the kitchen bench and folding my arms. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never given Henry Cavill a second look – lots of straight guys have.’
He flicks his eyes at me, and his shoulders hitch a fraction of an inch – as good as a confession.
Taking the win, I go back to Gen. ‘Her name’s Chelsea and she’s a Lioness.’ Gen stops cutting the lasagne and gives me a questioning look. ‘A cheerleader.’
‘Ah, yes, that makes more sense.’
I check the time. ‘Oops, gotta run. Thanks for teeing up the call, Chris.’
‘Yep,’ he replies without looking up.
‘See you at work tomorrow,’ I say to Gen.
‘Seeya. Oh – wait,’ she says and I turn back. ‘How’s it going with Sophie? You two sort things out?’
‘Ah…’ I sigh, letting my gaze drift to the vaulted ceiling. ‘About that…’
‘Really? Oh, Drew. You’ve got to sort this out – Hargreaves is a major client.’
I meet Gen’s eye. ‘Well, yeah, but I don’t know what to tell you. We go to the premiere and everything’s great. Like, we’re all hanging out, the red-carpet thing was cool, the movie – super fun. We gave Sophie and Harlow a ride home…’
‘So, what happened today then?’
I’ve been thinking about this non-stop since Sophie iced me out, so I’ve got an answer at the ready – not 100 per cent sure I’m right, but I can’t think of anything else.
‘I offered to watch Home for the Holidays with her and Harlow – well, me and Maisie. You know, as a gesture of goodwill.’
‘Is it essential that she watches it?’ asks Gen, her nose crinkled.
‘Uh, yeah. We’ve gotta capture the same style for the campaign, the same cadence, the rhythms… Hard to do that if you’re not up on the original.’
Gen’s lips flatten into a line, and it finally clicks. Sophie wasn’t worried about me making a play for her – it’s far worse than that.
‘She thinks I don’t trust her to get it done.’
‘That’s my guess,’ says Gen, giving me a pitying smile.
‘God, I am a prize asshole,’ I say, letting my head fall into my hands.
‘Two pounds, Uncle Drew!’
I spin around and Maisie’s in the doorway, hands on her hips in mini-Gen mode.
‘Where did you come from?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes playfully. ‘I thought you were upstairs.’
‘It’s dinnertime,’ she answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
‘Okay, now I’d really better get going. Seeya later, Parkers.’
I head out to Maisie calling, ‘Bye-ee,’ at my back.
Sophie
The last time I woke with a start before 5 a.m. it was from a sex dream about Drew. But this is way better. I have an idea – the sort that intrudes on your sleep and pops into your head almost fully formed.
I fling back the covers, wrap myself in my fluffiest robe, and head downstairs to flick on the kettle. While the water boils, I boot up my laptop and open a new document, my fingers flying across the keyboard.
By the time Harlow’s alarm goes off, I’ve drunk four mugs of tea and have written three scripts. They’re rough – they’ll need finessing – but the bones are there. I’ve even fed Hobbes and emptied the dishwasher. I am on fire!
At the sound of Harlow’s heavy footfalls on the stairs, I face the kitchen doorway.
‘Good morning, sleepy head,’ I say with a lilt in my voice.
Harlow glowers at me, climbing onto the stool next to me and resting her forehead on the kitchen bench, her arms dangling. If she were an adult, I’d diagnose a hangover. I suppose she has had two late nights in a row.
I rub her back. ‘Want me to make us some porridge?’
‘Pancakes,’ she says, her voice muffled.
‘Porridge with maple syrup. My final offer.’
‘Okay,’ she says.
I put my laptop away and start making breakfast, still fizzing from the last two hours.
‘I need to go into work early this morning, Lo. I’ve messaged Coco and she’s going to take you to school.’
‘Mum, I’ve told you – I can go by myself. It’s only a ten-minute walk. And most of the kids in my class walk to school by themselves.’
I stop stirring the porridge and face her. She’s staring at me pointedly, as if she’s the adult and I’m the silly kid who doesn’t get it. But I’ve walked Harlow to school almost every day since Daniel died. And on the few occasions I haven’t, like the day I pitched to Hargreaves, Connie has.
It’s our little ritual and life is so hectic lately that some days it’s the only chance we get to talk. I’m not ready to give that up. No matter how mature and trustworthy she is.
‘Coco’s already on her way, but we’ll talk about it soon, okay?’
She huffs out such a heavy sigh that anyone would think she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Poor little urchin.
After a mostly silent breakfast – Harlow still moody about me ‘not trusting her’ to walk to school alone – I rush through my morning routine, only lingering to stare at the contents of my wardrobe, wondering what the heck to wear.
Ordinarily, I’d slip on some black trousers and a neutral-coloured shirt and call it good.
But there is nothing ordinary about today.
I’ve unlocked something – or ‘levelled up’, as Harlow would say. And I want to look the part.
Towards the back of the wardrobe is a chocolate-brown tea-length dress, with cream polka dots. I call it my Pretty Woman dress after the one Vivian wore in the polo scene. I hold it up in front of the mirror. I have no idea when I wore it last – it’ll have been years ago – but I do love it.
Before I convince myself it’s too pretty or formal to wear to work, I put it on, then hunt for my knee-high brown boots. I add a cream-coloured cropped jacket and eye myself in the mirror, taking in every detail, including the set of my chin, which is jaunty.
I remember this Sophie.
She’s not only great at her job and a good mum – the core pillars of my existence – she’s confident and bolshie and fun. Not that the other Sophie is never fun, but this gal seeks it out.
I glance at Daniel, who’s smiling at my reflection – almost as if I’ve caught his eye.
‘Guess who’s going to smash it at work today, babe?’
I beam at him, then go downstairs to wait for Connie, meeting Harlow on the way down. ‘Mum! Nice dress.’
I stop on the step above her and swish the skirt from side to side. ‘You like it?’
She nods in earnest, but her smile soon falls away.
‘Lo?’ I take two more steps and turn back, so we’re eye to eye. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry I was rude before. It’s just… I’m not a little kid any more.’
‘I know you’re not. You’re the most grown-up ten-year-old I’ve ever met – probably that anyone’s ever met.’ She snorts out a soft laugh, her dark-brown eyes, twins to mine, peering at me intently.
I should tell her the truth. She deserves it.
‘Look, of course you’re old enough to walk to school by yourself but I’m not there yet. I love that time together and I’m not ready to give it up.’
‘Oh.’ She chews on her lip – her thinking face. ‘But then why can’t I today? Why did you ask Coco?’
‘Excellent question – sometimes you’re far too clever for my liking,’ I tease.
‘Ye-ah,’ she says, giving it two syllables. ‘So, why not?’
‘Because, what if you like it so much that you never want me to walk you to school ever again?’
I’ve kept my tone light – like I told myself last night, it’s not Harlow’s job to ease my pain – but even so, my throat starts to close.
‘Oh, Mum, you’re being silly,’ she says, throwing her arms around my neck. ‘That will never happen.’
I hug her tightly. If only that were true, I think.