Chapter 15 #2
‘Speaking of this morning,’ she said, with a definite twinkle of mischief in her eye, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that Tom’s car was in the car park all night…?’
All night? I’d assumed he’d stayed for an hour or so after the vomiting incident, setting me up with my horizontal sick station, before leaving the note and heading back to his.
‘Got to be honest with you, Becky, I can’t remember much beyond securing the extremely generous pub quiz jackpot.’
Becky raised her eyebrows.
‘Stop it. All I’m saying is that I more or less passed out when we got back to my place.’
I decided to spare her the details of me throwing up and being put to bed fully dressed like a hyperactive toddler after too much Ribena at a family wedding.
‘Oh, well, all I know is that our CCTV caught him driving off at about seven thirty this morning so… er, Mills, are you OK? You’re not going to be sick, are you?’
I’d passed the point of queasiness, but my face did indeed feel like it’d lost some of its colour as I thought back to last night, the mysterious curtain and Tom’s note. All of a sudden, everything made a lot more sense.
‘No, it’s just that – oh God – I reckon Tom must’ve slept on the landing underneath a curtain all night in the absence of any basic comforts in my practically unfurnished rental.’
Becky chuckled. ‘That sounds like classic Tom.’
‘Does it? I barely know him.’ Did my voice sound as casual as I was trying to make it? Becky’s snort suggested not.
‘You’re hilarious. You must know he had a soft spot for you at school, right?’
I swore my heart stopped beating for a moment as I attempted to process Becky’s words.
‘What are you talking about? Me and Tom, we… never even spoke back then.’
But had there been glances? Unspoken in-jokes? I always thought I’d imagined it. And that still seemed like the most realistic explanation for my silent tsunami of adolescent feelings.
‘To be fair, you didn’t really speak to anyone but Elle from Year Nine onwards.’
I opened my mouth to deny the accusation but nothing came out. I mean, she was right. Mine and Becky’s friendship had fizzled out after Elle had moved next door just as we were on the cusp of our teenage years.
‘Don’t stress about it, mate,’ she said. ‘We were kids! Female friendships are weird and complicated. If it weren’t for Carly and her strangely unsatiable appetite for spending time with people, I still probably wouldn’t have any non-bloke pals.’
I could relate to that. Without Elle, I’d also have a grand total of zero mates of any gender.
‘Anyway, back to more pressing matters: Tom definitely had a thing for you, okay? When the guys at school found out they used to rib him about it. They even had a nickname for the pair of you.’
‘Tomelia’ suddenly made a lot more sense.
‘Yeah, I bet they did.’ I kept my eyes firmly focused on the table-laying task at hand, kind of hoping that if I didn’t catch Becky’s eye, she’d somehow fail to detect the deep shade of mulled wine I was fast turning.
‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘Maybe something to do with the fact that I was a massive square and he was the total opposite?’ I glanced up to catch Becky rolling her eyes before she walked over to the fire to give it a tactical prod and rearrange the tasteful festive garland that adorned the mantelpiece.
‘Well, I guess back then the two of you were quite different on the surface. Though, years later, he told us that he’d managed to convince himself that you were way out of his league.’
Talk about the twilight zone.
‘What?!’
‘Yeah, he was pretty lacking in self-confidence back then, especially when it came to getting close to anyone. We used to have to beg him to come out most weekends.’
I was starting to detect the beginnings of a correlation between what Becky was saying and the brief insights Tom had given me about his tricky childhood. But ‘lacking in self-confidence’? Surely not.
‘What are you talking about? He was probably the most outgoing and popular person in our year!’
Becky shrugged. ‘Appearances can be deceiving. Anyway. It’s a shame, really, as I can now see that you’re practically the same person.’
‘The same person?’ This was fast turning into the most unlikely conversation I’d ever had. And the table place I’d just laid had two dessert spoons where the knife and fork should have been.
‘Oh, c’mon, stop acting all surprised. I could tell when you two were together last night that there’s something there. Even Carly noticed, and she’s not exactly known for her perceptiveness. We’ve not seen him that happy in ages. Since he and Abbie broke up, he’s really not been around that much.’
I wanted all the details. But, also, none of them. I decided to poke about, just a little.
‘Was it a mutual separation?’
‘Think so. He’s never really spoken about it. I know that she was keen to have kids straight away, but Tom wanted to wait because he was still so young. And then by the time he was ready for that chapter they’d drifted apart to the extent that it wasn’t the right time for either of them any more.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Trust me – it was for the best. She really wasn’t a great match for him. Unlike someone else I know…’
I felt all sparkly, as if someone had switched on my internal fairy lights.
‘Becky, stop it! This is… a lot to get my head around, especially on such a hungover stomach.’
‘Don’t overthink it, mate.’
‘“Don’t overthink it”? But overthinking is my happy place!’
‘Ha ha, yeah, of course it is. Because it’s Tom’s happy place, too.
Okay, go ahead and overthink it, then. But don’t let that get in the way of actually doing anything about it, hmm?
Right, can you pass me those napkins? I’ve found this amazing video that shows you how to fold them into cute little Christmas trees and I’ve been itching to give it a go. Up for the challenge?’
‘You do remember that I was effectively banned from textiles lessons after repeatedly slicing my fingers open with the pinking shears, right?’
‘No scissors involved here. Just cloth, YouTube and misguided grit.’
At seven o’clock – an hour past their scheduled arrival time and in response to a series of increasingly irritated voicemails left by Becky – the organiser of the private room booking finally confirmed they were no longer coming.
The no-show was a devastating one: the deposit the group had paid to reserve the space for the night came nowhere close to making up for what the pub should’ve raked in from the group on booze sales alone.
And all the wasted food they’d bought in especially – and had already begun to prepare based on pre-orders – didn’t bear thinking about.
There were a few other smaller groups and couples enjoying the festive set menu, but even I could tell that, for the only pub in a busy little village like Scarnbrook to be 75 per cent empty in the immediate run-up to Christmas, something was very awry.
After helping to clear a table – and praying that I would never have to handle a piece of jagged, heavy slate masquerading as a plate ever again – I found Becky slumped in a fireside armchair in the private dining room, her head in her hands.
I pulled up a chair next to her and squeezed one of her shoulders. She looked up at me through mascara-damp eyes.
‘It’s him. He’s done this.’
‘Who?’
‘That bastard Christian Woods. I’m telling you.’
‘But the deposit…?’
‘A few hundred quid means nothing to him. He’s playing the long game.’
‘Shit, I’m so sorry, Becky.’
‘Thanks. You might as well head off – it’s not like we need the extra help any more.’
I looked at the open fire roaring where a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire quiz machine used to reside.
Staying here in this cosy establishment was way preferable to heading up the lane to my distinctly unfestive and fluorescent-lit rental.
More importantly, Becky needed a friend right now.
And I got the impression my presence alone would mean something.
‘Nah, it’s warmer here than back at my place. In all senses of the word.’
She gave me a quick hug before standing, wiping underneath her eyes and tapping her cheeks a few times as if to dislodge her disappointment.
‘Right, I’m going to head back out there. Maybe you could put the cutlery back in the dresser so it doesn’t get dusty? God knows when it’ll next see the light of day.’
I saluted my compliance with a sympathetic grin as she went back into the main area of the pub, leaving the door ajar behind her.
I looked around the beautiful room. What a fucking waste. And what a fucking bastard that Christian Woods bloke was if it was indeed him who’d planned all of this for his own greedy gain.
And then I remembered: tonight was the night Tom’s company was having its Christmas party. I tapped out a quick message to him, my fingers shaking as the potential of the idea took hold.
Mally:
Hey, bit last minute, but are you still in need of a venue tonight?
The private dining room at The Star is suddenly free and the kitchen is
bursting with food that will otherwise go to waste?
Tom replied almost instantly.
Tom:
Er, are you serious? Because let’s just say ‘drinks in the office’ is
fast turning into ‘awkward silences in the office’ and I feel like David
Brent.
Mally:
Yeah! Give Becky a quick call, see what she says. But they could
really do with filling the place up tonight.
Tom:
Understood. And the local taxi firm owes me one. Fingers crossed!
Moments later, the pub’s phone rang and I peered round the dining-room door to see Becky’s face light up. While she spoke into the handset, she looked in my direction, grinned and gave me a massive thumbs up before hanging up, doing a little dance and dashing into the kitchen.
I turned back to the dresser, feeling all warm inside, and began to handle the cutlery for the third time that evening.