Chapter 3 #2
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat to interrupt the sisters, who are now deeply embroiled in a discussion involving who used to run the greengrocers before it was turned into a health food shop.
“Elliot couldn’t help me with my writing even if I wanted him to, because he and I aren’t in touch.
I don’t know the guy anymore . And he definitely doesn’t know me. He never really did.”
I glance across at the corner Elliot and I sat in on our first date, as if he might still be sitting there all these years later, listening in to this conversation about himself.
But the shabby little booth with the peeling leather seats is long gone; replaced by a huge, glass-fronted fridge containing expensive bottled water and low-cal smoothies.
There are no ghosts here. If there were, they’d probably leave, just to get away from the squabbling Poole sisters.
“Evie Snow wasn’t much like you in the movie,” Elsie agrees. “But I do like the bit where she gives the doctor a piece of her mind. That was very you, Holly.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I protest, stung. “That never happened, Elsie. You know that. I’ll never forgive Elliot for writing that book of his. It changed everything; and not for the better.”
Elsie exchanges a glance with her sister that makes me wish it was more acceptable to argue with elderly people.
“Now, now,” begins Maisie. “If it wasn’t for ‘that book’, as you put it, none of us would be here.
Well, I mean, we would probably be here, in The Brew; but it wouldn’t look like this.
Until ‘that book’ came out, The Brew was dying on its feet.
They could barely afford to keep the lights on. And now look at it.”
We all dutifully look around us at the interior of the shop, which bears absolutely no resemblance to the chintzy little tea room it used to be when Elliot and I had our first ‘date’ here over a decade ago. That’s the only reason I can bring myself to keep coming here.
“It’s the Snow Globe effect,” agrees her sister. “It’s like magic. It makes everything better.”
“Not everything,” I reply, knowing I sound petulant, but not really caring. “Not everything’s been better since The Snow Globe came out. And not everything needs to change, anyway. Maybe some things were better the way they were.”
Like my heart, say. And the way I used to be able to pick up a book without worrying that there might be a photo of my ex on the back cover. Just the simple things, you know?
“That’s the wrong attitude, Holly,” Maisie tells me firmly. “You have to move with the times. Get with the program.”
“You’ve got to catch the vibe,” Elsie joins in eagerly. “Is that how you say it, Maisie?”
“You have to glow-up,” Maisie finishes, ignoring her. “You have to flex. Like Elsie and me. We flex.”
I gape at her, dumbfounded. It’s like she’s swallowed Urban Dictionary whole.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” her sister agrees, sipping her tea primly. “We do like to flex, don’t we?”
“The question is,” says Maisie, leaning forward and fixing me with a gimlet stare. “Do you, Holly?”
“Do I… flex?” I pick up my coffee mug and take a long gulp in a bid to hide the laughter that’s bubbling up inside me. “I … I’m not sure. I do a pilates workout on YouTube sometimes. Does that count?”
“Do you want to move with the times, I mean?” says Maisie impatiently. “Do you want to glow-up, like the rest of us, or are you just going to keep on complaining about your boring little life, and how Martin left you because you were frigid?”
“Hang on,” I reply. “That’s a bit harsh, Maisie. I wasn’t complaining. And Martin didn’t say that. Wait: did Martin say that?”
“He said you had a heart as cold as ice,” Elsie pipes up importantly. “He said not even dragon fire would melt it. He does like dragons, young Martin.”
“That’s what I said,” replies her sister, irritated. “She’s frigid.”
“Freezing,” nods Elsie.
“Maybe a make-over?” suggests Maisie, frowning in concentration as she looks me up and down again critically. “That couldn’t hurt, could it? Remember that time you went into the bookstore and walked right past her, because she’d blended in with one of the shelves?”
“Ooh, I know! She could have a Main Character Moment,” says Elsie, excitedly. “Remember we read about that on the Internet, Maisie? Everyone was having one. I think I had a bit of one this morning, actually.”
“You did not,” retorts Maisie, who hates being outdone by her sister. “That was just one of your migraines, Elsie. And Holly’s already had her Main Character Moment when she was in The Snow Globe. She can’t have two. That would just be greedy, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t need a make-over,” I explode, suddenly sounding very like Evie Snow after all. “Or a main character moment. I’m quite happy staying in the background, thanks. And I don’t have a heart of ice. I can’t believe Martin said that. I’m not cold.”
I am actually quite cold right now, to be honest. But my heart is a completely normal temperature, and I’m just about to tell them that when I happen to glance at the window of the shop.
And there he is.
Again.
Elliot Sinclair is standing outside The Brew, wearing the same beanie hat I thought I saw him in yesterday, and looking in at us, almost as if I’ve conjured him into existence just by speaking about him. What’s that saying again? Speak of the devil, and he might appear?
I let out a strange, high-pitched squeak of shock, and the mug in my hand suddenly slips through my fingers, hot coffee spilling onto the table in front of me, and dripping onto my lap.
I squeak again, this time in pain.
“Oh, my goodness! Quick, Holly, take this!”
Maisie and Elsie flutter around me like birds, offering paper napkins and words of advice on how to get coffee stains out of clothes (Baking soda and white vinegar, apparently), and by the time they’re done fussing, and my view of the window is clear once more, there’s no one there.
Of course there isn’t.
Which means that I’m either, a) seeing things, b) going insane, or, c) Elliot Sinclair really is skulking around a town he hasn’t visited in a decade, somehow managing to disappear the split second I lay eyes on him.
I’m honestly not sure which of those three options is the least appealing.
(Okay, I’m lying; it’s the last one. I’d much rather be seeing ‘things’ than seeing Elliot Sinclair right now, trust me…)
“Did you see him?” I ask, looking wildly from one sister to the other. “At the window. Did you see him too?”
They stare back at me with identical expressions of bemusement mixed with concern on their faces. I know I must sound crazy right now, but I have to know if I actually am. Because that would definitely be helpful.
“Did we see who, dear?” asks Elsie cautiously. “I don’t see anyone at the window; did you, Maisie?”
Maisie shakes her head.
“It’s just this time of year,” she says kindly. “It always sends poor Holly a bit loopy, doesn’t it? Remember how she shouted at her poor father that time, Elsie?”
“That wasn’t me,” I exclaim, aghast. “That was Evie Snow in The Snow Globe. You see what I mean?” I’m horrified to notice that my voice is starting to sound kind of wobbly now.
“Everyone thinks it’s true. Everyone thinks I’m her, and that I did all those things in the book, but that’s not true. It’s really not. I—”
But it’s no use; Elsie and Maisie might be nodding along as if they completely agree with everything I’m saying, but I can tell that I’ve lost them. And now I really am starting to sound every bit as irrational as Elliot made me — I mean Evie — sound in his book; which means it’s time for me to go.
“Thanks for the chat,” I say, giving them both a smile which I know they’ll later describe to each other as “brave. “I best be going.”
So I go; leaving quickly, just in case the man I thought was Elliot is still somewhere around; maybe coming out of the gourmet food store, or browsing the market stalls in the village square, hoping to bump into some other unsuspecting woman he can use as ‘inspiration’ for a book.
But he isn’t there. The entire village is conspicuously lacking in anyone who looks even remotely like a bestselling author; or even an American ex-boyfriend.
I’m starting to think I should get my eyes tested.
That would be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Well, that and the fact that I live in a town that’s absolutely obsessed with my ex.
I guess anyone would start to think they were seeing him under those circumstances.
Wouldn’t they?
Elliot Sinclair isn’t the only thing that’s stuck in my mind, though, as I make my way to the bookstore. Maisie and Elsie’s words are in there too, circling and repeating like a record with a scratch.
I hate to say it, but maybe Maisie is right?
Maybe I could be doing with making a few changes?
Maybe not a ‘makeover’ exactly, but something to get me out of this decade-long rut I’ve been stuck in?
A confidence boost. A goal of some kind.
An opportunity to feel like the main character in my own life, for once.
Maybe if I did that, I’d stop imagining Elliot Sinclair around every corner. Because, call me crazy, but I think it’s long past time to start banishing that particular ghost of Christmas past.