Chapter 21
21
ELENA
Elena pulled up the car boot and heaved out two shopping bags, glad for her scarf and gloves yet hoping snow would soon fall. She’d like to see it one last time. Elena took a moment, indulging in memories of whizzing down a hill with Mum, on a sledge, the two of them laughing every time it bumped over a clump of grass. Even more excited than Elena, at the first sign of snow, Dad would be insisting they needed to build a snowman. As those warm thoughts dissipated, a crisp winter breeze brushed over her again. She was about to dump the shopping on the ground, to look for her keys, when the front door opened. Tinsel draped around his neck, like a cabaret performer’s boa, Rory stood there.
‘You found the Christmas decorations, then?’ She’d got them down from the loft this morning before heading out to the supermarket.
As if doing a striptease, he held each end of the tinsel and tugged it from side to side. Then he gave a little bow, reached forwards and took the bags. He carried them into the kitchen. Elena locked up and followed him .
She stopped in the hallway and stared through the lounge’s glass door. ‘How did you guess that’s the exact spot where I like to set up the tree?’ A naked, plastic pine tree stood to the left of the television. Her chest hitched. It hit home. Christmas was coming and she really might not see it. Might not laugh at Dad, tipsy, doing ‘The Electric Slide’ line dance after his post-dinner Bailey’s. Nor Mum insisting they sit through It’s a Wonderful Life for the umpteenth time because of her crush on James Stewart.
‘I didn’t dare dress it, though. People can be very possessive of their baubles,’ he said. Rory handed her a mug of coffee. ‘Sorry. You were right. I was a dick last night.’
She turned to him. ‘Oh… I’m sorry too. We… were both idiots.’
‘Makes me realise how set in my ways I’ve become – not with my sports, but with the day-to-day. I haven’t shared digs with anyone since uni and back then it was the norm to go out spontaneously, to be more impulsive. Now I even check on Brandy and Snap each night, even though there’s no way they can get out.’
‘I think that’s called love,’ she said.
‘Are you saying I love you?’
‘The heart wants what the heart wants, Bunker.’
As if. Rory and Elena? That would be like bringing together chalk and cheese, night and day, salt and pepper, black and white, oil and water.
Although, lately she had thought of him as more than a colleague. Rory had become a… friend. She’d not held onto many of those, over the years, keeping the past to herself, not wanting to get really close, aware that she might not always be around. Elena held out her free hand. ‘Thanks for caring,’ she mumbled. ‘I do appreciate it. ’
He slipped his hand into hers and she squeezed, both of them giving each other an understanding nod. She respected her colleague for several reasons, and one was that he never hesitated to apologise if he knew he was wrong.
‘I’ve got used to living on my own too,’ she said. ‘Not sure I could go back to an interrogation from my parents every time I got in.’
They unpacked the bags and Rory listened, mouth agape, whilst Elena talked about Carl’s J F Kennedy theory and how NASA was supposedly the bad guy. She also showed him the photo she’d taken last night of the pickle stall, and groaned dramatically when he insisted they must find time to visit and buy a selection. When they’d both stopped laughing, she lifted up the chicken.
‘They only had frozen turkeys, not fresh ones, so chicken it is. But I’ve got everything else required for a perfect festive dinner – cranberry sauce, Christmas pudding, crackers, a holly and mistletoe paper tablecloth. How about we decorate the tree and then prepare the vegetables together?’
Rory led the way into the lounge. He took out his phone, scrolled for a moment, tapped and then placed it on the coffee table, volume on full.
It was playing Christmas jazz that he must have known Elena would love.
She opened a cardboard box on the floor and sorted through baubles. Together they hung them on the tree’s branches, some from her childhood, like the little pink unicorn covered in glitter and the yellow rubber duck wearing a Christmas hat. A large, rainbow metal star went on top. Dad used to put her on his shoulders when she was little so that she could place it. Her parents insisted Elena have it when she moved out .
‘I was expecting the decorations to be as coordinated as the rest of the house,’ he said as Frank Sinatra serenaded them.
‘It’s not Christmas without everything clashing – cranberry and turkey, cheese with grapes, raw eggs with nutmeg, relatives that hate each other… A Christmas tree should reflect the chaos that everyone pines for as soon as Halloween is over.’
‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ came on the phone and she grabbed Rory’s hands, her, for once, instigating the Good Times Dance. Elena needed to relish every moment of today. Once the tree was done, they peeled carrots and parsnips and Brussels sprouts. After cheese on toast for a late lunch, they both went to get changed. The dining room table was set and Rory brought a packet of cards from the spare room. Elena stood waiting by the tree.
Rory entered the lounge and looked as if he’d seen Santa. He gave a drawn-out whistle. ‘You look great, Elena. Red really suits you.’
She wore a full-length halter neck dress that clung to her curves. She’d bought it, carried away after a champagne lunch to celebrate her mother’s birthday a couple of years ago, but had never worn it. Now was the time. Elena would get Rory to take a photo and send it to her parents. It had seemed too extravagant before, but now she wondered how could anything be too much for life on earth that shouted beauty from every corner of the natural world. From the unnatural one, as well. Elena loved her round terrazzo coffee table, the swing seats in that Polish café in Manchester, the retro drinks trolley at Mum and Dad’s and the fake fish tank in Gary’s flat, and especially the pod swivel chair in Rory’s apartment that had made her feel like Captain Kirk from Star Trek that time she saw it when he invited the whole department round for drinks. Yet she’d tip-toed through life, in her twenties, wearing sensible trouser suits and flatties .
Rory wore a plaid kilt and matching blazer.
‘Nice,’ she said and waved her hand up and down.
‘This outfit might do for the office Christmas night out. What have you got planned? I promise not to tell Gary.’
Elena gasped. ‘Oh crap! I haven’t planned it yet, what with… with the broken biscuit idea taking over. What the hell am I going to do?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘Got any ideas?’ she asked. Everyone would be so disappointed that she’d let them down.
‘Hmm… I saw an event advertised for the twenty-second. A little late, granted, and it’s a Sunday, so people might have family stuff on, but it looks amazing. A GPS-enabled festive treasure hunt around Manchester. It takes you to bars and ends in a restaurant for a buffet, with a mystery prize for the winning team, handed over by a local celebrity. It takes you from the Northern Quarter to the Village, to Deansgate and Spinningfields. Didn’t look too pricey, either. People could bring a plus one if they wanted to pay for them, seeing as it’s so near to Christmas and their partners might be off work.’
‘The twenty-second? That’s the day after my birthday.’ Her smile faltered. ‘No… it’s got to be before then. Leave it with me. I’ll sort something out.’
‘Why is the date so important? Have your mum and dad got something planned?’
She stared at the carpet.
He took her hand and led her to the sofa. ‘Everything okay? You haven’t seemed yourself lately. You can tell me, in confidence. What’s going on?’
Earnest chestnut eyes stared her way, as if they were reading her mind. If only that were true, then she wouldn’t have to say out loud what sounded like a ridiculous story. But then Rory had never been one for laughing at her, not even when she came up with a totally absurd marketing concept. Like the time they were running ideas past each other for a festive biscuit. Elena suggested a Christmas pudding-flavoured one, said Bingley Biscuits could hold a competition to find a random biscuit containing a golden sixpence. He’d tactfully pointed out they might receive dental work claims.
He took her hand again and rubbed his thumb across the top of it. Tingles went up her arm and she shivered. Must have been because her red dress wasn’t the warmest.
Elena took a deep breath. ‘Nearly twenty years ago,’ she said, ‘when I was ten, one night, I went on the common near our house, an open piece of land that had wooded areas. It was my birthday. I’d often sneak out to play with next door’s cat. That night I… I didn’t feel well, you see, and Mum was in hospital, because she’d been in a terrible accident. Dad was with her. A neighbour, Gayle, was looking after me.’
Rory nodded encouragingly.
‘I… I walked through the wooded area, needing fresh air. I was so warm wearing my Disney pyjamas, even though it was December, when suddenly?—’
The doorbell rang. Elena swallowed. Relief filled her chest. Had she lost her mind? Why would she tell anyone about that night? She pulled her hand away from Rory. If she told him everything, and in the unlikely event that he believed her, he’d only try to stop the inevitable outcome and might risk himself in the process. She went to the door, him following her.
Tahoor came in, rubbing his arms, and he raised an eyebrow at Rory’s legs. He took off his coat and Elena kissed his cheek. Tahoor had made an effort too, wearing a waistcoat over a shirt that had actually been ironed. He patted his head .
‘I went out and got a haircut this morning. I’ve brought…’ He passed Elena a Tupperware box. ‘My Isha’s masala stuffing balls – made by her. I found them in the freezer.’ He stared at the box. ‘I thought it would be difficult, eating her food, but it’ll be like having her with us.’
‘You don’t want to keep them for another time?’ asked Elena, gently.
‘She’d want you to try them. I’ll dig out the recipe if you like, and you can add it to your collection. A woman’s recipe box is one of the most important things she’ll bring to a marriage. Office skills are all very well, but they won’t be much good once you settle down and have babies.’
Rory shot Tahoor a helpless look as Elena reached into one of the deep red pockets that had attracted her to the dress in the first place. She waved a yellow card in the air.
‘You made them!’ said Tahoor in a delighted tone. ‘It’s as if I’ve got my family living next door. Right, Rory lad, you and I need to discuss Wednesday’s match. It’s against Newcastle United. Those magpies are a canny lot and…’
Tahoor kept in high spirits and, throughout the meal, didn’t suggest Elena watch how much she ate when she went for seconds of roast potatoes, like he had once when she’d gone around to check on him and he’d asked her to stay for tea and biscuits. He also turned a blind eye when she knocked back a second glass of Bailey’s, after dessert. Elena had seen his signs of grief this last year – the stained, un-ironed clothes, the shadows under his eyes, the lonely glances out of his lounge window – but she’d been so wrapped up in herself that she’d let the friendship slip, telling herself he’d, no doubt, rather be on his own. She was about to draw out the second yellow card when the meal was over as he suggested to Rory that they watch television until Elena had finished clearing up. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Elena had pretended not to notice, but she’d seen Tahoor dab his eyes with his reindeer paper napkin as soon as one of Isha’s stuffing balls went in his mouth.
‘Stuff the washing. We’ll tidy up later,’ she announced. ‘Let’s chill for half an hour before playing cards.’ Fingers crossed he didn’t suggest playing Old Maid. She and Rory sat on the sofa, Tahoor in a nearby armchair. With the help of black coffee, they eventually found enough energy to play, then took another break. Elena passed around a box of chocolates. She told Tahoor about the bungee jump and Rory reminisced about one he’d done in France, from a cable car in a ski resort.
‘Ah, la belle France,’ mumbled Tahoor. ‘I surprised Isha once with a weekend in Paris. I chose a family run hotel in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a beautiful area where famous artists and bookish types used to meet and live. I’ve never forgotten its name – H?tel Madame Chic – or our room’s old-style French furniture, highly carved, with upholstered chairs. Isha loved the floral designs and cosy colours – said she felt like royalty staying there. Paris is a clichéd romantic destination, but she’d always wanted to go. And it turns out, you really haven’t lived unless you’ve climbed up the steps to the Sacré Coeur and looked down at the Parisian skyline.’
‘Never been,’ said Rory.
‘Me neither,’ said Elena.
Tahoor clapped his hands. ‘You should go together! It’s safer for a woman to go with a man. The underground there is…’
Elena’s fingers itched to slide into her pocket for the yellow card as he carried on talking.
‘It must be wonderful at Christmas,’ he continued, ‘the City of Lights especially sparkly, so full of life. ’
Full of life . Elena needed to cram as much as she could into the next three weeks, in case…
Paris? Why not?
‘Let’s do it, Rory!’ Her eyes were sparkly now. ‘How about next weekend? A city break to do Christmas shopping.’
He laughed. ‘Nice one. Imagine the scramble to get flights and hotels at this late notice, at this time of year. As for you, flying… Have you thought this through?’
‘Yes! It’s about time I did it. I’m not joking about this trip!’
‘Have you even got a passport?’
‘I had to get one for my last job, but never needed to use it.’ Or rather she’d avoided trips to the head office in Seattle. A little white lie about an ear infection got her out of the last one.
‘Go on, lad! You won’t regret it,’ said Tahoor, and he stood up, went next door, and came back out of breath and shivering from the cold, grasping a small photo album. Elena turned the pages, filled with photos of roadside portrait painters, beautiful Haussmann-style buildings, passersby wearing cool sunglasses, plates of mussels and crêpes. Elena hummed ‘April in Paris’.
‘Please, Rory. I need to do this,’ she murmured. More than he could ever imagine.
Tahoor couldn’t have looked happier as he left to let them get on with searching for flights and hotel rooms. He gave Elena a hug by the front door, whilst Rory set up his laptop.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t as bad as I expected.’ But with those words, he looked down at the album he was holding and his face crumpled. A sob escaped his lips. His arms curled around his body as he went to leave.
‘Tahoor! Come back in,’ she said.
Vehemently, Tahoor shook his head. ‘Mustn’t let another man – shouldn’t let anyone – see me crying.’ He gulped .
Elena paused, delved into her pocket and passed him a red card. He sniffed and with a puzzled look on his face, took it.
‘You get the cards for sexist comments, right? Well, that comment is sexist towards men. There’s nothing wrong with you crying, Tahoor, and don’t you forget it.’
‘I miss her so very much,’ he croaked. ‘I dream about her too. The pain when I wake up and find she’s not there…’ He gave another muffled sob. ‘It’s more than I can bear, and I’m worried this sense of helplessness will never go away.’ The shudders that ripped through his body eventually slowed. Elena held his hand tightly. ‘Sorry, lass – making a show of myself.’
‘Don’t you apologise. It will get better, I promise,’ she whispered. ‘The death of a loved one is traumatic. As a child, I suffered a trauma. Time doesn’t make you forget but it gives you coping mechanisms.’
Tahoor wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. ‘You must think me a right… What’s that word my granddaughter, Sharnaz, uses…? Wuss.’
Elena leant forwards and gave him a hug. She stepped back and placed a hand on one of his shoulders. ‘Quite the opposite. It takes an incredibly brave person to share their tears… to share their inner fears,’ she said. ‘Come round again this week.’
‘For the football on Wednesday?’ he said, and his face lit up. ‘Snacks on me.’
‘It’s a date,’ she said. ‘But Tahoor, I’m also always here if you need to chat. I’ve always got time.’
‘I know. You lasses aren’t as busy as us men, with our heads constantly rolling with important thoughts and responsibilities…’
Her mouth dropped open but he winked, smiling through the tears, and he turned to go, clutching the red card .
‘Everything all right?’ asked Rory as he came into the hallway.
Elena closed the door. ‘I hope so.’
‘That thing you were telling me… about your tenth birthday night… Fancy carrying on over another cup of coffee before we book our weekend away?’
Elena rolled her lips together. She wasn’t as brave as Tahoor. ‘No,’ she said and forced a grin. ‘It was nothing, really, and we’ve no time to waste if we’re flying to Paris in six days!’