Chapter Seven
At last Jen disentangled herself from her niece’s grip, the little girl immediately grabbing her hand and swinging herself back and forth, kicking out a leg that was encased in red woolly tights and a red welly.
She talked on, unaware of the tension between the two sisters, who stood staring at each other.
‘. . . and we’re going to write a note, but epcept I’m going to write Georgie’s because he’s all small and he’s not actually good at writing yet, but when he’s a growned boy he can do his own, and we’re going to tell Father Christmas—’ She stopped and glanced at her mum, who was still frozen, oblivious to her daughter’s chatter.
‘No, ask, we’re going to ask Father Christmas, because he can’t sometimes bring all the things the children want, can he, Mummy?
But we’re going to ask him for some presents and then if I’ve been good and George has been good, then he might bring them. ’
She tugged on Jen’s hand, and Jen tore her gaze away from her sister and back to her niece, bending down to hear Amy as she leaned in, her eyes dancing with excitement.
‘And he brings them down the chimney!’ The little girl covered her mouth with her hand and bent over, giggling.
Jen smiled, grateful to have the excuse to focus entirely on Amy. ‘How exciting! I’m sure you’ve been very good.’
Amy nodded emphatically, the bobble on her hat wobbling around.
‘I’m very good, aren’t I, Mummy?’ She turned to her mum, who remained oblivious.
‘But I’m worried about George.’ Her little face took on an anxious expression and she bit her lip.
‘Because sometimes he’s really a bit quite naughty.
But he tries to be good, I know he does. ’
She let go of Jen’s hand to crouch down by her brother as he sat in his buggy, bundled in a snowsuit so that he looked like a little starfish, his arms and legs sticking out at right angles to his body. She patted his mittened hand.
‘Try to be good, won’t you, Georgie? Because we want Father Christmas to bring you your own presents, don’t we?’
George blinked his big brown eyes that peeked out from under his hat. He grinned, and Amy cocked her head, then went back over to Jen.
‘I think he’s going to be good now,’ she said.
She sounded doubtful. Then she stood on tiptoes to whisper to her aunt, ‘Because I don’t want really to share my presents with him.
It’s—I’m good at sharing!’ She glanced guiltily back at her mum.
‘Sometimes. I’m good at sharing sometimes, but I don’t think George will be allowed to play with the things I’ve asked for because I want only things with little small bits in.
’ She indicated with both hands exactly how small these bits were intended to be.
‘And babies can’t have those, can they?’ She bit her lip and gazed off into the distance.
‘I wonder what I can ask for that’s only things with the little small bits . . .’
Much as Jen wanted to immerse herself in this abundance of cuteness, there was a limit to how long even she could ignore the quiet desperation in her sister’s eyes. Behind her, Lou cleared her throat quietly, a nervous tic of hers. Feeling her expression harden, Jen eventually met Julia’s eye.
‘You – I didn’t know you were coming,’ Julia said.
Jen shrugged. ‘Just a flying visit.’
‘So is it – for your birthday? I sent a card, but I don’t know whether . . .’
Jen thought of all the cards she’d received from Julia over the years; birthday cards, Christmas cards, thank you cards for the children’s presents. Notecards full of handwritten apologies.
She’d read them all. And thrown them all away.
‘Perhaps you could come over? For lunch tomorrow or – or anything, just a cup of tea, if you like, I know the children would love . . . well.’ She glanced down at her hands that gripped George’s buggy tightly. ‘Not just the children,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d love that. I – it would be so lovely to—’
‘Well, I’m here with my friends, so—’ She indicated Lou, who was hovering awkwardly next to her.
‘Yes, of course, sorry.’ Julia stepped forwards, giving Lou a brief kiss on the cheek. ‘Louise, hello. How nice to—’
‘So I’ll leave lunch, I’m going home tomorrow anyway . . .’
Julia nodded, and swallowed. Jen heard Lou’s quiet intake of breath.
‘All right,’ Julia said softly, her voice shaking a little. ‘Well, it was lovely to see you.’
She attempted a smile, and Jen fought against the urge to close the distance between them and squeeze Julia in a bear hug the way they used to when they were teenagers. She fought against her misery at Julia’s obvious suffering.
‘Come on, Amy,’ Julia said, her voice bright with false jollity. ‘Let’s go, Auntie Jen has to leave now.’
‘Oh, but I want her to stay!’
The cards and presents Jen regularly sent to her niece and nephew had done their job. She was occasionally rewarded with a little ‘thank you’ FaceTime, a few moments of precious cuteness that she treasured.
‘I know,’ Julia said. ‘But I’m afraid she can’t.’
Amy turned sorrowful eyes to Jen. ‘Bye bye, Auntie Jen.’
Amy gave her one last hug and then stepped back to her mum, and Jen felt as though a layer of skin had been ripped away when the little girl left her.
‘Can I have another hot chocolate?’ Amy asked, without much hope, as they walked away.
‘All right,’ Julia said, with one last glance back at Jen, her eyes full of pain.
Amy did a double-take as she looked at her mum, clearly shocked at such a lax attitude to extra treats, but wise enough not to question it. The first flakes of snow began to fall as they disappeared into the crowd.
Well, Jen thought, that had been everything she’d dreaded. Happy birthday to her. At least she’d got to see the children.
Silently, Lou stroked her arm in an expression of sympathy. She wasn’t one to judge. Jen noticed Ted standing nearby. He’d clearly seen the whole thing, and was now staring at her with a disappointed expression, shaking his head.
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘This is all your bloody fault anyway for bringing us to Babblebrook. Can we please get out of here and have a drink? Where’s the nearest bar?’
‘Well, Waterfield, I suppose, but I thought we were going to go back to the house and . . .’
‘Right.’ Jen was already booking an Uber.
The place was exactly what she wanted: loud, dark and busy. It was still happy hour, and the cocktails and shots were buy-one-get-one-free. Jen elbowed her way to the bar.
The others trailed behind her, distinctly less enthusiastic.
Rich and Ted wore what they’d been wearing all day, Lou had stayed in her jeans but swapped her top for a dressier one and added a swipe of eyeliner.
She looked horrified as a hopeful young man peeled away from his friends to approach her, glaring at him and pointedly waving around her wedding ring until he hastily rejoined them.
‘Let me get you a birthday drink,’ Ted said.
‘You might as well get me two, the second is free anyway. And it is kind of your fault I need one.’ She grinned, and he looked a little sheepish.
‘Suppose I deserve that,’ he bellowed over the music. ‘I should’ve known bringing you to Babblebrook wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s OK. I’ll forgive you once I’ve had my second cocktail.’ She heaved herself onto a bar stool, and he took the one next to her.
He ordered, the barmaid batting her eyelashes and serving him before other customers who’d been waiting longer. He was oblivious to the effect he was having on her, and Jen rolled her eyes as he told her to get one for herself when he’d finished ordering the round.
‘What?’ he asked, as he called the others over to come and collect their drinks.
‘You haven’t got a clue, have you? Haven’t changed since college.’
He frowned, looking confused, as he handed a pint to Rich and a white wine to Lou. Reluctantly, the barmaid moved on to her next customer, trying once more to catch Ted’s eye. He didn’t notice.
In the past, Jen would have told him, and acted as his wingwoman, talking him up to the girl who was flirting with him.
They’d done this for each other, back in the day, and she had fond memories of those nights spent with him.
Often, the flirtation with the other person didn’t come to anything, but that never seemed to matter.
Her memories now, as she looked back on those nights, were of Ted, not the hazy recollection of whichever stranger she’d been interested in at the time.
But this wasn’t going to be one of those nights. Ted was apparently happily coupled up, he would have no interest in flirting with the barmaid. And Jen knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t want to raise the girl’s hopes for nothing.
The cocktails soon disappeared, and were swiftly replaced; it was her birthday, after all, and her friends were spoiling her. Waterfield was a small town, really, but the bar was busy on a Saturday night, the music loud and the crowds enjoying letting off steam.
This was exactly what Jen needed. Her friends didn’t seem to be quite as up for it – Lou and Rich had given up trying to keep a four-way conversation going against the noise.
They were now huddled just behind Jen and Ted, comparing pictures of their respective families and talking, from what Jen could hear of their conversation, about catchment areas.
Still, Jen was relaxed. She was buzzing with the cocktails and this was exactly the kind of distraction she wanted – the warm fug of bodies squeezed in together on a Saturday night, the smell of alcohol, aftershave and perfume, the beat of music reverberating through the floor.
Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ came over the speakers. They’d danced to this many a time back in the day, and Ted caught her eye as she swayed in her seat, lifting her arms above her head and singing along.
‘Brings back memories,’ he bellowed, grinning.
‘You remember that club we always went to on a Friday night?’
‘Of course. And the chippy on the way back, still open at three in the morning!’
Jen laughed. There had been so many nights that they had all crammed into the little chip shop, the windows steamed up, ordering deep-fried deliciousness to soak up the drinks. ‘Remember when you and Rich climbed that tree to rescue a cat on the way back?’
He grinned, flexing the wrist he’d broken when he fell out. ‘How could I forget?’
Jen snorted, almost choking on her last gulp of drink. ‘That cat didn’t even need rescuing, it was fine!’
He shook his head emphatically, raising a finger. ‘No, I still maintain it was in trouble. Poor little thing was meowing for help.’
She batted his finger away. ‘Don’t get all deputy head on me!’ she said, laughing. ‘And that “poor little thing” needed no help at all, it jumped down perfectly well as soon as it saw you two great big idiots getting near it.’
He grinned again and shrugged. ‘I don’t remember that.’
They smiled at each other, reliving a shared past. ‘We had some fun,’ she said.
He nodded, staring down into his beer. ‘Do you remember all those nights? You and me, sitting up talking. Putting the world to rights.’
Jen caught his eye. She did remember those nights. She didn’t want to remember all of them.
They were silent for a moment.
‘I know it was – not the easiest time. For you,’ he said, so softly she could barely hear. ‘But I’m glad I could be there for you.’
Jen swallowed. She nodded. Remembering now more than just the drunken escapades, more than the earnest heart-to-hearts, more than the pranks they played.
She remembered Ted, listening as she poured her heart out, holding her as she cried, making her laugh when she felt the world was ending.
She remembered the best friend she’d ever had.
‘You know,’ he said. He was looking at her as he used to, with warmth and compassion and steadiness. ‘I’m glad I could be the one to help you through. But sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if—’
But Jen never got to find out what Ted was wondering. She’d stopped listening. Because over his shoulder she’d caught sight of someone, nursing a whisky at the far end of the bar as he wrote in a notebook, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
Train Guy.