Chapter Thirty-Six
‘I wouldn’t say terrible,’ Julia said, giving a little shrug.
Not hugely reassuring.
They were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating mince pies bought from the café.
Alexa was playing Christmas carols and the snow still blanketed everything outside the window.
Jen chewed morosely, savouring the deliciously rich flavour of the fruit with a hint of brandy despite her misery.
‘You just get caught up in your own problems sometimes, I think,’ Julia continued, cheerfully slopping another spoonful of brandy butter onto her pie.
‘And maybe you’ve been so used to Ted being the one to support you that it never occurred to you that he might need you to look after him sometimes. ’
Jen thought about how Ted had been there for her when her parents split, always knowing when to listen, when to let her cry, when to make her laugh. She hadn’t even noticed that he was struggling.
‘I just – he’s always so together. It’s hard to tell with him that he’s dealing with something bad, he doesn’t show it like I do.’
She could be in no doubt now, though. She’d tried to call him several times since she’d got back from the café, but he didn’t pick up. Her long, apologetic text had been met with a brief reply that thanked her, but said he needed a bit of space.
It stung. Ted had never needed distance from her, but she supposed she deserved it.
Julia looked sceptical. ‘Hmm, I think it’s been pretty obvious since he and Sarah broke up that he’s not been himself. I mean, he looks rough.’
Jen stared at her. ‘You knew?’
Julia shrugged. ‘Of course, it’s Babblebrook. Everyone’s worried about him.’
‘Well, why didn’t you tell me?’ Jen heard her own voice rise, full of outrage.
Julia stared at her. ‘I thought you knew. I thought you’d have checked in with him, I mean, he’s your best friend, isn’t he?’
This response did not make Jen feel any better about herself. She sighed. ‘Pass me that brandy butter.’
It was all she could do to stop herself eating it out of the tub with a spoon.
She began with the fair.
She had just under a week to finish organising it.
‘Did you go to the Christmas fair last year?’ she asked Amy and Lottie as they were eating Dan’s pasta leftovers for lunch the next day.
They both nodded enthusiastically.
‘It was at Wood End,’ Amy said. ‘And Father Christmas came and—’
‘And he brought his reindeer and we could stroke them,’ Lottie added.
Amy nodded, and spoke though a mouthful of pasta. ‘And there was a giant big tree that filled up their whole actual hall and—’
‘Yes, with presents underneath for everyone and—’
‘And remember the thing with chocolate falling down and you could put your marshmallow in it?’ Amy’s eyes rounded out with wonder at the memory.
Lottie giggled. ‘And Oscar put his face in it and his mummy was ever so a bit cross and her made him go home before the proper party with the games and the music and the special sparkly light and the fireworks.’
They giggled together. Then Amy nodded, spooning up the last mouthful of pasta. ‘And my daddy said those roasted porks were the yummiest he’d actually had.’
‘Sounds great,’ Jen said, clearing their empty bowls and wondering how on earth she was going to produce anything that compared to all this on a few days’ notice, so close to Christmas.
‘Yes, and this year will be even better, won’t it?’ Lottie said.
Amy nodded, swinging her legs happily. ‘Because Mr Piper said so. And he always keeps his promises, doesn’t he?’
Jen smiled at their hopeful, happy little faces. ‘Yes, he does.’
Ted had been on her mind constantly since their conversation the day before.
The realisation that she’d let him down, had consistently been letting him down, sat like a stone in her chest. She remembered all the times he’d been there for her; the nights at college when they’d sat on the floor, drinking and talking till the sun rose.
Setting the world to rights. The songs he wrote and played, sweeping her away from her own problems into a world of beautiful melody and heartfelt lyrics.
The films they’d watched, he alone of her friends sharing her taste for the classic, passionate stories of yesteryear.
The jokes he made, always terrible, always succeeding in lifting her spirits if she was low.
He’d been the best friend a person could ask for, and she realised she’d taken him for granted. Well, now she was determined to make up for that.
The gentle touch of a hand on her arm brought her out of her reverie with a start, and she almost dropped the bowls she was holding.
‘You OK?’ Julia asked, her expression sympathetic. She eased the bowls out of Jen’s grip and put them on the side. ‘He’s not worth it, you know.’
‘What?’
‘Anthony. I assume that’s what you were thinking about?’
Anthony. She realised with a jolt that she hadn’t thought of him for hours. ‘Oh. Anthony, yes.’
‘Waste of space,’ Julia grumbled. ‘And a waste of your time.’ She squeezed her shoulder before bending to wipe the girls’ faces. ‘Don’t give him another thought.’
Jen nodded.
‘I’m going to see Ted,’ she said.
She borrowed Julia’s car, a fairly ancient Ford Focus that had two car seats in the back and was covered in a veritable carpet of crumbs, half-sucked rice cakes and dog-eared board books.
Jen hadn’t driven for some time, there being neither the need or the funds in her city life, and the snow wasn’t helping with her confidence.
She inched along, nose to the steering wheel, like a near-sighted OAP.
She went to collect the decorations, only to find that they’d been returned; she’d left it too long.
Guilt twisting inside her, Jen added it to the list of things she needed to organise by the weekend.
Luckily Ted didn’t live far away, and she arrived unscathed and with a disproportionate sense of achievement, despite the decorations debacle. He stood in the doorway in a T-shirt and pyjama trousers, arms folded as he watched her multiple attempts to parallel park.
‘Good God,’ he said with a small smile as, finally successful, she climbed out. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when you got behind the wheel again. Are we going to get one of those government warnings on our phones?’
She grinned. ‘Rude! I’m a perfectly capable driver, thank you very much.’
‘I know,’ he said, ushering her into the house. ‘I’m just kidding. So – to what do I owe the honour?’
She reached up to hug him, and she registered the unusual hesitation before his arms closed around her.
‘I’m really sorry about you and Sarah,’ she said, her voice muffled as her face was pressed into his broad shoulder. ‘And I’m sorry I’ve been such a crap friend – don’t deny it, I know I have.’
He released her. ‘I wasn’t going to deny it.’
Ouch.
‘Well, I’m here to make it up to you,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought mince pies, and I’m here for whatever you need.’
He looked dubious. ‘You’ve been baking?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, hopping about as she pulled her boots off. ‘Marnie’s been baking. I’ve been buying.’ Even this wasn’t strictly true; Julia had bought the mince pies, Jen had basically stolen them, but she didn’t feel he needed to know that particular piece of information.
‘Oh, cool.’
She tried not to be offended by his obvious relief.
She followed him to the little kitchen, where he put the kettle on.
‘I’ll do that,’ she said, waving him out of the way. ‘You sit down.’
‘I’m not an actual invalid,’ he grumbled, but he allowed himself to be shooed off, slumping onto a chair at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.
Jen found and washed out the cafetière, and gave the milk a sniff before deciding it was safe.
Last time she’d been there the place had been immaculate, but now there were dirty plates and mugs strewn around and crumbs littering the countertops.
She began to load the dishwasher and wipe the surfaces while the kettle boiled.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Ted said, without taking his head out of his hands.
‘I know,’ she said, continuing. She poured water into the cafetière, and a rich aroma filled the room. She placed it and the mugs on the table and sat opposite him. ‘I’m sorry you’re having a tough time,’ she said.
He sighed, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes. Something tore inside Jen, seeing his pain. She placed her hand on his.
‘I know it’s the right thing to do,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘It’s just – it’s just hard right now. But it wasn’t fair to carry on. She deserves better than me.’
Jen felt a stab of pain, that he could even think such a thing. She squeezed his hand. ‘There is no better than you.’
He shook his head, his eyes locked on hers. ‘No, there is. For her, at least. I wasn’t – wasn’t in it the way I should’ve been. She called me out on some stuff, and she was right, she – she deserves better.’
He nodded, sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes.
Jen had to hold back her own tears; she needed to be the one comforting him this time. But it was so hard to see him suffer, this strong, sweet man with a heart of gold. And a really bad sense of humour. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
He gave a shaky laugh and groaned. ‘Ugh, I’m too old for this.’
‘Rubbish!’ She grinned. ‘You’re practically a baby.’
‘And I just – it feels like everything’s falling apart, you know? I mean, work’s great, don’t get me wrong, I love the kids and the school, but I just can’t see how I’m going to pull this fair off and they’re all counting on me, and—’
‘Ah, but that’s why I’m here.’
She gave him a dazzling smile. He looked sceptical, to say the least.
‘You?’
She tried not to take his very obvious doubt personally; he was having a tough time.
‘Yes. I’m a very capable person, I think you’ll find.’
His expression didn’t change. ‘Jen,’ he said softly.
‘I mean, you’re very creative and kind and – and, believe me, I appreciate your help with it so far.
I think you’re an amazing person.’ He held her eye.
‘But this – it’s different now, with the weather like this, and this is important, people are counting on it.
You’d need to be reliable, you’d need to take responsibility and . . .’
Jen flushed. ‘I’m reliable!’ She tried not to think of the decorations she’d failed to deliver.
He looked at her, saying nothing, and his doubt was clear. Her blush deepened.
‘I’ve tried everything, but half the people won’t commit with the weather like this, and the half that did are starting to pull out. And it’s so close now . . . I think I’m going to have to cancel.’
He looked so tired, shadows sitting under the long lashes of his dark eyes. ‘Don’t cancel,’ she said. ‘Just – let me prove to you that I can do it. Trust me with it. Please.’
He sat back in the chair, ran a hand through his hair. Sighed.
‘Fine. You know what? I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Like you say, a few stalls in the school hall will do.’
She stared at him, her heart thumping. He was her best friend. Did he really think so little of her? Had she really never been reliable?
Well. She had a lot to prove.