All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-3: All I Want for Christmas, All I Want for Valentine's, All I Want for Spring (16 page)

I ran towards the building and took shelter in the reception area, along with the other fire marshals from the other floors. My umbrella dripped silently at my side and the air was filled with the scent of wet tarmac and gently steaming bodies, damp and bothered from the inconvenience. Sal was nowhere to be seen — was she hiding under her desk eating the offending toast?

When Nicola and Maureen came back down the stairs five minutes later, Maureen was clutching a clipboard and nodding to Nicola, who was being followed by a colleague I recognised from their previous visit.

Maureen rolled her eyes as she passed me. “Off to round up the troops,” she said. The other fire wardens slipped off to do the same, and with Nicola’s work colleague out the door as well, it was just me and her. However, this morning, even in her uniform, Nicola did not spell desire. Rather, she spelled Trouble with a capital T.

“I hope the wedding goes well.” My voice was flat.

Nicola scrunched up her face. “Really?”

I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Really.”

She smiled grimly. “I’m sorry about everything. I was just confused and got a bit nostalgic. But I’m marrying Melanie. I can’t let her down.”

“A great basis for a marriage,” I said.

“I’ve heard of worse,” Nicola replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Anyway, you and me, we’d never have worked. Not with Holly in the picture.” Nicola fixed me with her eyes as she said it.

“What’s Holly got to do with anything?” I was genuinely perplexed.

She angled her head. “Really, Tori? It was always there at school, you know that. But now? You two should just bite the bullet and get it over with.”

I shook my head. “Stop trying to deflect the situation. Me and Holly are friends, that’s all. You’re the one who kissed me—”

“—And you pushed me away? I don’t think so.”

We both stood glaring at each other, daring the other to take it further.

Nicola blinked first. “Face it, Tori. We had unfinished business. Now it’s finished. You can get on with your life and I can get on with mine. Although I’ve taken you off the wedding list. I assume you’re not coming?”

My hand was on the move before I could stop it. I reached out and slapped Nicola across the face. That was for my present self, as well as my 16-year-old self. The sound as my palm connected with her cheek echoed around the building’s reception, and I heard a gasp behind us. I gasped internally too — far from being satisfying, I just felt a bit sick.

We both turned to see Maureen standing there, jaw hanging open, along with half the rest of the building behind her. I wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there, but I was pretty sure they’d seen me slapping Nicola, the first time I’d ever done such a thing in my whole life. I stared down at my hand, which was shaking, and then up at Nicola who was clutching her cheek.

I still couldn’t believe I’d just done that.

After a few moments, she puffed out her cheeks and shook herself down. “I’ll take that as a no then,” she said.

With that, she whipped around and signed Maureen’s admin sheet. “I’ll be sending one of my officers round next week to check all your devices so you’d better get new ones. Otherwise, I’ll be issuing a fine. Clear?”

Maureen nodded meekly, then Nicola walked out of the door and out of my life. Again. But this time, I had a feeling it was for good. I felt the cloak of closure settle on my shoulders, and it fitted perfectly.

Once she’d gone, the rest of the office workers began streaming up the stairs, leaving me standing, shell-shocked.

Maureen made her way over to me, concern etched on her face. “Everything okay?”

I exhaled loudly. “It will be,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “And don’t worry, I only slap people I’m really mad at.” My hand was still stinging.

“Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you in the future, then,” she replied.

CHAPTER 19

Saturday December 17th

I met my mum just after one o’clock under the Swiss cuckoo clock in Leicester Square, which wasn’t the best place to meet someone on the penultimate Saturday before Christmas. Half of London was there, prowling around, looking for wildly inappropriate goods to spend their money on. I hated rushed Christmas shopping, so was glad I’d got all of mine out of the way already.

My mum was a mass of floaty material and beads as always — I often joked this must be the learned dress code in professor school. Her hair was shoulder-length and she’d dyed it recently so it was the colour of honey. She was wearing her comfortable shopping shoes from Marks & Spencer and was already clutching at least three shopping bags, as I knew she would be. My mum was an early riser and she liked to hit the shops as soon as possible to beat the crowds. “If you don’t get there till lunchtime, you’ve lost already,” she always said. Which was the main reason why we rarely went shopping together.

“Alright, kiddo.” She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I would hug you, but I’ll save that till we’re sitting down and I can drop these bags.” As she said it, a tourist ran past and almost knocked Mum over. “Shall we get out of here before I get trampled?”

I took one of her bags before indicating over my shoulder and she followed me. Within five minutes, we were in Soho and in one of my favourite restaurants, which did a fabulous set lunch for prices that didn’t break the bank.

“Lunch is on me,” I said, pulling out my chair.

“I knew I had a daughter for a reason.” Mum gave me the promised hug, which nearly knocked the wind out of me before slotting herself and her shopping into and under the chair.

We ordered from a very smiley waiter, and once the wine had been poured, we relaxed.

“So you are coming home next week?” Mum took one of the bits of French bread and smothered it with butter.

“Course. Unless I get a better offer.”

Mum spluttered. “Charming. You’re going to leave me with your gran and Aunt Ellen? That shows a huge lack of Christmas spirit, if you don’t mind me saying. Especially from one who loves Christmas so much.”

I smiled. “I’m joking — you know I wouldn’t miss it. How is Gran?”

“Gran is great — the usual. And Ellen’s back and itching to go away again already, so no change there either.”

My mum’s mother was faring well, still strong and independent at the age of 75. Her older sister Ellen was also giving old age two fingers at every opportunity, having just returned from a safari in South Africa. I loved spending time with both of them and hoped I was as funny and healthy at their age. Plus, they were both huge red wine fans, so we spent a large chunk of Christmas Day trying new bottles — hence they tended to be a little boozy. Which was exactly the way my gran planned it, so she could then clean up at poker in the evening. She always seemed to miraculously sober up at that point.

“So what better offer are you waiting for?” Mum asked, as the food was brought to the table. French classic beef bourguignon for her, coq au vin for me.

I shook my head. “I was joking — I’ll be there.”

Mum chewed her mouthful before replying. “Nothing to do with Nicola Sheen?”

I cast my eyes down. “No. We ran into each other yesterday and that is done and dusted.” I relayed the story to Mum and she clicked her tongue in response, an annoying habit I knew well. It meant she had more to say, but she was holding back for now.

“And what did Holly have to say?”

“I didn’t see her last night — she was out with work people.”

“What’s she doing for Christmas?” Mum took a sip of her wine, but kept her eyes focused on me.

“The usual,” I replied. “Some time with her dad, some time with her mum and nobody’s happy. Always makes me value our Christmases even more when I hear about hers.”

Mum chewed slowly. “She should come to ours — the more the merrier.”

“I’m sure she’d jump at the chance,” I said, waving my knife in the air. “But you know, family politics.”

“Well, the offer’s there if she changes her mind.” Mum raised an eyebrow, then carried on eating.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“Hmmm?”

“That,” I said, mimicking her movement. “The eyebrow raise, the ‘wait and see’ look.”

Mum shrugged. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about.” She ate some more food and put her fork down. “So tell me about some of these dates you went on. They sound like a hoot. Especially the one where you fell asleep on the loo.”

***

After the Dixie Chicks tickets and all the grief I’d put her through, I knew I owed Holly big time. So I texted to say I’d meet her at home that night. After I left my mum with our Christmas plans ringing in my ears, I stopped off at Marks & Spencer and bought one of their meal deals, ready to grovel to Holly. And if that didn’t work, I bought extra chocolate and wine for added back-up. After all, one bottle of wine was never enough in these situations.

When I got home, the flat was dark and quiet — Holly wasn’t home yet. I switched the Christmas tree lights to a cool mood setting, then flicked on the others before adding some candles to the mix. Then I selected a chilled playlist on Spotify and set all the food out ready on the counter. I wanted Holly to know I’d made an effort, even if actually cooking the food was a little beyond my skillset.

The next thing I knew, Holly was gently shaking me awake — wine at lunchtime always made me sleepy.

“Hey,” she said, her hand on my shoulder. “Are you trying to burn the place down? Because I really don’t think we need Nicola Sheen coming over again this evening, do you?”

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “Agreed, we definitely don’t want that.” I yawned and stretched both arms above my head, my groan timed with a train rumbling by outside. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Holly replied. She looked around. “Is this all for me?”

I nodded. “I was trying to make it…” The word romantic popped into my head, but that didn’t seem right. Or did it? “Relaxing.” Definitely a better choice of word.

“I’m honoured.” Holly paused. “Let me dump my bags and I’ll be right out.”

I stood up, brushing myself down in an attempt to shake the sleep from my system. I checked my watch — I’d been out for nearly an hour. Shit, I really could have burned the place down. Note to self: must take steps to try not to become a serial arsonist.

I put the oven on and was piercing film lids when Holly reappeared. She was wearing jeans and a distressed black T-shirt that sat just so on her body as if she’d been dressed by Tyra Banks. That’s what comes of being so tall — clothes just work on you. For Holly, the biggest gripe was women’s tops being too short and not covering her stomach. As she often pointed out, crop tops were never a good look on anyone, let alone accidental versions.

“So you’re cooking me dinner to apologise for being a crap friend, is that right?” Holly was leaning against the counter and grinning at me. “And when I say cooking, I mean it in the loosest sense of the word,” she added.

I glanced at her, my knife poised above a container of tenderstem broccoli. “Hey, nothing screams ‘I’m sorry!’ like an M&S meal deal. Fact.” I waved the knife around. “Look it up on the internet, it’ll totally say so.”

Holly crossed her arms, an amused smile playing on her lips. “So what’s for dinner, MasterChef?”

“Well,” I said, tapping the black plastic containers. “For mains, we’ve got duck breast fillets with soy, honey and ginger, and I bought some chips as an extra side.” 

“An extra side? You’re really pushing the boat out.” Holly paused. “And what’s for dessert? Have you ordered burlesque dancers followed by high-class escorts and cocaine?”

I clicked my fingers together. “Damn, I knew there was something I forgot — gimme two ticks and I’ll go order the cocaine.”

Holly laughed as I put the food in the oven.

“Should take about 20 minutes,” I said. “Beer to start?”

“Beer would be perfect.” She paused. “Did you buy those too?”

“No, you did.” I passed her a beer and we sat on the sofa, facing each other.

“So you’re keeping up this beer drinking thing then?”

I nodded, taking a swig. “See, I didn’t even wince then, did I?” There was jubilation in my voice.

“You did not,” Holly replied. “Well done, I think?” She paused. “How’s your mum?”

I nodded. “Really good. Excited about Christmas and she’s got me
even more
excited about it now, too.”

Holly pulled a face. “Glad someone is — we’re rapidly approaching one of the most anti-climactic weeks of my year. Christmas and my birthday in one, and every year my parents choose to celebrate it by arguing. Happy holidays!” Holly bent a leg up on the sofa and hugged it to her chest.

I wanted to make it all better for her, but knew I couldn’t.

“My mum invited you to ours — you’ve done it before, remember? Maybe you should do it this year too? Reclaim Christmas and your birthday and make them your own.”

Holly gave me a tepid smile. “A nice plan, but I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if I did that, and then I’d just have to deal with warring parents on the phone rather than in my face.”

“But wouldn’t that be better?”

Holly shrugged. “They’d find a way to ruin it, whatever.”

“Just think about it — for me?” I pulled my extra-special pout, the one Holly could never turn down.

She put up her hand to shield her face. “Not the pout!” she said. “Save me from the pout!” She paused. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “But staying serious for a minute, I do want to say sorry again — about everything. I was an idiot and we’re worth so much more than any love interest in my life. We’ve been through so much together, and that matters.” A train rumbled past and I waited before continuing. 

“So tonight is my very humble and really not quite grand enough way of starting to say sorry. But this is only the beginning. For a start, I’m paying for the Dixie Chicks tickets, taking you out to dinner beforehand, and will also buy you another night out, all expenses paid. You deserve it.”