Her Best Worst Mistake (15 page)

She wasn’t about to ask him to, though. Not in a
million years. Instead, she tugged on her robe and saw him to the
door.

“
Have a Merry Christmas tomorrow,”
she called down the stairs as he descended.

“
You, too, Violet.”

Yet again they hadn’t discussed when they would see
each other again. She pondered the significance of what was
definitely becoming a habit as she locked up.

Was it because neither one of them wanted to be
pinned down? He was fresh from a six year relationship and
almost-marriage, after all. And she was betraying her best friend
every second she spent with him.

Or perhaps it was simply that they were both aware of
how fragile, how nebulous this thing was between them. If they
shone too bright a light on it or hung too many expectations on it,
it might well crumble into dust. After all, it was just sex. Not
much of a foundation for anything substantial.

She slipped back into sheets still warm from Martin’s
body and slept deeply, waking to the resonant ringing of her
phone.

She knew who it was before she answered it:
Elizabeth, getting the time difference between England and
Australia wrong again.

“
I know, I know, it’s practically
the middle of the night,” Elizabeth said. “It hit me that I’ve been
so wrapped up with everything that’s going on here that I haven’t
spoken to you for weeks. Vi, there’s so much stuff I need to tell
you…”

“
I’m listening.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I’m in love, and I’m
not coming home. Those are the two big headlines.”

Violet sat up in bed, adrenalin and
dread surging through her. “
What
?”

“
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I
called, but it’s been so intense, Vi. Nathan and I… I love him so
much. He’s sweet and smart and funny and irreverent and so gentle.
And, yes, a bit broken. But I don’t think it’s irreparable. And you
know what? Even if it is, I’ll take him as is, any day. He’s the
man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“
Okay. I get the being-in-love bit.”
After all, she’d pretty much guessed that Elizabeth had fallen in
love with Nathan a while ago. Every conversation they’d shared had
been peppered with references to him and how great he was and how E
couldn’t wait until Violet had a chance to meet him. “Go over the
not-coming-home-bit again. That’s the bit that’s freaking me out
right now.”

Violet hugged her knees to her chest, aware that she
wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.

“
He has a business here, Vi. And
he’s got too much going on in his life right now to deal with a big
move. Plus the weather is pretty amazing. People keep warning me
that winter can be pretty nasty, but it can’t be nastier than
London, right? And my Dad is here… This feels like where I need to
be right now.”

“
I thought your Dad wasn’t
interested?”

“
Something
happened. Promise me you won’t freak out, but last week I had a bit
of an accident and cut myself pretty badly. Nate had to rush me to
the hospital and I think it scared Sam. Made him realize that we
might not get another chance to get this right. So, we’re talking.
It’s not perfect.
He’s
definitely not perfect. But, then, neither am I. Thank God.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Violet could hear a wealth of experience and
realization in the sound.

Suddenly she felt as though a yawning void had opened
between them, a Grand Canyon of insurmountable distance, both
geographical and emotional. E was on the other side of the world,
madly in love with an Australian. She wanted to stay there and
settle down. No doubt they’d get married and have children one day.
The last month had clearly been a watershed for her—and she’d gone
through it all without Violet.

Meanwhile, Violet had been in England, carrying on a
dishonest, ill-thought-out out affair with Elizabeth’s ex. Lying to
her best friend. Terrified of telling her the truth.

So many years of friendship. So much love. How on
earth had it come to this?

It’s your fault. You should never have taken him
that schnapps. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you? And you
can’t help yourself now.

“
Say something, Vi,” Elizabeth said
quietly.

“
I’ll miss you,” Vi said, her throat
closing. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly.

She should be happy for her friend. Happy she was in
love, that she was about to embark on an exciting new adventure.
But apparently she was too selfish to get past her own sense of
loss.

“
I’ll miss you, too, Vi. I’ll come
home heaps, don’t worry. And you can come here. Every holiday you
get, for the next forty years.” Elizabeth sniffed and Violet knew
she was crying, too.

“
I’m sorry. I’m happy for you.
Thrilled for you, actually. But I’m going to miss you like crazy,
E. You’re my girl.”

“
You’re my girl, too, sweetie. So
much so. If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have had the
courage to take this leap. Every time I had the choice of either
taking a risk or playing it safe, I heard your voice in my head,
cheering me on. Really, when I think about it, all of this is your
fault.”

Violet couldn’t speak then, she was too busy sobbing,
holding the mouthpiece away so Elizabeth couldn’t hear how
distressed she was.

“
Vi, if you are bawling your eyes
out right now I am going to jump on a plane and come shake some
sense into you. We can talk on the phone and Skype and email and
visit. It won’t be the same, I know. But we won’t lose each
other.”

Violet used the corner of the sheet to mop her eyes.
She took a deep breath and brought the handset close again. “I
know. It’ll be great. And I’ve always wanted to come to Australia.
People keep on telling me how hot the guys are there.”

“
They are. So hot. You will love it.
Maybe you’ll even decide to emigrate, too.” There was a wistful,
hopeful note in Elizabeth’s voice.

It was such a big thing, what E was doing. Abandoning
her friends, her family, everything she knew and loved and taking
on a new life in a new country. All for love. Suddenly an upswell
of emotion swamped Violet—pride and joy for her friend that she’d
succeeded so well in finding her own path.

“
E, you’re such a super star,” she
said, unable to articulate the emotions filling her chest and
belly. “If you were here right now I would give you the biggest
smooch then take you out to drink French champagne and dance your
feet off.”

“
Isn’t it Christmas Day? Where would
we do this champagne swilling and dancing?”

“
We’d find somewhere. We’re
ingenious, resourceful wenches.”

She sniffed mightily, sucking back the rest of her
tears. She would not make this any harder for Elizabeth than it
already was. She would be happy for her.

They talked for a few more minutes, then Elizabeth’s
battery started beeping and they had to wind up the call. Violet
fell back onto the bed afterward, her face stiff with dried
tears.

E wasn’t coming home. And Violet still hadn’t told
her what a shitty friend she’d been.

All the usual excuses were getting old: that
Elizabeth had so much on her plate, that it would be better to do
it face-to-face, that Elizabeth needed friendship and support more
than honesty and self-serving confession.

They were bullshit, all of them. Violet was a coward.
A lily-livered, yellow-bellied coward. Too scared to face up to the
consequences of her own actions.

Thoroughly miserable, she turned her face into the
pillow and dragged the quilt over her head. To add to her misery,
it was Christmas Day and for once she simply didn’t have the energy
to pretend that she didn’t care that she was estranged from her
family. It had been nearly ten years since she’d given up fighting
against her step-mother’s determination to believe the worst of her
and turned her back on her half-sisters and her father. For each of
those ten years, she had done her damnedest to not miss them, to
not think of them, to not dwell on what could have been.

This morning, she gave in to sentiment and let
herself imagine what their day would be like. Breakfast in the
kitchen over-looking her step-mother, Diana’s, prized rose garden,
then morning service at the village church. Lunch would be served
in the formal dining room, on the best china, with everyone in
their Sunday best. Her two half-sisters, Isabella and Sophie, were
fifteen and eighteen, respectively, now. No doubt they would get
something beautiful and luxurious from her father from under the
Christmas tree. He’d always been generous with gifts, if not his
attention or time or affection. And even if he wasn’t, Diana would
ensure that her girls were taken care of. She’d always been very
assiduous about that, down to barring bad influences from their
lives.

She wondered what Bella and Sophie looked like now.
The last time she’d seen them had been five years ago, an
accidental meeting in the food hall at Harrod’s. Diana had been
with them, and Violet could still remember the haughty disdain in
her eyes as she’d taken in Violet’s vintage faux-leopard skin coat
and black mini-dress.

Her scathing head-to-toe had been worthy of Martin at
his most obnoxious. Was it any wonder Violet had always risen so
readily to his bait? She’d had so much disapproval in her life, she
hadn’t been able to stomach one iota more.

Her nose was pushed into the pillow, making it hard
to breathe, but she didn’t want to come out from her bedding
cocoon. She wanted to curl up and go to sleep and wake up to find
that everything that was wrong in her life had been righted. She
wanted E to be home and she wanted her father to remember that he
had three daughters.

And she wanted Martin to just be an amazing, hot guy
she’d met and not Elizabeth’s ex-fiancé.

She gave up the battle against her pillow and rolled
onto her side, keeping her eyes tightly closed. Maybe she would
sleep through Christmas Day. Maybe that was the best present she
could give herself this year.

Chapter Eight

Martin endured Christmas at his mother’s apartment as
long as he could. Like last year and the year before, she’d invited
a mismatched collection of waifs and strays from around the estate
to celebrate with them, unable to let anyone spend Christmas alone.
The result was a crowded table, an overcooked meal, too loud
Christmas carols blaring from the radio and a bunch of strangers
who all seemed to know each other.

He was the odd man out, as he’d always been, really.
He was one of only a handful of his peers who had gone on to study
at university after high school. Most of his old school friends
didn’t understand why he’d always worked so hard for good grades,
why he was always planning for the future. Truth be known, Martin
wasn’t exactly sure what drove him, either, why he was wired
differently from them. They’d all grown up poor, after all. Most of
them came from single parent households, too. Yet he’d always
wanted more.

He had more now. A lovely apartment in the right part
of town, money in the bank, an elegant, classic car. Soon, unless
he was misreading the signs, he would be made partner at the firm.
His shoes were Italian and handmade, his shirt bespoke. He drank
thirty year old Scotch and ate at the best restaurants. And until
recently he’d had the perfect, sophisticated, refined partner to
share it all with.

He’d thought Elizabeth was what he wanted, what he
needed. But Elizabeth had never filled his thoughts the way Violet
did. She’d never drifted into his mind during important meetings,
or taken over his dreams. She’d never inspired so much frustration
or given him a hard-on that lasted three courses because she’d
taken her panties off and tucked them into his pocket.

Martin was jerked out of his thoughts by a nudge in
his ribs, courtesy of Mrs. Slater, his mother’s neighbor.

“
Pay attention. Your mother’s
speaking to you.”

“
Sorry, Mum,” he said. “I wasn’t
concentrating.”

“
No kidding. I asked if you wanted
another piece of plum pudding?”

Martin’s gaze went to the enormous, still-steaming
mound of flour and fruit his mother had unwrapped from its calico
shroud not half an hour ago. It was her pride and joy, a family
recipe, and even though it gave him indigestion he handed over his
bowl for a second helping.

It was Christmas, after all.

His goodwill ran out when someone suggested charades
after lunch. The idea of spending several hours miming old movie
titles in his mother’s over-furnished front room made him want to
bang his head against the wall. He stayed long enough to set up the
new flat screen TV he’d bought her, then he kissed her goodbye and
left her to it.

His guess was that she was as relieved to have him
gone as he was to leave. She’d always been a bit baffled by him.
Not that he doubted her love or that she was proud of him. But she
didn’t understand him. Her world was defined by what was on the TV,
who won the football on the weekend and what her neighbors were
doing and saying. They might as well live on different planets.

He drove home through the preternaturally quiet city,
marveling at how easy it was to get around when everyone else was
sleeping off turkey and too much brandy sauce. Even though it was
out of his way, he found himself driving past Violet’s shop on the
way home. Not because he expected her to be there, or because he
wanted sex. He wasn’t really sure what drew him there—at least, he
wasn’t prepared to examine the urge closely enough to work it
out.