Welcome to My World (37 page)

Wātea was providing hot chocolate and slices of toasted fruit loaf with lashings of butter for the chilly shoppers’ pleasure, with proceeds going to the local children’s hospice. Alex was dressed in a long, dark grey tailcoat, a red muffler knotted at his neck, with a grey striped waistcoat and white shirt beneath. To complete the look, a brushed satin top hat was perched on his head, at a typically Alex-like jaunty angle. The sight of him made Harri smile – after all the darkness of the last couple of days it was wonderful to see a friendly face.

‘Mistress Langton! How delightful to see you this festive night of nights!’

Harri managed to salvage a smile and wrapped Auntie Rosemary’s borrowed crochet shawl tighter around her body.

‘Show us the frock then,’ Alex grinned.

Obediently, Harri did a little twirl, thanking heaven that Tom’s sister was the wardrobe mistress for a semi-professional opera society and had brought in a selection of Victorian gowns that afternoon for her to try on. The periwinkle-blue dress complemented her eyes, while the cream shawl set off her red curls piled up and pinned at the back of her head. ‘Will I do?’

‘Absolutely. You look great, H. No, I mean it. The colour of that dress looks amazing with your hair . . .’ He paused, a self-conscious smile lingering on his lips.

‘Thanks,’ Harri laughed awkwardly, and the moment was gone.

‘Right – um – you take over buttering duties from me while I go and refill the chocolate pot, OK?’

She watched as he disappeared inside Wātea, a little unnerved by his unexpected reaction. Quickly dismissing it, she picked up the butter knife and began to work.

This year’s Christmas Amble was one of the best attended, due in no small part to a concerted effort by shopkeepers and volunteers alike to spread the word. It even had its own Facebook page, set up by one of the High School pupils as part of a media studies project, and a group of students were shooting video footage to upload onto YouTube. The fusion of Dickensian nostalgia and twenty-first-century social media was a strangely amusing one and, despite her bruised heart, Harri had to smile.

Alex returned with a large vacuum flask of hot chocolate and together they set about serving the fast-growing queue. For the best part of two hours their activity barred any op portunity for conversation, except for the odd observation or fleeting joke. As the crowds began to thin and stalls closed, Alex nudged Harri.

‘
So
– lookin’ forward to a wee bit o’ lovin’ in the Highlands tomorrow, eh?’

Entirely without warning, Harri burst into tears. Shocked, Alex grabbed the cash box and ushered her inside the warmth of Wātea.

‘Hey, hey, what’s the matter?’

Surprised by the suddenness of her emotion, Harri was unable to speak, racked as she was by violent sobs. Alex, thrown from his comfort zone by the sight of his distraught friend, watched helplessly, stroking her arm with hesitant fingers. So there they stood, the buzz of the ultraviolet bug catcher the only intervening sound for several uncomfortable minutes. When her tears subsided, Harri wiped her eyes and blew out a long breath. ‘Wow, I’m sorry. Don’t ask me where that came from.’

‘It must’ve come from somewhere,’ Alex said carefully, his voice low and serious.

She could dismiss it, play it down or laugh it off – but, really, what was the point? Alex would find out sooner or later. So why hide it? Harri sighed. ‘Rob cancelled our trip to Scotland.’

‘He did
what
? When?’

‘Saturday night. That’s why we left early: his boss called him to say his Christmas leave had been postponed because the contract he’s been working on had hit problems.’

It was clear what Alex made of this. ‘And you believed him?’

‘I had no reason not to. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. He let me down –
again
– just when I thought things were reaching an even keel.’ Her eyes moved away from his, towards the illuminated street outside. ‘If it’s work then I guess I can’t be mad at him . . . But the thing is, I’m getting tired of this constant lurching between famine and feast with him. One minute he’s talking about growing old together and the next he’s dropping me like a hot stone for some stupid work thing that’s taken over his life.’ She looked back at Alex’s in determinable expression – was it pity she saw? Shock? Indifference? ‘I’d just like to be his priority for once, you know?’

‘Mate, I’m sorry. You must feel terrible.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No you’re not. How long have I known you, eh? I’ve never heard you speak like that about Rob. You’re always defending him.’

‘Well, I don’t feel like doing that tonight. He doesn’t deserve it.’

Alex clapped his hands. ‘That’s it! That’s the
real you
coming out at last!’

‘I’ve always been me.’

‘Not when it comes to matters of Rob you haven’t.’

Harri rested against a table. ‘You’re right. I’m not going to let him do this to me. All day I’ve been going over and over it in my mind and I just keep coming back to the same con clusion: maybe this relationship just isn’t ever going to be what I hope it will.’

‘You deserve more.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ She ran her hand along the periwinkle satin folds of her dress. ‘I think I should probably go, if you don’t mind. It’s late and I’m really not very good company.’

‘You’re always good company,’ Alex said warmly. ‘You sure I can’t tempt you to stay?’

Afraid that it might induce another bout of tears, Harri shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I think I just need to go home.’

‘Wait – let me drive you.’

Walking slowly to the door, Harri pulled it open and looked back at his tall Victorian-clothed figure, cast into shadow by the light behind the counter, like a period drama hero. ‘I’ll be fine. Sorry to subject you to all that.’

His smile was full of compassion as he saluted her with a little bow. ‘All part of the service. Take care, you.’

Stepping out into the almost empty street, Harri filled her lungs with crisp December air and looked up at the inky black sky. A single star flickered brightly directly overhead, as if keeping watch.

‘Thank you, Mum,’ she whispered.

Walking slowly past weary shopkeepers dismantling their stalls and unwinding Christmas lights, Harri headed home, conflicting thoughts swirling endlessly like wild whirling dervishes, around and around in her mind.

With Rob gone, Auntie Rosemary safely on a train bound for Newcastle to spend Christmas with Grandma Dillon and everybody else busy with their own plans for the festive season, Harri was left with the task of sorting out her own Christmas. This was virgin territory for her: up until now, Harri had gone to Auntie Rosemary’s on Christmas Day and to Rob’s mum, Clarice’s, home on Boxing Day. When Rosemary realised that Harri would be on her own she wanted to cancel her trip, but Harri was adamant that she should go as planned. Rob may have ruined Christmas for her, but there was no way he was going to spoil it for her aunt and grandmother as well.

Viv and Merv were going on a cruise around the Caribbean, much to Viv’s chagrin: ‘Three weeks stuck on a floating hotel with people we can’t get away from isn’t
my
idea of a relaxing holiday, Mervyn!’ – and Alex was spending Christmas Day with Chelsea before driving down to Somerset to stay a few days with Sandie and Brendan. Although the thought of organ-ising Christmas for herself wasn’t exactly appealing, Harri decided firmly to make an effort.

The day before Christmas Eve, she drove into Stone Yardley to buy food and drop off Alex’s present. Parking in the Co-op’s packed car park, she was just walking towards the store entrance when she saw someone waving at her beside a battered-looking Land Rover.

‘Hi, Harri! Merry Christmas!’

‘Nice to see you, Emily. I’m glad I’m not the only person crazy enough to attempt the supermarket today.’

There was a bark from inside the Land Rover and Fly bounded up at the passenger window, licking it enthusiastically. Harri placed her hand against the cold glass. ‘Hello, Fly.’

‘I swear that dog gets more excited than a kid about Christmas,’ Emily laughed.

‘My cat will just be amazed that he gets me all to himself for two weeks.’

Emily frowned. ‘But I thought you and Rob were—’

‘He’s had to work over Christmas,’ Harri said quickly, not wanting to have a post mortem on her situation in the middle of the shoppers’ car park, ‘so I’m having a quiet one.’

‘Don’t do that, honey – come to us for Christmas.’

Taken aback, Harri held up her hands. ‘No – no, you don’t have to do that, Em. I’ll be perfectly OK: I have Nigella and Delia to guide me through the rigours of Christmas dinner.’

Emily was having none of it. ‘Nonsense. I insist! Stu went a bit OTT on the catering side, so we have enough food to feed all of Stone Yardley and half of Ellingsgate combined. Trust me, you’d be doing me a favour, helping to demolish my hubby’s man-made grub mountain.’

Her suggestion brought a much-needed boost to Harri’s heart and she found herself agreeing. ‘Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?’

Christmas Day morning was icy and bright, a sharp frost the night before adorning every tree branch and gate post with an exquisite layer of white crystals. Donning her thick wool coat, long scarf and striped beanie hat, Harri made sure Ron Howard was fed and left him curled happily in the middle of a faux fur throw on the sofa. She went to pick up her mobile phone from the coffee table, but then thought better of it. Since the night of the Christmas Amble, Harri had become less willing to respond to Rob’s messages and now at least five of them lay unopened in her phone inbox. Being bombarded by increasingly grovelling texts was the last thing she needed today. Collecting the bag of presents for her hosts, she stepped out into the still air and walked to her car. With Elbow’s ‘One Day Like This’ playing on her stereo, she drove through the quiet roads under clotted cream skies.

As she passed through the small villages on the fringes of the Black Country’s border, the decorated windows revealed fleeting snapshots of other people’s Christmases: families gathering for a day that could prove to be restful or stressful; presents, food, too many repeats on TV . . . all playing out behind closed doors. In her car, she was an onlooker, granted a glance at what Christmas was for others. But this sensation was nothing new to Harri: this was how every Christmas felt to her. It was the one day of the year when being without family seemed the cruellest – not least because every programme, advert and film on television seemed to feature the clichéd image of complete families: mum, dad, two kids . . . Strangely enough, furniture store adverts were the worst for Harri. One sight of smiling family groups snuggling together (albeit on
horrendous
sofas) was enough to reduce her to a sobbing wreck from the start of December to New Year’s Day. Consequently, she always felt one step removed from Christmas – and it was only when she drove down the long, steep track towards Emily and Stu’s farm that she realised how apprehensive the thought of fitting herself into someone else’s festivities was making her.

The farmhouse smelled amazing when she walked inside – roasting meat, freshly cut herbs, the spicy tang of cinnamon and ginger. It looked like the Williamses had bought the entire contents of a Christmas tree light factory and hung them over every available banister, doorway, picture frame and shelf. Harri made a mental note not to stand still for too long today in case she too was draped with multicoloured lights.

Emily and Stu fussed around their houseguest, sitting her down on a shabbily chic upholstered armchair by the wood-burner, bringing her rose tea and home-made star-shaped cinnamon biscuits, and apologising profusely for Fly’s over-enthusiastic attentions. Classic Christmas songs were drifting in from the radio in the kitchen while
It’s a Wonderful Life
played on the sitting-room television. Harri let it all infuse through her, forgetting her previous trepidation and, blissfully, finally able to put Rob out of her mind.

The day turned out to be wonderful beyond what she could have anticipated, and Emily and Stu were the perfect hosts. Christmas dinner at three (accompanied by the obligatory message from Her Majesty, of course); home-made Christmas cake with slices of Red Leicester cheese in the warmth of the sitting room; good-natured competition over games of Who’s in the Bag? and Trivial Pursuit, leading to relaxed, late evening conversation with coffee as Fly and the three cats took turns to claim squatter’s rights on laps and feet.

When Harri arrived home in the early hours, she was glowing. Sleepy and content, she pulled the secret Venice box from its hiding place, climbed into bed and snuggled down under the bedclothes. One by one, she brought out her treasures – and even though she had gazed upon them a thousand times before, her heart was still thrilled at the sight until, at last, she drifted away into sleep.