Meet Me Under the Mistletoe. Carla Burgess

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      ‘Yes. What are you doing?’

      ‘Just waiting for Daniel to pick me up and take me to the house. It’s still like a building site but I love seeing it and imagining what all the rooms are going to be when it’s finished. Daniel’s been working so hard on it.’

      ‘When do you think you’ll be able to move in?’

      ‘In the summer, hopefully.’

      ‘Ooh, exciting!’

      ‘I know. I can’t wait. Oh, that’s him now. I’d better go.’

      ‘Okay. Bye.’

      I climbed out of the bath and wrapped myself in a warm, fluffy towel before padding through to my bedroom. Sitting down on my bed, I reached for a pad of paper from my bedside table and started to write a list of places I’d been with Patrick. I’d been trying to push him to the back of my mind for the past few months so it was strange to be trying to think in detail about what we’d done together. Tears pricked my eyes as I remembered the good times we’d shared. Although he’d let me down badly in the end, I still had some very special memories of him. He had a huge personality and was funny and generous. Being with him was like walking in the sunshine. He’d made me happy for a short while. Even getting a phone call from him brightened my day.

      Of course, the flipside was that not receiving a phone call from him plunged me into the depths of despair, and having such a great time when I was with him only served to make me miss him more when he wasn’t around. I still didn’t fully understand what had gone wrong, or why he’d stopped coming to see me. I knew he had to work, but surely no one had to work that much? He’d found the time when we first got together, so why had that changed? He’d even stopped phoning me regularly. I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong or why he’d grown tired of me, but it hurt. It hurt a lot. And why wouldn’t he meet my family? It just didn’t make sense. I’d been furious when he’d phoned at the last minute to say he wouldn’t be able to make it. I’d been waiting for him to arrive at my door, all dressed up and ready to go to my mum’s sixtieth birthday party. It was being held in a function room at a local hotel, and most of our friends and family had been there. Uncles, aunties, cousins – all of them expecting to see my new fiancé. I could still see their faces when I’d walked in alone. Mum’s outraged disbelief, Dad’s quiet anger, Elena’s shock and Daniel’s discomfort. I saw, too, the smug, told-you-so smile of my cousin as she exchanged looks with my aunt. We’d never been particularly close, and I knew they thought I dressed too weirdly to ever get a man. My aunt had had words with my mum on several occasions over the years about my vintage clothes and bright red hair. ‘Why does she dress like she’s living in the 1940s?’ she’d say. ‘Can’t she tone down that hair?’

      I’d never let it bother me until I walked into that party alone. I felt like I’d proved them all right. Maybe I was too weird and quirky to keep a man. Was that why Patrick hadn’t turned up to meet my family? Was that why I’d never met any of his friends or family? Was he ashamed of me? Maybe my novelty value had worn off.

      I’d entertained those negative thoughts for a while before shrugging them off and moving on. I loved my clothes and I didn’t want to be anyone other than myself. If people didn’t like the way I dressed, that was their problem.

      With a sigh, I wrote down the name of the cinema and a film we’d been to see, and the Disney on Ice show we’d taken his daughter to see back in April. She was such a lovely little girl, and I’d really enjoyed our day out together. I was sad I’d never got to see her again. I had all these plans for being a loving stepmother. It seemed ridiculous now.

      The doorbell rang, and I groaned. Not again, Jenny! My next-door neighbour was lovely, but she was always forgetting her key when she went out. I kept her spare key so she could knock whenever she needed to get in. This would be the third time this week! Slipping my arms into my robe, I quickly ran downstairs and grabbed the key from the hook by the door. ‘Hiya!’ I said, breathlessly, holding the key out ready for her to take.

      But it wasn’t Jenny standing on my doorstep. It was Anthony Bascombe. ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling down at me.

      ‘Oh! It’s you!’ I suddenly felt rather wobbly and breathless.

      ‘Yes, it’s me.’ His eyes twinkled as they fixed on mine. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you but I thought I’d drop by and pick up the phone.’

      I hesitated. ‘But I’ve just got out of the bath. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

      ‘Well, I’m here now.’ He put his hand on the doorframe, still smiling. ‘And the sooner we have it to analyse, the better, really.’

      His eyes dropped to my bathrobe and I glanced down to check it wasn’t gaping. The cold night air was making my nipples hard and I put my hand across my chest self-consciously. ‘I won’t take up much of your time.’ He took a step forward and I stepped back. Apparently taking this as an invitation to come inside, he walked past me with a polite thank you as I flattened myself against the door. Resigned, I shut the front door and followed him along the hall and into my lounge. Feeling the silky fabric of my robe begin to slip, I retied the belt firmly and watched Anthony worriedly. He stood in the centre of the lounge, staring around at my flowery wallpaper and bright-pink sofa. ‘Gosh, it’s bright in here, isn’t it?’

      I shrugged. I was used to people looking surprised by how bright my house was and didn’t particularly care if they liked it or not. It was me who had to live here, not them. Plus, I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Anthony. The physical attraction was still there, but I was disappointed in him and sad he’d used me to extract information. ‘The phone’s in the kitchen. I’ll just get it for you.’

      Anthony followed me in and stood with his hands in his pockets while I searched the drawer. It was towards the back, its screen cracked and the metal casing chipped and cracked. I handed it to him without looking at him, ashamed I’d behaved so childishly in smashing it up.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Listen, about last night…’

      ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I interrupted ‘You wanted the engagement ring, didn’t you? I’ll just go and get it.’

      ‘Okay, but Rachel…’

      I walked past him out of the kitchen and went upstairs.

      ‘Rachel, I want to apologise…’ he said, following me. ‘I know you’re angry with me.’

      ‘No, I’m not.’ I went into my bedroom and picked up the jewellery box from my dressing table.

      ‘You are. I know you are, and that’s perfectly understandable. I should have told you straight away that I was investigating Patrick.’

      ‘Why didn’t you?’

      ‘Because I wanted to make sure you were telling the truth about not being with him any more. I wanted to hear what you had to say about him without thinking it was some kind of police interview.’

      ‘It was, though, wasn’t it?’ I looked at him accusingly. ‘That’s exactly what it was: a police interview.’

      ‘Well, not really.’ He scratched his neck awkwardly.

      I shook my head. ‘It would have saved a lot of bother to just ask me down to the СКАЧАТЬ