Автор: Fern Britton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780008144111
isbn:
She sat for a little longer before picking up her mobile again. She ran down her contacts list, watched as the numbers appeared on the screen, then dialled. After a few rings, someone answered.
‘Frank?’ As she said his name, she began to cry. ‘Could you come over? Please.’
When Christie had called Frank, he had just got back from Christmas lunch with his aged mother and was only too willing to abandon his evening alone with a DVD of It’s a Wonderful Life and a bottle of whisky. By the time he reached Christie’s, both Libby and Fred had gone to bed, upset by the way the day had ended, an exhausted Smudge was curled up asleep by the Aga and Christie was finishing the clearing up, mascara-smudged streaks of tears on her cheeks. Frank took one look, led her into the sitting room and sat her down, gave them both a large brandy and revived the dying embers of the fire, making the sparks fly as he tossed on another log. In return, Christie poured out the whole story exactly as it had happened. He didn’t interrupt, just occasionally shook his head or tutted, sometimes in sympathy, sometimes not. When she finished, he knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his.
‘You poor old thing. But you know what?’
Miserable, she shook her head.
‘Whatever the rights and wrongs, you’ve got to apologise. As far as I can see, you’ve alienated almost everyone close to you, apart from my good self. It’s no use waiting for one of them to make the first move.’
‘Apologise?’ She was aghast at the idea.
‘If you’re going to be that difficult, you’ll end up like Julia,’ he warned.
She managed a feeble grin. ‘Oh, God! Not really?’ She tried to pull her hands from his grip but he held tight.
‘Yes, really. Do you want to become an embittered old bitch with nothing but her work to keep her going?’
‘Don’t be so silly. They’ll come round.’ But she didn’t sound convinced, even to herself.
‘Why should they? Sounds to me as if you managed a five-star demolition job. And on Christmas Day too. What timing.’ He sat back on his heels, letting go her hands.
‘You don’t really think I’m getting like Julia?’ Even though she didn’t truly believe he meant it, she didn’t like the idea one bit. ‘Do you?
He laughed. ‘Get over yourself, will you? I was joking.’ He stood up, brushed the knees of his trousers and took the brandy bottle from the mantelpiece. ‘Another?’
She nodded.
‘Listen. Nobody’s like Julia. I told you I knew her at drama school, way back in the seventies.’ He sat down beside Christie, swirling the brandy in his glass. ‘By the time I met her, she’d lost almost all trace of her Scouse accent and was busy reinventing herself as an actress, getting a few bit parts here and there, and temping to keep the wolf from the door. Well, we all did waitering, bar work, all that stuff, until it dawned on us that we hadn’t a cat’s chance of making it. But she met Max.’
Christie was intrigued to have the story she’d already heard fleshed out.
Frank smiled, stretching his legs in front of him and staring into his glass before he took another sip. ‘Now her knickers are welded on, but back in those days, she’d drop them for anyone who might help her climb the slippery pole to success. And legend has it, she climbed many slippery poles, dear! Anyway, poor old Max didn’t stand a chance. For years, he was a means to an end for her, though I doubt he ever saw it like that. And don’t forget they never had the children he really wanted – they would have held her back.’
‘Don’t be so mean. Maybe they just couldn’t.’ Christie couldn’t believe that anyone would be capable of sacrificing the most precious thing that could happen to them to the hard-nosed world of work.
‘Listen to you. Always Little Miss Loyalty.’ Frank looked amused as he poked at the fire. ‘And ever since, brilliant and successful agent she may be, but if Julia has any friends, she keeps them well hidden. That woman’s on one long power trip – and if you’re not careful, you’ll be on it with her!’
‘Stop it!’ Christie leaned across and smacked his arm. ‘I’m not anything like that bad.’
‘If you were, I wouldn’t be sitting here, love,’ Frank reassured her, dodging her hand. ‘But I’m serious about putting things right. These are the people who love you.’
‘And one who doesn’t!’ Christie reminded him.
‘Granted, that’s unfortunate. But don’t ditch the others because of him.’
They talked and drank on into the night, he gently persuasive, then increasingly impatient at Christie’s drunken reluctance to make the first move. ‘After all, I’m not the one who nicked my sister’s bloke from under her nose.’
Frank listened to everything she had to say, but eventually he glanced at his watch. ‘Time for bed, sweetheart. If you’re going to insist on being so bloody-minded, let’s sleep on it and see how it all looks in the morning.’ He got to his feet. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll slum it in your sister’s sheets …’
But sleep didn’t come easily to Christie that night. Every time she was about to drift off, her conversations with Libby, Maureen and, most often, Mel spun through her head, giving her ample opportunity to ratchet up her guilt by thinking of everything else she could have said or done that would have avoided confrontation. She was sure she’d only slept a couple of hours when the doorbell woke her: Sophie and her mother to take Libby to the Boxing Day sales. Libby was out of the house like a greyhound out of a trap, leaving her mother to nurse her thumping hangover.
‘Nothing like a brisk walk to blow away the cobwebs,’ pronounced Frank, after they’d shared something like a gallon of black coffee over breakfast and their heads were a little clearer. ‘Let’s go, before the snow comes.’ They dragged Fred away from his Wii, wrapped up and headed out.
The earth was frozen hard underfoot as they trudged along the bridle path, hands stuffed into pockets, hats pulled down over ears, noses and cheeks pink with cold. For as far as the eye could see, a winter wonderland stretched away from them: woods and ploughed fields powdered with snow, trees and hedges rimed with frost, patches of ice that cracked under their weight. To the south, the featureless grey sky was relieved by a hazy washed-out sun that was failing to break through. Fred dawdled behind them, poking sticks into frozen puddles.
‘You’re a bloody idiot, you know,’ said Frank, his breath visible in the air ahead of them. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about what Mel said. Is there any truth in it?’
‘Of course not,’ she objected. ‘I’m exactly the same person I ever was.’
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