Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage. Katie Ginger

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СКАЧАТЬ can you come and sit down, please? I need to talk to you.’ Esme paused. His face was serious as he placed his wine glass down, and her heart thudded in her chest. For the last few months he’d been secretive and she and her friends thought maybe he was going to propose. Was this the moment? Sat on the chair, next to their tiny dining table, he knelt down in front of her and Esme’s heart rocketed up into her throat. She took a big breath in and bit the insides of her cheeks to stop herself grinning like a fool.

      ‘Esme, I’m sorry, I should have done this weeks ago, the timing is terrible.’ She wanted to shout that it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all. It was perfect timing. Leo raked a hand through his hair and she watched, hoping his hand would reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a tiny box. ‘I know today’s been difficult for you and I …’ He shook his head. ‘I should’ve done this before now.’

      Esme bit her lip. She was going to get married!

      ‘I think we should break up,’ Leo announced.

      Her mouth opened then closed again as she stared at him in disbelief. What? What had just happened? Everything fell silent except for the blood pounding in her ears and her short gasps of breath as she tried to control her emotions. Leo’s eyes dropped and he stood up.

      ‘I just feel we’ve become friends more than husband-and-wife material, don’t you? And I think it’d be the best thing for both of us if we just moved on. Don’t you think so?’

      If he’d hoped for some kind of agreement from Esme, he was going to be disappointed. ‘But it’s nearly Christmas,’ she said quietly.

      ‘It’s not even mid-November, Esme. It’s nowhere near Christmas.’ Leo went to the window. His slightly curmudgeonly attitude to Christmas suddenly seemed far less endearing and much more Scrooge-like, and as if to confirm it, he said, ‘I can give you a few days to move your stuff out, you don’t have to go right now. I’m not a monster.’

      Dazed, Esme tried to think but she couldn’t, she could only feel – and all she felt was that she had to get out. She stood and placed her wine glass on the table, then went and picked up her handbag from the sofa. As she retrieved her coat from the rack, Leo said, ‘Esme, where are you going? We can still have dinner and—’

      She closed the door softly behind her.

      Esme trudged through the rain to the Singapore Sling, ignoring it soaking her hair and running down her face, mixing with her tears. She’d left her hat and scarf at the flat, but wasn’t going back for them. She’d rather get wet. Every fibre of her being felt crushed. As she descended the steps to the cellar bar, leaving the world behind, a drop of rain fell from the sign and trickled down the back of her neck. She wanted to hide. To hibernate below ground and never come out.

      After an emergency call to Helena, her friends were with her in half an hour. Esme’s heart, pounded and punched by the day’s events, felt broken and bruised. When she thought of Leo, the last thread of love snapped and her heart deflated like a burst balloon. She could even picture it in her chest all floppy, sad and wrinkled.

      Mark, Lola and Helena gathered around Esme, open-mouthed and with drinks untouched as she told them all the details of her day from hell. Dance music thumped in the background and harsh neon lights lit their usual table in the corner. At least the DJ wasn’t playing Christmas songs. The last thing Esme wanted right now was Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ blasting out while her life hit an all-time low. Having finished, Esme couldn’t stop the great sob that emerged in a high-pitched puff of air, making Mark and Helena jump.

      ‘Christ, sweetie,’ said Mark, ‘you need more than just a drink after all that.’

      ‘I don’t think I can stomach one right now.’

      ‘Rubbish,’ he replied. ‘What you need is an enormous cocktail with a little umbrella in.’ His bright blue eyes popped against his dark hair and olive skin. ‘And as for that witch, well—’

      Esme sobbed.

      ‘And Leo is a complete knob,’ said Lola. ‘I can’t believe after five years together this is how he treats you.’

      ‘What will you do now?’ Helena asked sympathetically. Esme simply shrugged. ‘Tomorrow you need to go out and register with agencies,’ she commanded. Helena was scarily matter-of-fact and dealt with everything with an almost military attitude. Esme watched the bubbles fizz in her glass. She had no idea what life beyond today would look like. She didn’t yet know if she’d make it to tomorrow. ‘You can stay with us as long as you need to,’ Helena added, glancing at Mark as they were housemates. But Esme didn’t fancy sleeping on their sofa for the foreseeable future. And Eric, Lola’s other half, worked from home so their spare room had been turned into an office. She let out a giant sigh.

      ‘I’ll have to move back home for a bit, won’t I? I can’t rent in London without a job and I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get another one. I haven’t got any savings and I can’t scrounge off you guys indefinitely.’ She leaned forward and rested her head on the table as a raindrop dripped from her soaking wet hair onto her nose.

      ‘It wouldn’t be scrounging, you’re our friend,’ replied Lola. ‘If Felicity Fenchurch walked in here right now, I’d punch her on the nose.’

      Helena rubbed Esme’s back. ‘From what you’ve said, back home isn’t exactly—’

      ‘London?’ offered Esme. ‘No, it’s not. I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

      ‘Could you freelance and commute in?’ asked Mark.

      ‘Too far and too expensive.’

      ‘What about some catering work? You know, weddings and stuff?’ suggested Helena.

      Esme hesitated. ‘Yeah, maybe. But I’d still need a good reference and I don’t think I’m going to get one of those now.’

      ‘I know,’ said Lola. ‘You could write that cookery book you’re always talking about.’

      Lola had been Esme’s best friend since school and knew her inside out. They came from the same town, went to the same university and had moved to London when they’d finished their studies, living together in a grotty two-bedroom flat above a kebab shop. She was also eternally optimistic, which was both helpful and, at times, annoying. ‘You need to see this as an opportunity, not a setback. Okay, so you move back home for a bit. Without having to pay stupidly high London rent, and without your time being taken up by Felicity, you could write your cookbook and get it published. This is your chance to focus on it.’

      ‘Do you really think so?’ asked Esme, who felt a tiny spark of hope in the darkness of the last few hours.

      ‘Of course you could,’ agreed Helena. ‘You’re the best food tech around. Not only that, you’re great at creating recipes too.’

      Mark nodded. ‘You look at this mess. Felicity thought your recipes were so good she wanted to steal them. And when I think about all the dinner parties where you’ve cooked for us, OMG! That salmon thing you made when I split up with Andrew? Trust me, it made it all worthwhile.’

      Esme smiled and nudged Mark with her shoulder. ‘What would I do without you guys?’

      ‘Die of thirst, probably. I’m going to get another round.’

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