The Night Before Christmas (7 page)

‘Oh, don’t go,’ Joanna begged. ‘We can’t have a proper gossip without you.’

‘Besides, I’m not sure a bottle of wine is the best medicine …’ Katy pointed out, her brow furrowing.

‘This is what comes of a diet consisting entirely of biscuits and alcohol.’ Alex wagged a finger at her, adding wistfully, ‘Sounds like bliss.’

‘Do you want me to come up with you?’ Stephen half-rose from his chair.

‘No, don’t be silly. I’m fine, really. I’ve just come over all hot and … I’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.’ Still clasping the wine bottle firmly by the neck, Lydia waited for the two excruciating seconds it took for Jackson to pull his chair in and allow her to exit, and then made her way out of the heat and glare of the dining room. She was grateful for the chill of the hallway, which soothed her fiery cheeks. Glancing around, she twisted the screw cap off the wine and took a long draught before turning to look for her bags underneath Joanna’s.

‘Are you really all right, darling?’ Stephen made her jump as he appeared behind her. ‘I know how long you’ve been waiting to see all the girls. It’s not like you to duck out of things early?’

Lydia mustered a smile for him. ‘I’m fine, truly. I just suddenly felt a bit … sick.’

‘Here, let me take that,’ Stephen said, picking up another case that belonged to her too. ‘You know they’re laying odds in there on whether or not you are pregnant.’

‘Typical.’ Lydia shook her head, suddenly grateful that Stephen had come out to check on her. Although his hands were too full for them to embrace, she took a step forward and rested her forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his safe, familiar scent.

‘You’re not, are you … you know, pregnant?’ Stephen asked her. ‘Not that it would be a problem, you know,
if you were. It’s maybe not the best timing, and we’d need to buy a bigger place, and it’s not the best time to be getting a mortgage. Still, it would be fine, if you were. We’d work around it.’ Lydia lifted her head, staring up at him, speechless. ‘But you’re not, are you?’

‘No, Stephen,’ she said, slowly. ‘I’m not pregnant … apart from anything else, we haven’t had sex for weeks. Months, actually. Or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘It’s not months, is it? Is it months?’ Stephen frowned. ‘I knew it had been a while, and it’s not that I haven’t noticed, Lydia, or wanted to. It’s just our lives very rarely seem to coincide at the right time, do they?’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Come on,’ Stephen said fondly, ‘let’s get you tucked in, and then maybe we can rectify that particular little oversight.’

‘Actually, do you mind?’ Lydia took her case back from him, desperate for some space alone to reflect, thinking it was typical that Stephen would choose to make a move when she wasn’t in the mood. ‘I’m really not feeling that great. Let me have a bit of time first, to have a bath and freshen up. You go back to dinner, have fun. It’s the least you deserve after all that driving. I’ll be waiting when you come up to bed,’ she added as a sop.

Stephen hesitated for a moment, and then, after reaching into his pocket, he handed Lydia the key to their room. ‘Katy said it’s at the top of the stairs. You’re sure you’ll be okay?’

‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Completely fine.’

‘Love you,’ Stephen said, leaning forward and kissing Lydia on the tip of her nose.

‘I love you, too,’ Lydia replied, although at that moment she had never felt less sure of it, or indeed anything, in her entire life.

The room Katy had given her and Stephen was indeed lovely, decorated in a cool sage green, complete with a wonderfully romantic four-poster bed swathed in brocade curtains that were tied back with ribbon. Sweetest of all, there was her very own slither of turret, forming a separate little room, with windows on three sides and just enough room for one over-stuffed armchair. Happily, the room was as warm as toast, the ancient radiators pumping out plenty of heat, and in the grate of the charming wrought iron fireplace, a fire was set, waiting to be lit.

After throwing her bag onto the bed, Lydia crossed to the turret room and sat down on the armchair, pressing her hand against the cool glass as she looked out into the night, dense with snow. It was impossible to make out the contours of the landscape through the dark and the storm, or even guess where the shore of the lake might be, although Katy had assured her it was practically at the bottom of the garden. The cars parked out front were now shapeless white humps, entirely covered with snow, and what Lydia could make out of the long driveway had once again been resurfaced in smooth marble white. For half a moment, she
considered opening the window and shimmying down the drainpipe to make her escape, but only for half a second. There was no way the Prius was going anywhere in this weather, and, besides, she had neglected to pack any sort of footwear that could resist even a light drizzle, never mind a few feet of snow. Lydia smiled faintly, imagining a search party finding her body, frozen in a snowdrift, only discovered because of her seven-inch Gucci stilettos poking out of the snow.

What on earth was she going to do? Watch Joanna fawn all over Jackson, and pretend, just as he was doing, that the two of them had never met? Make nice, polite love to Stephen tonight when Jackson was sleeping under the same roof? Never, not once, had Lydia been angry with Jackson for disappearing; she had been so wrapped up in the romantic tragedy of her own little
Brief Encounter
. But now there was no hiding from what, deep down, she had always known: that, all along, he’d played her.

Theirs hadn’t been a story of star-crossed lovers doomed to a fateful end. He’d used her for his own amusement, until he’d tired of her, and instead of having to deal with tiresome tears and anger and aftermath, he’d run away without so much as a ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Leaving Lydia to spin a foolish little fairy-tale of love that could never be.

Lydia banged her head gently against the heel of her hand, tears misting her vision, as she remembered, a
week or so after he’d left, going to Jackson’s house and standing outside like a loon, gazing up at the window, lost in romantic, wistful memories. Now she thought he’d probably just been out or, worse, in bed with his next conquest. Maybe he’d even paid the so-called caretaker who answered the door to fob her off.

Suddenly galvanised, Lydia knew exactly what she had to do. She had to go back downstairs and confront him, at least make him tell the truth to Joanna about what had happened between them. After all, surely it was only a matter of time before one of them slipped up, and it was better that Joanna should hear the story direct. And if Jackson was the type of man who fell in love all too easily, and out of love just the same, then it was also better Joanna found that out now, too. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

In her fury, Lydia made it all the way to the bedroom door before she changed her mind. There was no way she could tell anybody about what had happened between her and Jackson, no way, not unless she was prepared to ruin Christmas, not just for herself and Joanna, but for everyone, including Katy, who had worked so hard. Also, there were the children to think of – they were so happy and excited. She didn’t want anything the grown-ups did to affect what should be a magical time of year for them. The bottom line was, she couldn’t ruin Christmas and, thanks to the snow, she couldn’t run away, either.

This was even worse than the first Christmas after her dad had left. It had been a long, miserable year, her mother trying to hide the fact that she was always crying, and her dad, who was already secretly seeing Karen at that point, leaving longer and longer gaps between phone calls and visits. Lost and lonely, Lydia hid in her bedroom as much as possible, losing herself in a book or one of the old black and white movies on BBC2 on Saturday afternoons, longing for a world where women were ladies who wore hats and gloves, and everyone was ever so polite about everything, even falling in love. That first year after the divorce had come through, her parents had decided it would be good for her if they all spent Christmas Day together, to show Lydia that, despite everything that had happened, they were still friends.

Even at the age of thirteen, Lydia had known it was a terrible idea, that for her entire life the moments that her mum and dad had actively liked each other could be counted on the fingers of one hand, but it seemed she had no say as to what was good for her. It hadn’t taken long for the temporary ceasefire to disintegrate into accusations and recrimination over her mother’s lumpy gravy, and Lydia had sloped upstairs, unnoticed, to watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
on the little second-hand TV her mum had got her for Christmas. Lydia had pretended to be asleep when, after more shouting and door slamming, her tearful mother finally called her
down for dinner. As she concentrated on lying perfectly still, her eyes closed while her mother kissed her on the forehead, Lydia remembered wondering if perhaps a Christmas angel might come and visit her and show her how wonderful her life really was, even if just at the moment she couldn’t see it.

Sighing, Lydia returned to the bed, flinging herself back onto its soft mattress, trying to reason with herself. This was not nearly as bad as that long-ago Christmas; then, she had been a lost, lonely child, unable to escape the drama and turmoil created by the adults around her. Now
she
was the adult, even if she didn’t feel particularly grown-up at this exact moment. More than that, she was an adult who’d waitressed her way through her law degree, and battled all the sexism and old boy network to gain her hard-won place at the bar. Yes, her overworked heart was a tender and romantic one, but her career depended on her being rational, logical and fearless. If there was ever a woman who could get through this situation, then she, Lydia, was that woman.

Okay, Jackson had more than likely lied to her, and that was a good reason to be hurt and angry, but perhaps, in a way, he’d been trying to protect her. Some people might say that vanishing into thin air was actually preferable to saying I’m bored senseless by you, or similar. And it wasn’t as if he’d cheated on her with Joanna. There were more than eighteen months between
their affair and now; eighteen months and Stephen. Stephen, who she lived with, whose name appeared alongside hers on the gas bill, something he’d been as efficiently practical at sorting out as he had been about letting her have her own shelf in the fridge, and who, in his one, efficiently packed suitcase, had possession of a Tiffany engagement ring. All facts that should mean seeing Jackson again, even under these torturous circumstances, even if he had forgotten her, shouldn’t matter at all.

And just because she clearly hadn’t been the one for him, who was to say Joanna wasn’t? After all, in the few weeks they had spent together, he’d never wanted to meet her friends or her family. In fact, he’d made a point of only wanting to be alone with her, telling her, when she had once called him to suggest he come out for dinner with the girls instead of spending another night in at his place, that the idea of having to share her, even for a few hours, was simply out of the question. Yet here he was, after little more than a month of being with Joanna, ready and willing to spend Christmas with her friends, which in Joanna’s case was like meeting the parents, as strictly speaking she didn’t have any family to speak of, none that she was talking to, anyway. And everybody knew that spending Christmas with a girl or boyfriend was akin to accompanying him or her to a wedding. It was tantamount to being engaged already.

Jackson’s relationship with Joanna was on record; it was official. When Lydia had been seeing him, she’d virtually moved into Jackson’s place, avoided seeing or talking to her friends at all, answering their texts with ‘busy at work’ and screening their calls, until it got to the point when Alex turned up at her chambers one day and demanded to know there and then whether or not she wanted to be a bridesmaid at all, or if she was being so mean and horrible because she hated David and didn’t want Alex to be happy. Even then, Lydia had been reluctant to tell Alex everything about Jackson, somehow sensing that if she did, the enchantment she was living in would be broken, and her much more mundane real life would come crashing back in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lydia had apologised, taking Alex outside to talk. ‘I know I’ve been a terrible bridesmaid, it’s just that I’ve met someone, and he seems to have rather swept me off my feet.’

‘Really?’ Sceptical Alex had seemed uncertain, even though she’d recently become softened by her own love story. ‘Tell me all about him, then. What does it look like, shag like, that sort of thing?’

Although the temptation to talk about Jackson had been strong, because even having the excuse to say his name out loud made her happy, Lydia had hedged.

‘It’s early days yet, but maybe, maybe, you never know, I might just have a plus one to take to your wedding!’ Alex had pursed her lips. ‘Look, I swear to
put my bridesmaiding duties right back on the top of my agenda, and by the way, I love David. I think you two are perfect together.’

The two women had hugged, arranged the next pre-wedding meeting, and Alex had gone on her way. But she never did get to meet Jackson. None of her friends ever did, nor had even seen a photo of him, because there were none, not even on Lydia’s phone. As far as she knew, there was no documentary evidence at all that they had ever been together. Not like with Joanna, she thought ruefully. This year’s group photo in front of the Christmas tree would probably be next year’s Christmas card for her and Jackson, the happy couple.

As painful as it was, Lydia had to admit that, just because Jackson hadn’t loved her, it didn’t mean he didn’t love Joanna. And Joanna obviously adored him; it was as if the missing ingredient she had been searching for, as she’d flitted from man to man, was finally present. Perhaps Jackson loved Joanna, and perhaps Joanna loved Jackson. And as for acting as if he’d never seen her before in his life … Well, Lydia supposed bitterly, if he loved Joanna, and he wanted to keep her, then what choice did he have? After all, what girl wants to think that her new boyfriend has slept with her best friend before her?