LITMIR.BIZ

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to let Angeline back into his life – you only had to take one look at her for the most obvious reason. But beyond that, he’d loved her with everything he’d had. And now she clearly wanted another chance. Her request for a dance for ‘old time’s sake’ hadn’t fooled me. The way she looked at him? That request wasn’t anything to do with the past, it was all about the future. And I wanted to wish him well. But I couldn’t help it. Something grabbed at me and just kept screaming that she was the one who broke his heart. She was the one who’d sent him spiralling down until he’d lost all sense of who he really was, and all that he could be, distancing him from the family he adored. And yet, I couldn’t deny him happiness, if that was where he thought it lay. I cared about him too much for that. I loved him. And that was the real problem here. I loved him. And he loved her.

      When I woke the next day I blearily realised that the room wasn’t quite in the realms of ice hotel temperatures any more. Apparently the emotional impetus behind my trainer clad kick last night had had some impact. Unfortunately, the bathroom mirror confirmed that same emotional impetus had also had another effect and this one wasn’t anywhere near as successful or welcome: My eyes were puffy and although the shower had got rid of some make-up, I hadn’t bothered to finish my cleansing routine yesterday as I usually did. I imagined my pillow was going to need a bit of a soak in some Vanish if the state of my face was anything to go by. Cleaning my teeth, I made a point of not looking in the mirror again. Once done with that, I set about removing all traces of last night’s make-up and starting again. In more ways than one.

      ***

      I checked my watch as I waited for the train to appear through the tunnel, pushing the warm air out in front of it, thawing shivering tourists and commuters alike. The heavy rain of yesterday evening had, at some point during the night, turned to snow and I’d stepped out of the flats this morning to find my neighbourhood draped and muffled beneath a powdery white covering, inches thick. Instead of my heels, I wore a pair of fur-lined riding-style boots that served well as my stylish-but-still-practical option when the weather necessitated.

      Two minutes: The display board indicated the arrival time of the next train as more people entered the platform. I shuffled further up and took my phone out of my bag as I waited. I’d switched it on earlier when I was getting ready but hadn’t yet had a chance to check my messages. Again, not like me. Normally I was far more organised and efficient than this in the morning, even after two bottles of wine with Janey (pre-baby-bump, obviously). All I needed now was to have received a message from the client I was rushing out first thing to see to say that they’d changed their mind. But there wasn’t one from my client. At least not that particular client.

      There were now, in total, eight missed calls from Michael, as well as voicemail notifications. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily him. But the fact that one of the six texts he’d sent said that he’d now left three voicemails and would I please call him gave me the idea that it probably was.

      I closed the phone as the train pulled in, engine slowing, squeaky brakes protesting as it came to a full stop. Hearing his voice, that hint of gravel that made him sound slightly sleep roughened, even when he wasn’t, all wrapped up in that soft Irish accent was exactly what I wanted. And exactly why I couldn’t listen to them. His texts didn’t say a lot, but they told me enough. Michael might have played the lothario in the last two years but he wasn’t uncaring, as I’d first thought. He’d been hurting, and ashamed of the way his place looked and what he felt that said about him. It wasn’t just the whole wham bam thing. It was detachment masking the pain. The pain caused by the woman he now wanted to try again with.

      But he had asked me to that function and I’d left alone, something he apparently wanted to talk about. But what was there to say? It was my choice to leave. And he’d made it clear there was nothing romantic about the invitation anyway – at least initially. It was hard to deny that as we’d sat at the table and then taken to the dance floor together that maybe…

      I grabbed for the pole to steady myself as I gathered my concentration in staying upright as the train swayed on the track. I leant my head against it momentarily, just as it shunted on a bend. Thanks to the laws of physics, this resulted in me swiftly head butting the pole. Two people sat on the seats across from me suddenly disappeared behind their copies of Metro, but not before I saw the hint of a snigger on their faces. In another mood, I’d have probably joined in their amusement. But today it just seemed par for the course. I gave my forehead a quick rub, not caring what anyone thought. As I’d hinted to Michael yesterday, I’d spent years hearing much worse things directed my way, thanks to the, let’s say, unusual domestic arrangement of my childhood. At least something good had come from the mess of my younger years: I could nut a pole in a crowded tube train and still walk out with my head held high – even if it did now sport a bit of an egg.

      ***

      The snow appeared to have no intention of relenting. Checking our diary it looked like Bernice didn’t have any clients this afternoon so I knew she would be getting back to the office soon. I gave her a call.

      ‘Hi Kate! I just got back and was about to call you. How did it go last night?’

      ‘Fine. Everyone seemed to really like him.’

       Including his ex-wife.

      ‘Right,’ Bernice said slowly, and I could practically see her frowning down the phone. ‘That wasn’t exactly what I was getting at.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Come on Kate! You, super hot ex Grinch, twinkly Christmas lights, open bar, good food… You can’t tell me nothing happened.’

      ‘Nothing happened.’

      ‘I just said you couldn’t tell me that.’

      ‘Sorry. Anyway, I just called to tell you to go home now. This weather’s getting ridiculous and I don’t want you stuck out somewhere.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Yes. It’s fine. There’s nothing that can’t wait.’

      ‘I didn’t mean about work. I meant are you sure nothing happened, between you and him.’

      I let out a sigh. ‘I think it’s safe to say that any woman would remember if something happened between her and Michael O’Farrell.’

      ‘You sure you didn’t have a few too many glasses of champers?’

      ‘Bernice. Really. Nothing happened. I actually left a little earlier than him in the end anyway.’

      ‘Alone?’

      ‘Yes, alone. Now please, can we just move on?’

      ‘Of course. Are you seeing him again?’

       So much for moving on.

      ‘No. There’s no need. The house is all done. I’d said something about helping him decorate the tree and stuff, but I’m pretty sure he’s got that covered now, so he’s all ready to go for Christmas.’

      ‘Right,’ she said again.

      ‘Just before you go, there’s a little something for you in my bottom drawer. You know where the keys are.’

      ‘Oh Kate. You shouldn’t have.’ It was one of those phrases that trips off the tongue, but in this case, I knew it was meant. It was one of the things I loved about my colleague and friend: Her honesty. Even when it meant she enquired a little further than I might have liked, it was all done with the best intentions and came from a good place.

      ‘You mustn’t open them until Christmas Day though!’

      I heard a squeak. ‘That’s ages!’

      ‘It’s a few days!’ I replied, laughing at the level of excitement for the season Bernice still managed to achieve. When it came to Christmas, it was like she’d never got past aged five. In a good way. And I loved that.

      She let out a sigh and I heard background noises as she found the key and opened my drawer. The deep file drawer held a bag

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