Carla Burgess - Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

Anthony stroked his chin and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘It’s a lot of responsibility.’

‘Yes, but it’s not the responsibility, really. It’s what comes next. People work for years to achieve what I’ve got, but I’ve got it already. That makes me sound like a spoilt brat, and I don’t mean to sound like that at all. I love it. Most of the time I don’t think like this at all and my head is full of building up the internet side of the business and attracting more clients and offering really different and edgy bouquets. I want the shop to feel like a little boutique that has a really unique signature style. And I’d love to hold more workshop tutorials; you know, floristry classes for beginners, that sort of thing. We had one the other week, just a small one, where Bobbi and I showed people how to make their own Christmas wreaths. It was lovely. We had wine and cheese and it was such a lovely evening. I’d love to do more things like that. But then sometimes, you know, late at night, when it’s dark and I’m lonely, I get to thinking that maybe my life will always be like this. Maybe I won’t meet anyone else ever again. Maybe I won’t get married and have kids. Maybe I’ll always live in my gran’s house and run my mum’s shop. Never growing, just living the same life I’ve always lived for the rest of my days. And that would be fine, really. It’s a nice life. I’d be lucky for that to happen. You know, steady and safe and drama-free. But there’s also the worry that maybe I’ll lose everything my mum’s ever worked to build up. What if I cock it up and the business folds?’ I took a deep breath and looked at him. He was watching me closely, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Either that or he was falling asleep. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on for ages. Ignore me. The simple answer to your question is life is good, but I worry a lot.’ I took a sip of water. ‘You must think I’m mad.’

‘Not at all. I think you’re very brave.’

‘Brave? Me?’ I laughed incredulously.

‘No, really. You’ve stepped up and taken on your family business, allowing your mum to retire. That’s an honourable thing to do.’ He cleared his throat and shifted position in his chair slightly. ‘I have a family thing. It’s not exactly a business… well, sort of… but when I came of age I ran so far and so fast from it my feet didn’t touch the ground. Taking on that… stuff… tying myself down… it terrified me. Still does now.’

‘Well, you have your own job now.’ I smiled encouragingly. ‘Your parents must be very proud of you.’

He laughed. ‘Not so you’d notice.’

I frowned slightly. ‘Do you still see them?’

‘It’s just my mum now. Dad died when I was fourteen.’

‘Oh no, I’m sorry. That must have been awful.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It was at Christmas time, too. I still don’t celebrate it.’

‘You don’t celebrate Christmas? Not at all?’

‘Nope. I hate it. Everything about it pisses me off. The lights, the trees, the decorations. The way people rush about all stressed-out, spending money they haven’t got. The wasted food. The drunk drivers on the roads. That’s how my dad died. Head-on collision with a drunk driver, asleep at the wheel.’

‘Oh no, that’s horrible! I’m so sorry.’ Covering my mouth with my hands, I looked at him, eyes wide with horror.

‘I expect you love Christmas, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded. ‘My mum and brother celebrate. It’s just me who’s the miserable bastard.’

‘Well, it’s understandable. How old’s your brother? Does he remember?’

‘Sort of. He was only nine when it happened. He’s married with two kids now.’

‘Will you see them on Christmas Day?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll send presents.’

‘What about your mum?’

‘She’ll go to my brother’s.’

‘So, you’re alone for Christmas?’

He shrugged. ‘Just another day.’

I gave him a sad smile. ‘Has your brother taken on this family business then?’

‘No. My mum still runs it. Do you want a coffee or anything?’ Leaning over, he picked up my empty plate and put it with his own before taking it to the kitchen.

‘Oh, err, yes, please. Unless you want me to go?’

‘No, you can take me through your timeline.’

‘Oh great. I might have known I wouldn’t escape that easily.’

‘Of course not.’ He chuckled as he placed a coffee pod into the coffee machine on the side and waited while it filled the mug below. Crossing to the breakfast bar, I took the lid off the hat box I’d brought and took out the list.

‘Go and sit on the sofa.’ Anthony pointed towards the big, oyster-coloured squashy sofa in the living-room area.

‘I love this sofa,’ I said, sinking into its soft depths. It was made from a suede material that my dad said was completely impractical for a rental property. He had a point, but I’d managed to convince him by telling him he needed nice furniture to attract the right type of tenant. ‘I helped choose it.’

‘You did?’ Anthony sounded surprised. ‘The colour’s quite muted for you, isn’t it?’

I laughed. ‘I chose the paint for the walls, too.’

He looked at the pastel green in surprise. ‘Thank God they’re not pink!’

‘I was under strict instructions from my dad. Thank you,’ I said, accepting the coffee he passed to me. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a bit fed-up of all the pink myself. Maybe I’ll redecorate at some point.’

Anthony sat down on the sofa next to me and pulled the coffee table nearer so we could put our drinks down. Placing my coffee on the nearest leather coaster, I smoothed out my list and offered it to Anthony.

‘It’s not very interesting. I doubt it will lead anywhere.’

Anthony’s eyes scanned the list. Pressing his lips together, he frowned. ‘Hmm.’

‘It’s funny really, looking at that list. It shows how little time we actually spent together.’

‘Hmm,’ Anthony repeated.

‘I must have been mad to agree to marry him.’

‘Yep.’ Anthony laughed.

I looked at him, surprised, and he shrugged. ‘Well, you know… it doesn’t look good on paper, does it?’

There wasn’t much I could say to that really. I’d pointed it out, after all, and it really didn’t look good at all. But then that list didn’t take into account the emotion of those meetings. The laughter and affection we’d shared and the sheer joy of seeing him and spending time with him. Maybe the rarity of our meetings had made them even more exciting. All that longing to see him just fed the passion. Of course, in the early days there had been phone calls and gifts to keep me interested between visits. It was when the phone calls stopped and his visits got rarer that the excitement and passion fizzled out, replaced instead by resentment and sadness.

I’d been a fool. But everybody was a fool in love, weren’t they?

He pushed his glasses up his nose as he held up two boarding passes from the trip to Paris. ‘So this plane ticket to Paris, it says you flew from Gatwick, but you came back to Liverpool?’

‘Yes, he had business in Paris so I flew back alone.’

‘But you went to London and flew to Paris with him?’

‘Yes. We stayed somewhere in London the night before. A flat in Fulham.’

Anthony’s eyes lit up. ‘Whose flat? His flat?’

‘He said it was his friend’s flat. There was hardly anything in it. It was really sparse and unlived-in. Nice and trendy but… unlived-in. We were only there overnight anyway. I can’t remember the address. Patrick met me at Euston train station.’

I sorted through the papers until I found the train ticket. Anthony picked it up and looked at it.