Let It Snow, page 5
I finally interrupted with a weary, half-hearted question about when he could come instead.
‘Ah, that’s hard to say. If we get spotted, things could happen fast. I don’t want to let you down again. I’ll be in touch after the gig, let you know what’s happening.’
‘Right. Well. Happy Christmas. I hope it goes well.’ That wasn’t a complete lie. I knew how much this meant to him.
‘Thanks, Bea. You too. Say hi to everyone for me.’ There was a brief pause. ‘You know how much I love you, right? You’re my inspiration. Every time I pick up the guitar I’m thinking of you. I promise it’ll be worth it in the end: all the sacrifice, all the waiting. Just a little bit longer…’
‘I love you, too.’
For the first time I realised, with an overwhelming rush of dread, that love wasn’t going to be enough.
While the thought of living without him ripped my guts apart, this pretence at being with him was killing me one excuse at a time. I let things drag on until June, when I finally admitted that it was never going to change. Chasing the dream was Adam’s first love; I was merely the mistress waiting on the side.
6
I read the email, my heart plummeting into my slipper socks.
This evening.
I’d assumed that the ‘this evening’ comment must have been either rhetorical, or a slip of the tongue, but the email made it very clear that this assumption had been incorrect.
The interview process started with a welcome drinks reception at 6 p.m. this evening.
It concluded with lunch and the ‘grand announcement’ two days later, on the twenty-fourth – who in their right mind held a residential job interview on Christmas Eve?
I devoured every word of the email with an urgency that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I had to be at that interview.
Clicking up the Armstrong Family Christmas Itinerary, I skim-read the activities for the next couple of days. This afternoon was rehearsals for the show, followed by a trip into Hatherstone for the Christmas market and dinner at a local restaurant. I couldn’t see any trips into the village happening in the next few days.
Sunday the twenty-third was a champagne brunch, afternoon board games, and a walk to Hatherstone chapel for the carols by candlelight, finished off with a singalonga-Christmas film.
Christmas Eve carried on in much the same vein, with an Armstrong Family Buffet in the evening that included Mum’s four cousins plus assorted partners, children, and their families.
Mum would be gutted if I missed it. If I was honest, I didn’t want to miss it. Then again, that still left four days to go full Armstrong, including the Spectacular on the twenty-sixth. I decided that if I could find a way to get to the interview, and then back again for the Christmas Eve buffet, I would take that as a sign that I was meant to go.
If the local weathergirl was to believed (and I had it on good authority that she knew her stuff), there would be no trains running today. I wondered whether once I navigated the drive, I’d find the roads outside the forest were clear. My weather apps confirmed that the snow fizzled out at the southern border of Nottinghamshire. So, all I needed to do was persuade someone to lend me their car, and get it the short distance to the main road.
This could be doable after all. Hope began to accelerate through my bloodstream.
When I checked the exact address so I could estimate the time it would take, it screeched to a stop.
While the job would be in London, the interview was at Baxter Bigwood’s country retreat.
In Scotland.
With a reluctant finger I typed the address into my maps app.
Six hours, in normal traffic.
I checked the time. Five past ten. So, if I allowed an optimistic hour to get down the drive and all the way to the main road, that gave me thirty minutes to pack, convince someone to lend me their car and listen to everything Mum had to say on the matter, plus a quick stop halfway there for a wee and a coffee.
It would take a serious dose of Christmas magic for me to stand a chance of making it on time, but compared to the alternatives, it was a chance worth taking.
Right: the first thing to do was pack.
It should have been a relatively simple task, given that most of my things had never left the suitcase. However, as I stuffed my pyjamas and other bits and bobs back in I realised that, partly due to the haste with which I’d packed the night before thanks to the surprise drinks party, I hadn’t brought the kind of outfit suitable for a job interview. Especially when interviewing for a job where appearance mattered.
I was sitting on the floor, back against the bed, eyes squeezed shut in the hope that a solution might somehow appear by the time I opened them again, when there was a knock at my bedroom door.
‘Oh, great.’ My first reaction was to pretend I was asleep, or somewhere else. But then I remembered that I needed a car. And also to let my family know that I was abandoning them for a couple of days.
‘Come in.’
I expected Dad bearing tea and a sneaky mince pie. At a close second, Mia or one of her girls. Last on my list (besides Nana Joy, who couldn’t manage the steep climb any more) was Henry.
‘Um, hi. Hello.’ He’d pushed open the door tentatively, as if half expecting to find a wild animal on the other side. He had a mug in each hand. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Has Mum allowed you a break?’
He frowned ruefully. ‘Instead of a walk we’ve had a snowman competition, which lasted about ten minutes before turning into a snowball fight. I pleaded an injury and ducked out early.’
He bent his head to show me an angry red mark on the side of his neck.
‘Ouch. That looks nasty.’
‘Elana had a pebble inside one of her snowballs. I’m sure it was an accident.’
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Ha. I wouldn’t be at all sure about that. Not if there was some sort of competition involved.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Losers had to finish clearing the drive. I think I prefer being hit in the neck with a rock.’
Henry stood just inside the doorway, his whole body hunched to avoid banging into the eaves. He’d changed into a cream Aran sweater, which contrasted with his chestnut hair.
‘When did you start wearing jeans?’ I asked, getting up to sit on the bed and indicating that he could take the small chair.
‘What?’ He glanced down at his legs, as if only noticing for the first time. ‘I got changed because my trousers were soaking.’
‘No.’ I took a sip of tea, surprised that he’d remembered to add a quarter of a teaspoon of sugar. ‘When did you first ever wear a pair of jeans?’
The whole time I’d known Henry, he’d worn school trousers (often on the weekends) or cotton trousers with a sharp crease down the front. Once, on holiday, he’d worn knee-length shorts, though his socks had been pulled so high up his shins it hadn’t been that much of a difference.
I watched with interest as the tips of his ears turned pink again. Henry had always seemed so self-assured, as if he’d made the logical, rational choice and therefore no one else’s opinion was relevant. It was so intriguing to see him ruffled.
‘I had a girlfriend who liked fashion. She bought me them.’
‘What?’ I nearly choked on my tea.
‘It’s that much of a shock that I’ve had girlfriends?’ he asked, the tips of his mouth curling up.
‘Girlfriends? Yes! Mum never told me there were women fighting over you, revamping your wardrobe.’
‘Do you think that could be because she never knew about them, because I was sensible enough not to tell my mum?’
‘Oh, now secret girlfriends are even better!’ How had I never realised before that teasing Henry was so much fun? ‘Were they physicists? Did they complete maths puzzles with you? Ooh – did you go on dates and spend the whole time correcting grammar?’
‘Of course. Once we’d read each other our favourite quotes from the latest journal of Astroparticle Physics.’
‘I love this new information about you.’
‘Just because I’m not some leather-jacketed, bad-boy musician, it doesn’t mean that no other women want to go out with me.’
‘I know, I know. I’m just fascinated because I didn’t know.’
There was a pause in conversation for half a minute or so while we sipped our tea. Henry broke the silence.
‘Speaking of new information, I’m guessing this was your childhood bedroom?’
‘Well done, Sherlock.’
He nodded graciously in mock-acknowledgment of the compliment. ‘While I could see Jed reading Malory Towers, I’m not sure he’d be interested in The Secret World of Weather. And I can see why you would like to be tucked up in the attic.’
‘I can’t deny there was a bonus to being as far as possible from the rest of the house.’
‘Is that your suitcase all packed?’ He nodded to where it sat, zipped up and ready to go. ‘I know what Cora said was upsetting, but I honestly don’t think she meant…’
‘I have a job interview. I can’t go, though, so I might as well unpack again.’ I blew out a shaky sigh, trying to keep my emotions in check.
‘Why not?’
I closed my eyes. ‘It’s a two-day residential interview. In Scotland. I only just found out that I’d been invited thanks to a problem with my work emails. Besides which…’ my voice was getting higher and faster as I tried to finish speaking before bursting into tears ‘… I have nothing to wear, because I’m here and not at home and I packed in a rush to get here so I didn’t miss one second of Mum’s stupid itinerary.’
Henry handed me a tissue, waiting for me to take a shuddery breath, wipe my eyes and blow my nose before he spoke. ‘What’s the job?’
‘National weather reporter for BWM Today’ I gave a watery smile. ‘Baxter Bigwood got someone to call me because he was so impressed with my application.’
‘Wow.’ Henry nodded. ‘It sounds like you need to be at this interview.’
‘Yeah. Maybe if I ask him nicely, Baxter will send a helicopter to pick me up. We could stop off via a John Lewis on the way.’
‘Or I could drive you.’
My head jerked up so sharply that I nearly spilled the remains of my tea. ‘It’s two days. In Scotland.’
‘I love Scotland.’
‘The roads are impassable. We’d probably get stuck in a snowdrift.’
He shook his head. ‘Once we got out of the forest, the main roads’ll be clear. Ish.’
‘Is that a scientific term?’
Henry said nothing, waiting for me to accept his offer. I gave another long sigh. ‘You must really want to avoid more Armstrong Christmas.’
‘Not at all.’
I raised one eyebrow.
‘Okay, I accept it can be… a lot. But I’m very grateful to be here rather than on my own somewhere. However—’
‘Really?’ I could easily imagine Henry spending Christmas alone, planning his own little traditions with scientific precision. ‘I’m not going to drag you away on a three-hundred-mile slog for my sake, then.’
Henry frowned. ‘What I was going to say is, however, despite appreciating being here – especially Cora’s rigorously detailed itinerary – I like the sound of a cross-country adventure.’
I frowned, about to come up with another reason why I couldn’t accept his offer. Not least that I wasn’t at all sure if I liked the sound of a cross-country adventure with Henry Fairfax.
‘Bea, this is too good an opportunity to miss. I won’t be able to enjoy Christmas knowing you’re here, when you should be there, and I could have helped.’ He paused to look me right in the eye. ‘Besides, I think it’s about time I repaid my magical debt. I still owe you a big one, remember?’
I shook my head, but couldn’t help a tiny smile. ‘How could I forget? They’ve only just stopped calling me Henry’s glamorous assistant.’
He winced. ‘You have to let me repay my nine-year debt and drive you to this interview.’
When I thought about it, six hours in a car with Henry was a minuscule price to pay for a fantastic new job, fifteen minutes away from Adam. And he did owe me big-time.
‘On one condition.’
He widened his eyes in surprise. ‘Which is?’
‘You come with me when I tell my parents.’
Christmas, nine years ago
* * *
It was my first year studying at Durham University, and a whole term away from Charis House had been fabulous and terrifying in equal measure. I’d been desperate to break away from the shadow of my family and had done my best to embrace my new-found freedom. However, it was harder to leave behind my insecurities and lopsided self-image than I’d thought and, for such a country girl, even a small city like Durham was overwhelming. The main thing I’d learned, on top of a whole load of fascinating environmental study, was that my family were even more peculiar than I’d thought.
A major event of the term was breaking up with Adam, again. I’d barely heard from him for weeks, and when he cancelled coming to visit me for the second time, I declared that I was done. Partly in the hope that he’d then turn up on my doorstep to change my mind, but he’d been asked to join a new band on tour, and I knew in my heart that was wishful thinking.
He’d arrived back in Hatherstone on Christmas Eve, but so far I’d resisted his pleas to meet up. It was now Boxing Day, the night of the Christmas Spectacular, and I was keenly aware that Adam’s band were backstage waiting to perform later in the show. In a moment of mid-term homesickness, I’d agreed to accompany Nana Joy on the piano, but was at least avoiding having to sing or otherwise embarrass myself for once.
That was, until I spotted Adam sauntering down the corridor, causing me to duck through the nearest door to avoid him, which happened to lead into a store cupboard.
‘Ouch!’ I stumbled over a stray mop – the first sign that something was amiss; the Charis House cleaner would never dare leave anything out of place – and fell directly into something solid that turned out to be a someone.
‘Oof.’ Two hands jerked up and caught hold of my shoulders, preventing me from knocking us both over, and with a prickle of annoyance I recognised the smug tone instantly. What did catch me by surprise was the rock-hard torso I’d smacked into. It appeared Henry Fairfax had spent his first term at Cambridge in the gym.
‘What are you doing in here?’ we asked at the same time.
‘Hang on,’ Henry added, before a second later the cupboard filled with the glow of his phone torch.
‘Hiding from someone?’ he asked, squinting at me in the sudden light.
I gave a curt nod. ‘You too?’
He glanced down at his outfit, which was more than a sufficient answer. Henry wore a shiny blue magician’s robe covered in silver stars and a matching pointy hat.
‘You look ready for World Book Day.’ I couldn’t help grimacing in sympathy. ‘Did your mum make that?’
He nodded, face drooping with uncharacteristic misery. ‘She signed me up as the Great Henrico. Thought it would be fun to have me take part this year, get me more involved seeing as I’ve been away.’
‘Why a magic act?’
‘It felt less humiliating than singing. That is, it did until I saw the costume.’
‘You could just wear your normal clothes.’
‘I could. But it would hurt Mum’s feelings. That’s not the only problem, either.’
‘Oh?’
‘I mistakenly believed that learning a decent magic trick wouldn’t be that hard. I’ve watched enough Spectaculars to know that the standard is generally, well, spectacular. My trick isn’t. I don’t want to embarrass anyone.’
I leant back against a shelving unit, fascinated at this glimpse of the man behind the mask. Henry had never expressed anything close to embarrassment or dread. He assessed the options, selected the most appropriate, and proceeded accordingly. No emotion necessary.
‘Since when did you worry about that?’
He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Polly’s brought her friends from school along, thanks to Mum bigging me up for weeks. They’re expecting David Blaine.’
I did a quick calculation. Henry’s little sister must be around thirteen. A precarious age when it came to friendships.
‘So, what, you’re going to hide in here?’
He shrugged, mournfully. ‘I just needed somewhere quiet to come up with a solution.’
‘Which is?’
‘I haven’t come up with it yet.’
I checked the time on my phone. ‘The show starts in ten minutes. When are you on?’
‘Second.’
‘Ah.’
He tugged on his robe in the ensuing silence, as if a straight hem would make things any better. It was when I spotted his hand trembling that I realised he was on the brink of a panic attack.
‘It’s not too late to duck out. Tell your mum you have a stomach bug, or something.’
‘I can’t lie to her.’
I’d have argued that extreme circumstances justified bending his strict code of honour, but I knew that was a literal statement. Henry couldn’t have produced a convincing lie if his life depended on it.
‘So you’re going to go on, wearing that, do a rubbish trick and embarrass your sister in front of her friends.’
He took a shaky breath. ‘It would seem so.’
I could already imagine how the scene would unfold. I really liked Polly.
‘Then how about I join you?’
‘What?’
‘I’ll come with you on stage, deflect some of the attention and make it look like it’s me who messes up. Our parents will be so excited to see us paired up together, they’ll gloss over the disastrous performance.’
‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘What, humiliate myself on stage? I’ve done it every other year. It’s something of a tradition. It wouldn’t feel like Christmas unless I’ve disgraced myself in public.’
‘Who are you hiding from?’ he asked after a few seconds of silence.
