With Love at Christmas Page 10

  ‘A party? Izzy, did you hear that?’

  ‘Par-tee,’ the little girl echoed.

  Lisa peered into the depths of the carrier bag. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘It looks lovely. Your wife made all of this?’

  ‘Mostly.’

  ‘She’s a clever lady.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I ought to get straight back and help her tidy up, or she’ll be a very cross one.’

  ‘Stay,’ Lisa said. ‘I was just thinking what to have for our dinner. Now you’ve saved me a job. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Better not. I really have to go.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked genuinely disappointed.

  Rick shuffled from foot to foot. ‘I’ll see you then,’ he said. ‘Take care.’

  Lisa stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re a lovely bloke, Rick Joyce,’ she said. ‘Do you know that?’

  But sometimes, in trying to be a nice bloke, he often seemed to do completely the wrong thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Oh, you go off and enjoy yourself,’ Mum says, tight-lipped. ‘Don’t think about us here at home. You two have fun.’

  She spits it out like a swear word.

  ‘It’s for two nights, Mum.’ I try not to sound cross. I try not to sound like a whiny five-year-old. I try to sound like a calm and in-control grown-up who simply harbours a desire to spend some time alone with her husband. ‘When did Rick and I last have a couple of days away together?’

  My mother turns her head away from me.

  ‘Dad’s still here. He’ll look after you.’

  ‘Since when has your father been any use for anything?’ she says out of the back of her head.

  Dad rolls his eyes. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m cooking her favourite tonight.’

  ‘I can hear you,’ Mum snaps. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘I said, I’m cooking your favourite tonight, Rita. I’ve got a chicken pie ready to go in the oven.’

  ‘There’s no need to shout,’ Mum says.

  ‘I think that’s Mum-speak for “that sounds lovely”,’ I whisper to Dad.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ he reassures me. ‘You go off and enjoy yourselves.’

  This said in a totally different tone to my mother’s. I can’t

  believe that we are actually going. We really are going away and leaving our family to fend for themselves. That Rick and I will be alone together for longer than the ten minutes when we fall into bed exhausted before sleep claims us. I want this trip, am desperate for this trip and we’re going, come hell or high water. I’m so excited, I feel like a teenager again. Rick had better watch himself.

  ‘It’ll be like old times, with just me and your mum,’ Dad adds. ‘God help me.’

  I smile at that. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘You young things should have some time to yourself. All you do is run around after everyone else. Samuel always said—’ and then his words dry up.

  Putting my arms round him, I pat his back. ‘I know. I know.’

  ‘Go on then.’ Dad gathers himself together. It’s the small things that catch him out. ‘Or you’ll miss that train.’

  ‘We’ve both got our mobiles,’ I remind him. ‘Don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything. If there’s a problem.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Juliet.’ He gives a wobbly laugh. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’

  It’s snowing, quite heavily. Our train to Bruges is at eight o’clock tonight, and Tom is taking us to Milton Keynes Central station to catch our connection. I’m worried about the weather. Does snow affect the Eurostar? It seems to bring everything else to a grinding halt.

  I kiss Chloe and then Jaden. My grandson clings to my neck. ‘Want Nana,’ he says.

  ‘It’s just for a few days, sweetheart,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll be back very soon.’

  ‘Have a blast,’ Chloe says. ‘Have you put all the food in the freezer?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘There’s plenty to keep you going. Grandad’s cooking tonight. Don’t forget to give him a hand. If there’s anything you need, you know where we are.’

  ‘I can’t believe that you’re actually going.’ She pouts slightly.

  ‘Me neither, but Dad and I really need this break, and we’re not going to get the time once your new little one comes along.’

  Chloe huffs and looks down at her bump. ‘I don’t think it’s ever going to come.’

  ‘Trust me, it’ll be here before you know it.’

  ‘We’d better get going,’ Rick says. Already there’s an inch or two on the road outside and, of course, it hasn’t been gritted. ‘This weather will make Bruges look very pretty,’ Rick says, peering anxiously out of the window, ‘if it’s snowing over there too.’

  Tom lifts our bags into the car and we kiss Mum, Dad, Chloe and Jaden. I feel quite teary going off without them. Our son is driving, and everyone waves from the front door – even Mum – as we slither off down Chadwick Close.

  Apparently, the Christmas fair is on during the whole of December, so I’m really looking forward to that. I’m thinking lovely food, nice drinks to sample. There’s a Snow and Ice Sculpture festival on at the same time too. I’m going to find a few moments on the train to swot up on the guidebook, as I haven’t had a chance to do that yet. Thanks to Samuel’s excellent recommendations, our hotel is centrally located right by the Belfry Tower, close to all the attractions. There’s an ice rink right in the main square, and I’m wondering if I could persuade my husband to don ice skates for the first time in umpteen years. We used to take the children when they were small, and Rick cut quite a fine figure on the ice way back when – he liked to show off by skating backwards. Maybe it’s like riding a bike, something you don’t forget. It would be fun to do something like that again, glide around on skates, feel the chill breeze lifting my hair. Maybe have a cup of warming glühwein afterwards.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Rick asks.

  ‘Nothing. Just happy.’

  ‘Watch the road,’ he says to Tom. ‘I don’t want a crash on the way to the station.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ Tom replies, as the wheels spin beneath us. ‘Chill out, Dad.’

  Rick tuts.

  We slither and slide our way along the dual carriageways towards the city.

  It takes us three times longer to get there than it normally does, and there’s an enormous queue of taxis outside the station that’s blocking the entrance road but, thankfully, we’ve allowed plenty of time.

  When we finally crawl forward and reach the front of the station, Tom helps us to unload our wheelie cases from the boot.

  ‘Have a great time, Mum,’ he says, and kisses me.

  ‘Look after your gran and grandad. Look after the house. Don’t argue with your sister. Don’t bring strange women home.’ Or men. And certainly don’t entertain them in our bed, I want to add.

  ‘You worry too much.’

  I actually think that I don’t worry enough.

  ‘Watch how you drive,’ Rick adds. ‘I don’t want a dent on that car when I get back.’

  ‘Relax.’ Tom holds his hands up. ‘Everything will be cool. The house will still be standing when you get home. The car will still be here. It will be dent-free.’

  Rick harrumphs. Perhaps we do worry too much. It’s no wonder we never manage to get away by ourselves.

  Tom claps his father on the back. ‘Make sure Mum has a great time, she deserves it.’

  I take a deep breath. He’s right: I do deserve some time, some romantic time, with just me and my lovely husband.

  Rick takes my hand and grins at me as we head towards the station. ‘Come on, then,’ he says. ‘Let’s go and show Bruges what we’re made of.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  We get down to St Pancras and the Eurostar terminal without incident, but when we arrive we learn that the snow on the Continent is far worse than it is here. France has had four inches in the last hour and the Eurostar, though sti
ll running, has developed lengthy delays.

  ‘I knew it,’ Rick mutters. ‘I knew it was too bloody good to be true.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I say. There are fantastic shops here, lovely restaurants and posh-looking bars. ‘This terminal is so fabulous you could spend your entire holiday here.’

  ‘Don’t be in too much of a rush to say that out loud.’ Rick studies the departure board. It’s saying that our eight o’clock train will now depart at ten o’clock. ‘We might well be doing it yet.’

  ‘We could go and have something to eat, or a drink at the Champagne Bar.’ How decadent would that be!

  ‘We’ll be able to do both at this rate.’

  Tearing ourselves away from the departure board, we head upstairs to the Champagne Bar by the platforms. Although everywhere is crowded, we manage to get seats and, at great expense, Rick orders two glasses for us. He even does so without flinching.

  ‘Shall I ring home?’ I pull out my phone. ‘See how they all are?’

  ‘We’ve been gone for less than two hours, Juliet. They’re all fine.’

  ‘Just a quick call.’

  ‘They can manage without us,’ he insists.

  Reluctantly, I put my phone away again.

  ‘Besides, you don’t want to worry them. They’ll all think we’re happily on our way to Bruges, not stuck here at St Pancras for the foreseeable future.’

  That’s true enough.

  The champagne arrives, and Rick clinks his glass against mine. ‘To us,’ he says. ‘To a romantic weekend away together.’

  ‘To us,’ I echo, and my husband kisses me tenderly on the lips. ‘Are you sure I shouldn’t just call?’

  ‘Do I have to confiscate your phone, Juliet?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I just worry about them all.’

  ‘Let’s focus on us for once,’ Rick suggests. ‘Just the two of us.’

  I am trying to do that, but it’s not easy simply to step out of your normal role in the family, is it? I’m the matriarch, the one who holds it all together. It’s hard to remember that, first and foremost, I am a wife and lover before I’m a mother, a daughter, a grandmother and an all-round dogsbody.

  ‘When did we last do this?’ Rick says.

  ‘We never have.’ That’s why I’m determined to enjoy it.

  In an attempt to recapture my inner sex goddess, I went out and bought myself some deliciously sexy underwear and a sheer nightie that doesn’t involve fleece, anywhere. It’s probably more suitable for someone half my age but, at the risk of being ridiculed, I thought I’d give it a go. I also went to that rather tacky sex shop that’s everywhere on the high street now and, hoping that no one recognised me, bought a red, very festive feather boa and even a set of matching furry handcuffs. Very cheeky, for me. I’m not usually one to go for that sort of thing. I might like to think that inside I’m a smouldering sex siren, but I’m probably the most staid person I know. I’m sure Rick will like it. He’ll certainly be surprised. Rick and I have been married for twenty-seven years now, and it’s hard to keep the sex sparkling after all that time. To be honest, it’s hard to fit it into the schedule at all. Who would have thought that at our age, our bedroom would be bordered on one side by my mother and on the other by our daughter and grandson? It’s nigh on impossible to be spontaneous and sexy when there’s a risk everyone else might be able to hear – particularly your mother. That aside, how do you continue to find a thrill in skin that’s as familiar to you as your own? Rick works so hard that the last thing on his mind, I’m sure, is swinging from the chandeliers – not that we have any. I’m hoping we might rectify that, at least a little bit, this weekend.

  Although our sex life might not be the stuff of the glossy magazines, I think we’re lucky still to be in love after all this time. So few of our friends who married at the same time as we did have made it this far. Yet somehow Rick and I have weathered our storms. We even survived the threat of an affair with my old flame, Stephen Aubrey, a couple of years ago. With hindsight, I think it was something of a midlife crisis for me, but at the time it felt very real and I was almost ready to turn my back on Rick, my family, all that was familiar. I can’t believe it now. It was a close-run thing, and it shook us both to the core. But we came out of it stronger as a couple, more determined to make it.

  ‘A penny for them?’ Rick says.

  ‘I’m just thinking that I’m very lucky to have you,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s make this weekend extra special.’

  ‘A toast to that,’ Rick says, and we entwine our arms and sip champagne again.

  Three hours later, and we’ve had more champagne, enjoyed a very nice meal at a cramped and busy restaurant where we could hardly hear ourselves speak, and still our train isn’t ready to leave.

  But I’m fine about it. That’s got to be a bad sign, hasn’t it? I shouldn’t really consider sitting in a heaving railway terminal as a chance to grab a bit of peace – if not necessarily quiet – with my husband. At home, I just don’t have time to stop and think about anything. It’s all rushing around, fighting fires. When was I last able to kick back and drift? Or, apart from writing Christmas shopping lists, when did I have time to sit and plan for the future? It’s all about the here and now, and I’m not sure the frantic pace that we live at is good for any of us. I get up early, go at full tilt all day until I fall into bed with every bone in my body aching, exhausted. When did that become the norm? Perhaps Tom is the one who’s got it right, after all.

  I take Rick’s hand in mine.

  ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just nice to be together.’

  It’s now past eleven o’clock at night, and all the bars and restaurants are closing up and my eyes are growing heavy. There’s not a seat to be had, so we’re sitting on our wheelie cases, staring at the board, willing it to change. It’s disappointing that there’s been a delay, as we have so little time away to eat into – but that’s life, isn’t it? We should have been in Bruges by now, maybe even checked into our hotel, perhaps enjoying a little late-night stroll, taking a nightcap in one of the bars. On the plus side, I have had time to read about all the wonderful things that we could be doing in our as-yet-unused guidebook.

  ‘Our train’s up on the board,’ Rick announces, standing up in surprise. ‘Good God. We could still be in Bruges before dawn. Get your case, Juliet. Get your case.’

  I jump up too and, hurrying along together, we join the surge of people now heading towards the check-in desks. ‘I can’t believe we’re finally going!’

  Just wait until I hit that Christmas market tomorrow. I’m hoping that I can find something unusual to bring back for Jaden – maybe a nice handmade toy. They’re sure to have some great chocolate, too. My mouth’s watering just thinking about it. I’d also like to get a couple of new decorations for the tree, just to remind myself of our trip.

  We’re in the queue, shuffling forward now, dragging our wheelie cases behind us. The sense of relief is palpable.

  ‘I just hope we don’t have any trouble on our way back,’ Rick says. ‘I can’t afford to be late for work on Monday.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I assure him. ‘It’s usually only the first few days of snowfall that’s a problem. After that, everything soon gets back to normal.’

  Two couples are in front of us now, then it’s us. We check in and go straight through to the departure area. The train is already boarding. Clearly, now that it’s moving, they’re not

  hanging about. We hurry along the platform and climb on board. My excitement is rising now. We’re going. We’re on our way!

  We’re jostled through the carriage until Rick finds our prebooked seats. The train is spacious and rather sophisticated, in a sparse way. ‘This is nice,’ he says, clearly impressed. ‘Here, give me your case. There’s no room overhead. I’ll put it at the end of the carriage near the door.’

  As I’m handing him my case, my phone rings. ‘It’s Chloe’s number,’ I say to Rick.

 
; He rolls his eyes. ‘She’s probably ringing to find out how to make a cup of tea for herself.’

  ‘Rick,’ I chide, as I click to answer.

  ‘Hello, love. Everything all right?’ It’s hard to hear her as the signal is cutting in and out, but she sounds like she’s crying. My insides turn to water. What if something’s happened to Jaden? ‘You’ll have to speak up, Chloe. I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘It’s coming,’ she shouts. ‘The baby. It’s coming. My labour’s started. Mum, what am I going to do?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We bundle ourselves off the train and are still striding down the platform – the wrong way – as it pulls out. Everyone else is heading to Bruges. Everyone but us.

  Rick does not look amused.

  ‘I’m her birthing partner.’

  ‘Humph,’ he says.

  As they’re technically apart now, Chloe doesn’t want Mitch to be present at the birth. On the one hand, I can understand it. But, on the other, it seems so terribly sad. ‘What else can I do?’ I ask him.

  ‘Nothing,’ he mutters, but it doesn’t look like he sees the imminent birth of our second grandchild as being on the same level of emergency that I do.

  Secretly, I think he feels that we should leave Chloe to get on with it and see the new arrival when we get back from our trip. But I’ve promised her that I’ll be there with her. I wasn’t to know that the baby would decide to pop out just as we were about to go on our first romantic break together since time began, was I?

  ‘This new baby clearly isn’t going to take after Chloe,’ Rick grumbles on. ‘If it was its mother’s child, it’d be a month late rather than early. Why couldn’t she have waited until Monday?’