Calling Mrs Christmas Read online

  ‘Let’s step outside for a minute,’ he suggests.

  ‘Boys, guard those presents with your life,’ I tell them and they stand by the sacks like nightclub bouncers.

  Jim slides open the patio door to the side of us and we step out into the freezing air. I pull my coat more tightly around me. We move out of view from the window and Jim pulls off his red hood and his beard with a weary sigh.

  ‘I don’t much feel like being Santa today,’ he admits.

  I’m shocked by his appearance. His face is grey and looks drawn. It’s obvious that he’s not eating as, even in this short time, he’s lost weight from his cheeks.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Jim shrugs and tries a smile. ‘I’d like to say yes,’ he tells me. ‘But the truth is, I have been better.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ This is my fault. All my fault.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not much better than you,’ I admit.

  ‘We’re a pair of idiots,’ he says.

  The wind whips around us, picking up the snow on the ground and in the trees and swirling it into a frenzy, showering us with damp powder.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ Jim wants to know.

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘Are you with him?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘No. I’m still sleeping on Gaby’s sofa.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ Jim says. ‘You should be at the flat. It’s where your work is. This is your busiest time. I’ll move out.’

  ‘You’ve got the boys there,’ I point out. ‘It’s not a good idea to disrupt them again.’

  ‘You’re more important to me. Their flat is likely to be ready soon. I spoke to Vincent yesterday and I’m hoping they’ll move in before Christmas.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  He looks down at his Santa outfit. ‘Despite all this, I can’t say that I’m looking forward to Christmas this year.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I admit.

  ‘You’ve still got a lot to do,’ Jim says. ‘And I’ve got a couple of dozen crazy kids waiting for me, so we’d better get on.’

  He puts his hood back on, then slips his beard onto his chin and jiggles it into place. I think of the night we made love beneath the Christmas tree at the Hemel Hempstead Means Business event with Jim still in his Santa outfit. The night that I first met Carter Randall. How much has changed since then.

  Jim slides the door open. ‘Keep well, Cassie.’

  I put my hand on his arm. My throat is dry and tears sting my eyes. ‘I miss you.’

  He lets out a weary breath. ‘God knows I miss you too.’

  I should kiss him. I want to kiss him. Instead, I stand there frozen solid.

  The moment passes and we go back inside. I check my watch. ‘Come on, boys. We’ve got lights to put up.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon,’ Jim says.

  ‘Yes.’ Now we’re awkward with each other again.

  ‘You have to do what’s right for you. I understand that.’

  I can’t speak at all. If I do I might beg Jim to take me back and that would be the wrong thing to do while I’m wired up with emotion.

  The boys walk ahead of me and I wave as we leave. Jim sits back down on his chair and pastes a big smile on his face. My heart feels as if it’s breaking. This is even worse than when I left the flat.

  As we near the door, there’s a tug on my sleeve and I turn to see who it is. At my elbow there’s a small girl, angelic-looking, about five years old. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Amy,’ she says.

  Crouching down, I smile at her and ask, ‘What can I do for you, Amy?’

  ‘What did you say to make Santa cry?’ she wants to know.

  My head snaps up. I look back towards Jim and see that he is, as Amy said, crying.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  It’s the day before Christmas Eve and I honestly don’t know where the time has gone. I’ve been so flat-out busy that I’ve almost – almost – not had time to think about my current predicament. I’ve been deluged by a last-minute flurry of present buying, card writing, event planning and goodness knows what else that has had me running full pelt towards Christmas. I haven’t had a minute to myself. So much for me having time to ‘think’. I’ve done anything but. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve tried to push my decision firmly to the back of my mind.

  Of Jim, I’ve seen nothing. Every day I’ve wanted to wait for him at the flat and, every day, I’ve bottled it. I just hope that he’s coping all right. The boys have been doing a sterling job and, with a final push tomorrow, we’ll have cleared everything in the diary in the nickiest nick of time.

  I’ve been out all day today, so I haven’t seen the boys yet, but I’ve just spoken to Andrew on the phone and he’s got everything in hand. I can’t believe how much the pair of them have blossomed in the past few weeks. No wonder Jim is so proud of them. He placed all of his faith in them and they’ve come good for him.

  I pull up outside Gaby’s house, in my cronky car, and park behind the shiny and still untouched Mercedes. Exhausted, I sit in the car for a few minutes, just breathing. These few days off over Christmas will be very welcome indeed.

  Carter, unlike Jim, has phoned me a dozen times a day. It’s only because I have no idea what to say to him that I’m not taking his calls. When I talk to him all reason goes out of my head and I find myself agreeing to everything he says. So it’s best that I don’t talk to him at all. On cue, a text pings in. I stare at my phone and then bury it in the depths of my handbag. I can’t deal with Carter now.

  Once out of the car, I swing into Gaby’s house. She’s now given me my own key, which is possibly a bad thing. She’s in the kitchen, baking.

  ‘I never want to see another bloody mince pie,’ she says by way of welcome.

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’ I throw down my handbag.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she says. ‘The money has been more than welcome in the run-up to Christmas, but can we move on to something else in the new year? Can I do some birthday cakes or something?’

  The truth of the matter is that I still haven’t had the time or the inclination to consider my future beyond Christmas.

  Gaby slides two trays into the oven, wipes her hands down her apron and then turns to me. ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sit down.’ She moves newspapers and magazines from the kitchen chairs. I do as I’m told, suddenly feeling very weary. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Will you have a mince pie?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not hungry, sis.’

  She slides into the seat opposite me. ‘You can’t go on like this, Cassie,’ she says softly. ‘Look at you. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping.’

  Guilty as accused.

  ‘Much as we love having you here, you can’t spend the rest of your life in limbo on my sofa.’

  ‘No.’ I start to cry.

  ‘Oh, don’t cry.’ Her arm goes round me. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried for you. We all are.’ She reaches out and smoothes my hair from my face, still mothering me after all these years. ‘What about Christmas Day? Are you planning to spend it here? Is Jim coming? You’ll have to let him know. You can’t let him be on his own.’

  ‘He has the boys.’

  ‘Who will feed them? Can’t they all come here?’

  I think of the fun we’ve had at Gaby’s house at previous Christmases. It’s normally my favourite day of the year. I love being here surrounded by my family, the ones I love. How bleak it could be this time. Will it seem even worse as I’ve spent the past few months helping to create the perfect Christmas for so many of my clients? I can’t bear the thought of Jim being alone with the boys. Then again, I can’t bear the thought of Carter rattling around in that big house with just him and the children.

  ‘You’re running out of time, Cassie. You have to make your decision. It’s unfair on
Jim to keep him hanging on. If you don’t love him any more, you have to let him go.’ She fixes me with her eyes. ‘He might hurt for a time – you both will – but Jim’s a great bloke. He’s resilient, Cassie. Give him credit for that. He’s handled this like a gentleman.’

  ‘He has, hasn’t he?’ That doesn’t make me feel any better. Worse, if anything. If he’d ranted, raved, threatened, it might have made it easier for me to leave. But he has been stoic, understanding, kind. As always.

  Gaby nods. ‘It won’t take him long to find someone else and move on. Believe me.’

  I look up at her, anguished. ‘You really think that?’

  ‘I do,’ Gaby says. ‘You shouldn’t beat yourself up too much if you choose Carter. If you can’t get him out of your mind, perhaps he is the man for you. Jim won’t be alone for ever. You’ve had a great relationship. One of the best. But, in time, he’ll find someone new to love.’

  He will, I think. His capacity to love is enormous. Jim will be fine without me.

  Then it comes to me in a rare moment of clarity. It’s so clear to me that it hurts. I know who I want. And, though there’s still pain in my heart at what I’m about to do, I’m absolutely sure that I’ve made my decision.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  I get into the shiny red Mercedes. The engine purrs into life and I blip the throttle. The whole thing exudes luxury.

  Light snow is falling when I pull out of Gaby’s drive. It’s dark, late, and I probably shouldn’t be driving at this time of night. I should be curling up on the sofa with Gaby and Ryan to watch television or I should be round at the flat doing some last-minute work. But I’m not. Instead, I’m driving out to Little Gaddesden, to Randall Court, to Carter. I want him to be the first to know about the decision I’ve come to and it doesn’t seem right to say something so monumental, so life-changing over the phone.

  It’s the night of Carter’s big Christmas party and I need to go out and check that everything is all right. I’ve made all of the final arrangements with Georgina and even had to draft in Andrew and Kieran to help with any unforeseen details as there was so much to do. I wonder if Carter has been calling to ask me to be there by his side tonight as his new partner, but I could never have coped with that.

  I head out of Hemel Hempstead, keeping to the tracks in the main road already made in the settling snow, and then turn off to wind up through the country lanes. The flakes splatter against the windows and are swooshed away by the silent wipers. I’m more comfortable in the opulence of this car than I thought I would be. The seat feels as if it’s contoured especially for me and I’m cocooned against the elements. There’s been little traffic up here, but the car feels sure-footed even in the snow.

  I turn up the iPod to drown out my mounting anxiety. The soothing sounds of George Michael’s ‘December Song’ fill the car. As I climb higher, I have this stretch of the road to myself. It seems as if there’s no one else out on a night like this. Quite sensibly. I hope the snow hasn’t stopped people from coming out to Randall Court, not after all the work that has gone into putting on the perfect festive party. The trees hang heavily over the lanes, reminding me of the trip that Carter and I took to Lapland. How long ago that seems!

  I wonder if the children will be there tonight and whether I’ll get to see them. I do hope so.

  Before I know it, the gates of Randall Court come into view and, without even a moment’s hesitation, I swing into the drive.

  What I hadn’t anticipated is the queue of cars that’s in front of me. Vehicles are also parked all along the verge leading up to the house. Most of them must have come in the other direction from the main road. It seems that the weather hasn’t put the guests off in the least. My nerves decide to notch up a gear. I feel like turning round and going home. I try to calm myself by thinking that, with all the arrangements I’ve so meticulously put in place, nothing should go wrong.

  I realise that this perhaps isn’t the ideal time to slap Carter with my decision, but when is? I want to tell him as soon as possible. Christmas is right upon us and, if I don’t tell him now, then when exactly do I tell him? We’ll both have plans to make. All I need is to steal him away for a few minutes.

  While this is going through my mind, I’m inching further and further towards the house. The lights are all on in force, making it look absolutely stunning. Icicles of light cascade down the front, making it look like something out of wonderland. The huge Christmas tree by the drive, sparkling for all it’s worth, is magnificent.

  I come to a halt behind a stream of Mercs, Aston Martins and goodness only knows what else. I wish I was in my Clio purely for novelty value. Yet in this car, I blend in perfectly. A security guard raps on my window. I remember organising this too.

  ‘Do you have your invitation, ma’am?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m the event planner,’ I tell him. ‘From Calling Mrs Christmas! The hired help.’

  He smiles at that.

  ‘I’ve just come to check on how everything’s going.’

  ‘Park at the far side of the garages,’ he says, pointing out the way. ‘I expect you’ll want to use the back door.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do.’

  Sneaking in sounds like a much better plan than rocking up at the front door in my jeans and Primark jumper.

  So I drive the Merc past the bank of garages and park up. When I turn off the engine, I see that my hands are trembling.

  As the security guard suggested, I walk round to the back of the house, my boots crunching in the snow. The sound of party music drifts out across the lawns. That’ll be the band I arranged that came so highly recommended. They certainly seem to be getting the party going. I can also hear the animated voices of the guests, bathed in a glow of festive warmth. I stand and watch them through the window, all togged out in their designer gear and dripping with jewels, chatting, laughing, champagne glasses brimming. It looks as if I’ve organised a good do.

  I turn to take in Carter’s garden, which is truly spectacular. I stop for a moment as it actually takes my breath away. The plethora of white lights draping the trees twinkle in the darkness. The pergola that has been created looks magical. Cloaked in fresh snow it’s simply incredible. All in all this is a job well done and I should be proud of myself. Instead, I have a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach.

  The back door is open and, taking a deep breath, I let myself in. The kitchen bustles with caterers who look as if they’re doing sterling work. Plates of canapés whizz in and out. I wonder if I should stay here to supervise this, but they seem to be doing marvellously without me. For a moment, I assume there’s no one in the kitchen who can help me and then a woman turns towards me. Out of her usual cashmere and jeans, I hardly recognise Carter’s assistant, Georgina.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You look gorgeous.’ She’s wearing a silver evening gown and looks stunning. Like a catwalk model.

  ‘Cassie,’ she says, ‘Carter’s been trying to get hold of you for days.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I should have returned his calls. Is everything OK?’

  ‘It’s fabulous. I popped in to send someone for more champagne from the cellar.’

  ‘I should be here to make sure everything is running smoothly.’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says. ‘Really. No need to worry. I spoke to Andrew and Kieran earlier and sorted out the few queries I had.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘They’re great, aren’t they? So helpful.’

  ‘Yes,’ I echo. ‘Great.’

  I didn’t even know that she’d spoken to them and I feel proud that they’ve been able to assist her without me breathing down their necks.

  Georgina takes in my outfit. It’s clear that I’m not dressed to party. I look down at myself and suddenly feel scruffy and out of place. ‘I just want a quick word with Carter,’ I offer. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘All his guests are here.’ She gestures towards the hall, a concerned frown on her face. Her voice is
anxious when she says, ‘It may be difficult for him to get away. I’m not sure…’

  ‘It’s important,’ I tell her. ‘Very important.’ It’s about my future. ‘He’ll understand.’

  I wonder if Georgina has any idea that the relationship between Carter and me has moved beyond the realms of business. If she does, she gives nothing away.

  She relents. ‘Of course. I’ll go and get him.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ I say. ‘If that’s OK. In the pergola.’