I don’t like to think about how Izz will be devastated. But I will visit her, very often, and Patrick too. I’ll be their friend in the city and it’ll be like being on holiday, coming to see me. And the hassle of selling this place, uprooting and shipping my stuff sixty miles away, will be worth it to be closer to Lucy.
‘Luce,’ I begin. ‘You’re happy in Birmingham, aren’t you?’
She tips her head like I’ve asked a funny question, and before she can say anything there’s a buzz at her phone.
‘It’s a text from Mum,’ she says. ‘I think I’ll go call her before bed.’ She hikes a thumb to her bedroom and I smile, letting her go.
I hope she shares more with Lydia than she does with me. Things seem to have changed recently. We’d talk about everything before, to the extent my sister would get hurt feelings about it, but now Lucy’s clammed up. Maybe it’s the distance doing it? The fact we only see each other a few times a year now. When I’m in Birmingham it’ll be different. I can help her out, be a friend to her. I never hear her mentioning her own friends any more. Did Craig chase them all off? Can I ask her?
I hear Lucy’s voice through the bedroom door and pull a blanket over my legs. I quickly fire a message back to Patrick.
Hope work’s going well. About half the exhibit is in place, almost ready for your technical additions. Don’t worry if you don’t have time, though. I can probably figure out how to work your dry ice machine.
I stop for a second and consider how to sign off. I don’t want my friend thinking I’m still upset with him, or that I’m blaming him in any way for us having to start the search for a replacement Santa Claus. I definitely won’t have a clue how to do the dry ice thing or any of the lighting setup, but Patrick doesn’t need any more on his plate, so I think it’s OK to tell a small lie.
Are you free tomorrow morning? Grab a quick coffee? Haven’t done that in a while. M X
I agonise over the kiss then tell myself off for being silly and hit send. I get a message back in seconds.
I’ll add my breaks together and see you at 10
No kiss, then, I notice.
There’s a new notification from Countryside Cupids, so I slide it open.
Hi, it’s Rusty. Thanks for matching with me. Listen, I know this is supposed to be a rural dates app, but I only recently moved to Birmingham and haven’t had a chance to switch to another app. Do you want to meet me here on Sunday night? Dinner and drinks? The German Christmas market is open too. I promise it’ll be fun.
Fun? I could do with something fun after the disappointment of Kenneth. Plus, I could combine the trip with a visit to the estate agents, maybe view a couple of properties on the sly? Nobody here has to know, and seeing the places in real life might help me rehearse what it could feel like to actually bite the bullet and get the ‘For Sale’ signs up.
Let’s do it.
I know a nice place in China Town. Meet me outside the hippodrome at seven?
I’ll be there. Oh and Rusty? My profile picture is three years old. I no longer colour my hair. OK?
I laugh when I read his reply.
I also no longer colour my hair. P.S. For tradition’s sake, I’ll be carrying a red rose. Not too weird?
Not weird at all. Just don’t carry it between your teeth, or behind your ear?
Got it, R x
I’m enjoying this and already trying to think of something else to type in reply when a message from Patrick stops me. I’m shocked at how guilty I feel, like he’s caught me red-handed, cheating or something, which is, of course, totally ridiculous.
Try not to worry about the grotto. We’ll work out a Santa rota somehow. Sleep well, P, xx
‘OK,’ I tell the empty room, running my thumb over the kisses, two of them, no less. ‘That’s enough getting carried away for one evening.’
I close the app, station my phone in the kitchen overnight as always, and get ready for bed.
I’m smiling in the mirror while I brush my teeth, unsure whether to put it down to the prospect of a city dinner date with lively, funny Rusty or because of my relief that Patrick, my dear friend, is back in touch and the weirdness is over.
Chapter Nine
Friday 8 December: Reels
There are better ways to begin your day than getting a phone call from Izz to say there’s a water leak above the cloakroom in the village hall and scrambling down there with mops and towels when you’ve made the effort to dress up nicely for coffee with a friend. I’d dug out my leather trousers and everything. Worn with a big silvery-grey jumper it doesn’t look too try-hard, not that I was overthinking coffee with Patrick at all this morning.
