“Says the man who knocked on my door just as we were trying to sort it out.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned and he pulled an apologetic face. “I thought things were a bit tense. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I suppose it was all in a good cause. Hayley looks stunning in her dress.”
“She does. And so do you.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It’s a shame to hide that dress in the bathroom and behind a Christmas tree.”
She sighed and stroked the fabric. “This dress deserved to have a memorable evening, but it’s memorable for all the wrong reasons.”
“Still plenty of the evening left. And yes, you’re excused.”
“Excused from what?”
“From the rest of my party.”
She looked at him, uncertain. “I need to talk to Becky.”
“That can wait. And anyway, she’s wrapped up with Will.” He flashed her a wicked smile. “Go and sort things out with Declan. He’s your priority. But remember there’s no lock on your door so you’d better wedge a chair under the handle or something.”
She felt her throat sting. “Jamie—”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He pulled her into a hug. “And one thing I can guarantee is that in this family everyone is going to find something new to talk about by tomorrow.”
She sniffed. “I don’t suppose you could announce a pregnancy or something? That would take the heat off me.”
He laughed and handed her a tissue. “That would give Granny way too much excitement for one Christmas. You might want to replenish your makeup before you rejoin the party—your nose is so red you could audition to be Rudolph.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He walked away from her, picking pine needles from his sleeve.
Rosie stood for a moment. He was right of course. This wasn’t the best time to talk to Becky. And her priority had to be Declan. Her marriage.
She took a deep breath, nipped back into the cloakroom and did a minor repair job on her makeup and then followed Jamie. She might be overemotional, but she wasn’t a coward.
She walked back into the living room and joined Declan, who was deep in conversation with her grandmother, his head tilted as he listened. The room was noisy with much laughter as everyone enjoyed catching up.
Normally she loved a party, but right now she wanted to grab Declan’s hand, slide away and finish the conversation they’d started.
“Rosie mentioned that you usually go skiing at this time of year?” Her grandmother was an expert at getting people to talk about themselves.
“Yes. With my friends. A group of eight of us.”
“What fun.” Her grandmother beamed. “Have you all known each other a long time?”
Rosie hoped this wasn’t going to turn into one of her grandmother’s embarrassing interrogations. She’d done the same thing when Rosie was a teenager and had brought friends home. Often her grandmother had been there but instead of leaving them to raid the kitchen for food, she’d whip up delicious milk shakes, produce plates of freshly baked cookies and join them at the table. Her friends had all adored her.Call me Phyllis, she’d said, and had proceeded to encourage them to discuss all their problems with her. They’d all thought it was brilliant that Rosie’s grandmother was interested in the detail of their lives and was never judgmental, but Rosie had been mortified and Becky had refused to be part of it. More often than not she’d retreated to her room with her laptop.
The years hadn’t subdued her grandmother. Here she was, her warmth and interest drawing information from Declan with surprising ease.
“More than a decade,” he told her. “We were at college together and six of us work in the same company. We hire a chalet or an apartment every year.”
“That must be magical—all that snow. But how do you divide up the jobs? Christmas is so busy! You don’t fall out over who is doing the cooking?”
“No. We have a rota, and whoever doesn’t cook clears up. Someone is in charge of bringing Christmas decorations and we all do a Secret Santa.” He paused. “It started by accident, the first year we were in college. Most people were going home for Christmas and a group of us—we were all living on the same corridor—well, none of us had that kind of family gathering to go home to. We got talking, and we thought why not create our own version of Christmas? So we all wrote down which parts of Christmas we’d like to see happen. For someone it was the tree, for someone else the presents, someone else the food. One of my friends had always dreamed of a white Christmas, which is when we decided to go skiing. Sorry, this is too much detail—” he hesitated “—but you get the idea.”
“I like details. Details help you to see the whole picture, and now I see it. You incorporated all those things that each of you craved—” her grandmother touched his arm “—and you made your own Christmas. How clever of you. And how wonderful.”
“It wasn’t all wonderful,” Declan made a joke, “Maya’s dream was to sing Christmas carols—don’t ask me why—so we all had to sing. The people in the apartment next door complained.”
