I feel sick to my stomach. With 170,000 likes and 5,000 comments, my grinch rant is one of the top TikToks in the UK. And the most Christmassy family I’ve ever met has just seen it—on Christmas Day, no less!
When the ‘Jingle Bells’ music comes on and Lewis’s face appears with his finger held to his lips, there are a few nervous titters. People don’t know if they should laugh or not. But the kids aren’t buying it.
‘Why is Aunty Holly on the ClipClop video?’ asks Susie suspiciously, peering at me over the back of the couch.
‘Yeah, and why was she being somean?’Sasha wants to know. She looks at me fearfully with a quivering lip and promptly bursts into tears, setting off Susie and then Charlie, who starts wailing at the top of his lungs. Hazel and Sarah rush over to comfort them.
‘Maybe it’s meant to be ironic? Isn’t that right, Holly?’ says Jennifer, giving me a half-hearted smile. She’s trying to be comforting and positive, and I applaud her for it, but there’s no saving me. I’ve scared the kids, and there’s a definite feeling of animosity in the room. Everyone is frowning at me like I’ve shitted on their festive parade.
‘What I want to know,’ says Kirk clearly over the commotion, ‘is why Lewis and Holly were drunk in his hotel room. Where exactly were you, Bails?’
I risk a look at Bailey, who’s been quiet this whole time. His expression is stony, and my heart breaks for him. What I’ve done looks so dodgy, especially since Lewis is his friend and his previous girlfriend cheated on him. I should’ve said something so he didn’t have to find out like this—in front of his whole family. Maybe we could’ve laughed it off together, shown a united front like we have up until now. By the look on his face, something tells me I’m on my own for this one.
Bailey doesn’t reply to Kirk’s question. Instead, he walks out of the room in silence and slams the door. Shit.
I hurry after him in a panic and catch up with him in the hallway. ‘Bailey, wait! It’s not what you think. Yes, Lewis and I were drunk. But nothing happened.’
Bailey stares at me coldly. ‘You’re in a viral TikTok posted by my friend. Did you not think to tell me about this?’
‘I didn’t want to involve youbecauseLewis is your friend,’ I say miserably. ‘I didn’t ask him to post it. I’ve been trying to get it taken down! And he’s gone AWOL. His phone keeps switching to voicemail.’
‘That’d be because he’s off-grid in the Faroe Islands.’ He rubs his hand over his face. ‘It’s all making a lot more sense now why you were in Kingussie train station and why you booked into that awful guest house. You were running away.’
‘Yes, I panicked! But I’m the innocent party in this!’ I exclaim. ‘Do you think I want my face plastered all over TikTok? It’s been excruciating ... And bloody Lewis, he’s just on holiday, having a fucking wonderful time!’
Bailey takes a deep breath. ‘Lewis didn’t force you to say those things. In fact, it looked to me like you were enjoying yourself,’ he says tightly, and I shrink inside. Was I? I have no recollection of it at all, so I can’t refute it. ‘I think you should go upstairs. Take some time out.’
I’m about to say ‘Stop treating me like a child’, but by the clench of his jaw, I know this isn’t the time to argue.
‘Are you coming up too?’
‘No, I need to do some damage control down here.’
I swallow. The sound of kids’ wailing can still be heard from the lounge. Maybe it’s best if I make myself scarce.
Chapter 17
I knew this was too good to be true. After all, this is real life, not some cheesy Christmas romcom movie, where the guy and the girl live happily ever after. Real life is when you get dealt the worst hand, and somehow, you have to make the best of it—relying only on yourself.
‘It’s better this way, buddy,’ I say to Crumpet, who was rudely woken from his snooze on the bed by me bursting in. ‘It was all getting way too intimate.’ Crumpet drums his tail on the quilt in agreement. Falling for Bailey is tantamount to leaving myself open to the worst possible pain, and I don’t know if I can take that risk with him. OK, I admit I’m not feeling the greatest right now. But my heart isn’t ripped open, merely a bit bruised. I’ll get over it.
Crumpet nuzzles my hand, and I feel guilty that I’ve been neglecting him. Here I am snogging Bailey in the potato cellar when I should’ve been spending time with my dog. What was I thinking? He whines a little, sensing my distress. As an emotional support pet, he truly is a godsend. No matter how bad things get, I can rely on Crumpet to be there for me. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ I babble, hugging him to me.
The afternoon drags on. I half expect Bailey to come up, but he doesn’t, and I daren’t go downstairs until I’ve spoken to him. Being in exile isn’t much fun. There’s nothing to do except feel sorry for myself or look at my phone, which has no ‘merry Christmas’ messages from the family or anyone else. I’m tempted to call Andrea for a heart-to-heart since she knows about the TikTok, but I don’t want to disturb her on Christmas Day. So I send her a text instead:Merry Christmas, hope you’re having a nice day with your family!She doesn’t reply.
I remove my elf get-up and place the items carefully on the dresser. I still don’t know why Bailey had all that with him. Were they meant to be for Susie and Sasha? Now I feel doubly bad I made them cry.
‘I wish I’d never gone to Lewis’s fucking party,’ I say out loud. But then if I hadn’t gone to the party, I never would’ve met Bailey. And if I hadn’t been escaping from the TikTok, I wouldn’t have been in Kingussie and bumped into him again. Each of my actions and reactions are tangled up in him.
A montage of images floods my brain: Bailey twisting round in the passenger seat to grin at me. Me whacking the bejesus out of him with a cushion. Him falling through the window of the guest house and saving me from a cold lonely night. Playing ‘hand math’ with me under the table to outsmart Kirk. Strutting into the lounge wearing his terrible bauble jumper. Our spine-tingling kiss on the stairs. Our night of passion under the duvet. Getting it on with him in the potato cellar ... Oh god. The longer I spend up here alone with my thoughts, the more it becomes clear: Bailey’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ve fucked it up. Then my own tears arrive, falling down my cheeks and plopping onto Crumpet’s back. What am I going to do?
Around six, someone knocks on the door. Outside there’s a tray with a roast chicken & salad sandwich and a tall glass of chocolate milk, along with a bowl of dog food for Crumpet. Who did that? Bailey or one of his sisters? Starving, I wolf down the sandwich, and Crumpet digs in too. I note there’s no dessert for the naughty girl. I’ll have to be content with my chocolate milk. But then I remember I still have the tinfoil-wrapped star cookies in the pocket of my bag. Hah!
I polish off the gingerbread cookies (mmm, tasty), wash them down with the chocolate milk, and that’s my dinner. Prison rations. Everyone’s downstairs tucking into leftovers and trying not to mention my name, I assume.
When it reaches nine, I give up waiting for Bailey, turn out the lights, and get into bed. If he ever does grace me with his presence, I’m going to apologise and hope that we can discuss what happened like rational adults. If that doesn’t work, then I’m going to ask him to drive me to the train station tomorrow morning, and I’ll pay him for the petrol. That’s the big plan I’ve come up with. If he doesn’t want anything more to do with me, at least I can leave with what dignity I have left intact.
When the door cracks open what seems like hours later and Bailey creeps in, I’m still awake, but with my eyes shut. He doesn’t say anything to me, just removes his clothes and gets in. We lie there like two cardboard cut-outs, not speaking. He can probably tell I’m awake by my breathing. Now or never.
