Oh, thatislovely. Her heart seems to squeeze, and she feels guilty now about reading it. As she skims the pages she realises Miles hasn’t filled in his journal every day, and that sometimes days – or even weeks – passed without him writing anything at all. Then there was a flurry of activity when he must have felt inspired to do it for a few days on the trot.
Esther sits there, poring over his words, vaguely aware of the sound of Dylan the rat trundling along on his exercise wheel in the kitchen – poor little thing, never getting anywhere. She’s engrossed in what Miles has been grateful for; lots about his weight, and his ‘tummy’ feeling better. Sweet things that jump out at her, like:
Coffee this morning with E.
Mellow music, the two of us hanging out.
Funny squishy-looking clouds.
Esther smiles at that. She’d never realised Miles notices clouds.
Great gig, got paid at last.
Well, that’s a bit less cerebral but everyone needs money to live.
New shoes fitted fine, pleased with them.
Good for you, she thinks with a smile; that’s one first world worry sorted. Just one more page, she tells herself. Then she’ll put it back in its box and—
Found choc ice at back of freezer.
Night went well, another great set tonight.
Then – she has to reread it in case she’s having some kind of bizarre hallucination:
Tabitha’s tits.
PART THREE
Mishaps in the Kitchen
If your crème pâtissière splits, don’t panic. A quick blitz with a hand-held blender and everything will merge together beautifully
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
LAUREN
I know I’m lucky. I keep telling myself that, even though a bit of distance seems to have crept in between me and James lately. It’s just practical stuff; I realise that. Our lives are busy, especially at this time of year. Once Christmas is over we’ll have our Cornish break, and then everything will be just as it was between us. My heart seems to lift every time I think about it.
As usual, I’m hosting Christmas Day. There’ll be Charlie, Kim, Lorenzo and their daughters, who are home from university and are like cousins to Charlie. Although Kim and I have been friends since primary school, we’ve grown even closer since Charlie and I moved out to the village where they’d settled a few years before. They’ve become our family really; the one we’ve made.
I always do the big festive roast, which I love: all the planning and making things a little different every year, trying new tweaks with stuffing or roasted parsnips, all that. Kim and Lorenzo bring cheeses, chocolates and copious amounts of booze, and it’s always wonderful.
Christmas Eve is pretty special too, when we all gettogether in our local pub in the village. There’s the same line-up as Christmas Day, plus Remy’s parents, Ellie and Brian, and a few other local friends. It’s a fun, rowdy night with live music, a huge, twinkling real tree and much jollity. We adults have settled at one big table, and the younger ones – including Charlie, Remy and Freya – are all clustered around another. Remy seems so much more confident than Charlie now. With his gigs and performances, he’s much in demand – whereas Charlie is mainly in demand by Brenda, who’s always on at him to do extra shifts at the newsagent’s. But maybe his friendship with Esther has given him a new spring in his step. That last weekend she was here they’d spent the whole time hanging out together. I’d heard laughter coming from his room and was amazed they’d got on so well.
‘Such a shame James couldn’t make it tonight,’ Ellie announces now, pink-cheeked, a couple of drinks down already.
‘Oh, it couldn’t be helped,’ I say, keen to gloss over it. ‘You know what it’s like at this time of year.’
‘What happened?’ She frowns, over-egging it now as if it’s some massive deal. (Ellie is always eager for gossip.) And it isn’t really. It’s just that James had planned to come along to our Christmas Eve pub night, stay over with me and then head to Rhona’s for Christmas Day in the morning. I think he was hanging on to a shred of hope that Esther would change her mind and be there at her mother’s too.
I was perfectly happy with his plans as, that way, we’d have alittlebit of Christmas together. In preparation I’d printed out the details for Saltspray Cottage, with photos of the house nestled deep in the woods, and the views from the glass-walled loft. Four whole days off-grid! What could be better? I’d slipped the sheets of paper into anenvelope and couldn’t wait to hand it to him when we woke up together on Christmas morning.
Only, he hasn’t been able to come here tonight. At the last minute Rhona had managed to get a booking at some hugely in-demand place that’s apparently full until Easter. And his presence would be required.
‘She’s pulled strings to get a table,’ James explained, sounding sheepish.
She’s pulled your strings, I thought bitterly, hating that I was reacting this way. Of course his family came first. ‘It’s fine,’ I said resignedly.
