32.
The strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake …
I’d planned to wander around Camden Lock while Bill was with Abby, pick up a few extra goodies, maybe another Christmas jumper or two, have something delicious for lunch. But after Rob’s bombshell I head home for a packet of crisps and a nap instead. Then I whizz Merwyn round the park, throw the bags into the car, and by two we’re back on Bill’s road in Camden all ready to pick him up and head back to Cornwall.
Seriously, pet fashion statements in this area are second to none. While we wait Merwyn and I are passing the time scoring the outfits of the pampered pooches that walk past. We’re both picking our jaws up off the floor at a Scottie in a full kilt, then there’s a Frenchie with a shimmery pink and turquoise outfit and a unicorn horn. We’re so busy exclaiming about the Chihuahua dressed as a Christmas tree, complete with baubles and chaser lights, that the first we notice of anyone outside the car is the sharp rap on the window.
By the time I turn on the ignition and begin to wind down the window the person in the white ski jacket has her nose on the glass. Then she stands up so she can swish her long blonde hair without hitting her head on the car and knocking herself out and I get to take in a horribly flat stomach, the skinniest, perfectly toned thighs, super-expensive studded ankle boots and the kind of heels that are understated but at the same time take proper effort to walk in. It’s when I get the blast of Miss Dior in my face that I finally realise.
‘Gemma!’ The smell’s distinctive and sophisticated, and for a minute I’m right back there by the fridge in the chalet kitchen in Chamonix, arguing about missing profiteroles. ‘Great to see you again.’
As I pull my hair across my eye I’m kicking myself for getting caught with my bad side facing her, but breathing a sigh of relief that I took the time to use Tiff’s special kit earlier. It’s no surprise that Gemma’s make up is flawless, but I can tell her skin underneath is too. And when I see how many layers of barely-there lippy she’s wearing I’m wishing I’d paid more attention to mine. Like me putting on any would have made me feel slightly less of a loser. Slightly better equipped to deal with her. I know she never had the sweetest expression back then, but even for someone who was big on sour faces, the glare she’s giving me now is searing.
‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’ That’s all she says, and her voice is low and menacing.
As every bit of breath leaves my body I don’t have a hope in hell of getting any words out as I consider – one accidental night, with very little sleep at all, and we didn’t actually – ahem. On balance I’m thinking once I can talk again the correct and truthful answer to that exact question with it’s ongoing implications would be ‘no’.
Her perfectly shaded eyebrows are a jagged line across her forehead. ‘Don’t bother to answer that, it’s written all over your face.’ She’s spitting the words. ‘Before you go helping yourself to what’s not yours, you might like to consider his family.’
She turns and as she goes clicking off down the pavement I still haven’t managed a word. Then further along the street Bill and Abby come into view walking hand in hand, and as she jumps from one pavement stone to the next they’re both laughing. Then Gemma meets them too, and for a moment I watch as they stand in a huddle on the pavement. Then my phone rings and it’s Bill.
As he speaks he’s waving at me from along the road. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to Abby and I’ll be with you.’ And then they all go through the gate and disappear through the front door, and Merwyn and I are back to dog outfits.
Bill doesn’t keep us long. Two identical Daxis in mediocre Santa suits and a Cockerpoo in a snowman suit several sizes too small. Someone should tell him, as a look, it’s not flattering. There’s just enough time for me to swap across to the passenger seat, and Bill’s opening the door and swinging into the driver’s seat and pushing his coat into the back. And when his scent wipes out every last bit of the Miss Dior it’s a big relief.
‘How did it go?’ I don’t really have to ask, the depth of his dimples and relaxed satisfaction on his face as he looks down at his phone and programmes the navigation app are the giveaway.
‘Good.’ He raises his eyebrows and squeezes my hand. ‘It was so amazing to see her, we got her a phone so we can talk. I can’t tell you how happy I am, I’m so grateful to you for the push … or the monumental shove, more like.’
I smile at him. ‘Any time, it’s all in a day’s work for your favourite fairy godmother.’
He wrinkles his face. ‘Bittersweet too, it was very hard to say goodbye again.’
I’m getting that from the depth of his sigh.
As he comes to the end of the road and pulls out into the traffic he frowns. ‘Gemma said she had a word, was she okay?’
I’m making my smile really bright. ‘Fine.’ If I give him the gory details no one will come out of it looking great. I lean forward and flick on the radio, then bundle my jacket under my head. ‘I thought maybe I’d have a snooze if that’s okay.’
‘Great, I’m taking a slightly different route back, I’ll wake you in a bit.’ He flashes me a smile. ‘I’ll wait until you’re awake again before I sing along.’
I’d actually only meant to close my eyes and pretend to sleep. But as I wake up to Bill shaking my shoulder, the last thing I remember is Maria Carey singingAll I Want For Christmas is You, and we hadn’t even got on the motorway.
‘So where are we?’ From the village green and a pub, some pretty cottages and houses we’re in the countryside.
He sniffs. ‘You’ve done so much to help me, I wanted to help you too. We’re not far from where you had the crash.’
My stomach contracts. ‘How did you know where it was?’
‘It wasn’t hard, I knew the approximate date, Google did the rest.’ His hand is on my knee and his eyes are dark and full of concern. ‘I hoped that if you came back it might help you move on, begin to do things for yourself again instead of only for other people.’ He reaches for a carrier from the back of the car. ‘I bought this for you too, in case you wanted something to leave.’
I dip my hand into the bag and pull out a small circle of twigs. ‘That’s so pretty, with the ivy and white berries.’
He nods. ‘The twigs are vine stems, I asked them to weave some extra ivy and mistletoe in – Willow was telling me, it’s meant to be very healing, so it felt right.’
‘Thanks, it’s beautiful.’ I smile at him. ‘It’s a whole lot smaller than the door wreathes on your road in Camden.’
He laughs. ‘Everyone tries to out-bling the neighbours. If you think the wreaths are bad, you should see their designer dog clothes.’
