Page 32 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

As soon as Chrissie went through the door to the flat the quizzing started. Who is he? What are you doing? Mum and Dad are going to freak! Where have you been? After the questions Meg had added a terse, ‘I was worried about you.’

The irony was totally lost on her that Chrissie had been worried about Meg since the day she’d arrived in London, and their parents were worried no matter how jolly her postcards and letters had sounded.

‘I left you a note in case I was late,’ Chrissie explained. She’d expected to get home first, throw the note away. All it said was that she was meeting a friend.

‘Who is this friend?’ Meg followed her into the bathroom.

‘Anthony.’ Chrissie left the bathroom. She wanted to pee on her own.

‘Who’s Anthony? You don’t know anyone in London, Chrissie.’

She told Meg all about her trip to the cinema, about Luke and the popcorn, meeting Anthony. ‘I really like him, like really like him, Meg.’

But the Meg who responded wasn’t the sister she remembered, the one who might have been happy for her and ready to gossip. ‘You can’t be serious. You’ve only just met him. And, might I point out, you live miles away.’

‘It could be love at first sight.’

At that her sister laughed. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Chrissie.’ She shook her head. ‘I should report back to Mum and Dad, tell them what you’ve been up to.’

Maybe she should do that too. But right now, she was too consumed with thoughts of Anthony to let anything dampen her happiness.

‘You’d do that?’ she asked Meg, knowing that if Meg was the one to relay the information, it might sound a lot more sinister than it actually was.

Meg relented. ‘No, of course I wouldn’t.’

‘And neither will I.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Drugs, Meg.’

‘It’s a bit of weed, don’t get your knickers in a twist.’

This time she made it into the bathroom solo and bolted the door.

‘You don’t know him, not really.’ Meg called through the closed door. ‘Do you even know where he lives, or what he does?’

Meg was waiting for her when she emerged. Chrissie stood out of the way of one of the flatmates whose name she couldn’t actually remember. In a dressing gown and given the stale smell, she was pretty sure he’d been in bed all day.

In the kitchen she found a tumbler from Meg’s cupboard and filled it with water. ‘His name is Anthony.’ She shuddered. The water tasted funny, but Chrissie suspected it was the tumbler that was the problem. She rewashed it using her fingers to swish the dishwashing liquid rather than the dishcloth, which looked like an environmental hazard. ‘He’s in the RAF.’

It turned out that sharing that little nugget of information was far worse than telling her sister it could be love at first sight.

Meg went off. ‘What the hell? They’re all shagging around, Chrissie. Don’t you think he’s got a girl in every town or city he goes to? And if you get serious, you’ll follow him, you’ll never have a life of your own!’

‘Dad didn’t shag around.’

‘That you know of,’ said Meg.

‘How could you say that?’

Meg backed off. ‘All right, that was mean of me. No, I don’t think Dad ever did.’ But the peace didn’t last. ‘At least you’re on holiday, that’s all I can say.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, it’s not like you’re marrying the guy. Thank God.’

And right from that moment Meg’s disapproval had been sown like a seed that continued to grow. No matter how ugly the plant became, it never wilted, never went away. Her condemnation was there, even at the wedding.