Page 6 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

He’d stopped mid-sentence before sitting on the floor and putting his head in his hands. And then he spoke the words that destroyed my life.

‘I don’t think I want to get married.’

I. Don’t. Think. I. Want. To. Get. Married.

Those words had screamed themselves inside my head for weeks. The echoes of them were still reverberating to this day.

Those were the words that broke Will’s seal that I hadn’t even realised was there. It all spilled out of him after that. How he’d been doubting his feelings for me for years. How he’d felt weird about getting engaged. How he’d started to worry I was ‘over-reliant’ on him for my happiness, as if feeling at your safest with the love of your life was somehow a bad thing.

At some point, I’d stopped listening, climbing into bed to wail instead. The next thing I knew, he was heading out the door with a suitcase, telling me he was going to stay with his sister in Croydon.

The first person I’d called that day hadn’t been Mum or my sister – they’d have insisted on some kind of showdown with Will, which would have made everything a million times worse. Instead, I’d called Laurie, who’d jumped in her car and was at my place within three hours. After a sleepless night of her stroking my hair while I’d sobbed, she’d driven down to Croydon for a tête-à-tête with Will, who’d confirmed to her that the wedding wouldn’t be going ahead.

Laurie was the one who’d ended up telling everyone the news while I hid under my duvet. Mum had left it until the night before I was meant to walk down the aisle to call me.

‘Laurie told us the news, love.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m sad you felt like you couldn’t tell us yourself.’

‘Sorry.’

‘But… you’re doing okay?’

‘Absolutely thriving, Mum.’

I’d heard the crackle of a sigh down the phone.

‘Chin up, Flo-jo. And don’t forget the Bell Family Motto…’

‘“Onwards, not backwards”, yes, yes.’

‘That’s my girl. Come and see us when things have settled down a bit, yeah?’

‘Sure.’

And that had been that. I’d called in briefly to see them in the South Gloucestershire suburbs the weekend I’d been flat-hunting in Bath, but that had been the second and latest time I’d seen them this year. The most recent time I’d spoken to them – a couple of months ago – was only because they’d wanted to settle an argument about what year I’d been born. Anneka had made me send a photo of my passport as proof.

And now, here they were. They immediately made themselves at home while I put my bra back on in my bedroom. By the time I’d emerged and perched my bum on a stool at the breakfast bar – the first time I’d ever done so – Mum was busying about in the kitchen, opening every cupboard, seemingly inspecting their contents rather than searching for anything in particular, while Anneka sat on the sofa, absentmindedly eating cubes of rice and raw fish.

My sushi!

‘Where’d you get that sushi from, Anneka?’

‘Oh, yeah, some dude on a bike arrived at the same time as us. Want some?’

She handed me the platter, which somehow only had three cucumber maki rolls left.

‘That’s my tea. Or, at least, it was.’

‘Oops, sorry, sis.’

As if I didn’t detest all the variations of the ‘Flo’ nickname Mum and Anneka insisted on using enough – which they adapted each time depending on my mood or idiosyncrasies – when Anneka called me ‘sis’ it irritated me at a cellular level. Because Mum and Anneka were more like sisters than me and Anneka would ever be, sharing endless interests, personality traits and chaotic tendencies. I’d always felt like the stiff third wheel in our family unit, not helped by the fifteen-year age gap between me and Anneka. The two of them could relate to my desire to spend hours in my room reading, writing and listening to music – all stationary activities – as little as I could relate to their desire to be constantly moving, talking or being out and about.

I popped the three tiny rolls in my mouth, knowing I’d have to supplement them with a huge bowl of Shredded Wheat as soon as they left.

‘Sooo… why are you here?’