Page 3 of The Perfect Gift

Ed jolted awake and stared blearily around as he tried to orient himself. The few remaining passengers in his carriage were on the move, pulling on coats, lifting down their bags and hurrying towards the doors in their eternal quest to be first off the train. Groggy and feeling a little bit woozy, he rubbed his hands over his face, wishing he hadn’t fallen asleep. The gin-in-a-tin and train beers were another source of regret as a dull ache registered in his temples. Well, there was nothing he could do about that now other than grit his teeth and get through this final bit of his journey home, where his comfy king-size bed awaited him. After months sleeping on a narrow bunk, being rocked by the waves, he couldn’t wait to fall face down on it and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

The sharp slap of cold as he stepped off the train chased most of the fuzzy feeling out of his head as Ed joined the small line of people heading up the stairs and over the footbridge towards the car park and taxi rank. There were several cars waiting, their headlights doing a better job than the sickly orange glow from the scattered lamps overlooking the small tarmac square beside the squat station building. Plumes of white trailed from their exhaust pipes, adding to the misty murk of the heavy air. The handful of people in front of him streamed towards the waiting cars as their drivers climbed out to greet their friends and relatives with hugs and good wishes and urgent instructions to get in out of the cold. Once again Ed regretted his folly in not replacing his phone, because any one of his brothers would’ve happily turned out even at this late hour to collect him.

Ed sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the salty tang into his lungs. It was a sensation so familiar it gave him the burst of energy he needed to quicken his step towards the lone car idling in the taxi rank. He leaned down as the passenger window glided open and the driver turned towards him with a smile. ‘I was just about to give it up as a bad job and knock off for the night. Where you going?’

‘Halfmoon Quay, if that’s okay?’

‘Looks like my bed will have to wait a bit longer.’ The driver must’ve seen Ed’s crestfallen expression because he broke out into a broad grin. ‘Don’t fret yourself, lad, a fare is a fare and I’ll see you home, no worries. Do you need a hand with your case?’ The driver didn’t look in any great hurry to get out of the car, not that Ed could blame him, given the freezing temperature.

‘No, I’ll stick it on the back seat next to me.’ Ed pulled open the back door and shoved his case in before jumping in after it and quickly shutting the door behind him. ‘God, it’s cold.’

‘That happens in the winter,’ the driver said in a dry tone as he grinned back at Ed via the rear-view mirror. ‘Lose your coat somewhere?’

Ed laughed. ‘Not much call for a puffer jacket in the Caribbean!’

The driver’s eyes widened in the reflection for a second before he turned his attention to manoeuvring them out of the car park. ‘Well, that should make for an interesting story for the drive home!’

They had a good chat as they wound their way along the coastal road and it didn’t come as any surprise that Len was a keen sailor and knew Ed’s dad. Anyone who lived locally and had any interest in boats was familiar with Jago. By the time they’d pulled up outside the cottage Ed shared with his cousin Matt, he knew all about Len’s grandkids and their plans to visit for Christmas. ‘Nice little spot you’ve got here,’ Len said as Ed dug in his pocket for his wallet and paid him. He was running low on cash, but he had enough to cover the fare and a decent tip by way of thanks.

‘My cousin and I are very lucky to have it. It belongs to an old lady who lives up Blue Horizons. We’ve been doing it up for her in return for a lower rent.’ Well, Matt had been doing it up for her in Ed’s absence, but he’d put his fair share of effort in when he’d been around. He’d have to see if there was anything new Matt wanted to tackle while he was home that needed a bit of extra manpower.

Having put away his wallet, Ed snagged his keys and grabbed the handle of his case with his other hand. ‘Thanks again, Len, and I hope you and the family have a lovely Christmas together.’

‘Cheers, lad.’ Len reached down and picked up a card, which he offered to Ed. ‘My number’s on there. You give me a call when you’re ready for your return trip and I’ll see you right. Don’t mind what time it is, you just give me a bell.’

Ed shoved the card in his pocket then popped the handle on the rear door. ‘Thanks, Len, that’s much appreciated!’ Hopefully someone in the family would be able to give him a lift but it didn’t do any harm to have a back-up just in case. He climbed out of the car and shut the door, and instantly began to shiver. With so few buildings around to provide shelter the wind blowing in off the ocean was that brutal kind of cold that sank deep into your bones and threatened to stay there. All he wanted to do was get inside, but he was still the boy his parents had raised, so he waited patiently on the pavement while Len performed a three-point turn on the narrow lane before waving him off.

The moment the headlights disappeared, Ed was plunged into total darkness and he had to rely on muscle memory to guide him the few steps to the path at the front of the cottage. His progress was halted when his thighs collided with something hard.

Since when did Matt shut the gate?

He fumbled along the top of the wooden barrier until his cold fingers located the latch. He swore under his breath as the cold metal seemed to burn his skin, and it took more effort than it should’ve to wrench it open. He shoved the gate open with a swing of his hips and hurried down the path as fast as he dared move in the pitch black. It took several attempts and more swearing before he got his key in the lock and the door open but the comforting wave of warmth that greeted him was enough to instantly soothe his bad mood, and he closed the door behind him with a relieved sigh.

As tempted as he was to head straight upstairs for bed, Ed’s mouth felt as dry and rough as the bottom of a parrot’s cage. It was far too late for coffee but a cup of tea would hit the spot perfectly. The urge for a proper brew swept through him. It was so odd how he could barely think about something for months and then be overwhelmed by a craving the moment it popped into his head. If he was really in luck, there might even be a packet of digestive biscuits in the cupboard. He flipped the light on and headed towards the kitchen door, his mind barely registering the pretty floral scent in the air as he hurried through the front room.

Tea. Biscuits. Bed.

God, it was good to be home.

3

Frankie Webber’s eyes flew open, her heart racing a mile a minute as adrenaline surged through her veins. She sat up in bed, pushing the covers aside, every movement driven by her fight-or-flight instinct. It was only as she searched around with her foot for the slippers she’d left beside the bed that the rest of her brain caught up with that base survival urge and she stopped what she was doing to try and figure out what it was that had woken her up. The low-level night light she was embarrassed to need but still too nervous to do without cast a soft glow across the carpet near the door. She focused on the small patch of light, one hand pressed to her chest as she struggled through one of the breathing exercises the counsellor she’d seen the previous year had taught her. The second round was easier and gave her enough control to catch the sound of a car engine, low at first and then louder as it picked up speed before quickly trailing off again as whoever it was drove away.

Frankie tucked her leg back under the quilt and pulled it up to her chin as she settled back against her pillows with a sigh of relief. Someone must’ve taken a wrong turning because her cottage stood at the end of a short private road and her handful of neighbours all had their own off-street parking and garages. Her pulse was still quicker than it should’ve been, but the initial panicked need to escape was fading beneath the surge of anger and frustration that always followed. She’d never considered herself a nervous person, quite the opposite in fact. From the time she’d been a little girl she’d had an adventurous, outgoing nature and had always been at the front of the queue when it came to trying new things, and her mother, Elaine, had encouraged her all the way.

Then Craig had come into their lives and everything had changed. Her confident, fun-loving mother had become increasingly obsessed with her new man and her priorities had changed. Gone were their girls’ days out, the special bond between them fraying and failing as their small world had begun to revolve around what Craig wanted, and only what Craig wanted. The only respite Frankie had had was her connection to the local youth theatre. Her mum hadn’t had time to take her, but one of the other mums had stepped in to give Frankie lifts there and back. Craig hadn’t cared what she was doing as long as she was out of the way, so he hadn’t interfered.

Though she’d done her best to take care of herself, it hadn’t taken long for both the school and the staff at the theatre company to notice signs of neglect. Social services had become involved and eventually Frankie had been taken into care. She could still remember the social worker coming to collect her and the way her mother had refused to take her eyes off her daytime TV show to even acknowledge her attempts to say goodbye. They’d found her a nice foster family who had been happy to encourage her involvement in the theatre, and she’d stayed with them for several months until her foster-mother had become unwell. Frankie’s social worker had been made redundant, so she’d lost that connection too. Budgets had got tighter and demand had increased and Frankie had entered the scariest lottery in the world. Sometimes she’d got lucky, but every time she began to believe she’d found a home something would happen and she’d be back in the pot again waiting to be picked. As she’d got older, she’d become less desirable, less easy to place. Not all the failures were down to the foster families, because Frankie had become something of an expert in self-sabotage. It was easier to screw things up yourself than wait, gut churning and nerves frazzling, for things to fall apart.

The only time she’d felt at home anywhere was on the stage. Frankie had started off in the chorus and small walk-on parts but had soon graduated to speaking roles and eventually became one of the leading lights. And she’d loved it. Being in the spotlight had given her the missing attention she’d been starved of, and she’d got to be someone else for a while.

She’d progressed from youth theatre to a scholarship at drama school. Acting had been her ultimate escape and the brightest joy in her life, until one man’s unwanted obsession had left Frankie a shell of her former self. Any anger she’d felt towards the man who’d stalked her had passed once it had become clear he was unwell and she’d been only the latest in a too-long line of women who’d been subjected to his unwelcome attentions. Like all actors, Frankie had been briefed more times than she could count about online safety and good conduct on social media. She’d curated her feed carefully, trying to get the balance right between positive engagement with fans and followers and oversharing. The comments had been innocuous at first, nothing she didn’t see every day, and then they’d grown more personal. Talking about a dress she’d worn for a TV interview being his favourite colour, how she’d worn her hair, how pretty her smile was. Creepy, but just one of those things anyone in the public eye had come to expect. Then the DMs had started.

‘Stop it.’ The words sounded loud in the darkness of her room, but it was enough to stop the live action replay of events in their tracks. It didn’t always work and she’d lose any chance of sleep as every comment, every message, every photo rolled through her mind as she searched in vain for the point where she could’ve done something different. Found a way to cut it off, to defuse and deflect the attention. Such a stupid waste of her time. The anger she felt these days was with herself for not being able to get over it. Every time she thought she was making progress something like this happened and it felt like she was back at square one. Frankie welcomed the anger tonight, because at least it was better than being afraid.

A muffled noise interrupted her guilt spiral and Frankie’s heart rate spiked again. Someone’s outside.

Ignoring the urge to yank the quilt up over her head and hide, Frankie pushed it aside and edged towards the window. She raised the corner of the curtain a fraction and peered down into the small front garden but it was too dark to see anything. Wishing she’d left the outside light on, Frankie pressed closer to the window and listened. There was a scuffing sound then something scraping and then, horror of horrors, the familiar creak of her front door opening. Her eyes flew to the bedside table where her phone usually sat and she silently cursed her decision to leave her phone downstairs. It had been part of her therapy, a way of exercising control over when and how she used it and avoiding the dreaded doomscroll.