Page 2 of One Week With You
I couldn’t stop shivering as I wiped at the mascara smudged under my eyes and wrung out my hair, fingers like shards of ice. All the while, the rain poured down in sheets and gathered in puddles. Sniffling, I shook my head and laughed. Sniffled again. Laughed once more. It seemed silly but there was no other option. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry, and I tried so hard not to do that. I believed in the power of smiles and laughter, even when life didn’t give me reasons for either of them.
I tried anyway.
My phone chose that moment to ring, and I dug into the depths of my bag with a sigh, swearing under my breath at the name lighting up the screen. For a split second, I considered letting it go to voicemail, and for another split-second felt bad about it. Instead, I fixed my face with a smile no one would see, but it took three swipes of my wet fingers against the touchscreen to answer.
“Hi, Mum!” I said with fake brightness.
“Hi, honey,” she replied, and I had to bite back my irritation at her perky tone. It wasn’t her fault I was having a bad day. “Just calling to remind you about lunch on Sunday. I’m doing a roast, and I’ll make the potatoes extra crispy if you promise not to be late.”
“I’ll be there, I promise. 1 p.m., wasn’t it?”
“Oh! No last-minute PR disaster you have to clean up?”
I rolled my eyes. Okay, so I’d been known to miss a dinner or two for work and Joanna Johnson, gold medallist of guilt trips, was never going to let me forget it.
“Not this time,” I admitted. My stomach dropped at the reminder of my unexpected unemployment, and I wondered how long I’d be feeling that punch of absolute terror. “I’m all yours.”
“Wonderful. We can’t wait to see you. And this means we can finally talk about Christmas!”
“Can we not?” I groaned, not least because our Christmas plans never really changed year after year. But the thought of festive drinks with friends, as well as the numerous family get-togethers that usually filled my December calendar, now filled me with horror. There was nothing worse than telling people you hadn’t seen in a year that your life had gotten worse. What would I even say?Hi, how are you? Oh, me? Just got fired and now might lose my home, but it’s fine. No worries at all! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Absolutely fucking not.
“It’s December already!” Mum whined. “You still haven’t emailed your gift list.”
“You don’t check your emails.”
“Then send me a text.”
I scrubbed at my forehead, closing my eyes. It took everything in me not to sigh out loud. “You don’t know how to open your messages.”
“Well, you need to tell me somehow! What do your brothers want? And Rafe? I’m sure he’ll be spending the day with us again, and I never know what to get him. What do you buy for a man who has everything?”
The mention of Rafe set my pulse flaring, though it wasn’t exactly a new sensation. My heart had been lighting up that way for years. I should probably be used to it, except I wasn’t. Not at all. But that was a problem for another day.
“You ask me the same thing every year,” I said with a nervous glance at the sky. Lightning streaked across the clouds again, and here I was under a damn tree. “Look, he might not show it, but Rafe is just happy to be there. He enjoys our company.”
“Hmm. Not that you can really tell.”
I huffed out a laugh. “No, he is a bit of a grumpy bastard, isn’t he?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Well, whatever word you choose, I know he’ll be happy with whatever you do. Make him his favourite coffee walnut cake. Or buy him some socks. You know crazy socks are his thing.”
A smile bloomed wide across my lips. Knowing that Rafe Scott, purveyor of scowls and frowns, wore brightly coloured cartoon socks underneath his dark designer suits and Amiri jeans made me stupidly happy for some reason. No one ever would have guessed, and yet I knew that small, secret part of him. Few people had that privilege.
The speaker crackled while my mum hummed in thought. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I am.” Another rumble of thunder had me bracing despite the slowing patter of rain on the leaves above. Every year I wished for snow and every year I got… this.Stupid, annoying British weather.“Anyway, Mum, I gotta go. I’ll be there on Sunday. You better have those roasties stacked up ready for me.”
Mum chuckled. “I will, darling. See you then. Love you. Bye!”
“Love you, too.”
* * *
One damp tube journey and two drinks later, I sat in the corner booth of a basement bar in Covent Garden, squinting through the darkness at my boyfriend across the table. The music was a cheese grater against my already irritated nerves, but the seats were comfy, and they served good cocktails and fries here. Again, it was all about compromise. Something had to give, and tonight it was my eardrums.
