It was brass monkeys outside.
‘I really am going to freeze to death,’ I muttered, regretting my dramatic exit but refusing to ruin it by going back in for a coat. What sort of northern girl would I be if I did? Instead, I wrapped my arms around myself, pulling the sleeves of my dress down over my hands and marching on with purpose until the sound of raised voices coming from the dining room faded away completely.
Our long, rambling garden was a hide-and-seek aficionado’s dream, full of tall trees and endless wildflowers that grew beyond Dad’s carefully manicured rectangle of a lawn, and as soon as I was past the rhododendrons and around the corner, I couldn’t even see the house anymore. It was just me, all alone with the beautiful winter garden. In summer, everything was full and green and lush, and the poppies grew so tall they completely obscured the low wooden fence that marked the end of the garden, just before the stream that ran down to the river. Even though it was beautiful, I had always preferred the garden in the winter. I loved to see the first frost blanket the lawn with diamonds. I loved the glossy red berries of our holly bush that popped against the greys and greens while the rest of the garden rested peacefully, preparing for the spring. Today the poppies were asleepunder the ground and the old wooden fence was visible, bowed with age but still standing sentry, protecting us from the odd fox who couldn’t be bothered to jump it.
‘Manny?’ I called, treading carefully in my tartan slippers.
There was no sign of him.
‘Where are you?’ I muttered, hands on hips. ‘Manny, it’s only me!’
But wherever he was, he didn’t want to be found. That or he’d gone to the pub and I was wandering around the back garden in nothing but my frock and slippers like a total walnut.
‘If he has, I’ll kill him,’ I said, sitting on the rope swing that hung from our old oak tree. ‘Provided I don’t die of hypothermia first.’
Somewhere between too chilly to stay outside and too embarrassed to go back in, I swung myself back and forth for a long while, waiting for the fire in my belly to burn out. Eventually, I got used to the cold, my body digging deep to recall all those nights out without a coat in my teens and wrapping me up in a red-wine blanket. I was so mad at Oliver, so mad at Cerys and worst of all, mad at myself because perhaps she was right? Not about Oliver, obviously, he was a bigoted arsehole who ought to be slapped from pillar to post, but what she’d said about me struck altogether too close to home. I stared at my feet for a minute as a pair of fat tears threatened my lower lashes. I’d spent so long grafting, trying to make everyone proud, determined to get ahead, had I forgotten to get an actual life?
No, I decided, she was wrong, I had a life. Even better, I had a plan. Put the hard work in now, get promoted early, then, when all that came together, I’d have moretime for marriage and kids, for the fun holidays and adventures my friends were always posting on Instagram. Michael knew I was ambitious when we met, he always said it was something he loved about me. A fresh flush of grief rolled over me as I thought back over all the times he’d introduced me to people, proudly telling them about my job before I even had a chance, his eyes shining with admiration and love. Yes, I worked long hours and yes, I had to put work first for a while, but the job demanded it, you couldn’t half-arse a career in law, and there was nothing fundamentally wrong with that. It was a choice and I had every right to make that choice.
Just like Michael had every right to choose to shag Justine the Receptionist at a dental conference in Aberdeen and leave me three months later.
Swinging back and forth, I looked out over the fields and wondered. What was he doing today? Where was he? Had I crossed his mind at all? Last Christmas, we were here together and I had hoped to find an engagement ring under the tree. This year, I was here on my own and all I found under the tree was a five-pack of pants from my mum and a vibrator from my dad.
‘Hello, stranger.’
Blinking back the unwelcome tears, I looked up to a tall, dark-haired man in a beautiful grey wool coat smiling at me from the neighbour’s garden.
‘It’s a Christmas miracle,’ I said, finding a smile amid my surprise ‘Hello, Dev.’
Dev Jones moved in next door when I was twelve and he had just turned thirteen. Manny and I were playing football in the front garden when a car pulled up outsidethe empty neighbouring house and a lanky, dark-eyed boy with golden-brown skin and a mess of black hair climbed out the back, a Walkman in one hand and an acoustic guitar in the other. His Whites Stripes t-shirt was at least three sizes too big and his jeans hung down so low, the crotch was practically swinging around his knees. Manny paused, pulled a face and dismissed him without a second glance.
But not me.
I fell in love.
The whole world stopped as I watched him slope up his new garden path in slow motion, theRomeo + Julietsoundtrack playing in my mind and my stomach full of butterflies. I was transfixed. Until Manny kicked the football as hard as he could, whacked me right in the face and broke my nose in two places, which was how Dev Jones saw me for the very first time: screaming blue murder and covered in blood.
So it wasn’t too surprising that my first love went unrequited.
‘This might be a silly question but aren’t you cold?’ Dev asked as he stepped carefully over the low fence that separated our families’ gardens.
‘I was all right until you mentioned it,’ I lied, a long-forgotten flutter in my stomach despite the fact there were still tears in my eyes. No matter how sad I might be, there would always be a place in my heart for my first crush. ‘I suppose it is a bit chilly.’
‘Here, I don’t want to get in trouble with your mum if you catch your death.’ Dev shrugged off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. He was still tall, stillgorgeous; he’d always had his Indian mother’s thick black hair and wide dark eyes, and now he was definitely less lanky than he used to be. When we were kids he was so skinny, he couldn’t walk past our house without my mum trying to shove a mini Mars Bar in his pocket. Now here he was, a proper grown-up adult man.
Don’t sniff his coat,I ordered myself as he sat on the swing beside me.It’s too weird. Do not sniff his coat.
His coat smelled amazing.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked as I brushed the tears from my eyes.
‘Yes?’ I confirmed, even though it sounded more like a question than an answer. ‘It’s the cold, it makes my eyes run.’ We hadn’t seen each other in forever, there was no need to bother him with brutal honesty. I wracked my brains trying to remember when the last time might have been. It was years, at least eight, maybe closer to ten. The Joneses almost always went on holiday at Christmas and according to my mother, who quoted his mother with wide, rolling eyes, Dev was a very important doctor down in London and hardly ever had time to come up to visit.
‘Not that it isn’t lovely to see you,’ I said, giving him a sideways glance through my hair. ‘But you’re the last person I expected to find down here. Your mum and dad didn’t go away this year?’
He settled on the swing beside me and shook his head. ‘Dad had to have an op on his knee and yes, my mother is furious, thanks for asking.’
‘Your poor dad,’ I winced. ‘An operation and your mother’s wrath, Merry Christmas, Peter.’