Bound by Ivy (11 page)

31

My grin broadens as I walk to the front door and pull it open.

‘Oh my god.’ I throw a hand to my mouth
and beam at the two guests standing on the doorstep. ‘I can’t believe it. Oh wow!’

Standing rig
ht outside our little cottage are Denise and Annabel.

‘Happy Christmas Sophia,’ says Annabel, smiling
shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind us coming.’

‘
Mind
? I thought you couldn’t make it. Marc said ... something about the hospital, you being kept there. I’m so happy to see you. And Denise … Marc told me he’d ask you to come, but he never said you’d be here for certain. I’m so happy. Come in, come in.’

I grab both their arms an
d drag them into the living area. ‘This is my dad. And Sammy.’

Dad looks up
and smiles warmly to see two new people in the house. He’s the same as me – he likes the house full on Christmas day.

Denise and An
nabel say hello and shake hands, and Sammy crawls around so he can get a better look at the new guests.

‘And of course, Marc you know,’ I say, smiling as Marc comes in from the kitchen
area and gives them both a kiss on the cheek.

‘Take a seat,’ I tell Denise and Annabel. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ I just can’t stop grinning now.
‘It’s so good to have you here.’

Denise is wearing a sparkly black Christmas dres
s that has a V at the neckline and really flatters her fuller figure. She smells of exotic perfume and has fixed her make-up so it sparkles too.

Annabel still looks a little thin, and is dressed simply in a blue turtleneck sweater and jeans. But she looks s
o much better than she did. Much healthier, and her eyes are happier and more alive.

It feels great
to have the house full of people. It hasn’t been like this for a while. Not since my grandparents and my mother passed away.

‘It’s so goo
d to have you here,’ I say again. ‘Let me get you both a drink.’

*****

‘You look happy,’ says Marc, as I return to the kitchen area and hunt around the fridge.

‘Very, very happy.’ I pause
to wrap my arms around him and bury my head against his chest. ‘This feels like the Christmases we had when I was young. The house all warm and full of people. Mum would have liked to see the house so alive again. And she would have loved to meet you.’

Marc’s arms come around me. ‘You don’
t usually talk about your mother.’

‘Don’t I
? I thought I talked about her all the time. I’m always thinking about her. Especially at Christmas.’

‘No.’ I feel Marc’s head shake against my hair. ‘
You don’t mention her often. But I understand. You learn to keep your thoughts to yourself when you’ve lost a parent. Most people don’t understand how it feels to have that part of yourself missing.’

‘That’s a good way to describe it,’ I say. ‘Is that how you feel too?’

‘Yes.’

I grip him tighter.

‘But I have you now,’ says Marc. ‘So there’s nothing missing anymore.’

32

Usually we drink beer on Christmas day, and maybe a cheap bottle of port. So it’s weird to rummage around the kitchen and find expensive sherry and bottles of champagne. But since we’re celebrating the arrival of honoured guests, I decide to pop open a bottle of Dom Perignon.

We don’t have any champagne glasses, so I
serve the champagne in red wine goblets that used to belong to my grandparents.

‘Drinks,’ I call,
heading into the lounge.

I notice my dad has taken a seat on the
sofa next to Denise.

‘
Wonderful.’ Denise takes her glass, and pats my arm. ‘Just the thing.’

Annabel looks at the glass warily. ‘Sophia. I’m so sorry. But I
can’t drink. It’s part of my rehab programme.’

I look at the champagne. ‘
Oh god. That was stupid of me. Annabel, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Annabel, we’ve got some nice fresh orange juice if you’d prefer?’ says Dad. ‘Or tea?’

‘Tea sounds great.’

‘I’ll get it
for you.’ Dad seems to have really cheered up now guests have arrived. He’s acting much more like his old self. Maybe, just maybe, by the end of the day he’ll see sense and give Marc and I his blessing after all.

Dad
clambers up from the sofa, and I take his seat.

‘I’m so glad Ma
rc invited you both,’ I tell Denise and Annabel. ‘It’s just the best Christmas present, having you arrive on the doorstep.’

Denise smiles. ‘My pleasure. Really it was. I can’t tell you what a shock it was
when Marc invited me over. Usually, he ignores Christmas completely. I’ve long given up trying to persuade him to do anything other than work. What have you done to him, Sophia?’

‘I’d love to take the credit,’ I say, ‘but really
I haven’t done anything at all.’

‘I think it must be your influence,’ says Annabel, with a knowing smile. ‘I’ve never seen my brother so head over heels. Before you came along, I never
thought he’d settle down. Ever.’

Denise nods. ‘
Who’d have thought anyone would break down the Marc Blackwell wall?’

‘Who’d have thought?’
Annabel agrees. ‘And yet, Sophia has.’

Dad comes over with a cup of tea for Annabel, so I slide onto the floor to let him take a seat.

‘Age before beauty,’ I say, and Dad playfully cuffs my head.

‘How was
hospital?’ I ask Annabel, noticing a plastic medical cuff around her thin wrist.

‘H
ell at first,’ says Annabel, creases appearing around her eyes as she tries for a smile. ‘But, you know, it got better. Day by day. It’s what I need. I know that. So I can bear it for a little longer. I have a good reason for bearing it.’

‘Is there any n
ews about your son?’ I ask. ‘About getting custody?’

‘
There might be. It’s being looked into. If I can just stick with rehab this time, and stay away from my old friends … if I can do that, there’s a chance Danny can come back to live with me.’

33

As I set the table for Christmas dinner, I feel Marc slide up behind me and slip his arms around my waist.

‘Let me help you
,’ he says.

‘Did you study
the best waiters as well as the best chefs?’ I squeeze a knife beside a paper napkin and a Christmas cracker. Our dining table is pretty small, but it’s nice to be crowded in. It reminds me of when Mum was alive and Christmas dinner was all about knocking elbows and laughing.

‘No,’ says Marc.
‘In fact, I could use a few pointers.’

We both pause as Marc sque
ezes my waist tight, and I give an involuntary gasp.

‘Did you like your surprise?’ Marc asks
.

I turn to him,
a bunch of cutlery still in my hand, and feel his cool fingers move around my waist. ‘You know I did. I loved it. I think Denise was pretty surprised to be invited. She told me you don’t usually bother with Christmas.’

‘True. I need
a pretty good reason to celebrate Christmas.’ He moves his fingers up to run them through my hair, watching intently as strands move over his palms.

‘And did you find a good reason this year?’
I ask.

‘The best reason.’

I feel a tug at my ankle, and look down to see Sammy trying to climb my leg. ‘Sammy!’ I dump the cutlery and duck down to scoop him up.

Sammy tries to grab at the cutlery
on the table. ‘You want to help lay the table?’ I ask him.

‘Looks like I have competition,’ says
Marc, smiling at Sammy. ‘I’ll lay out the starters.’

*****

Once the lobster plates are laid out, I pour champagne into a mixture of mugs, tumblers and the red wine goblets we used earlier, and everyone crowds around the table.

The lobster, of course, is delicious, and we all
take huge forkfuls of seafood, swig champagne, pull crackers, put on silly hats and laugh as we bump elbows – just like we did years ago, when Mum was alive. Except of course in those days, we didn’t have lobster or champagne.

I catch Marc’s ey
e a few times, and just can’t believe all of this. That Marc is here, with me, and so is his sister. That he looks so relaxed and content, sitting around my old dining table, drinking champagne from a football mug.

When the starter is finished, I take out the big, beautiful turkey from the oven, and Marc helps me carve it at the table. I lay out bowls of steaming roast potatoes, carrots and parsnip
s, cauliflower cheese for Sammy and sausages wrapped in bacon for my dad.

We eat, talk and laugh, and when we’re stuffed with food I bring out the Christmas pudding and light it. After we’ve
sung ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, we eat huge slices of pudding with whipped cream.

As we’re finishing up,
Dad bangs a knife against his tumbler, clears his throat and stands up.

We all g
row silent.

‘Thank you, thank you everyone,’ says Dad, adjusting his paper hat. ‘
This has been a wonderful day. And I’d particularly like to welcome all our guests.’

Dad is interrupted by a knock at the door, and we all turn to the hallway.

‘It must be Jen,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘She’s kind of early though.’

Hurrying to the front door, I fling it open. ‘Happy Christmas!’ I call out.
‘Oh!’ I take a step back.

It’s not Jen after all.

On the doorstep stands Genoveva.

34

Genoveva is wearing a lime green pashmina and matching trousers, and her hair has been blow dried so it hangs straight and shiny around her face. She’s had more highlights done, I notice – she’s much blonder than when I last saw her. It doesn’t really suit her thick, dark eyebrows and tanned face.

‘Genoveva,’ I say, staring at her like an idiot.

‘Is Mike home?’ she asks, peering over my shoulder.

‘Yes, I
—’ I turn around and see Dad has appeared behind my shoulder.

‘
Genny,’ he says softly.

‘I’m not
stopping,’ says Genoveva. ‘But I had to do this in person. Mike, you have to stop harassing me. Every day, phone calls. And today, text messages too. It has to stop.’

‘Har
assing you?’ Dad shakes his head. ‘I never meant … I mean, I miss you. That’s no secret. But today I was texting for Sammy’s sake. He wants to see you—’

‘
I want a divorce,’ Genoveva interrupts. ‘I want to marry Patrick.’

Dad looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. ‘A divorce?’

‘Patrick and I are in love. I’m moving on. You should too.’

‘What about Sammy?’ says Dad. ‘
Genny, please. This is all too quick. Take your time to think things over.’

‘
Patrick isn’t keen on having Sammy living with us,’ says Genoveva. ‘He has children of his own. But we’ll work something out. I’d like to see him Sammy, if he’s here.’

Dad
opens and closes his mouth. Then he stands back to let Genoveva into the hallway. ‘I won’t stop you.’

*****

When Genoveva sees the dining table full of people, she looks annoyed.

‘
I didn’t realise you’d have all these visitors,’ she says accusingly, going to Sammy’s high chair. She picks him up as though he’s a bag of shopping, and pats him on the head like a puppy.

Sammy looks a little
stunned at first. Then, as Genoveva tries to flatten his hair down, he starts to cry.

‘He must be
in a grizzly mood,’ she announces, handing him to me. ‘Too many people here, I imagine.’ Her lips push into a little circle as she eyes up Denise and Annabel. ‘Maybe it’s best if he stays with you today, Mike. I don’t want him if he’s just going to cry all day. Who on earth dressed him this morning? That t-shirt doesn’t go with those trousers.’

Genoveva slots Sammy back in
to the high chair. ‘I’ll come and see him next week, maybe. When he’s a bit more settled.’ She turns to Mike. ‘Our solicitors will be in touch. Happy Christmas.’

Wit
h that, she waltzes out, slamming the front door behind her.

35

When Dad and I sit back down at the table, there’s a stunned silence.

Denise has her hands covering her mouth. Marc is frowning. Annabel’s blue eyes are wide and s
taring. Sammy is completely quiet, gripping his high-chair table and chewing his lip.

We’re all watching Dad, but pretending not to watch, as he p
icks up his fork and pushes a potato around the plate.

A
fter a moment, I say tentatively, ‘Dad? Are you okay?’

‘She’s wants a divorce,’ Dad says to no one in particular. ‘A divorce. Sammy will grow up in a broken home.’

I risk a sideways glance at Marc. He looks serious and thoughtful.

Dad
takes a swig of champagne from his mug. ‘Sophia, let this be a lesson to you. Rushing into marriage causes nothing but heartache.’

‘Dad, y
ou’re upset. Don’t read too much into this right now. Maybe Genoveva—’

‘No, I’m seeing sense for the first time in years,’ Dad interrupts.
‘You and Marc have known each other for five minutes. You’re from completely different worlds. Just like Genoveva and I. I’m sorry, but I can’t give my blessing for the two of you to marry. I just can’t.’

I
try not to get emotional. Dad’s upset, I tell myself. He’s just had some devastating news. He’s not thinking straight.

‘Dad, maybe you should take more time to think about things.’

‘I don’t need any more time. I’ve made my decision.’

‘Dad,
please
—’

‘I’m sorry, Sophia. I
just can’t see you get hurt the way I’m hurting.’

Denise leans over and puts a hand on Dad’s arm. ‘Mike. I’m so sorry you
had that terrible news. We’re all sorry. Truly. And I know you’re coming from a good place, as far as Marc and Sophia are concerned.

‘
But how about rethinking your decision in a few month’s time? Sophia’s show will be finished in March – why don’t you reconsider things then? I’m sure, once you’ve seen her do a whole West End show run, you’ll understand what a grown-up young lady she is. And how well she and Marc fit together.’

Dad sighs
. ‘I know Sophia is mature for her age. She’s had to be. But … I still think she’s not seeing things clearly. Marc is a very forceful man. I don’t think, with him around, Sophia is in charge of her own decisions.’

‘I am,’ I insis
t. ‘Of course I am.’

‘He’s a very strong influence
, Sophia. Perhaps you don’t realise how strong. And then there’s the over-protective thing – all these security guards prowling around the cottage. It doesn’t seem healthy.’

I glance at Marc, my eyes silently pleading with him not to tell Dad why the security guards are here.

‘Mike,’ says Denise. ‘Give them a few months to prove how well-suited they are. Don’t make any hasty decisions just yet.’

Dad puts
down his fork. ‘Okay. Right. Fine. I’ll rethink things in three month’s time, when Sophia’s show run is finished.’

I slide my hand into Marc’s. ‘Dad! Thank you
—’

‘Wait.’ Dad holds up a hand
. ‘There’s one condition.’

‘A condition?’

‘You and Marc have to spend those three months apart.’

‘Three
months
apart
?’ I say.

‘A
few months not seeing Marc isn’t going to hurt you,’ says Dad. ‘And it’ll give you time to think. To consider life without Marc, and to understand there are other options for you.’

‘Three months
won’t change my mind.’

I turn to Marc, and notice
he’s loosened his grip on my hand. He doesn’t look angry. Actually, he looks thoughtful and that worries me.

‘
Marc.’ I shake my head at him. ‘You’re not seriously considering this, are you?’

‘I see the sense in what your father is
saying. Taking a break will give you a chance to understand what you truly want in life. There may be someone out there who’s better for you than me.’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Marc, I love you.
Only you. You’re all I want.’ I feel tears coming and swipe at them, embarrassed to be making such a spectacle of myself. If Marc truly loves me, how could he stand all that time apart?

Marc
gently wipes away my tears with his fingers. He puts an arm around my shoulder and his warmth comforts me a little. But not completely.

‘
I know how important it is for you to have the blessing of your family. And if separation means having your father’s blessing, then I could bear it.’ He turns to my father. ‘But I have a condition too. I need to be able to see Sophia if her safety is ever compromised. And I need to be able to watch her via my security cameras. To make sure she’s safe. But I’ll give her space. I won’t be a part of her life.’

‘Agreed,’ says Dad.

I shake my head. ‘Dad, no! You don’t have to put us through this. You could just understand that we’re in love. That our love won’t change.’

‘
I want you to be sure, before you commit to something that’s for life. Forever.’

I hear the tone of Dad’s words and see that practical look on his face – the one that says ‘this has to be done’. I saw that look
when we couldn’t afford flowers for Mum’s funeral and we had to cut down her favourite rose bush to decorate the coffin. He’s not going to change his mind. He really thinks he’s doing the right thing. That he’s saving me from some terrible mistake.

I cling to Marc as reality
sinks in. This is our choice. Three months apart, or Dad won’t give us his blessing to marry.

I feel sympathetic looks from Annabel and Denise.

‘Three months,’ I murmur, feeling numb inside.

‘Like Denise says, your play finishes in Marc
h,’ Dad says. ‘You’ll have three months to focus on your career. Your future. And if the two of you still feel the same way after your play is finished, I’ll think again about giving my blessing.’

‘We will
feel the same,’ I say. ‘Okay. Okay, fine. I agree. I agree because I want you to see what a good man Marc is. That he’ll honour his promise to you. And that even after three months apart, we’ll still be in love.’