Holly's Christmas Kiss (6 page)

Michelle stood under the shower, and relived all those moments. Time and time again she’d seen her mother proved right. Relying on other people left you in a mess. She’d seen clients who’d happily doled out cash to other halves who’d sworn blind they were going to use it to pay the council tax or the electric, and then been left alone, in debt and with threats of disconnection hanging over their heads. She’d seen countless friends through countless break-ups wh
o all told the same story. They trusted him. They loved him. They thought he loved them. Michelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. Let other people make those mistakes. She’d been taught, by her mum, how to get along on her own.

And then she remembered watching Auntie Barb feeding the Christmas cake, pushing a skewer deep into the
mixture and pouring a little brandy into each hole. Michelle paused on that memory for a secon
d–
revisiting the rich smell, and the sound of Auntie Barb’s laughter when Michelle had poured far too much brandy. That must have been when she still thought they’d be going home to Daddy for Christmas. She remembered something else. Her mother standing in the corner of the kitchen, dabbing her eyes, refusing to join in with even the tiniest preparation for the festive season.

One final, more recent, memory snuck in uninvited. A single moment under a sprig of mistletoe. She stepped out of the shower, busying herself wrapping her hair and body in towels to distract from the unwelcome thought. She padded into the bedroom, to hear her phone buzzing in the pocket of her jeans. She fished it out. Jess’s name was flashing on the screen. Maybe she’d changed her mind about having a best friend to stay for Christmas. With relief, Michelle swiped the screen to answer the call.

‘Hi.’

‘What am I going to do?’ Jess’s voice screeched down the phone.

Michelle pulled her towel tight around her and sat down on the bed. ‘About what?’

‘Patrick’s present! It hasn’t come yet.’

‘Right.’ Michelle didn’t respond for a second before she forced herself to swallow her irritation. Jess needed her help, and helping each other out was what friends did. ‘What were you getting him?’

She listened as Jess explained about the website, the perfect gift, and the unfortunately missed delivery man. Michelle made suggestions about contacting the warehouse, and failing that about making Patrick a ‘voucher’ for his perfect gift to open on Christmas Day. With her friend calmed, she relaxed a little; it was nice to have a few minutes to catch up with Jess after the excitement of the wedding. ‘So are you excited about Christmas apart from that?’

‘Yeah. Course we are.’ Jess talked quickly. ‘Thanks, Michelle. I’d better go.’

And she hung up. Michelle flicked her phone off and got dressed. Jess was bound to be preoccupied at the moment. They would have plenty of time to catch up in the New Year, she was sure.

Sean finished the washing up in silence. So Michelle had lost her mum. Was that what gave her the hint of vulnerability he kept seeing under the tough shell? Sean tried to picture his own life without the ever-growing gaggle of his family. Not possible. Family. Home. They were what made him who he was. They were what made Christmas what it was. They were what had kept him going when he thought he’d lost everything.

He dried his hands and turned the television on. There wasn’t much to choose from with the time rapidly running towards midnight. He was still flicking between the channels when Michelle padded back into the room wearing a T-shirt and sarong tied around her waist.

She gestured towards the outfit. ‘I packed for the Caribbean.’

‘You look great.’ He gestured towards the TV. ‘This won’t keep you awake, will it?’

She shook her head. ‘Actually, I’m not that tired. Eating late, you know, I think I’ve confused my body clock.’

‘We could watch a movie?’

‘Ok.’ The idea of a film appealed to Michelle. She could imagine losing herself for a couple of hours, not having to think about her missed holiday, or about Sean, and definitely not having to think about Christmas. She squashed down into the corner of the L-shaped sofa, apparently trying to take up as little space as possible.

‘Relax. Put your feet up. It’s what it’s designed for.’

Michelle stretched her legs out in front of her, causing her sarong to split apart revealing a long pale-skinned leg. Sean’s eyes travelled up the leg and settled for a second on her thigh. He swallowed hard and turned back towards the television. ‘Ok. Film. Wait there.’

Michelle watched Sean jog from the room and reappear with an armful of DVDs. ‘Ok. I thought something festive would be in order. So
It’s A Wonderful Life
?
White Christmas
?
Mary Poppins
? That one’s not technically Christmassy but near enough.
The Santa Clause
?
Elf
?’

‘Christmas films?’ Her face was incredulous. ‘I’m assuming those came with the apartment?’

‘No! My mum buys me a new Christmas movie every year. I own them all. What do you fancy?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Michelle’s heart sank. She couldn’t think of a worse way to pass her time than being forced to sit through a saccharine fantasy of Christmas. She was Sean’s guest though, and she had agreed to watch a film with him. She sighed. ‘Which is best?’

‘You mean you haven’t seen them?’

Michelle shook her head.

‘None of them?’

‘Mary Poppins, maybe, when I was a kid.’ Michelle swallowed the memory of Christmas Eve, with her Dad, before things changed. ‘None of the others I don’t think.’

Sean was insistent. ‘Then it has to be a classic.
It’s A Wonderful Life
.’

Sean put the DVD in the machine and leant back into the sofa clutching the remote. ‘It’s a bit cheesy but, you know, it’s Christmas.’

Michelle watched the opening to the film in silence, uncomfortably aware that Sean was glancing at her to check her reactions. As time passed she lost herself in the story and forgot his attention. Sean had been right. The movie was pure cheese. As she watched George Bailey decide to end his life, Michelle rolled her eyes. She’d never had any time for self-pity. Life was tough and there was nothing to do but get on with things.

The film went on. The eye-rolling stopped. Michelle felt a lump rising in her throat, as George realised how many people in his life loved him. She swallowed it, and bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself.

As the credits rolled Michelle turned to see that Sean’s eyes were streaming. He grinned at her. ‘I love that film.’

Michelle looked away, giving him a chance to wipe his eyes. It was embarrassing, getting emotional in front of someone you hardly knew. Sean didn’t seem to mind.

‘I always cry like a baby though.’ He grinned again. ‘Very cathartic.’

‘I don’t really cry.’

‘Erm, what about this afternoon?’

Yeah. He’d found her blubbing like a baby just a few hours earlier. She couldn’t really argue with that. ‘That was an aberration.’

‘But didn’t you feel better for it?’

Michelle thought for a second. Did she feel better? Well, possibly, but that was down to the meal, and the shower and the bed for the night. She felt better because her practical issues had been resolved. Sobbing on the pavement hadn’t been any help at all. ‘Don’t be silly. Crying doesn’t change anything, does it? It’s far better to get on and deal with things.’

Sean shook his head at her. ‘That’s silly.’

The muscles in Michelle’s jaw started to tense. How dare he call her silly? Silly was exactly what she wasn’t. Silly was wasteful and irresponsible. Silly was childish. The Christmas tree twinkled in her peripheral vision. Christmas was silly. Michelle was not. She stood up from the sofa. ‘I’m not silly.’

‘You are if you think you can ignore your emotions. Feelings don’t go away because it’s inconvenient. Everybody has feelings they can’t control.’

‘Maybe not everyone.’ Michelle paused. Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone else was a seething mass of love and hate and jealousy and compassion. Maybe there was something wrong with her.

‘You’ve never had an emotion that overwhelmed you?’ He stood up and moved towards her as he asked the question.

Caught off-guard her mind jumped back to the day when Auntie Barbara had unexpectedly collected her from school, and explained that Michelle and Mummy would be staying at Barbara’s house for a little while. Daddy, she had been told, would not be coming with them. ‘Never.’

Another step towards her. ‘What about your family? There must have been highs and lows.’

‘Of course. Just not …’ She paused again. ‘Just nothing worth dwelling on.’

‘Fair enough.’ Another step towards her. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating. ‘What about passion? A boyfriend?’

‘
No one serious.’

He’d almost closed the gap between them now. Michelle wondered why she wasn’t moving away, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet shift. He reached one hand forward and touched her fingertips. The softest, most fleeting of touches, almost like a dream or a memory of a touch, and then he wrapped the arm, suddenly, decisively around her waist and clamped her body against his.

‘You’ve never been completely caught up in a moment of joy or passion? A moment where you couldn’t think about anything else, where you have to do what you feel?’

Michelle shook her head mutely. Sean bent his head towards her. Involuntarily, she lifted her face to meet his. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his heart beating against her chest.

‘You’ve never given in to a moment of desire?’ He whispered the question against her skin.

‘No.’ Her answer was barely audible, muffled against his jaw.

His mouth hovered over her cheek.

‘Fair enough.’ He stepped away, releasing her from his arms. ‘I guess we’re all different.’

Michelle couldn’t speak for a second. Her body was tingling from his closeness, and aching from the sudden distance between them. How dare he take advantage of her like that! A small voice in her head pointed out that firstly, no advantage taking had actually occurred, and, secondly, Michelle wouldn’t have minded one bit if it had. Michelle ignored the voice.

‘So you go with whatever you’re feeling, do you?’

‘Of course.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time for bed, do you think?’

His normal playful tone was back, which in this case, made the question sound even more like an invitation.

Michelle marched past him towards the spare bedroom. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

She undressed quickly and pulled the bedcovers around her like a cocoon. One more sleep, she told herself. One more sleep before you’re back into your own flat, safe from all Sean’s silliness. The only thing sillier than silliness, Michelle decided, would be falling for silliness.

In the lounge, Sean switched on his laptop. While he waited for it to boot, he pulled his phone from his pocket, and flicked back to the message from Cora. Cora Stracha
n–
he’d noticed a few weeks ago that she’d dropped the double-barrelled Strachan-Munro from her e-mail signature. He skimmed through the message again and sighed.

She’d stopped using his name, but she still kept texting. He’d sworn that they were over for good, but here he was staying in her apartment. He shook his head. Cora should be ancient history. He didn’t keep slipping back into old habits because she was the love of his life. It was because it was easy. It was because it was safe.

He remembered finally quitting smoking two years ago. He’s spent five years trying. Patches, gum, hypnosis, cutting down gradually: he’d tried them all and nothing had worked. Then he’d stopped. No one-off sneaky smokes. No substitutes. He’d just stopped. Cold turkey. Maybe it really was the only way.

His laptop pinged into life and he clicked his way to a train booking site, scrolled through the options for trains up the east coast the next morning and settled on the 11.41 from Kings Cross. As he clicked, an idea was forming that shoved any worries he had about Cora unceremoniously out of his mind. Maybe he could invite Michelle to spend Christmas with him? It would be in the spirit of Christmas, wouldn’t it? An act of Christmas charity.

He glanced down the corridor, but the light in her room was already out. Best not to wake her. He clicked to select two tickets to Edinburgh, and paused for a second before clicking ‘Confirm.’ It would be fine, he told himself. Totally fine.

Chapter Six

Christmas Eve, 2013

Michelle was surprised to be woken by the sound of pots and pans crashing around in the kitchen. She pulled on the jeans and jumper she’d worn to the airport and headed into the lounge-diner in time to see Sean plating up the biggest cooked breakfast she’d ever seen. Bacon, sausage, fried eggs, fried bread, tomato, mushrooms and beans were being heaped vertically onto plates only designed for normal human-sized portions.

‘There’s enough here for about eight people!’

Sean nodded. ‘Convenience stores don’t really do single rashers of bacon. I had to buy a pack.’

‘You’ve been shopping? What time is it?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Nearly ten.’

‘Sorry. Oh God! Have I made you late for your train?’

‘Not at all. I’ve booked us both on the 11.40. There’s a cab coming at 11. Loads of time.’

‘Right.’ Michelle bristled at Sean’s presumptuous attitude. ‘I could have arranged my own train ticket, you know.’

‘I don’t doubt it, but I was booking mine.’

Michelle looked at the food and then at Sean. She remembered the state of the kitchen cupboards the night before. He’d clearly gone to a lot of effort to get breakfast ready. She must be sounding horribly ungrateful. ‘Well, thank you. I’ll pay you back for the ticket.’

He spread his palms in a ‘no worries’ gesture, and carried the heaped plates to the table.

Michelle sat down opposite him. ‘Well this looks …’ She surveyed the mountain of food, unsure how to finish the sentence. ‘This looks massive.’

Sean laughed. ‘It’s a long way to Edinburgh. Who knows when you’ll get to eat again?’

‘I’m going to Leeds.’

‘Leeds. Edinburgh.’ He chewed a forkful of beans and fried bread. ‘Actually ...’

Before Sean could explain, Michelle’s phone buzzed in her pocket. ‘Hold on.’

She got up from the table and hovered in the kitchen to answer the phone. ‘Hello.’

It was Jess again. ‘They didn’t have any pigs in blankets.’

‘What?’

‘The supermarket didn’t have any pigs in blankets.’

Michelle laughed.

‘It’s not funny!’ The pitch of Jess’s voice escalated. ‘I want it to be perfect.’

‘It will be.’ She felt for her friend. ‘It’s your first Christmas together. It won’t be ruined because you don’t have pigs in blankets.’

She heard Jess harrumph. ‘That’s what Patrick said.’

‘Well then.’

They chatted for a few more minutes about how long roast potatoes took to cook, and whether you could still be viewed as a domestic goddess if you bought ready
-made stuffing, before Jess hung up.

Sean had nearly finished his food mountain by the time she sat back down at the table.

‘Sorry about that.’ She waved her phone. ‘Jess.’

Sean rolled his eyes. ‘What’s up with Princess Perfect?’

‘What?’

‘Jess.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve gotta admit, she’s a bit spoilt.’

‘Don’t be rude.’

He laid down his fork and shrugged. ‘Sorry. I know she’s your mate.’

‘Yes.’ The comment had struck a nerve. She felt disloyal thinking it, but she wondered if Sean was right. ‘She’s a bit stressed about their first Christmas together. Wants it to be perfect.’

‘Nah. Christmas isn’t supposed to be perfect. It’s supposed to be sort of disorganised. If you don’t eat at least an hour later than you intended, you’re probably not doing it right.’

Michelle didn’t respond. She’d only eaten one proper Christmas dinner in the last twenty years, and that one she’d prepared herself. It had been served precisely on schedule. 

An hour later, they were on the concourse at Kings Cross station. Michelle let the noise and bustle wash over her, while Sean collected their tickets from the machine. All she had to do now was pay him for the ticket, make a polite excuse about being tired and preferring to sit on her own, and she’d be able to get back to her plan of spending Christmas alone as far away from tinsel or, indeed, mistletoe as possible.

She peered at the overhead display board. The 11.41a.m. to Edinburgh, calling at Leeds, was on time. Her mood darkened, remembering that, by rights, she should be sunning herself in the Caribbean by now.

‘Er … there’s a little bit of a problem.’

She turned round to see Sean standing behind her, his rucksack slung over one shoulder and his hair flopping in front of his face. ‘It’s probably my fault, but …’

‘What?’

‘I think I must have clicked Edinburgh twice.’ He held the ticket out to her.

‘What?’ She looked at the ticket. First class to Edinburgh. ‘You did this on purpose.’

The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think about them, but as soon as she’d spoken she realised it was true. Sean was staring at the floor.

‘Why?’

He took a breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

She repeated the question. ‘Why?’

‘I was trying to be nice.’ He paused. ‘I should have asked you.’

Michelle didn’t respond.

‘Look, it’s Christmas. It
’s horrible to be on your own. Why not come with me?’

‘Because I barely know you.’

He stepped towards her. ‘You could get to know me. I’m delightful.’

‘You’re a presumptuous little rich boy, who’s too used to getting his own way.’ Michelle took a breath. ‘Write your address down and I’ll send you the money for the ticket.’

Sean was disappointed and it showed on his face. ‘It’s reserved seating. I’m afraid, we’re next to each other.’

Michelle shook her head. ‘I’ll find somewhere else to sit.’

She picked up the handle of her suitcase, and set off wheeling her way through the throng towards the platform. There was no way she would be sitting next to that man. What on earth had he been thinking?

On the platform, she ignored the first class carriages and dragged her case down to the standard class part of the train. It was busy with people heading home for Christmas. Bodies, luggage and bags filled with presents were jammed into every available space. Michelle fought her way through, reading the reservations displayed above each seat, and discounting everything that started ‘London to’
. Eventually she found a single window seat which was only reserved from Newcastle onwards. She stripped off her coat and left it on the seat to stake her claim while she manoeuvred her suitcase onto the luggage rack.

Michelle sank into the seat and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t relax. The carriage was filling up around her. Across the aisle was a mother with two young children and a bored looking teenage boy, who slumped into his seat and immediately start
ed fiddling with his phone. In the aisle a group of older teenagers, students she guessed, were talking loudly and trying to make space to sit on the luggage rack.

‘Finally!’ The voice was female, the tone haughty, but with an undercurrent of thick West Yorkshire, which
, Michelle guessed, the speaker had spent years trying to eradicate. The stranger gestured at the empty aisle seat next to Michelle. ‘This is me.’

Michelle squashed tight
ly against the window to let the woman sit down and got a proper look at her companion as she did so. She was wearing a navy blue suit over a crisp white blouse, with dark court shoes. Her hair was cropped short and was unapologetically white. The outfit suggested conformity, but the hair said she didn’t really care.

The woman eased herself into her seat and glanced at Michelle. ‘Do you mind?’

She gestured towards her feet, which she was already easing out of the court shoes.

It seemed a little unusual, but Michelle smiled. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

As the train pulled away, and Michelle tried to concentrate on her novel, she realised the woman was staring at her.

‘I know you.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Michelle smiled and turned back to her book.

‘I do. I don’t forget a face.’ The woman pursed her lips, as if her inability to remember was Michelle’s fault. ‘Turn your head that way.’

The instruction was delivered with such certainty that Michelle obediently turned her face so the woman could observe her profile.

‘I’ll work it out. Where are you from?’

‘Leeds.’

‘Ah-ha! How old are you?’

‘Twenty-nine.’

‘Too old.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Michelle responded without thinking. The woman tutted. Again, Michelle felt as thought she was somehow at fault.

‘Brothers or sisters?’

‘Not really.’

‘You’re not sure?'

‘Half-brothers. A lot younger than me.’ Michelle petered off. Was the stranger expecting a full family tree?

Apparently not. She held up a hand. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s coming!’

She screwed her face up in concentration. ‘Joseph Jolly! And Noel Jolly. You’re Noel Jolly’s big sister.’

Michelle opened her mouth in surprise, but the woman stopped her again. ‘I said don’t tell me. Polly? Molly? Holly! Holly Jolly! Two hundred new children to learn every year, and twice as many parents, but I never forget a face.’

‘People call me Michelle.’ Michelle peered at her companion. ‘Mrs Bickersleigh?’

‘Miss!’ The tone was imperious.

‘Sorry, Miss Bickersleigh.’ Michelle heard herself chorusing the words like a schoolgirl, which was ridiculous. The woman had never been her teacher. So far as she could remember she’d only actually met her once, at Noel’s nativity play. That must have been twelve years ago. Apparently, she truly never did forget a face.

‘You can call me Jean. And, now I know this, you’re Barbara Eccle’s  niece, aren’t you?’

Michelle nodded.

‘Barbara and I go way back. My brother took her to see
The Beatles in Scarborough. 1963 it must have been. Waste of the price of a ticket that was. She wouldn’t let him past her cardigan.’ The woman sighed. ‘So what brought you down to London? Do you live here now?’

Michelle explained about the wedding, the cancelled flight, and the train ticket debacle. She skimmed over the mistletoe and the cheesy
, weepy movie.

‘You poor thing! You’ll need a little something to perk you up after all that.’ Jean produced a hip flask from her handbag, followed by two plastic cups. Michelle raised an eyebrow at the contents of the lady’s handbag. Catching the look, Jean smiled.

‘You never know when you might need a little pick-me-up. Chin! Chin!’

Michelle didn’t even try to refuse. Drinking during the day
wasn’t her usual style, but she sensed that no argument would be brooked. She took a sip and felt the whisky burning her throat.

‘That’s the stuff. Now tell me about this boy.’

‘Which boy?’

‘The one who’s house you slept at last night. Why aren’t you living it up in first class with him?’

Michelle took another sip of her whisky.

‘Don’t play with it girl. Drink up!’ Jean topped up her cup. ‘And tell me about the boy.’

‘He’s just a boy.’

‘No. He’s not. The one’s people say are “just a boy” are always something more.’

Michelle didn’t answer immediately. She knew she was lying. Sean wasn’t just a boy. He was all man. For all the floppy hair and mischievous attitude, there was nothing boyish about the way he’d pulled her into his arms. Outwardly, she shrugged.

‘Nothing much to say.’

‘Bollocks.’

Michelle gulped at the unexpected expletive, and looked again at her travelling companion. Jean rolled her eyes.

‘Tell me about Noel then. Was it his mother I heard about a few months ago? Tanya Jolly? The one who died.’

Michelle shook her head. She really must stop drinking before talking to people. Her normal reserve had been shattered to pieces over the last twenty-four hours.

‘Good.’ Jean pulled a face. ‘Horrid to lose one’s mother too soon.’

‘Actually that was my mother.’

‘Oh. I see. I knew they were related somehow. Were you close to her?’

Michelle nodded. ‘It was mainly just me and her when I was growing up.’

Michelle’s plastic cup was topped up. She took another sip.

‘So your parents split up? Your father married again?’ Miss Bickersleigh was not, it appeared, a great respecter of personal boundaries.

‘Yes. I didn’t see him that often really.’

‘That’s a shame. Girls need fathers.’

The conversation was getting far too personal for Michelle’s liking. She picked up her book and tried to look engrossed. Jean didn’t seem to mind, but Michelle couldn’t concentrate on the words. What was happening to her? Different faces swum across her imagination. Her dad. Sean. Auntie Barbara. Miss Bickersleigh. Sean. Her mum. Sean. Sean.

And then her
dad again. A card every birthday. A letter every Christmas, always with an invitation to join him and Noel and Joe and The Elf. She’d never gone. She’d always said it was because of her mother, but why not this year? The letter had arrived a month before Christmas like it always did. She’d recognised the writing on the envelope and thrown it away.