Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,58
difficult for me. We should be open with him. It’s not fair if I’m letting him down.’
‘Don’t tell him. You can’t. This is about me, not him.’
I want to tell Lucas that he needs to be adult enough to deal with this, but then I see the childish look of pleading on his face and cave in. ‘Let me think about it.’
And I’m cross and a little bit saddened to see that there’s a smile of quiet triumph on Lucas’s face.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Shelby is not best pleased. I can understand that. He huffs at me down the phone.
‘It can’t be helped,’ I say into the tense silence. ‘Something has come up.’
‘This better not be about a sick chicken, Molly.’
‘It’s not.’
‘For once, I’d like to rank above a dog with a dodgy stomach or an alpaca with anxiety issues.’
‘It’s not the animals.’
‘So what’s keeping you from being with me?’
‘I can’t say.’
His tone tightens further. ‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘A bit of both,’ I admit. I daren’t tell him that it’s because of Lucas, as Shelby will fly off the handle at that.
‘This isn’t just about you wanting to stay at home on the farm? I know this isn’t your thing, but I really wanted you to be there for me. It’s important.’
‘Believe me, if I could be there, I would. I’ve even had all of my bits and pieces waxed in honour – at Bev’s insistence. Would I have put myself through that if I’d not planned on coming?’
He does laugh at that. Thankfully.
‘Is it Lucas? Is he all right?’
‘He’s fine,’ I say, honestly.
‘I’m missing you all.’ Shelby sounds sad. ‘Much more than I imagined. I even miss those bloody unruly hounds.’
‘It must be bad.’ At this moment, I feel like jumping in the truck and speeding down there to surprise him. But I’ve promised Lucas and I know how much it means to him too.
‘I love you,’ he says, but the words carry all the weight of the world behind them.
‘I love you too and I can come any night next week,’ I offer. ‘Any night, really. I’d be delighted to. And I’ll bring Lucas with me.’ Even if I have to drag him there screaming. After this, he owes me one.
‘Barring all animal emergencies.’
‘The sheep and alpacas can be running amok throughout Buckinghamshire and I’ll still come.’
‘Can I have that in writing?’
‘In blood,’ I promise. ‘And sealed with a kiss.’
‘I’m ridiculously nervous about tonight,’ he confesses. ‘I’ve got a lot riding on it and I’m out of my comfort zone, too.’
‘You’ll be wonderful, I’m sure. Can you call me when you’re back from the after-show party? It doesn’t matter what time. I just want to hear how it went.’
‘Yes,’ Shelby says. ‘I’ll phone as soon as I can. I’d better go.’
I cradle the phone closer to my ear. ‘I do wish I was there.’
‘Well, you’re not and we both have to deal with that.’
‘I’ll speak to you later,’ I tell him. ‘Break a leg or whatever it is you actor-types say.’
Then we both hang up. I sit there with my waxed legs, unnaturally smooth under-carriage, painted face and blow-dried hair with Bev’s nice jumpsuit still in a bag by my side, feeling unhappy and unsettled.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lucas is excited and irritable. It’s a testing combination. I’ll tell you how bad he is – I’m wishing that I was at Shelby’s after-show party with people I don’t know and a glass of warm wine.
It’s been hell getting him out of the caravan in time for the drive to the pub in Stony Stratford. For a start, I thought it was his usual venue in downtown Aylesbury and he only dropped it on me an hour ago that we were heading elsewhere. The King’s Arms, apparently. Half an hour away, in completely the opposite direction.
Then he spent for ever on his appearance. Needless to say, much longer than I have. Eventually, he appears wearing more make-up than both me and the entire Rimmel counter put together – pale foundation, red lips and tons of black eyeliner. His hair is meticulously back-combed into a bird’s nest. He’s wearing a black shirt and skinny jeans with Converse High-Tops.
‘Nice,’ I say. ‘Robert Smithesque.’
‘Do I need more eyeliner?’ He peers in the mirror by the door, anxiously.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Just a bit more,’ he says and disappears again.
Now – finally! – we’re in the truck and trundling through the lanes in the darkness while he whinges that we’re going to be late. I put my foot down.