I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,37

dry your very brave self out by the fire.’

Luke had removed his boots and was already plonked in an armchair, holding his feet up to the flames. ‘You can’t buy this feeling,’ he said. ‘If I could, I would at any price.’

‘I’m going to have a root around now and see what I can find to entertain us,’ said Mary, trying not to look gobsmacked when Jack said he’d help her.

Chapter 12

They started in the cellar. The stairs down to it were steep and Jack went first so Mary would have had a soft landing if she fell, so he said. A rare joke. She had the feeling there would be more jokes and lightness inside him if only he would release the catch and let himself go.

The lighting was excellent in the cool cavernous cellar where there were barrels of beer, stocks of wine and spirits, mixers, boxes of crisps. They could hear the others conversing above them in muted tones, Robin and Charlie having another of their pretend spats, ensuing laughter.

‘I’ll go left and you go right,’ directed Mary.

‘Righty-ho.’

Jack hunted behind the barrels, pulled out a box, but it only had rusted metal connectors and beer taps in it. He straightened up, said something that was in his mind and growing too big to keep in any longer.

‘I’m so sorry about all this, Mary. Especially as you may not get home to your family for Christmas Day.’

Mary loved his voice and here, with the acoustics of the cellar, it sounded extra rich and deep. Private-school posh and cultured. She imagined that if he sang in a choir, they wouldn’t know whether to put him in the bass or the baritone section.

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t doing much anyway this year.’

‘I know family is important to you.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, ‘but us lot don’t need the excuse of Christmas to get together.’

‘Very true,’ said Jack. ‘But they will be worrying about you.’

They would, and she wished she could let them know she was all right. She didn’t want her mum nattering about her and spoiling her holiday in the Canaries with her ‘friend’. She said she and David were simply pals who had adjoining allotments but they were both widowed and missed doing things with someone else and David was gentlemanly and good-natured so Mary hoped love would blossom between them. Her dad wouldn’t have wanted her lovely mum to wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life.

‘What were your plans, incidentally?’ asked Jack then.

‘I was going to spend Christmas by myself this year.’

‘Honestly?’

‘You sound shocked.’

‘I hadn’t got you down as a “by yourself” sort of person,’ said Jack.

‘I like my own company sometimes.’ Mary didn’t say that this Christmas she’d planned to be alone for a reason. It wasn’t only Bridge and Luke who wanted to treat the new year as a fresh start.

‘What about you, Jack? What events, parties will you end up missing?’

‘Just some drinks with friends,’ he said. Married friends, some with babies. Die-hard bachelors who had embraced their new roles as husbands and fathers because they’d met ‘their type’. Although thinking about it now, they hadn’t really. Fran was far away from Zak’s Jennifer Lopez ideal and Roman, who always had a penchant for ice queens, was expecting child number three with a chatty raven-haired Irish girl carving out a career as a stand-up comedian. Roman and Georgie had invited him for Christmas dinner and he’d politely declined. He wanted what they had too much to enjoy it in a spectator capacity.

‘Ah, that’s a shame.’

‘I’ll live,’ said Jack. The gap between his world and that of his friends was widening with every baby that came along, he knew this. The common ground dissipating, conversation drying up.

‘Well, there’s no point in worrying about something we can’t control,’ said Mary, pulling the legs of a step ladder apart so she could stand on it to reach some high shelving.

Jack opened the double doors of a cupboard. Result. ‘How’s this?’ He held up a box, the picture on the lid foxed and faded.

‘Buckaroo,’ said Mary with delight. ‘I haven’t played that for years. Yes, definitely take that upstairs.’

‘It’s ancient. May not work.’

‘Or it might,’ Mary contested.

‘You’re so much more optimistic than I am,’ said Jack, with a small strained smile.

‘ “Optimism is a muscle that gets stronger with use,” that’s what my dad used to say,’ said Mary. Here’s another gem from the Roy Padgett book of wisdom that you need to know, Mary