thoughtful, accomplished… woman – yes, woman – who had always been as far from a ‘silly young thing’ as it was possible to be. Why hadn’t he realised that Mary existed outside the frame of a PA before? Luke, Bridge, Charlie, Robin had made him view her through their eyes, because they had seen more of her true worth in the day and a half they had known her than he had in six and a half years. He felt confused by the absurdity of it and something else he couldn’t quite pin down that defied definition, like someone blowing a hint of warm breath on his nerve endings, setting them to shiver with a frisson of delight and trepidation when she was nearby.
All he did know for certain was that he wanted Mary to comprehend what his present was meant to say, what he was getting at: that she was class, a woman of quality. He hoped that the subtlety of that message would come through loud and clear to her.
Chapter 21
‘Mary. You awake?’ Bridge whispered tentatively, not wanting to disturb her if she wasn’t.
‘Yep. Can’t sleep.’
‘Me neither. No idea why. I usually have no problems and I can’t blame the bed. I slept like a baby last night.’
‘Me too,’ said Mary. ‘I could never sleep on Christmas Eve when I was young. I used to be terrified I’d be awake when Santa came and he wouldn’t leave me any presents. One time, I awoke and saw him, this red suit in the corner of my bedroom and I turned over and squeezed my eyes shut. I reckoned if I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. I must have scared myself into a coma because my mum woke me up the next morning as I’d slept in.’
‘Ha! You must have been the only child in the country not to be up before five o’clock.’
‘It was Dad, of course. When he died and we were clearing some of his things out of his wardrobe, I found his Santa costume. He’d kept it all those years.’
‘How sweet,’ said Bridge. She’d never get her childhood back, but on their first Christmas Luke dressed up in a red jumper, fur-trimmed hat and a beard he’d made out of cotton wool and cardboard and put her presents in a pillowcase at the bottom of the bed. She’d woken up, asked him what the hell he was doing, and he’d pretended to be Santa, told her in a deep voice to get back to sleep. He’d bought her a Polly Pocket Fashion Star, a Fuzzy Felt, the Mouse Trap game and other stuff she told him she’d put on her Christmas lists when she was a kid but never got. He’d hunted them down on eBay. Another memory resurfaced that she’d buried with all the other Luke detritus.
‘He sounds like a nice man, your dad,’ Bridge went on.
‘He really was, Bridge.’
‘Were you very close?’
‘Very. I was a proper daddy’s girl.’
‘I never knew my dad,’ said Bridge. ‘I had a stepdad. More than one actually, but I stayed as far away from them as possible.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘No point in complaining about it. The past made me resilient. Luke was the first person who gave me any real affection. I think I repaid my debt though because I gave him the idea for Plant Boy.’
Mary levered herself up onto her elbow. ‘No way.’
‘Yes way,’ said Bridge, with puffed-out-chest pride.
* * *
Next door, Luke asked Jack if he was awake, even though it was obvious with all the tossing and turning and disgruntled blowing out of air that he was.
‘Sorry, can’t sleep. Didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Jack answered.
‘It’s fine. I can’t get to sleep either.’
‘It’s too quiet, isn’t it?’ said Jack. ‘I’m not used to this countryside muffled snow silence.’
‘I know what you mean. I moved from the city into a hamlet recently and it took me ages to get used to it.’
They both listened to the nothingness for a few beats before Jack spoke again.
‘Interesting name, Plant Boy. Where did it come from?’
Luke grinned. ‘Bridge. It was an insult she levelled at me, accompanied by a large head of broccoli, which gave me a discoloured, if not quite black and blue eye for a couple of days. Her words, paraphrased, ran on the lines of, “Here you go, plant boy, make a million out of this then.” ’
Jack gave an impressed whistle. ‘Wow, that’s… remarkable. Not a strong enough word I know, but suffice to say you