I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,95
Charlie and their regime would begin. Daily visits, twice daily, three times daily… more.
Charlie swung his legs out of bed with a new ease. He stood up, then leaned over and touched his toes ten times. He hadn’t been able to do that for weeks. Robin applauded him.
‘Very good, Olga Korbut. I thought you’d be worse for wear this morning. I bet Jack’s head is spinning. He was pissed as a fart.’
‘Au contraire. I feel as if I could run a marathon,’ Charlie declared. ‘I imagine I’ll feel even better after my shower.’
‘I’m delighted for you,’ said Robin, leaning across himself to rub his shoulder. Charlie came over, massaged the nag of arthritis for him. The first crumble, as Robin called it.
‘Mmm, that’s better,’ said Robin with rapture. ‘You have such a magic touch.’
‘I know. I’m a man of many talents. I’m going to have a word with Bridge today, Annie,’ said Charlie.
‘Oh, and why’s that?’
‘Because I can spot a fake when I see one, that’s why,’ said Charlie.
* * *
‘Breakfast in five minutes, folks.’ Everyone heard Luke’s voice travel up the stairs.
‘I’m not sure I dare go down,’ said Mary. In her head she held the memory of standing outside carol singing with Jack, looking up at him with a ‘kiss me’ expression on her face, which he totally ignored. Minds being what they are had distorted this to her standing there for minutes with her lips puckered. Even if the recollection was mostly false, there had definitely been an unmistakable long second when electricity had arced between them, and then absolutely nothing had happened. How much more of a fool could she make of herself? Because, as she told Bridge last night, it was hurting now. She might have made up her mind to leave Butterly’s and work for Bridge when she was the worse for wear from the mix of drinks, but her decision was still the same in the sober light of day. She’d tell Jack when they got home, she didn’t want to make things awkward, especially on the drive back. She’d just have to bear keeping the words unsaid until then.
‘Mary, listen to me,’ said Bridge, putting her hands on the younger woman’s shoulders, looking at her straight in the eye. ‘You made a big decision yesterday, your new life starts here if you want it to. But I know we were pretty hammered last night, so if you made a choice influenced by alcohol and have changed your mind, I’ll understa—’
‘I didn’t,’ cut in Mary, her voice unwavering. ‘I do want to work for you.’
The prospect of no longer having to worry about what Jack thought of her was as delicious as a glass of cold lemonade on a dry throat. But lying there in the core of her heart was also a sadness that felt like a rock. The end of an era was nigh. She loved the scone industry, took pride in the differences she’d made to the business, even if she’d never been formally credited for them. Yes, time to move on. Time to make differences somewhere else where her efforts would be recognised. She was doing the right thing, she knew.
* * *
‘Fabulous timing,’ said Luke, when Mary and Bridge walked downstairs. The fire was blazing in the grate, everyone else was seated at the table, while Luke was spooning out portions of chopped-up Christmas dinner, bound together with buttery fried onions and mashed potatoes from a huge frying pan.
‘Morning everyone,’ said Bridge, brightly.
‘Sleep well, girls?’ asked Robin.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Mary, and Bridge added, ‘Out like a light. You?’
‘The beds are like clouds, aren’t they?’ said Charlie.
‘Did you sleep okay, Jack?’ asked Bridge.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
Luke knew that was a lie. Jack had been rotating as if he were on a spit and mumbling unintelligibly. He’d been impressed that Jack hadn’t woken up clutching his head and crying for ibuprofen.
‘There’s a vegetarian option for anyone who wishes to give it a go. The first draft of a new addition to the Plant Boy range, the Boxing Day mash-up,’ said Luke, indicating his creation, which sat in a second pan.
‘So this is a sort of festive bubble and squeak then?’ asked Jack.
‘Bauble and squeak,’ Luke said with a roar of laughter at his pun. He dropped a large dollop onto Jack’s plate, which landed with a clud. Jack studied it dubiously before picking up his fork. It looked like a train wreck of food.