Chapter Thirteen
’Twas the night before leaving, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The luggage was piled in the hallway with care,
In hopes that the snow ploughs soon would be there.
There I was nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of shortcomings danced in my head.
I dream I’m catching a flight to St Petersburg and can feel the excitement building in my tummy as I check my luggage one more time. I’ve packed everything I could possibly need – summery dresses, walking shoes, my best make-up, the scarf Robert gave me, my hairdryer, and the hamster house Marley and I had when we were children (so I know it’s a dream after all). As I carefully fold the scarf I notice a tiny spot on it. I can’t go to St Petersburg with a spot on my scarf! I quickly mix a bit of hand wash in the bathroom basin, then go in search of my Marigolds to keep my manicure perfect. There’s only one glove under the kitchen sink. I look in all the obvious places for the other – in the cabinets and on shelves, behind the kitchen door, in the fridge. I finally find it in the coffee canister.
By the time I get back to the bathroom with the gloves, the water has gone cold. I start again and scrub out the tiny spot. But I can’t pack a wet scarf so, hurrying to the suitcase I unfurl the hairdryer’s chord and dry the scarf in a few seconds. But now it’s wrinkled from the water. It just takes a minute for the iron to warm up and the scarf presses perfectly. Carefully, I fold it and lay it in the suitcase. As I’m wrapping the hairdryer chord back around, the plug catches on my thumbnail, ripping a sliver of varnish off. It’ll only take a minute to fix. I repaint the nail, balancing the varnish on my knee. When it slips, spilling just a dot on to my jeans, I sigh as I go in search of another pair in the right shade of blue to go with the tops I’ve already packed. Finally, I find them, grab my keys and passport and rush out the door.
Since my flat is in Terminal One at Heathrow next to the WHSmith’s, I’m at the check-in counter in just a few minutes. I hand my ticket and passport to the airline agent, who taps on her keyboard for about nine hours. Then she smiles. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘You’ve missed that flight.’
‘What? I can’t have. It’s not leaving for another forty-five minutes.’
‘Check-in ended fifteen minutes ago. You’re too late.’
‘But I had to clean my scarf before I left, and I had to dry it. Then it was all wrinkly so I had to iron it. And when I was packing again, I chipped my manicure, so I had to repaint my nail. Then I spilled varnish on my jeans and had to change them. Look, my scarf is perfect, and my nails, and my jeans are clean.’
Faced with this evidence, surely she’ll let me on the flight.
‘You didn’t have to do those things. Isn’t it more important to be here than to be perfect?’
There’s a pulling, sucking sensation in my gut. It feels like going over the top on a roller coaster. That’s because I realise that Robert is already on the flight. He didn’t worry about cleaning his clothes or fixing his manicure. He got on the flight as he was, and I’m still in the terminal, immaculate and alone. I look up at the departures board. There isn’t another flight to St Petersburg.
I wake with a start. It’s just a dream, I tell myself. I’ve got no plans for St Petersburg. My manicure is intact and I’d never fit an entire hamster house into my suitcase.
But if it isn’t real, why am I crying like I haven’t cried in years? I try to stop the tears but it’s no use. They’re insistent little buggers. Then I do something else I haven’t done in years. I let myself go. I let myself feel everything that dream stirred up, and it’s terrifying. Hopelessness, helplessness, anger and sadness carry me along and I’m powerless to stop them. I cry and I cry and I cry. I’m acting like a mental patient and I don’t care. The feelings rush out. I snuffle and sniffle and sob and shudder until there’s nothing left. And then I realise something.
That didn’t kill me. The world didn’t tip on its axis; north is still north and south still south. I’m not a weaker person because I feel. Perhaps, just maybe, I’m a stronger one.
I need to talk to Robert. I don’t want to be perfect and alone. I want to be flawed and on that imaginary flight with him. He might tell me no, and it will be awful and humiliating and terrible, but I have to do it anyway.
I bounce from my bed, quickly shower and throw on some clothes. It’s already after nine. The ploughs will be here soon and we’ll all go our separate ways again. This whole weekend will pass from present to memory. I’ve got a lot to do before that happens.
As I pound down the stairs I see Auntie Lou. ‘Auntie Lou!’ I sweep her up into my arms. ‘Have I told you how much I love you? You’ve always been my favourite auntie, and you would be even if I had a hundred to choose from.’
‘Well, thank you, dear! I love you too.’ She peers at me. ‘Are you quite all right?’
‘I’m wonderful, Auntie Lou, just wonderful. Are Mum and Dad in the dining room?’
Mum, Dad, Granny and Marley are enjoying their breakfast when I bound over. ‘Good morning!’
‘Good morning, my love,’ says Mum. ‘Did you sleep well?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope, I slept terribly, but that doesn’t matter because today is beautiful!’ I stare at the twinkling Christmas tree and want the whole holiday to begin again so that I can enjoy it properly. How am I going to wait another 360 days?
‘Someone’s had too much coffee already,’ Marley mutters.
‘Not an ounce of caffeine yet. I’m just happy.’ I sit beside her, grabbing her hand. ‘Marl, I want to thank you for making me your bridesmaid. You have no idea what you’ve done for me. You’re the best sister anyone could ever hope for. If I can be one tenth as happy and loving and warm as you are…’ My voice catches. ‘I’ll be very lucky. I’m going to try.’
‘Carol! Are you crying?’ Dad asks with alarm.
‘Yes! Isn’t it wonderful? I can’t seem to stop.’ I lunge, kissing him on the temple. ‘I’m a chip off the ol’ block after all. How do you like that?’
He hugs me. ‘I love it, Carol,’ he says quietly.
‘Welcome back, my love,’ says Mum. ‘We’ve missed you, you know.’ She looks uncharacteristically overcome.
‘Mum, I’ve missed me.’
But the person I really need to talk to isn’t here. Instead, I see the cousins sitting quietly (of course) with Uncle Frank.
‘Marley,’ I whisper. ‘What are the cousins’ names?’
‘Seriously? I’m not sure whether I’m more worried that you don’t know their names, or that you want to know their names.’ She points discretely around the table. ‘Rachel, Laura, Charlotte, Rebecca and the little one is Emma.’
‘I promise I’ll only use the information for good.’
‘Hello,’ I say to them, pulling up a chair. ‘Which one of you is the dress designer?’
They stare at each other as if I’ve asked them to rat out the drug mule amongst them. One of them points to her sister. ‘You are Charlotte?’ I ask, pleased to use her name. ‘Did you go to school for it?’
‘No, I went to Cambridge.’
‘But I went to Cambridge. When were you there?’
‘The same years as you,’ she says.
‘How did I not know that?’
Although maybe I do remember Mum mentioning it a few times. I was pretty wrapped up in my studies and in Skate.
She shrugs.
‘Do you work in fashion now?’
She laughs, a surprisingly lovely laugh. ‘No, it’s just for fun. I’m a loss adjuster for the Prudential.’
‘What a shame you can’t make a living doing something you love,’ I say truthfully. I think of Skate, who’s always done exactly what his heart told him to rather than what his head did.
‘Oh, but Rachel loves her job!’ one of them pipes up (Laura, I think).
Rachel tries to wave away the attention but Laura carries on. ‘She teaches violin at Birmingham City University. She was second chair at the Christmas concert this year. We’re so proud of her.’
I look at my mousy cousin. ‘Wow, I can’t believe I never knew any of this. Did you all go to the concert?’
I imagine everyone together listening to carols in the flickering candlelight. The vision is surprisingly pleasing.
‘Oh, yes,’ says Emma, the youngest. ‘And Marley and Jez and your Mum and Dad too.’
‘I wish I’d known. You could have sent me an invite.’
She looks doubtful. ‘Well, you don’t always seem very approachable. To be honest, you’re kind of scary.’
I nod. ‘I’ve heard that a lot lately.’ Movement in the doorway catches my eye. Robert! ‘Maybe we can talk more later? I feel like we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
When they all nod and smile, I realise how happy that makes me. I rise and kiss each cousin on the cheek. To my delight, they all kiss me back.
‘Is she drunk?’ I hear Uncle Frank ask Charlotte.
I shake my head. ‘Not drunk, Uncle Frank, just a bit smarter.’
‘The ploughs are here!’ Jemima announces, looking out the window just as Mrs Campbell strides in.
‘The coaches will be ready to depart in thirty minutes,’ Mrs Campbell says.
That means I haven’t got much time.
I approach Jemima, who flinches when I throw open my arms. ‘I’m really happy for you and Karl,’ I say as I hug her. ‘And I’m sorry that I’ve sometimes been short with you. I hope we can see more of each other in London.’
She nods, hugging me back. ‘I’d love that. Thanks, cousin. I’d really love that.’
My heart is in my throat as I approach Robert. ‘Can we talk, please?’
He’s about to spoon sugar into his coffee. ‘Of course.’
We walk into the hall. ‘Robert, I want you to know something.’ I take a deep breath. Once I say this I can’t take it back. ‘The thing is, I’ve been an idiot. Not just this weekend, but for months… years. I equated emotions with hurt, and perfection with happiness.’ I shake my head. ‘When I sealed myself off I did stop feeling hurt. But I also stopped feeling everything else. And I may strive to be perfect but that’s not necessarily making me happy. I’ve boxed myself in to such a little life that there’s no room for anything but work.’
I’m crying again. I guess I’d better get used to this.
‘But I don’t want to live like that anymore. Being here this weekend has shown me that, so when we leave in a few minutes, I’ll be travelling without a lot of the baggage I came with. I can’t promise to be perfect. In fact, I don’t want to be perfect. I just want to be me. And I want you to be you because I love you. I loved you when you surprised me with the Bali trip, and I loved you on that trip, and I loved you after it. I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you that before.’
He’s just staring at me.
‘Robert? Please say something.’
Now I know how he felt at the restaurant before our trip.
‘Let’s go for a walk.’
‘I’d love that.’ But my mind is racing. Is he trying to distract me so he doesn’t have to answer? Still the tears squeeze from my eyes – prompted by fear that this is all too late, anger at myself for being so blind… and a tiny ray of hope that I, Hendrix Carol Colbert, the biggest Scrooge in modern history, just might get a Christmas miracle.
‘You’ll need to change your boots. You’ll ruin those,’ he says.
I look down at my lovely butter-yellow leather boots. ‘I don’t mind. They’re only boots.’
He takes my hand and we walk outside together. As the cold air hits my face, Robert gathers me to him. ‘I love you too, Carol. You’ve just given me the best Christmas present I can imagine.’ Then he kisses me until I feel like my heart might explode.
We don’t need to be perfect. We just need to be together, and be true to ourselves, and to each other and our feelings. Then we’ll have a fighting chance, no matter what life throws at us.
Which reminds me. I take my BlackBerry from my pocket, scrolling down the screen. ‘I’ve been reading up on spina bifida,’ I say. ‘Do you know your risk of passing it on to our children would be reduced by 70 per cent if I took folic acid? And another study says–’
He smiles, then gently takes my BlackBerry and drops it. It disappears into the white powder.
I take his hand again and we stomp messy tracks together across the perfect snow.
The End