Chapter Eighteen
It was a relief going into work, knowing that Kit wasn't around. I didn't think I could have faced him, after what had happened the previous night.
Glaring at the closed door to his office, I made myself a coffee and sat down, wishing I could ring Jack right now, while I had the nerve. A quick check on Google, however, confirmed that it was the early hours of the morning in New York, so I would have to wait until after lunch to call him. I only hoped I would still have the nerve.
As the morning wore on, I could feel my resolve start to falter. Was it fair to involve Jack, when he was on holiday? He clearly needed a break from work, and would it be right to let him know how things were playing out at the factory in his absence?
Then again, I reasoned, was it fair to keep him in the dark? To let everything he'd worked so hard for just slip away?
Plus, there were the workers to consider. I knew for a fact that Olivia and David counted on their bonuses. It wasn't a huge amount of money, but it came in very useful around Christmas time. I was certain they weren't the only ones to rely on it. Surely, Jack would realise that, and would force Kit to reinstate it. Even if it was too late to save the LuvRocks contract, he could at least make things easier for his employees.
As my mind fought a constant battle, it became difficult to concentrate on my work. I kept remembering the expression on Kit's face, and the pleading look in his eyes, when he'd tried to persuade me to tell the staff for him. As I replayed our conversation in my mind, I realised, with a guilty start, that he hadn't actually asked me that, at all. All he'd wanted was my advice on the best way to go about telling them. He was going to do the deed himself. I'd overreacted badly.
By lunchtime, I'd more, or less, made up my mind not to involve Jack, at all. When Kit got back tomorrow, I'd simply sit him down and force him to listen to reason. He wasn't a monster, after all.
Was he?
The canteen seemed quieter than usual when I queued for lunch. A subdued air floated among the staff, and even Don wasn't wearing his Santa hat.
"What's up with everyone?" I put my plate of risotto on the table and eyed Olivia curiously. "Even Liz has lowered Now Christmas down to loud. It's usually playing at deafening roar."
"Everyone's pretty fed up," she said with a sigh, prodding a rather dismal-looking lamb stew with her spoon. "There doesn't seem to be much Christmas spirit in here these days."
"Well, it's not surprising, is it?" David said, as he and Don dropped down beside us, each carrying a plate of steak and kidney pudding with chips and peas. "Everyone's feeling pretty hard done by, what with the Christmas buffet being cancelled, and all the confusion about LuvRocks. And look around," he added, waving his fork in the air. "Not exactly overloaded with Christmas decorations, are we?"
Jack usually roped in members of staff to decorate the canteen and public areas of the factory with festive trimmings. There was always a tree in the entrance foyer, too. This year, the whole place was bare and looked very sorry for itself. Trouble was, even if Kit had agreed to decorating the place—and God knows, that was highly doubtful—I knew for a fact that Jack had thrown most of the stuff away last year, declaring it well past its sell-by date and promising that he would buy new decorations the following year. Well, it was the following year, and I was pretty certain that he'd done no such thing. Great. Things just went from bad to worse.
"I'll have a word with Kit," I said impulsively.
God, had I really said that? As if he'd care about Christmas decorations, and hadn't I enough to deal with already?
However, looking around and seeing the obvious discontent on everyone's faces, I thought, with increasing gloom, how much worse they would feel once Kit broke the news about the bonus. If they were already this fed up, how bad would it be after that little bombshell?
My stomach churned. He couldn't do it to them, he just couldn't. I would have to call Jack. I had no choice. In the meantime, there was something I could do to cheer them all up.
Liz raised an eyebrow when I asked her to turn off the music, but there were no arguments from her. Nervously, I surveyed the clearly-surprised staff and raised my hands, appealing for their attention. They all stopped talking, when I cleared my throat.
"It's just a couple of weeks until Christmas,” I began, “and this factory is sadly lacking in any festive spirit. Unfortunately, Jack threw out all the decorations and the tree last year, as he fully intended to replace them with new ones. I'm sure we can all agree that they were looking a little shabby."
Shabby was an understatement. They were donkey's years old, and had been a source of embarrassment, frankly. They were so tatty, I'd have been ashamed if I'd been Jack, but then, men were often oblivious to those things, and, let's be honest, no one there had much taste.
"Anyway, it's pretty obvious that Kit Carroll has other things on his mind right now." Didn't he just! "After all, this is all quite new to him, and it's been a lot for him to deal with, so I think he can be forgiven for forgetting about such things, which, I'm sure, must be very low on his list of priorities." Yeah, his main priority at the moment being to screw us all out of our bonuses without causing a riot. "So, I think we should take matters into our own hands, and decorate the factory ourselves after the shift finishes." And before he gets back tomorrow and tries to stop us. "What do you say?"
There were some nods and a general mumbling of approval.
"Where are we getting the new decs from?" some bright spark called. "Left us some money in the kitty, has he?"
"Ha! A generous donation from our new boss?" Another man shook his head. "Doubt that very much."
"What I was thinking," I said loudly, as they all began to mutter to each other, clearly still rankled that they were missing out on their all-you-can-eat buffet at Miller's, "is that, maybe we can go home and find any spare decorations we have and bring them back here? I know I have some baubles that I can bring, and I'm sure, between us, we can all find enough stuff to make a difference to the canteen and the foyer, at least. Am I right?"
"And why the hell should we do that?" demanded a sour-faced woman with alarming turquoise eyeshadow. "I'm buggered if I'm forking out for something that the bosses should pay for."
There was a muttering of agreement.
Don stood up. "That's as may be," he said. "Fact is, though, Kit Carroll's new to this lark, and he obviously hasn't given the matter any thought. Jack's not here, and he's not likely to be back any time soon, so if we want this place to look a bit brighter and cheerier, it's up to us. You can argue all you like about whose responsibility it is, but the question remains: Do we want to make this factory Christmassy, or not? Up to us, I reckon, and I, for one, am all for it. Now, I've got a box full of tinsel, and I'm happy to bring that in. Anyone else got owt going spare?"
"I can bring some holly," someone called. "Got tons of the stuff growing in my garden."
"I'll pop to the shop and buy some balloons," someone else offered.
"I've got loads of spare baubles," someone else admitted. "I'm always buying new ones, every year, and I can't fit them all on my tree. I'll bring them in."
"We haven't got a tree, though," David pointed out. "Not much use bringing baubles without a tree."
There was a silence for a moment, then someone shouted out, "I've got an artificial tree in me loft. The wife wanted a change this year, so she's got one of them white trees. Looks bloody awful, but since when do I get a say about owt? Anyway, it means our old green one's just sitting there in its box doing nowt. I'll fetch it after work."
"Fabulous," I said, despite thinking, God what sort of tat are we going to finish up with? There would be no colour co-ordination whatsoever.
Still, needs must.
"You might as well get them lights back from Mum," Olivia murmured to me, as I sank back into my seat a few minutes later, having established that just about everyone was willing and able to bring something back to the factory after work. "You know, those posh clear ones that you bought her last year."
"Might be a bit of a problem with that," Don said, shaking his head. "Safety regulations, and all that. Anything electrical ought to be tested."
"It's fine," I said. "I bought them from Rochester's last December. They cost a fortune and they're top quality."
"Even so ..." He seemed to think for a minute, then said, "I know someone who's a qualified electrician. I'll get him to pop by after work and check them out. Don't want factory to go up in flames, do we?"
"And we don't want to give Kit Carroll an excuse to make us take the whole lot down, either," I admitted. "Fair enough, Don. Thanks."
Fearing the factory was going to look like a tacky nineteen-seventies department-store Santa's grotto, I headed back to the office after lunch and sank into my chair, eyeing the phone nervously. I shouldn't really put everything on Jack. He was on holiday, after all. Then again, it was his own fault for leaving his brother in charge. I mean, of all people!
Although, thinking about it, maybe he'd had no choice. Maybe Kit had insisted, and since he owned the place, Jack could hardly refuse. No, it was still no good. Whichever way I looked at it, I couldn't get past the fact that it was Jack who'd swanned off to America on holiday, leaving us all at his brother's mercy, so in the end, the buck stopped with him. It was his responsibility to sort the mess out.
I looked through the address book on my desk and found his mobile number, then I picked up the receiver and jabbed the buttons, biting my lip as I punched out his number.
It took four rings for him to answer, and he sounded astonished to hear my voice. "Marley? This is a surprise." A moment's hesitation, then, "Is something wrong?"
Well, I hadn't rung him to chat about the weather, had I? "I'm sorry to disturb you on your holiday, Jack. I really am. I just didn't know what else to do." Taking a deep breath, I launched into my story, leaving nothing out. The LuvRocks contract, the Christmas buffet, the bonus, Kit's high-handed attitude, and how he'd managed to anger the staff. Jack listened in silence, not interrupting once. I began to wonder if he was still there. "So, you see, I had to tell you what was going on, because you know how the staff rely on the bonus, and it's not fair that, just because Kit's got a bee in his bonnet about us making traditional chocolate and rock, he's jeopardising our future and the future of this factory. You worked so hard to get the LuvRocks contract. You must see that he can't just throw it away on a whim."
More silence.
I chewed my lip anxiously. "Jack? Are you still there?"
"Yeah, yeah. Still here." He cleared his throat, and I sighed.
"You're narked I rang you, aren't you?"
"What? No, no. To be honest, Marley, I kind of wish you'd rung sooner. I need to talk to Kit, clearly."
I heaved a sigh of relief. "That would be great."
"Marley?" Jack's voice sounded strained, and I felt a pang of regret that I'd burdened him with it all when he should’ve been enjoying himself Christmas shopping with his family in New York.
"Yes?"
"Can you—will you be kind to Kit?"
My mouth dropped open. "What?"
"Just … just go easy on him, okay? He's got a lot on his mind, and he's been dropped into all this with very little warning. He's doing the best he can, so, please, just support him. For me?"
Well, honestly! At the end of the day, it was quite clear that it was a case of family comes first. Whatever Kit had done, Jack was going to be on his side. What a waste of time my trying had been.
"But the factory! The LuvRocks contract! The—"
"I know, I know. I hear what you're saying, and I understand, honestly. But just be on his side, will you? He's a good man, Marley. The best."
Talk about deluded. It was clearly a battle I couldn't win. "But you'll talk to him about everything?"
"Oh, yes." His voice sounded different suddenly, more determined. "I will definitely be talking to him. You can count on that."
"Fair enough." Thank God for that. He sounded a bit more like the old Jack, and I felt a stirring of hope. Maybe he would do something, after all. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Jack."
"No worries. Thanks for keeping me informed."
"Merry Christmas, Jack."
"Merry Christmas, Marley."
I replaced the receiver and leaned back in my chair, suddenly uncertain what to think, or do. Jack was going to tackle Kit about the way he'd been behaving, so it was all in his hands now. His problem. Nothing more I could do.
But I had to be kind to Kit? Support him and be on his side? Huh! As if Kit had ever needed me to be on his side.
A memory of the previous night flashed into my mind. I need your help, Marley.
I felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt, but dismissed it. I'd done what I had to do. Jack and Kit could sort it out between themselves. I was done.
***
"I've got to hand it to the lad—he's no spendthrift, is he?" Great Uncle Charles cackled with laughter, then broke into another spasm of coughing.
I'd been about to remind him that the scrapping of the workers' Christmas bonuses was no laughing matter, but his health made me frown in concern. "That cough's not getting any better. It seems to have come back even stronger. I'm calling the doctor."
"Are you buggery!" He waved his hand at me, his face cross. "I'm fine. You call any quack round here, and it will be the last time you set foot in this place." His expression relaxed, and he smirked at me, a sudden gleam in his eye. "Mind you, it might be the last time, anyway, if I decide to sell up to the Martins."
"The Martins?" My heart thumped. "Is that the couple who wants to buy Fox Lodge? Have you had any more dealings with them?"
"I may have." He shrugged. "It could be that they've been here for a wander around, and have decided it's just what they're looking for. It may be that they can't wait to move in. It may be that we've just got to agree on a price, and then it's all systems go."
"You wouldn't!" My voice was faint. "You haven't. I mean, you didn't."
"You seem to know a lot about me," he observed. "Who says I wouldn't, haven't and didn't? Maybe I would, have and did. If you must know, they knocked on the door yesterday, and I let them have a look at the place. Nice couple. Come from London. Sold up their house, and they're renting in the village, for now, so they're cash buyers, and they've got plenty of it. Big plans for this house."
I shook my head, feeling sick. "So, that's that?"
"Never agreed anything," he said. "Just let them look. Said I was still thinking it over." He leaned forward, observing me closely. "Not having a very good week, are you? Fancy him expecting you to break the news to the factory workers about cutting their bonus. What a gutless coward. Typical of a Carroll."
I felt a pang of guilt. "He didn't actually ask me to tell them," I backtracked. "He asked me to help him decide the best way for him to tell them."
"Same difference." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "And has he told them, yet?"
"He wasn't at work today," I said. "Had meetings all day, apparently. I don't know." And I'd dropped him in it big time with Jack. How was he going to react to that when he found out? I shrugged helplessly. "It just feels as if we take one step forwards and two steps back."
He would be furious with me, and how would he react when he saw the factory? My worst fears had been confirmed, when the staff rolled up at the gates an hour after leaving work, with an assortment of the tackiest, cheapest decorations I'd ever seen—and, believe me, I'd been dragged around enough awful pop-up Christmas shops with Olivia to recognise tacky when I saw it. The canteen looked like a pop-up Christmas shop itself, with tinsel draped everywhere, balloons in every corner, and awful foil garlands draped across the room. Someone had even brought a battery-operated Santa who yelled ho ho ho before dropping his trousers and revealing a large and very rosy behind. I'd tried to get them to take it home again, but had been drowned out by yells of protest. Apparently, it was funny.
I'd had a bit more success with the foyer, where a six-foot artificial Christmas tree was decorated with a mixture of ancient baubles that had probably been around in the sixties, and an assortment of plastic snowmen, reindeer and angels that I guessed cost around six for a pound on a market stall. At least the lights added some elegance, and I'd donated a rather beautiful silver star to sit on the top. Plus, I'd added my Rochester baubles, although it quite broke my heart to see them sitting among such tawdry neighbours. It was like asking the Duchess of Cambridge to share a flat with the characters from Shameless.
Frankly, I'd been appalled, but seeing the smiles on everyone's faces had kind of made up for it in a most unexpected way. Mum and the other cleaners had joined in, and we'd all worked together to give the factory the Christmas spirit it had been sorely lacking. Even the security guards had helped. A few of the staff had nipped into the village, returning with food from The Leaning Tower of Pizza, and it had turned into quite a party. Remembering the laughter and teasing that had gone on, and the cheers that went up when the lights were finally switched on, after being checked over by Don's pal, I felt a warm glow inside. Against all odds, it had been fun. I hadn't enjoyed myself so much in ages.
"Were you disappointed?"
I blinked, confused. "Disappointed?"
"Well, he asked you out for dinner." Great Uncle Charles's eyes bored into mine. "You must have wondered why. Maybe you were expecting something a bit—you know—romantic."
"Romantic? With Kit Carroll? I hardly think so."
"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
"That was years ago. I told you, we were just kids. Anyway, never mind Kit Carroll. What are you going to do about Fox Lodge?"
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I told you. I'm thinking about it. Don't make my head hurt with your mithering." He closed his eyes and fell quiet.
I picked up my cup and sipped my tea, my stomach churning. As if having to face Kit tomorrow at work wasn't bad enough, I also faced the prospect of losing Fox Lodge before it was even mine. I replaced the cup and rubbed my eyes. I was tired and feeling rather stressed out by it all. Maybe I'd join my uncle and have a nap.
"It's not good this, is it?" he said suddenly.
I jumped, not expecting him to speak. "What's not good?"
"You, being like this. Your grandad would be very unhappy about it."
My mouth fell open. My uncle was talking about Grandad without being prompted? It had never been known before. And what would he be unhappy about? "I don't know what you mean."
Great Uncle Charles opened his eyes. Pieces of flint stared back at me, wizened old lips pursed tightly as he watched me shrewdly. "Don't you?" he said at last.
"No, I don't," I said, feeling uncomfortable and annoyed, all at the same time.
He tapped his bony fingers on the chair arm. "Does it never strike you as somewhat depressing that the only thing you have in your life—the only thing that gives you any interest—is a house? And not even your own house. My house. This house."
I swallowed. "I don't—"
"Don't say you don't know what I mean again," he said crossly. "How old are you, girl?"
"Thirty. What's that got to do with anything?"
"How old's that halfwit sister of yours?"
I glared at him. "If you mean Olivia, she's twenty-seven."
"Twenty-seven. Three years younger than you, yet she's married and has three kids. Three kids!"
"She started young," I said defensively.
"Yes, she did. Too bloody young. Daft bint. Even so, at least she got off the starting line. More than you did."
"Not everyone wants to get married, or have kids," I pointed out, my stomach churning harder until I felt sick. "It's not compulsory."
"Too right it isn't. And good luck to anyone who doesn't," he said. "Plenty of other things to fill your life with. Friends, travel, a career .... You, on the other hand, have this house."
I blinked away unwelcomed tears, feeling a fluttering of unease. "What are you saying?"
"When you were a little girl, your grandad had such high hopes for you. He thought you were wonderful. The sun shone out of your arse, as far as he was concerned, and nothing I could say would sway him. Personally, I thought you were an obnoxious little brat, but that's beside the point. I did, at least, think that your ambition would take you somewhere in life. Instead, you just stagnated. It's shameful."
"How would you know what I have going on in my life?" I demanded.
"Because you come here—out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure," he added with a smirk, "and you struggle to find anything to tell me. Oh, I get the odd bit about your mother, and snippets about those nephews of yours, and a few thinly-veiled hints about how poky your flat is. That's pretty much it."
"Maybe I don't want to tell you everything," I protested.
"I'm sure you don't. But knowing you, if anything different happened to you, you'd be telling me about it. You couldn't help yourself. Look how you banged on about that choking thing in the pub, as if it was the most exciting thing to happen to you in years, which it probably was."
I couldn't give him an honest answer to that. He was right. I simply stared at him, unable to look away, as much as I wanted to.
"You've got a poxy job as a secretary in a poxy factory—"
"PA," I interrupted forcefully.
He tutted. "A secretary, in the one place you always insisted you'd never work. You've gone on one package holiday abroad, to my knowledge, to Benidorm with some girls from the insurance company you worked for. You shared a flat with those girls for two years. Then the insurance company goes bust, and what happens? Did you continue sharing the flat with them? No, you moved home. Did you ever see those girls again? If you have, you've never mentioned them. You never mention any friends, come to that. You don't go out, do you? Your life revolves around your family, and your dreams of living in Fox Lodge. That's it. What a tiny world you inhabit."
I studied my nails. God, he was right! Truthfully, I'd only moved in with Lois and Jen from work because they'd been desperate for a third flatmate to help cover the rent, and Olivia had challenged me to leave our mother and stand on my own two feet. I hadn't enjoyed living there, at all. I'd hated it. And I'd only agreed to go to Benidorm because they'd roped in Jen's cousin and needed someone to share a room with her, and I hadn't enjoyed that, either. I found the whole experience tacky, and knew that they were well aware of the fact. When the insurance company went bust, Jen had found a job in her hometown of Scarborough and moved home, and Lois had moved in with her boyfriend, leaving me to head back to Moreton Cross. I hadn't heard a word from either girl since. We hadn't even exchanged addresses.
"The only good thing you ever had going on in your life was Christopher Carroll. Now he's back, and all you do is fall out with him and bang on about this house. Something wrong with you, girl?"
I gaped at him. "It's not my fault he's so obnoxious, is it? And I'm not banging on about this house. All I'm saying is, you should be careful before you go ahead and sell it. It's a lovely house. At least, it could be, if someone spent some money and time and love on it."
"Someone like you, you mean?" Great Uncle Charles narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe the Martins? After all, does it matter who restores the old place, as long as someone does?"
I folded my arms, trying not to sulk. He was just trying to wind me up, and I refused to let him succeed.
"This Carroll chap," he said suddenly. "Strikes me, you need to up your game."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, if he's scrapped the bonus, stopped the Christmas buffet, admits he can't wait for Christmas to be over, walks out on a Nativity play—not that I can blame him—and tears up a lucrative contract, then he's got serious problems, and you need to do something fast. This has to be down to you, you know. I mean, it's the third time he's come into your life. There has to be a reason for that."
I leaned forward, suddenly eager. "Actually, it's the fourth."
He raised a rather scary, antenna-like grey eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I also saw him again when I was fourteen, and I never even knew."
"How could you not know? You were sniffing glue, weren't you? I always suspected it."
"I did not sniff glue," I said crossly. I cleared my throat. "I was pissed on cider, though. Well," I added defensively, as he gave me a smug look, "I was going through a rough time. Dad had just gone. You remember."
"Right. So, you'd been celebrating?"
I glared at him. "I was getting drunk to forget. Except, the only thing I forgot was meeting Kit, which is ironic really. Apparently, I was with a gang, and then some of the boys beat him and his mates up, and I didn't do a thing to stop them." Because I was too busy snogging some loser in the bus shelter, I added silently.
He tutted. "Charming, I must say. Mind you, it only makes me more certain. He got his head kicked in, and he still wanted to go out with you. Four times, you two have been thrown together. Fate wants you to do something. Why else would it put him in exactly the right place, at exactly the right time to save your life?"
"Hang on! You're actually taking me seriously?" It didn't make sense. "You're the biggest cynic going. Why would you believe in all that fate stuff?" Was it a good, or bad, thing? With Uncle Charles acting as if I was meant to save my Scrooge-like boss, it made it seem more real, more urgent. "And what do you care about saving him, anyway?"
"I couldn't give a monkey's about any Carrolls," he admitted. "Even so, you need that job, and so does your mother and your sister. The way he's going, he's going to drive it into the ground, and then you're all going to expect me to give you handouts. It's in my best interests to make sure that dratted factory keeps going."
"Right." I might have known there'd be something in it for him. "Although, you're completely wrong, if you think Mum, or Olivia, would come cap in hand to you. They'd never ask you for anything. Not in a million years."
"Huh. You think? In my experience, it's surprising what people do when money's at stake. Pride goes well out of the window, along with reason and loyalty, and everything else."
There it was again, that slightly wistful tone. I wondered what was behind it. "So, what do you want me to do about it?" I said.
"Crack on with the plan to change him, of course. Take him back to the decent chap you claim he used to be. Now, you've tried Christmas Past and that didn't go down too well. Reckon it's time for Christmas Present. Show him how much fun Christmas can be. Not that it is, of course," he added, shuddering, "but you have to convince him otherwise. Get him a present. Stir his emotions. You need to fill him so full of Christmas spirit that he wants to share it with everyone else. To do that, you have to touch his heart. You remember how to do that, I suppose? After all, you love Christmas so much. If anyone can do it, it's you."
"How do you know I love Christmas?" I demanded. I'd certainly never discussed it with him.
He rolled his eyes. "You always did. When your gran was alive, your parents were kind enough to take you to see her and your grandad every weekend, remember? Your grandad used to tell me how excited you got every year, chattering away about Christmas from around the middle of September. Then, when your father left and you made sneaky visits to see your grandad, he told me how you'd taken over from your dad, organising Christmas for your mum and sister. It's obviously important to you, so all you have to do is pass that feeling onto Christopher."
"Kit," I said, without thinking. I was too absorbed in other thoughts about my mixed feelings towards Christmas. Great Uncle Charles would be astonished if he knew the truth. It was true, I had always loved the festive season, but for many years, it had become a distraction. Something to focus on to ease the pain that always seemed ten times worse at that time of year. It had, I was forced to acknowledge, become something of an obsession.
He eyed me curiously. "Kit now, is it? Thought you didn't approve of that?"
"Well, maybe I understand his reasons for changing his name a bit more now," I said uncomfortably.
"Oh, and what were they?"
I wasn't sure I had the right to tell him. Then again, he never saw anyone, so he was hardly going to blab it around, was he? "Because of some bad feeling between him and his father. He seems to think that Christopher connects him to his past and he doesn't want that connection."
Great Uncle Charles frowned. "So, he's escaping his past? Maybe not such a good idea to try to drag him back there, then. Seems like it has bad memories for him." He coughed again. "Not that I can blame him," he wheezed, eventually. "Who'd want to be tied to someone like James Carroll? As bad as his father, from what I heard. Maybe the lad's not such a lost cause, after all."
Maybe not, I thought. There'd been definite pain in Kit's eyes, when I'd mentioned his father before. I wondered why. I'd never seen the two of them together when we'd been a couple. Kit had refused point blank to tell his parents about us, saying it was our business, and there was no need for them to know. Even Jack didn't know about us. He'd been away most of the time, at Kit's old boarding school, and besides, Kit said he was just a kid and wouldn't understand. I'd tried very hard not to push him about the matter, but it had hurt. It hurt a lot. If I wasn't good enough for his family, what sort of future did we have together?
Well, none, as it turned out.
Why, I wondered, had we ever got together in the first place? He'd certainly had no reason to want me, given what I'd recently been told. I hid a smile, thinking how he'd actually believed that I only wanted to go out with him when I was eleven years old because I wanted a sports car. A sports car! Honestly, how gullible was he? Although, to be fair, Hayley had believed it, too, and she'd been my best friend.
If only he hadn't heard me that day, he might well have asked me out there and then, and then I'd have had someone to confide in, to turn to when Dad left. I might never have gone off the rails and become so bitter, so lonely.
I thought about that day when Kit had been beaten up by my friends. They weren't really my friends, to be honest. They just knew how to get hold of alcohol, and that was all I needed from them at the time. They didn't ask questions, didn't want to know anything about me. I hid behind black hair dye and a mask of heavy makeup, and they didn't care a bit. It suited me fine.
Poor Kit. He was a very forgiving person, really. He must have been, because he'd known who I was that day we met up again in Helmston, and he'd not let it put him off. He hadn't even mentioned my shameful behaviour.
I rubbed my arm, remembering that day when I was sixteen years old. It was a few days before Christmas, and I'd gone into Helmston to wander around the market and seek out any last-minute bargains. Christmas, even at that tender age, had become my responsibility, and I wanted it to be perfect for Mum and Olivia.
Christmas had flavoured the air: the scent of pine from the lorry load of Christmas trees on sale, the tempting aroma of roast turkey and stuffing sandwiches coming from a nearby stall, roast chestnuts, and hot mince pies, which were being devoured by a crowd of people who acted as if they hadn't tasted food for months.
I'd felt my stomach rumble and stopped, wondering if I could be bothered to queue to buy a sandwich. I didn't even have time to make a decision, as I found myself tumbling to the ground, having been knocked over by someone who clearly hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings.
"God, I'm really sorry."
A hand took hold of mine. I pushed back my hair and peered up to see a boy, around my own age, looking down at me, quite anxiously. As he’d pulled me to my feet, I glared at him, feeling stupid and humiliated.
"Why didn't you watch where you were going?" I snapped, brushing the back of my jeans, then tightening the grip on my shoulder bag. Well, he could have been anyone. For all I knew, the whole thing was a scam designed to put me off my guard, while he grabbed my bag and ran. Although, to be fair, he needn't have helped me up, if that was the case, and he did look quite remorseful.
"I wasn't paying attention," he admitted. "I was too distracted by the smell of that roast turkey."
Despite my annoyance, I couldn't help but smile. "Me, too," I confessed. "Smells fab, doesn't it?"
His face broke into a grin and his eyes twinkled.
My stomach flipped in sudden recognition. Those eyes! "Are you—are you Christopher Carroll?"
His smile dropped, and he stared at me. "Marley? Marley Jacobs?"
We both gaped at each other. "Oh, my God." I'm not sure which one of us said it. Maybe we both did. We both seemed pretty stunned to meet again, that was for sure. Given that the last time he'd seen me, I'd been an angry drunken goth, maybe it wasn't surprising that he hadn't recognised me. Not that I'd realised that, at the time, of course.
"How have you been?" I remembered feeling all trembly and nervous, talking to him, though he'd seemed pretty cool once he'd got over the shock of seeing me.
Later, he confessed that he'd been all churned up inside, but I would never have known that from the way he shrugged and replied, "Oh, you know. Fine. How about you?"
Funny, but we'd both completely forgotten about those roast turkey sandwiches, as we began walking through the market together, talking and catching up. It was as if we already knew each other, somehow, which in a way we did, but not like that. It was as if we'd been best friends, or something, and we really hadn't been. There was a bond. It felt right. Like it was our time at last.
He'd told me all about refusing to stay on at the boarding school to do his A levels—much to his parents' fury—and how he'd finally managed to convince them to allow him to do them at the local college, instead. I'd eagerly informed him that I was attending the same college. I'd started there in September and was doing a two-year secretarial course. We'd both agreed it was a coincidence that we were at the same place every day, and how funny it was that we'd never bumped into each other.
"I'll keep an eye out for you," I'd promised.
He'd shook his head, his eyes looking deep into mine. "We'll have to make firmer arrangements than that, don't you think?"
My insides had swished around as if they were on the waltzers, and I'd nodded and bashfully agreed that we would.
Christopher had eventually steered me over to a little van selling drinks, and bought us both a hot chocolate. It was the first time he saw me get whipped cream on my nose, and he'd laughed at me. I'd got all huffy, but he'd dabbed the cream away, then leaned over and kissed me, very gently and quite shyly.
Oh, that kiss! I remembered it so clearly. The Christmas lights that were strewn across the market place dimmed into darkness by comparison. He lit me up, he brought me to life. It sounded very dramatic, when I thought about it, but it was true. It was how it’d felt. From that moment on, Christopher Carroll was my world.
"What are you smiling at?" Great Uncle Charles's curious tone brought me back to the present.
"Just remembering some stuff," I mumbled.
"About Kit Carroll, I presume, judging by that soppy look on your face."
I shivered. How had Kit and I drifted so far apart? How had we reached the point where he could just walk away, just leave me behind? The young man I'd known then was so different to the one I knew now. The teenager who'd led me around that market, seeming so pleased and eager to be in my company, enjoying the Christmas build-up, dabbing cream from my nose and kissing me so tenderly, wasn't the sort of man who would abandon his girlfriend, break all his promises, then return years later to bring the family business to its knees.
What had gone wrong?
"I can't give up on him," I murmured. "The old Kit is still in there somewhere. I just have to find him."
Great Uncle Charles sighed. "Then, hurry up and get on with it, girl. It's nearly Christmas. You're running out of time."
This, I thought grimly, wasn't for the sake of the factory and all its workers. It wasn't even for my family, or for Jack and his family. This was all about Kit.
Maybe, at some level, it always had been.