Page 27 of Lie For Me

Lucy didn’t remember it like that. She remembered being exhausted and stressed and worried about standing too close to people because she hadn’t had time to shower for three days. But hearing about how it looked through Jack’s eyes, she felt like he had really seen and understood the magic she had tried to create. Even if, at the time, he had grumbled about crowds and kept whispering, how much? in her ear every time he clocked the prices at the food and craft stalls. He had seen her standing there, trying to orchestrate this big event, which helped to generate the funds Dulcetcoombe needed to stay open each year, as she answered queries from stall holders, dealt with faulty generators, missing children and wondered when she had last had time to eat anything.

Jack carried on.

‘––in the middle of these happy kids and families, all there having an amazing time together because your sister worked so hard to put on this incredible event—’

Ollie looked at Lucy, his eyes wide. ‘Wow! I didn’t know you did all that. I just thought it was like…’ he shrugged, ‘you helped the old people who run the ticket office and the café and stuff.’

Jack had, it seemed, explained her job to her family better than she had ever done.

Sophie wasn’t interested in Lucy’s job—she wanted to know what happened next.

‘So?’ She urged. ‘You saw her standing there, and then what?’

Yes, then what?

If memory served, she had gone home and fallen asleep on the sofa with her shoes on. But Jack was now on his third glass of champagne and enjoying himself immensely. He was in full swing. Lucy reached for a bottle on the table, topped up her glass and braced herself.

‘One of the volunteers came up to her and was clearly worried about something. They were pointing over at this man with his kids who was looking really pissed off.’

Sophie was practically biting her manicured nails.

Lucy remembered this bit. Anne had had a complaint from a man who was cross that his kids had missed the chance to meet Santa. They had arrived late, and Santa was fully booked. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault, of course; the man should have arrived earlier or made an online reservation, like most of the rest of the people there. But she knew enough about this type of character to know better than to point this out. She had listened to him, letting him vent the frustration that she instinctively understood was partly his own anger at himself for feeling he had let his kids down, and his need for them to see Daddy trying to make it all better. Lucy explained, as gently as she could, that there was, sadly, no way Santa could see them that night. Then, she spoke directly to the kids. Would they like a carriage ride to see all the amazing lights in the parkland? And some hot spiced apple juice for the ride? The two little girls, clinging to their father, dropped their hands away from their faces and nodded enthusiastically. We can do this, Lucy had said to Dad, just this once, and handed him a voucher (one of the ones she held back every night for situations just like this one) for the carriage rides. He took it gratefully—thank you so much, he had said, a little chastened by her kindness in the face of his anger. Tickets for Christmas at Dulcetcoombe and for meeting Father Christmas go on sale in November next year, she said smoothly as they hurried off.

‘Your sister,’ Jack said, more dramatically than was necessary, ’went up to the man, and he started having a go at her, in the middle of the grand hall, with all those amazing decorations and this choir singing carols and all the people waiting to see Santa. This man was furious,’ Jack said. ‘And he had these two kids with him, who looked more scared of him than anything else. Lucy spoke to him for about a minute, and he was like putty in her hands. He went from furious to practically bowing to her.’

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but she’d take it. Jack was making her look very good in this story, like some sort of goddess.

Jack looked at her.

‘I don’t know what she said to him.’

Here, have these free tickets.

‘But she looked amazing, standing there conducting this incredible event, sorting out any problem that came up. And you could see everyone trusted her completely—all these people kept coming up and asking her questions, and she just had an answer for everyone.’

Lucy swallowed. He’d really paid attention.

‘And she was wearing this sparkly silver dress.’

Lucy, who was taking a sip of champagne when Jack offered this particular detail, nearly choked. No such dress existed in her wardrobe, and she’d have been wearing jeans and a Christmas jumper, like every day in December. Jack gave her a look, as if to say, don’t correct me on this.

She stayed quiet.

‘I bet she looked stunning,’ Sophie murmured.

‘She did.’ Jack nodded and looked at Lucy, his dark eyes unreadable. ‘When she got a break, we went outside, and I put my coat around her.’ Lucy spluttered and decided to stop drinking while Jack was telling this story, or she’d cough herself to death before the end of it.

‘Lucy, darling,’ Jack said, voice light and innocent. ‘Do you want to finish telling it?’

‘No, no,’ Lucy muttered, wiping her eyes. ‘You carry on.’ Under her breath, she mumbled, ‘I want to see what on earth happens next.’

Jack took up the story again.

‘We walked to this secluded area of trees away from the house, away from all the people. And Lucy was cold—’

I bet, in that fictitious sparkly dress on a December night.

‘––and we were drinking mulled wine to warm up, and then I spilt all mine, and so we were sharing this one cup. And we were,’ Jack shrugged and almost looked shy, ‘sort of huddled together, over this one cup, and then….’

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