Page 61 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘You don’t need that negative energy.’ Maya also raises her glass. ‘Nothing but positivity tonight, Ariel.’

I’m full of positivity. I’m delighted to be out with my friends and delighted that everything’s going to work out for Charles and A Caribbean Calypso. After all, despite everything, he and I are still a team. We know each other better than anyone. Even though there have been bumps on the road, we always want the best for each other.

We always will.

Chapter 17

Iseult

Romanticism is the abuse of adjectives.

Alfred de Musset

Christmas at Aunt Jenni and Uncle Paul’s is fun. Nana O’Connor, who’s eighty-eight and is now in a lovely care home nearby, joins us for the day, and so does Celeste’s middle brother, Frank, who lives and works in Cork. We do a Zoom call with her older brother, Jack, who’s currently in California, working for a tech firm. We also Zoom with Mum, Dad, Adrian and Cori, whose Christmas Day is almost over. We talk so long and so loudly that nobody really hears what anyone else is saying, but the gist of the news from Napier is that the twins trashed the house with excitement and baby Azaria was as good as gold the whole time.

They all looked great, I think later that evening when we’ve eaten and drunk far too much and are imitating beached whales in front of the TV. I’m so lucky to have family who get on, even if New Zealand makes it difficult to be physically close. Maybe next year I’ll get a chance to visit my brother and his wife and get to know my niece and nephews. It’s being able to build up enough holiday time from work that’s the issue. I’d love to go for a month if I could. But unfortunately my job isn’t like Charles’s. I’m tied to a schedule and can’t work just anywhere in the world.

I glance at my phone. He’s sent messages throughout the day wishing me happy Christmas and telling me silly jokes from crackers. I haven’t seen him since our evening at Kavanagh’s when he gave me the watch. Celeste spotted it on my wrist earlier and said that it was a pretty extravagant gift that surely meant Charles was serious about me. I batted that away and reminded her I’d only bought him a bookmark.

The phone in my hand pings again. This time it’s a selfie of him and a tall, well-built woman with strawberry-blonde hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders. Even if he hadn’t told me, I’d have guessed this was his sister. The resemblance to him is evident. They’re in what seems to be a small but very Christmassy room. Less stylish than Charles’s own home, but warm and welcoming all the same, with a fat barrel of a madly overdecorated Christmas tree.

I message him back with a pic of me and Celeste in party hats.

My phone pings again almost immediately, and I assume it’s a reply from Charles, but it’s not.

Hope you’re having a lovely Christmas. You deserve the best. Sx

For crying out loud! What’s Steve doing sliding into my messages again?

I show it to Celeste, who tells me to block him, but it’s Christmas and I can’t make myself do that. In the end I simply send a generic Season’s Greetings GIF.

I’m so over Steve. I must put my wedding dress up for sale.

#NeverWorn #MyMendedHeart

That could be the title of Charles’s next novel.

I stay at Aunt Jenni’s for two nights, then return home. The house feels bare because my festive decorating was minimal. All the family Christmas stuff is in the attic and I’m not a fan of going up to the dark, dusty space under the roof with its eerie shadows and unexpected bits of bric-a-brac from past times. Instead, I bought a little potted tree from the garden centre and put it on the sideboard along with a tiny wooden crib (also from the garden centre). Then I strung some indoor lights around the room, which I reckoned was enough to make it look festive. But it’s not the same, that’s for sure.

I sit by the gas fire, and for the first time since Mum and Dad went away, I feel alone. I know I’m not really alone; I could go back to Aunt Jenni’s and stay there if I wanted. I also know that if I asked her, Mum would come running home to me. She wanted to when Steve broke up with me, and I was very firm about being perfectly OK, even though I really wasn’t. All the same, I managed. But I’d give anything for her arms around me tonight and a whisper that she loved me. I allow a tear to leak from my eye and then pour myself a Baileys. If Christmas isn’t a time for drowning maudlin thoughts in a sweet, creamy liqueur, I don’t know when is.

The ring at the doorbell when I’m two thirds of the way down the glass startles me. The first thought that goes through my head is that it’s Steve, and even though I’m not sure I want to answer the door to Steve, I open it anyway.

Charles is standing there, bundled against the cold in a black leather jacket and a tartan scarf.

‘I thought you weren’t going to answer,’ he says.

‘I didn’t think it was you.’

‘There are people for whom you don’t answer the doorbell?’

‘Sometimes. What are you doing here?’ And then, realising that I’m being rude, I tell him to come in.

‘I got back from Ellis’s early and thought I’d surprise you.’

‘I could’ve still been with my aunt and uncle.’

‘You could. But I made a bet that you wouldn’t. Family is all very well, but most of us can only last a couple of days with them.’

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