Page 74 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Thirty

William

For William, the garden centre was one of those magical places in the winter with all their Christmas displays, music, the sweet scent of the log burners and Christmas trees. It brought to his heart everything that Christmas meant to him. In November, this place had an opening ceremony for their Christmas shop. They’d have a band playing, mulled wine for people to drink as they shopped, and mince pies to eat. He’d missed it this year, but not to matter. He had Rosie and that was enough—she was enough.

He slipped his hand around hers. “What do you think?” he asked, meaning the windows. The two large windows each held different displays. One of them had a polar bear—a laughing polar bear, surrounded by ice-skating penguins. The other side was more traditional, Santa, sitting in his rocking chair by the fire, an abundance of gifts beside him. It was purely magical.

“It’s amazing,” she said. “I can’t stop looking at it. I could stand here all day.”

“Until you freeze that is.”

She nudged him with her hip. “You could always warm me up.”

He tossed her a wink. “Not so sure Santa would approve. You know he’s devising his list right now?”

“Spoilsport.”

Even though her words were all teasing, William couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else under them—a quiet brooding he couldn’t understand. But he didn’t ask. Why spoil this day with his neurotic wonderings?

This was the place he’d come to growing up. This had been his escape when his mother was busy, and her idea of getting ready for Christmas was to get in as many clients as she could, before the Christmas break made business quiet. Nothing like them heading home to families for the holidays, guilt gifts clutched under their arms.

Rosie leant into him, and William automatically put his arm around her. The wind had a nip to it. Enough that it made the end of his nose tingle. He was glad for his hat or his ears would be stinging. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired I think.” She let out a long sigh, and he could feel the way she slumped against him.

“That doesn’t feel like fine. Is it my mother and your parents?”

“No. Just …”

“Just?”

She blew out a breath. “It feels like every time we’re getting somewhere. Every time I think we’re happy, something comes along and snatches it away. Do you ever notice that? Like it’s a test. Here’s a little bit of happiness … oh, too slow. And then it’s snatched away again?”

It wasn’t so hard to think like that. William’s life had been the very essence of what she was saying. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the other way around?” he said.

Rosie frowned.

“Maybe the shit things happen, and then something good comes along to give you a break, a reprieve so you can keep fighting? You came along when I needed it. Not the other way around. You're my good thing. You’re the most important thing.”

“You mean maybe the good actually snatches away the bad?”

“Yep. Why not?”

She paused on that thought a moment. He’d shocked himself with it.

“And this is why I love you,” she said, finally.

Inside the store, it was as William knew it would be. To one side they kept the place normal. Selling the usual items anyone could want in a garden centre, but the other side, it had become sort of like a yellow brick road with a palace at the end. Except this road was paved in a red carpet and at the end was Santa’s grotto and a chance to get a picture with him. William had done that once when he was about six. Not long after his father had left, he’d taken some money from his mother and snuck here. Course, he’d had to hide the gift he’d been given—an action man replica that swam—but it had been worth it. So worth it.

It wasn’t hard to get lost in this place. Not physically lost, but mentally. William let Rosie go on ahead. He took more joy at watching her examine so many items than he did looking himself. But there was a quietness to her, a something he couldn’t quite place, and it felt more than what had gone on at home. Or maybe it was that. It had surely wrapped itself around them both like a cloak of dread.

“Do you want to look at trees? They’re out back? If we go through the cafe, they have hot chocolate and mince pies. We can pick them up and go out back.”

“I’ve never had a mince pie at Christmas before. I mean … I have when you’ve made them.”

“Mince pies? I’ve never made mince pies for you.”

“You have. The other week. You made us that pie with the beef and the carrots and all the other things in it.”

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