Page 108 of The Wake-Up Call

“You knew this had happened and didn’t tell me?” I say, voice rising. I clutch the edge of the desk. “Mandy!”

“I’m so sorry! I just couldn’t—I couldn’t... What good would it do now?”

“A lot, actually,” I say, closing my eyes. All those times I worked so hard to keep my walls up... All those times I assumed Lucas was being an arsehole...

“If it helps, I’ve paid for the mistake every day, working with you and Lucas while you’re at each other’s throats, the two of you kicking me back and forth between you... Not that I’m complaining!” she says hurriedly.

I place my palms flat on the desk and look at her, hunched over the keyboard, her glasses trembling on their chain. I remember what Mrs. Hedgers said about Mandy, how she struggles to assert herself, and suddenly—despite all of the frustration coursing through me right now—I want to give her a hug.

Poor Mandy. It can’t be easy.

“Mandy,” I say, “you have every right to complain.”

“Oh, no, I...”

“No, listen to me. Speakup. If Lucas and I drive you nuts, tell us. If you prefer the online system to the booking book, say so. Ifyou realise you’ve made a mistake handing out my Christmas cards and have given some bellend the card in which I declare my love for someone else entirely,tell me.This isn’t even your fault, Mandy, it’s my stupid handwriting, but you have made things so much worse by sitting on this!”

“Have I? Have I really?” She looks wretched. “I’ve thought about this nonstop, you know. That’ll be why he didn’t mind kissing that friend of yours under the mistletoe, won’t it?”

“Yes,” I say, my toes literally curling at the thought of all the times I’ve told Lucas he was a dickhead for kissing Drew. I scrunch up my eyes, wishing I could take back every time I tried to make Lucas feel small this year in an effort to make myself feel bigger.

“Excuse me, Izzy,” Mr. Townsend says, straining to stand.

I shoot over to help him out of his armchair, ignoring the teeny flutter of irritation I feel at the diversion. Mr. Townsend has sat here so often we just leave his reading glasses on the side table now, and there’s a Mr. Townsend–shaped dip in the cushion. If anyone else sits in this armchair, everyone in the lobby tends to look alarmed until the encroacher feels uncomfortable and leaves again.

“I think I may have done something rather unhelpful,” he says, leaning on my arm. “I couldn’t help but overhear... As I understand it, the Christmas card that Louis received last yearwasn’tintended for him? And your... unique handwriting...”

“Yes. The card was meant for Lucas.”

“Ah,” Mr. Townsend says, holding his fingers delicately to his lips. “In that case, you might want to sit down for this, dear.”

I let him transfer his hand from my arm to the back of the armchair, and I take a seat, though sitting down is the last thing I want to do. I’m absolutely buzzing, desperate to find Lucas, desperate to apologise and kiss him and tell him—God. I don’t know. Hopefully I’ll know when I see him.

“Louis told Lucas,” Mr. Townsend says, “about the card, that is. And... well, Lucas was rather...”

“No,” I breathe, gripping the chair’s arms. “No. Was he really upset?” I stare up at Mr. Townsend. This is adisaster.

“Devastated, actually. I think he cares for you very deeply, my dear.”

I whimper. When I think of everything I’ve put Lucas through this year, I can hardly believe he cares about me at all. No wonder he’s always snapped back at me when I’ve given him attitude. He must have thought I was completely unreasonable, hating him without ever offering an explanation. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, liquid eyeliner forgotten, and curse my stupid pride. Why didn’t I just have an adult conversation with him about that Christmas card? Why didn’t I just suck up the embarrassment and say,Hey, whydidyou laugh at me for saying I was infatuated with you? And why did you kiss my flatmate under the mistletoe instead of me?

“He said he wanted to go home,” Mr. Townsend says.

I glance at the Bartholomew clock above the front desk and do my usual calculations. Lucas will probably be back at his flat by now. At least I know not to waste time going to the gym first.

“Thank you,” I say, moving to stand.

Mr. Townsend lays his hand on my shoulder. “He said he wanted to gohome,” he says.

I look up at him.

“I explained to Lucas that I am lucky enough to have accumulated a lot of money in my life, and that every Christmas I like to find ways to spend it that bring the world a bit of joy. It’s something my wife started with me—we’d sit at our front window and watch the world go by all year, and then by December, we’d have an idea of everyone who needed a helping hand. The little girl who yearned for a bike like her brother’s, the lady who wished she could afford to visit her new grandchild...”

I reach up and squeeze his hand on the armchair, and he smiles down at me.

“The family whose insurance company won’t pay for a few more days at the hotel.”

My eyes widen as the penny drops.

---