Page 26 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
Amazing, I’ll get planning!
God, that’s so random you mentioned Tom Brinton – I hadn’t thoughtabout him in ages and then only a few nights ago I had a dream abouthim?!
I haven’t seen him since he randomly dropped out of sixth form afterjust a couple of months. Sad times.
No idea why he’d be arguing with his mum. Tempted to ask Elle butthat would no doubt involve her figuring out I’d had a monumental crushon him and I’d never hear the end of it.
Hope he’s OK, though.
Gotta go, will email Cardiff info soon!
xxxxx
Chapter 6
?Little white lie
Twenty years later
As anticipated, Elle had initially rejected my idea to return to our old stomping ground to write the article in one of her trademark voice messages:
Elle (voice message):
Mally-Wally. Urgh. Not loving this idea. Why put yourself through it?Please let me find somewhere less shit!
Standing up to her was never easy, but with the pressure on Elle to commission Christmas features, I knew I had a rare ace up my sleeve. Eventually, we’d reached a compromise: Elle would do all the research and book me somewhere to stay in Scarnbrook, and all I had to do was figure out how to get there. And I’d still be writing it under a pseudonym.
A week later, having tied up all my loose ends at work before the office closure, I was back in East Sussex, having convinced my parents to let me drive them to the airport for their Sunday afternoon flight. As far as they were concerned, the plan was this:
I’d give them a lift to Gatwick Airport in Dad’s car.
I’d drive back to theirs and housesit for a few days.
At some point, I’d get the train back to London for Christmas itself.
But the more I repeated this fake plan to myself to get my story straight, the more I was tempted to make it myactualplan. The idea of holing up here in this picture-perfect cottage, surrounded by stunning countryside and not being perceived by anyone at all for days on end felt like absolute bliss. Justimaginehow many corny Christmas movies I could get through!
But the timing of the airport run and easy access to Dad’s car felt like yet another way fate was funnelling me towards Scarnbrook; travelling there on public transport would’ve been a monumental faff, with no useful train stations at the end of the journey. Having a car would make it loads easier to get around while I was there and, most importantly, would mean I could leave whenever I wanted. The holiday rental was booked for a full week, but I figured I’d only need to be there for two nights – three, max – to visit old haunts and write the article before getting out of there and back to normal life.
Deceiving my parents went against every single one of my instincts, but strictly speaking theyhadsaid I could use the car while I was at theirs. I just needed to remember to keep the fuel gauge at a similar level.
I got them to the airport in good time – unsurprising, given that Mum had insisted we leave four hours before the flight despite the fact it was only a forty-five minute journey – and enjoyed the solo drive back to the countryside with Radio X blaring, using the steering wheel as a makeshift drumkit.
Josh, who was travelling back to London later that day, was making himself some kind of fluorescent orange hot drink when I got back.
‘Want one?’ It could very well have been the first question he’d asked me in two decades.
‘Depends what it is. It looks like hot Lucozade or something?’
Was that a twitch of a smile? Nah, probably wind from his bean smoothie earlier – or whatever it was he poured down his throat each morning.
‘It’s turmeric and ginger tea.’
I instinctively mimed a gagging motion before catching myself halfway through and attempting to transform it into a cough.
‘No, thanks anyway, though.’
‘Fair enough. I’m going to be heading off soon, by the way – there’s a taxi coming to pick me up at ten thirty.’
