Page 86 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
‘Seriously, you can drop the act. I know you’ve all been plotting with Elle the entire time I’ve been here. She just sent me a message by mistake that was quite obviously intended for you. And I know that my car was probably ready days ago. Can you bring it here or not? You know where I’m staying, I presume?’
‘Yeah, but which number?’ Ryan’s voice sounded different, all hints of cockiness evaporated.
‘Eleven. Just put the car keys through the letterbox when you get here. You’ve got my London address to invoice me so just stick it in the post.’
Ryan’s breath crackled the line between us as he exhaled. ‘There’ll be no invoice, Mally. It was a simple job in the end. God, I feel awful. Honestly, Elle told me you wouldn’t mind.’
Wouldn’t mind?!Elle had thought that manipulating me – when she knew how anxious I’d been about writing this stupid article – was even within the realm of ‘reasonable’, for fuck’s sake?
‘Of course she did. That’s how she operates. But you know all about that from Year Ten, don’t you?’
He paused before he spoke again, an edge of panic to his voice. ‘Please don’t tell Carly I was in touch with her. She messaged me on Facebook out of the blue last week for a “quick favour” and it just escalated from there. You know what she’s like – she’s impossible to say no to.’
I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going to hesitate to say no to her ever again.
‘You honestly think I’m going to stay in touch with anyone from Scarnbrook after this? Don’t worry, Ryan, your secret is safe with dull old Double A.’ My voice broke open at my school nickname. I hung up before he had the chance to talk again. He deserved to feel shit for this. And, for once, I wasn’t going to put myself out to make him – or anyone else, for that matter – feel better about themselves.
I ran upstairs, tears careering down my hot cheeks. I grabbed my wheelie suitcase and began hastily shoving my clothes inside. My Mary Berry dress, which still smelt of Tapas Den, mocking me as it refused to crumple. I knew I’d never want to wear it again.
My ears rang as I tried to work out what had driven Elle’s scheme as I scooped my smellies into my toiletries bag. The only answer I kept coming up with was ‘ambition’: she wanted to strand me in Scarnbrook to get a more interesting article out of me. I was so disappointed in her. No, ‘disappointed’ wasn’t strong enough. I was furious with her. Sure, this was exactly the kind of game she’d play on any of her other writers in order to get the ‘best’ out of them. But to foolmelike this? Her best friend?
I gave the rental a cursory tidy, ignoring the curtain that was still neatly folded on the landing. While I was putting the crockery away in the kitchen, I heard the hard, sleigh bell-esque jingle of keys landing on the laminate floor. I peered out the living-room window to see Darren driving Ryan away, Dad’s car on the driveway.
I grabbed my stuff and locked the door behind me, placing the key back in its grubby box. I chucked my stuff in the boot, annoyed to see a spare umbrella inside. Alanis Morissette could’ve written one of her ironic ‘Ironic’ lyrics about that. As I careened my way out of Scarnbrook on the ever-widening roads, I tried to ignore the fact that four o’clock was approaching and Tom would be arriving at Hollyhock Close at any minute. I’d left no note and his number was blocked, along with everyone else’s here. Even if last night had been real, my relationship with Scarnbrook – and therefore any prospect of a relationship with him – was over, once and for all. Christian Woods could burn the pub to the ground for all I cared.
Chapter 25
?Bad news piles up
I swung into my parents’ driveway and sat there with my music stillblaring for a minute or so. I’d turned it up loud when I’d starteddriving east out of Scarnbrook, letting the We Are Scientists frontmando the expressing for me through his anguished vocals. I switched offthe engine and sat in the dark interior of the vehicle, trying to figureout my next move. The obvious first step was to establish contact withElle and figure out what the hell had possessed her to do this to me. Itapped out a message to her from the driver’s seat:
Mally:
Call me. Please. I’ve left Scarnbrook. I know you set me up.
Two blue ticks. I waited in the car for a few more minutes but there was nothing in return.
It was approaching seven o’clock. If it hadn’t been for Elle’s accidental message, I could’ve been happily re-enactingThe Notebook’s fireplace scene with Tom right now. The thought made me feel both violated and miffed, which was an unusual combination at the best of times. God, I’d been such a moron. I felt disgusted that I’d allowed myself to be swept along with everyone’s retrospectively obvious ruse. It was all so humiliating.
It was the stuff with Tom that was confusing me most. I was pretty sure I hadn’t imagined the chemistry between us last night. But I couldn’t rule out the possibility that Elle had somehow guilt-tripped him into asking me to spend Christmas with him and his mum. A relationship based on a foundation of pity and saviourism? No, thanks.
I mentally flicked whatever version of him I thought I’d got to know away as I clambered out of the car with my luggage and let myself into the cottage. I immediately felt calmer as the low ceilings and creaky floors enveloped me. With instant clarity, I knew that I would hide out here for Christmas, instead of travelling back to London to deal with Elle. I relaxed into my new plan a little. It was what I’d actually wanted to do after I’d taken my parents to the airport, after all.
I lugged my suitcase upstairs, grabbed the heavy duvet from my bed and let it tumble down the narrow staircase before descending behind it. I bolted the front door, closed all the curtains, lit the fire and put the telly on to fill the silence. A quick rummage in the kitchen’s understairs pantry proved productive: a full packet of mince pies and some mini bottles of whisky I’d found in an unfinished boozy advent calendar from a couple of years ago, which I was sure wouldn’t be missed. I took the comforting sustenance to the sofa with me and buried myself deep in togs. The timing was perfect – a Christmas movie had just started on Channel 5 and they were broadcasting them back to back for the next six hours. Evening sorted, mind instantly occupied, nerves soothed.
During the first advert break, I checked my work emails to see if Elle had replied to me there, instead. I had zero desire for my article to see the light of day now I knew the layers of manipulation that had led to its conception.
There was no email from Elle. But the state of my inbox made every hair on my body stand to attention with alarm.
A barrage of unofficial all-staff emails had been doing the rounds over the course of the last couple of hours, the first of which had been sent from one of our most high-profile writers. He’d circulated a link to a national newspaper article with a subject line that merely readWTF?
I tapped on the link and gasped. The headline read:
THE HELIX UK STAFF FACE REDUNDANCY AS LONDON OFFICE CLOSES DOWN
What the hell?
I read through the news story, discovering that the reporter had been tipped off about a commercial letting listing forThe Helix’s entire West End office. She’d gone on to speak to numerous ‘sources’ who’d confirmed the publication was pulling out of the UK. I guessed that explained the early December shutdown, no doubt to spruce the place up ready for its next tenants.
