Page 32 of A Very Irish Christmas
‘Well, then, what about Charles? My God, woman, he’s like a fairy tale Prince Charming – and he waltzed with you! To “A Thousand Years”! I’m practically swooning just thinking about it!’
She pretends to fan her face, and I laugh at her antics.
‘Seriously, Cassie, they’re both gorgeous. What are you going to do?’
‘I’m not going to do anything, June. This is just a silly conversation between friends, where we pretend we’re fifteen again. I’m not arrogant enough to think that either of them is interested in me that way. Ryan is constantly on auto-flirt – he’d even try and charm Mr Potato Head if he got the chance. And the thing with Charles… it was just a moment, that’s all.’
‘Yes, but what a moment! Come on, be honest – you fancy him, don’t you? And I think you probably fancy Ryan too… you’ve gone from zero to sixty in a few days!’
‘Look, I’m not going to lie – they’re both super attractive. But I’m sure I’m not their type.’
She shakes her head, and frowns as she speaks: ‘Why not? You’re funny and kind and hard-working and gorgeous. Why have you forgotten all of that about yourself?’
I think we both know why. I think we both understand the pathology of my lack of confidence, and even though I hate to admit it, it’s not like all of the pain and injuries of the past few years have magically healed just because of one trip abroad. I’m here, thousands of miles away, but I carry it with me – I carry Ted’s betrayal with me.
I’ve definitely been thinking about him a lot less, and even when it started snowing he wasn’t my first thought – he usually is, back home, when the season changes and everything looks white and perfect and so much like our wedding day. But thinking about him less doesn’t mean that it’s over, or that I’m ready to throw myself back into the dating pool.
‘I’m trying to remember all of that about myself,’ I reply honestly, ‘but it’s not going to be an overnight fix. This has been good. This has been a distraction, and I do feel better – like I’ve changed course, you know?’
‘I do know, and I think you’re right. You’re so lucky to have a best friend to steer you in the right direction! And okay, I get it – much as I’m enjoying your second-hand romance, I know this isn’t anything permanent, and I know how risk averse you are. But perhaps you need to change course even more, babe – perhaps a fling with a handsome stranger might do you the world of good!’
‘It might. But it might also hurt me. I’m getting stronger, but I don’t think I could handle another rejection, just as I start to feel okay again. It’s not worth it.’
‘Really?’ she asks, sounding incredulous. ‘Are you telling me that you didn’t enjoy your cosy night in with the hot Irish handyman, or being twirled around a ballroom by a prince?’
‘He’s not a prince, he’s a viscount. And… yeah, I guess I did enjoy both of those things. But underneath enjoying them, there was still a layer of terror. Still that little voice telling me that I’m imagining any connection. Telling me that I’m not good enough.’
‘You need to stop listening to that little voice, and listen to mine – youaregood enough. For Ryan, for Charles, for Hugh Bloody Grant. You’re good enough for anyone, and you need to start seeing yourself the way I see you, the way other people see you, instead of through your Ted lens.’
‘What about my mom and Suzie lens?’
‘Get rid of that, it’s distorted too. Look, I’m not saying you should be thinking of a long-term commitment here – but would it do you any harm to at least loosen up and have a little fun? As a special Christmas treat to yourself? You deserve it!’
I sigh, and tell myself that she’s right – but it’s a big leap from my previous life to what she’s suggesting. Maybe a Christmas treat to myself would be safer if it was something smaller, like a nice massage or some new shoes. Baby steps.
‘Well, I’ll see,’ I reply. ‘It’s not like anything’s actually happened with either of them, and it probably won’t.’
‘Yeah, okay – but don’t rule it out, all right? Go with the flow – just like a waltz…’
‘I will, I promise. And before you ask, yes, you’ll be the first to know if anything changes.’
‘Pinkie swear?’
‘Pinkie swear,’ I say, and we touch the phone to mimic the action.
‘Good,’ she replies, ‘because Mr Potato Head and I plan to live vicariously through you for the next few weeks.’
We say our goodbyes, and I realise that I am not yet tired. It’s like speaking to June has somehow swept me back into New York time, and I’m wide awake now.
I gather up one of the blankets, and wrap it around my shoulders, grabbing a pillow. I open the French door, and take a tentative step out onto the balcony. It’s sheltered out here, I find, as I settle myself on one of the wrought-iron chairs. I wrap myself up, and smile as I see Georgie’s impromptu ashtray – the jug is actually pale blue Wedgwood.
The balcony is at the front of the house, and as I gaze outwards I am again astonished to be in this wondrous place. The snow has settled, a coating of white on the gardens, sparkling in the moonlight. I can see all the way down the hill and to the village, a collection of shining lights and a distant curl of smoke from a chimney.
I wonder who the lights belong to – if the pub is still open, if Eileen is awake and reading one of her crime novels. If Eejit has found somewhere warm to sleep. If Ryan is up in his rooms, listening to music, or lying in bed and flirting with someone on his phone.
I wonder what they are all doing, how their lives are going, and how amazing it is that mine has intersected with them.
June said she wanted to live vicariously through me, and for the first time in years, it feels like my life is something worth watching.
