Page 70 of A Very Irish Christmas
I’d slapped myself on the forehead and given myself a good telling off. I was obviously remembering it all wrong. Ryan has never given any indication that he feels that way about me. He only even kissed me because I basically forced him to, and then he left. I go over and over it, feeling worse and worse each time, and I totally get why they call it ‘the fear’.
In the end I’d messaged him.
Thanks for getting me home
Hope I didn’t behave too badly. I am paying penance with the world’s worst hangover. Let me know if we’re good?
Even the pinging sound of his reply landing seemed to make my sore skull vibrate, and I’d gobbled down a couple of the pills along with the soda.
We’re good, Cassie
Always. Safe travels.
Since then, nothing. I tell myself I’m being stupid. That Ryan means nothing to me. That even if he did, he isn’t doing anything wrong – I haven’t exactly been communicative myself. What do I expect from the man? I’m probably being a typical woman and over-thinking everything, analysing it all from every angle while he hasn’t even given it a second thought.
I take a quick snap of the dog on his throne-like bed, and send that to him with one line:
Happy Christmas from Eejit. Woof!
There, I think, standing up and deciding to forget about it all for the rest of the day. I’ve done it. Now I need to get on with enjoying myself.
Charles invited me over to spend Christmas Eve night with them all, and I’d gratefully accepted. The village was so quiet, and the lack of its usual energy and liveliness was a little depressing.
I’d barely seen anything of him since our night in Oxford. As soon as I was back from Cork, he’d taken Allegra to London to see a specialist for a consultation and they’d stayed in the city tosee family. I don’t ask which family, just in case it’s too regal for me to handle.
Last night had been wonderful, in the way I’ve come to expect from this family now – fish and chips from the restaurant in Marshington Grange, several spirited games of charades, and a treasure hunt around the grounds. Even in the drizzle it was fun, and Roberts had obviously spent a long time carefully composing clues and hiding them. In the end, the treasure turned out to be a mechanical duck perched in the branches of a tree. It has a remote control that makes it flap its metal wings and quack. They all insisted I should keep it as a memento, and it pretty much sums them up I guess. Totally quackers.
Charles and I haven’t had any time alone to discuss my future plans, and I have to say I’m relieved by that. I still haven’t come to any conclusions, and after what happened with Ryan, I also feel weirdly as though I’ve cheated on him. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t quite shake it. Charles is gorgeous, and kind, and he has made his feelings clear – unlike a certain Irish man I know. I do find him attractive, extremely so, and maybe under different circumstances I’d feel more inclined to give it a try.
Right now, though, I am too unsettled. Too distracted. Too confused by everything I’m feeling.
I get dressed, grab my gift bags and make my way downstairs, followed by Eejit. Jasper meets him half way, and excitedly runs around him, wagging so hard his whole little body shakes. Jasper is up, which means that Georgie is. It’s only just seven, and this is insanely early for her – I guess Christmas still floats her boat.
I find all of them in the Blue Room, lounging around in their nightclothes, the fire roaring. The table is laden down with desserts of every kind – sponges, tray bakes, fruit loaves, scones, dainty little fruit tarts.
‘We only eat cake for breakfast at Christmas,’ Allegra shouts out. ‘Family rule!’
She’s been in good spirits since London, taking heart from a new doctor and a new programme of medications. Today, she is wearing a magnificent silk robe decorated with peacocks, and her hair is held on top of her head by knitting needles. Despite this, she looks elegant and relaxed.
I plate up a scone, and join them on one of the couches. Charles is opposite, looking freshly showered but still wearing a set of blue cotton PJs. Another family tradition, I guess.
‘Can we do presents now?’ Georgie asks excitedly. ‘I think I’m on a suitable sugar high! Cassie has parcels, look!’
She pokes at my bag, and I snatch it away.
‘Who’s to say there’s anything in there for you?’ I ask.
‘I bet there is! Come on, everyone, I’m bored already!’
There are groans all around, and Charles finally says: ‘All right. If we must. Cassie, just to warn you, this year we decided to only give gifts that we managed to find on the estate, or in the house. It’s been rather hectic since you got here, and there’s been very little time for shopping.’
As this place is pretty much a museum, I can’t say that I object to their logic – it beats getting battered in Macy’s, anyway.
We take it in turns giving and receiving, Jasper helping with the unwrapping, Eejit going off to mooch – he knows where the dog bowls live these days. Allegra gives Charles a first edition of the poems of Tennyson that he’s never even seen before, and Roberts hands out little boxes full of exquisite home-baked candies in the shape of fruit. Georgie has made everybody extravagant tie-dye T-shirts from old clothes, and I laugh as Allegra immediately puts hers on. Between the silk peacocks and the neon colours she’s looking pretty amazing.
‘Do I look groovy, baby?’ she asks, doing a little shimmy.
I hand out my comedic Irish keepsakes – Baileys chocolates for Allegra, a Guinness hat for Roberts, a cuddly leprechaun for Georgie and a hideous green tie covered in shamrocks for Charles.
