Page 3 of The Christmas Express
There’s a strange sensation inside me, of a hundred tiny people scrambling to build a defensive wall before my hand moves the cursor over the email. But screw them because I win, and with unblinking eyes, I open it.
Before I even read a word, my eyes settle on the ‘to’ line, which contains not just me, but four other names. Look at our names, all together in a row like their owners didn’t spectacularly fall out on that disaster of a holiday five years previously. And right beside my name . . . is Luke’s.
Chapter 2
Ember
It’s my birthday. In this moment, I’m happy. Chilled, a little merry, a little silly. But my friend Tonia is circulating the campfire with a bottle of whisky, so we’ll see how the night unfolds.
I breathe in the smoky air and the salt of the sea. Above me, the sky is cold and clear and the stars stream across it like spilled glitter on black marble. Being November, we have the beach to ourselves, me and this funny gang of friends who enveloped me when I moved here over half a decade ago, and who rarely seem to ever be out of my sight now.
‘Whisky for the birthday beach bum!’ Tonia pads barefoot over the sand towards me, stumbling, giggling. The flames highlight the clementine streaks in her hair and twinkle the stick-on stars she’s made us all wear on our faces tonight. She flops down beside me, spraying sand onto my jeans. ‘Have we hit the wall of regret yet, or do we still have time?’
Ha! I snatch the whisky out of her paws and top up my paper cup. She knows me so well.
Tonia and I have celebrated every birthday (and holiday) together since I arrived in Cornwall, and sometimes spend months staying at each other’s home if we’re going through hard times. I was there for her when she broke up with her high school boyfriend. She was there for me when I had long Covid. I took her in when she suffered a house fire. She took me in when my parents passed away within weeks of each other. That was a particularly tough time, and she didn’t even know me very well back then.
Speaking of . . . ‘We still have time,’ I tell Tonia. ‘But let me know if you’d rather I started with the social media stalking of my ex, or the photo memories of my folks.’
Tonia chuckles softly. ‘Let’s wait until the end of the night to reinstall your social media apps, when we need a little light relief. Maybe we’ll strike it lucky and Bryn will have posted something that gives you the ick?’
‘Here’s hoping,’ I cheers her.
An hour or so later and the tide is creeping closer, the low waves audible even though Jack brought out a speaker and is playing birthday-themed music alongside the hisses and crackles of the campfire. The eight of us have huddled in closer now, the flames glowing on our faces, a billion blankets keeping out the worst of the wintery night air.
I love it out here. I don’t mind that it’s cold. That it’s dark. When I think that I used to live in a city, sat in an office all day, surrounded by tall buildings and hundreds of people and all those artificial lights even when I stepped outside, I can barely even remember that version of myself. Now, I work as a surf instructor when the ocean allows me to, and a coast path walking guide during any other weather, and I can’t ever imagine being stuck inside a room, day after day, ever again.
‘How do you feel about being the big “three-one”, Ember?’ calls Kim from across the other side of the fire.
‘I love it,’ I call back. ‘You wish you were my age.’
Kim, at aged twenty-five, raises her cup in the air. ‘Oh, to be as wise as you! Tell us, is there anything you’re hoping to do this year?’
‘More of this?’ I suggest. ‘Lots and lots more of this?’ The group awwws at me but keeps staring. I think they want a real answer. Um . . . ‘I don’t know. I’m quite content as I am.’
Tonia snorts. ‘I have a suggestion.’
‘I know what your suggestion is, it’s the same every year. But I don’t want a girlfriend.’
‘I know, you don’t want a girlfriend,’ Tonia argues. The same argument I hear from her all the time. ‘But just at least have—’
‘Some kind of love life?’ I finish for her, along with the rest of the group.
Tonia grins at her cup, scrunching her nose at me. She loves to tease me about my whopping lack of romance and I don’t care. ‘I just want you to be kissed, really well; one of those old Hollywood kisses you like to drool over in the movies you always watch.’
‘I don’t . . . I don’t always watch them.’ Yes, I do. Especially the black and white ones. I love the happy endings. And Audrey Hepburn taught me the winged eyeliner that I always wear, even now when I can rarely be bothered to put on any other make-up. ‘Hey,’ I say to the group, topping up my drink again. ‘Talking of love life, do we think we’ve reached a good time of the night to log into the socials?’
‘I do not encourage this behaviour,’ says Jack, edging closer to look over my shoulder as I take out my phone.
When I moved away from London, I let so much of my outer shell slip away. My clothes became looser, more comfortable. My hair less styled. My shoulders less tensed. And after a while I deleted my social media apps, just to clear my headspace a little. And I felt more like me again, even though I’d never realised I’d been anything but myself before.
But I never deleted my accounts. It’s not like I stopped enjoying them, I just needed some distance. So once a year I reinstall, see what’s going on in the lives of people I once knew, and, after a few drinks, check up on what my ex-girlfriend is up to these days. Totally normal behaviour, right?
My friends gather around. We’re a warm huddle of blankets. Whisky breath misting into the air. Limbs leaning into each other. Sand on the denim of our jeans. Orange flickers of ash drift up to join the stars above our little beach town.
‘Do you know if your ex is seeing anyone?’ Kim asks. She’s snuck in right behind me and is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching me download the apps.
‘No idea,’ I reply. I’ve truly not checked up on Bryn since this time last year. I’m not still in love with her or anything, I’m just . . . curious.
