Page 45 of The Christmas Express
‘What’s so special that after all these years you’d fly across the globe to see her?’
I was hoping she’d be having second thoughts by now, but then we have only been on the train less than forty-eight hours.
‘How long were you together?’ Alex presses.
‘A year or so.’
‘Why did you break up?’
‘We wanted different things.’
‘But you don’t think that’s still the case?’
Ember’s words dry up and she takes a sip of her drink.
I chime in with a stage whisper. ‘I think maybe it is still the case. What? I’m just saying. What? It’s all a very complicated situation,’ I end, diplomatically, before extracting my nose from their conversion.
But Ember isn’t finished with me yet, and asks sweetly, ‘How does your boyfriend, Luke, feel about you being here over Christmas with this Luke?’
‘Is Luke one of the guys you’re travelling with?’ Alex checks.
I swear I can see mischief in Ember’s eye, a hint of amusement in her smile. Does she know he’s imaginary?
‘He doesn’t mind at all,’ I say. There is no lie.
‘Does he know?’ Ember presses.
‘No.’ Again, there is no lie.
Alex and Ember chuckle, which makes me laugh into my brandy glass, flicking the liquor up into my nostrils. Then I feel bad because I shouldn’t be making fun of Fake Luke. But then, he is fake. Maybe he’s also an asshole.
Gwen snorts herself awake at that point and is completely disoriented. By the time I’ve helped guide her back to reality, Ember and Alex are picking up their things, saying they’re going to turn in for the night. Gwen follows them, and I gulp the last of my brandy and head in the opposite direction back to my compartment.
I should have asked Ember if she wanted to bunk in with me. Last night I was resentful of Luke having his own space for the night. But now I have that myself, I’m a little lonely, lying here, the covers pulled up, the train rocking underneath me, the sound of footsteps, quiet chatter and curtains closing outside my room.
It’s a little like being back home.
Chapter 22
Ember
Oof. I rub the deep ache that’s settled into the right side of my neck while prising my eyes open one lid at a time. I unfurl my limbs. The last time I woke up feeling this disorientated was when my friends back home and I slept on the beach to watch the meteor shower.
Mmm. A shower would be good.
I hobble my body over to the communal bathroom and stand under the hot water, which bit by bit rinses away the brain fog.
In the steam I realise, it’s Christmas Eve.
Two more sleeps until I see Bryn. Wow, that is a strange, but exciting, thought. My heart bubbles along with the suds in the shower.
Last night was actually fun. Hanging out with Alex is fun.
The last thought brings a smile to face. Nothing happened, we just chatted over drinks, flirted a little, but God, it felt good to flirt.
Out of the shower, I apply a smudgy slick of my winged eyeliner thanks to the rocking of the train, and towel-dry my hair, scrunching it into beachy waves, and spot another bruise. I peer at the small blue dot beside my elbow. Honestly, I’m knocking into things left, right and centre on this train. I don’t think I’m used to being in enclosed spaces for this long any more.
As I’ve been doing for the last few weeks, I navigate to Bryn’s social feed as I’m getting dressed, but today there’s nothing new. Perhaps she’s called off the wedding? Wishful thinking.
