Page 47 of The Christmas Express
Strangely enough, I have actually. Tonia serenaded me last year when she wanted to find out if I thought posting a video of her doing exactly that on a dating app was a) cute as hell, or b) something that would go viral and end up on a BuzzFeed article about the most cringeworthy singletons at Christmastime. I told her it was definitely ‘a’. And we ended up spending Christmas together anyway, so she got her wish, even if I wasn’t quite what she was hoping for.
I smile at the memory. I wonder what they’re all doing back home right now?
I’m about to text my bestie when the band starts up with a lively rendition of ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ and I’m captivated. I’ve not felt particularly in the seasonal spirit thus far on this trip, but there’s something about brass instruments gleaming under the spotlights of an old-fashioned train carriage, snow beyond the window, mulled wine in hand—
Wait, who put this mulled wine in my hand? Cali! She’s snuck in next to me, a glass in her own paw.
‘Even after all those brandies?’ I chuckle after we’ve clapped the band and they’re flipping the pages of their music. Quite the crowd is drawing in, and Cali and I have to lean into each other.
‘Hair of the dog?’ She laughs. ‘Actually, I meant to talk to you about something yesterday evening—’
The band start up again, this time with ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’, which takes on a new meaning when you’re actually rocking inside a train car and all the Christmas trees are outside the window. I know what she was going to say though; it’s obvious, isn’t it? So in the next song break I jump in quickly.
‘You know, I nearly got off the train in Winnipeg. Like, permanently.’
‘You did?’ She straightens her face back out. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so . . . gleeful. Are you thinking of changing your mind though, about the wedding? Or maybe not, since you’re still here?’
‘I just think you have to follow your heart, you know? No matter what other people think. No offence, but this is my life, not yours, or theirs, so I have to do what’s right for me.’
‘And this is right for you?’
Of course ‘Last Christmas’ has just started. Of course Gwen is sneakily trying to join in with her ukulele from behind the back of her seat, much to the annoyed glances of a woman on a trumpet.
I half nod, half shrug, and then add to her, in a whisper over the music, ‘You just do what’s right for you.’
I don’t know exactly how she interpreted that, but we watch the next sixty minutes of music in spiced, mulled silence, and when the open mic portion of the show comes on, Cali excuses herself, and on the way out she super-unsubtly unfurls a length of tinsel from around a picture and scampers off with it.
That girl is in her own, weird world. Shaking my head, I focus on Gwen. Who knew she was so good at mashing up ukulele Christmas songs with Tina Turner’s greatest hits?
Chapter 23
Sara
Cali was on typical Cali form last night. She’s out here forcing things, but the fact is, we’ve all grown apart. It was happening before we moved out of the house, before we even went to Spain. I’d felt it for a while, to be honest. That’s just life.
I stand in the tiny shower, swaying with the rhythm of the train, and let the steam roll over my skin. I’ve cracked the window so cold air can rush in. In here it’s just me and the countryside of Canada.
When my daughter was a baby, my shower was my little sanctuary, just a few minutes of me time with the window open and a wide view of the moors, while she was safely gurgling about with her dad. Not that I’m comparing this group to a bunch of babies, but . . . a chuckle escapes and rises with the steam nonetheless.
I moved into the townhouse in London about two years before the Spain holiday. The rest of them were solid, not quite a clique, but laughably co-dependent. However, they shined their light on me and let me in and for a while everything was great. But it was always just a temporary home, a stage in my life, plus there were little things that would happen, little memories that were discussed in front of me that I was never a part of. And that’s fine! That’s totally fine. But what used to get me was the, ‘Sorry, Sara, it’s a bit of an inside joke . . .’
They could have let me inside a little more.
I step out of the shower and take a moment to smell the clean air floating through the open glass.
No, I don’t need this group back. They aren’t my friends any more. But they aren’t my enemies, they’re just my past.
It’s like my ex and me. He’s a great dad, a great guy, and we had a great relationship that produced our beautiful little girl, but then we grew apart. And I’m good. My independence is my favourite thing about myself, and having him still in my life, sharing parenting responsibilities, encouraging me to take trips like this is awesome.
Wrapping myself tightly in a towel, I pad back to my cabin, which is empty, and make a call. My daughter’s face fills the screen within seconds, the video feed sharp and clear, despite the distance.
‘Hi, baby, happy Christmas Eve!’
‘Mummyyyyyyyyy,’ Dina says, all toothy smile and flour-dusted cheeks. She must be baking Christmas cookies with her dad and grandpa again – her favourite festive activity, actually her favourite activity full stop when she’s spending time with him and his family. It’s pretty precious.
‘What are you making?’
‘Nothing,’ she replies, distracted by a spoon covered in chocolate-coloured dough.
