Page 2 of The Christmas Express
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘She used to live here, in the apartment that Sadie now lives in. You know Sadie?’
‘Nope.’ He wiggles the door back and forth on its hinges and I shuffle over an inch, my eyes glued on the invite.
‘She’s really nice. Keeps to herself, though. When Bryn lived here, she was always the one to organise whole-house parties and drag in a massive Christmas tree for this hallway which would stay up all winter. I don’t even know her bride. Ruby.’ I tested the name in my mouth. ‘Bryn and Ruby. Do you think I should go?’
The maintenance man puts his screwdriver down on the top step and I can feel his sigh aimed at me from all the way down here. ‘Might as well. Are you coming in or going out?’
Oops. I step in and let him close the door to the cold, hand him a sandpaper block that he didn’t ask for but might need, and take a seat on the floor by the radiator. ‘Did I tell you it’s in Canada? The wedding?’
‘You did.’
‘I can’t go all the way to Canada for a wedding. Over Christmas! I mean I have other plans to . . . well . . .’ Now that’s stumped me. My eyes glide to the spot where Bryn’s Christmas tree used to go every year. There hasn’t been a communal tree in this house since they all moved out. ‘Well actually, my parents are away this Christmas, visiting my brother in New Zealand. I went to see him back in the summer so I’m not going with them.’
Maintenance Man is ignoring me, but probably listening, so I carry on.
‘I guess I could go. Theoretically. Even if she’s just invited me, it could be a chance to reconnect. Maybe take a hike in the snow, thrash things out. She loved Christmas, so I bet the wedding will be in an amazing location. And then we could drink mulled wine by a fireplace and laugh about the wasted years.’
I glance up – did he just roll his eyes up there at the top of the ladder?
The wedding is actually set for a couple of days after Christmas, but if I did go – which I probably won’t – but if I did go all that way, surely spending the holidays in one of the most snow-covered places on the planet would be a must?
If Luke was there, would it be better? Or would it be worse?
‘It’s just, there’s this guy—’
Maintenance Man switches his power drill on as I begin speaking and I think it might be on purpose. But a moment later he puts it down and turns, sitting down on top of the ladder, and wipes the dust from his hands. ‘Look. Weddings bring people back together, right? Good food, bit of dancing, an excuse to go to Canada; what’s worth missing out on that for?’
A deeply ingrained flare of resentment flushes in my cheeks, like a match being lit under my skin. I press my lips together, lost for a moment in the past. I’m still angry at them. All of them. And they probably are with me. It’s been too long, and the days where we planned who’d play what role at each other’s imaginary weddings feel like a lifetime ago.
I swallow down this stubborn, scarred side of myself and change the subject. Kind of. ‘You like weddings?’
‘I do,’ he replies, then chuckles at his vow-like reply. ‘I love a wedding.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Twice. Loved every minute of both.’
‘The weddings or the marriages?’
He pauses. ‘Both.’
Hmm. I’m losing myself back into my thoughts when I hear the clonk of his ladder being folded up. ‘I’m all done here, love. You’ll let the other residents know they shouldn’t have any problem with a sticking door any more?’
‘Of course.’ I nod, standing up. I’ll type up a nice note and push it under each of their doors. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’
He shakes his head, gathering his things.
‘Some pasta? I’m not hitting on you or anything, I promise.’ Way to make it awkward, Cali.
Luckily, he laughs. ‘No, thanks. These evenings are getting dark early. I’m going to get home to my family.’
I wave him goodbye until he shuts the door behind him and the corridor is quiet and tidy and empty, save for the discarded wedding invitation envelope on the side table and a halo of sawdust on the carpet. Somewhere far upstairs one of my neighbours is playing a piano that I’ve never seen.
My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming notification as I make my way up the stairs to my flat. Once I’ve clicked my door closed behind me, I prop the invite on my small desk beside my laptop and it watches me as I make myself a tea, switch on the fairy lights that line the upper edges of my living room and change into my ‘loungewear’ (no bra, scraggly old pyjamas).
Bryn’s name, in that loopy silver font, flickers under the fairy lights as I open my laptop. My heart shocks a little, my breath catching as her name seems to jump from the envelope to the top of my emails. One new message. Unread. Bold. From Bryn. The subject line reads, Please come.
