Page 48 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” said Sarah.
“Because I described your boyfriend as a fungal infection?”
“Because you know him well enough to liken him to one,” said Sarah, smiling.
“Okay,” said Kate. “What’s up?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Sarah. “He’s caring and thoughtful and demonstrative.” She paused.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate could see Sarah biting her lip.
“It’s just that...” Sarah found her words. “Sometimes I get the feeling that he’s holding something back.”
“Like what?” Kate asked. Her interest was piqued.
“Well, that’s just it,” said Sarah. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s more of a feeling, really. A sensation. Like there’s always something on his mind, but he never quite spits it out.”
“Oh, you know Matt,” said Kate. “He’s always got a hundred things on the go and a hundred more he’s thinking about.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” said Sarah. “Not all of it, anyway.”
Sarah closed her eyes as she tried to formulate her feelings into words. Kate kept her eyes on the road and waited patiently for Sarah. As someone who believed strongly in the power of female intuition, she wasn’t about to pooh-pooh Sarah’s.
“It’s almost as if there’s someone else,” said Sarah.
Kate broke in. She was instantly protective of Matt; he was undoubtedly a twit on occasions but he was no cheater.
“Oh no,” said Kate. “I can’t believe that. That’s not Matt at all. He would never cheat. I can tell you that much with absolute conviction.”
“No no no,” said Sarah, holding her hands up. “God no, you misunderstand me. I mean, it’s like there’s someone from before and theirmemory is preventing him from being fully invested with me; like he’s dipping his toe in but can’t go any further.”
“Ahh,” said Kate. Her chagrin evaporated. “Are we talking ghosts of girlfriends past here?”
“Yes,” said Sarah. “We are. What can you tell me?”
Kate wondered if she ought to be divulging details about Matt’s private life to Sarah. On the other hand, she could be helping him out. And besides—she reasoned—she didn’t have to give details. And she would be a darn sight more discreet than some of the other Blexford residents.
“You know he was married?” Kate asked.
“Yes,” said Sarah.
“I can’t shed much light on that one,” said Kate. “I never actually met her, though I don’t think they were a match made in heaven, if you know what I mean.”
“What about the one before me?” Sarah asked.
“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Kate asked. “It feels a bit weird.”
“I’m sure,” said Sarah. “If Matt and I are to have any future together, I’ve got to understand his past.”
“Maybe you should be asking Matt?” asked Kate.
“What, Mr. Squeamish?” Sarah laughed. “He can’t talk about other women with me; he goes all red and blotchy and starts stuttering.”
Kate laughed.
“I can imagine,” she said. “Before you, there was a woman called Jessica; nice enough, but it didn’t last long, so I doubt she’s your ghost.”
“Right,” said Sarah. “And before her?”
