Page 16 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“The sensible kind.”
“You’ll still come to us, though, won’t you? For Christmas, I mean. As far as Pete and I are concerned, this year’s just like any other.”
Harriet, Emma, Pete, and their combined children spent every Christmas together, alternating households each year.
“But it isn’t, is it? Maisy won’t be here.”
“But we always do Christmas together.”
“Because we didn’t want Maisy to miss out on Christmas Day with her parents and siblings—”
“And because we love you! The kids will really miss you if you’re not there. You know they like you better than me.”
“Only because they don’t live with me,” said Harriet, smiling.
“And when my little shits decide to ditch Christmas with the olds, I’ll still be expecting to spend it with you. We’ll start a Christmas rejects club.”
“I don’t know. I’m not feeling very festive at the moment. I just…I feel adrift. This is what it’ll be like permanently soon. I’ve been a parent for almost eighteen years; I don’t know how to be only me.”
“What do you mean, ‘only you’?”
“You know what it’s like—you spend your whole life putting them first, always thinking about what will make them happy, cozy, safe, better. What am I if I’m not parenting?”
“Oh, you mean besides being an intelligent, educated woman with a career and an excellent best friend.”
“I know all that, I’m talking about mum-me.”
“You’re still a parent. Maisy’s always going to need you. Especially for money.”
“Yeah, but I’m not ready to be retired from active parental service.”
“Fuck me, I dream of being retired from active parental service. This is how my exit from the house went tonight. Me: ‘Bye kids, Dad’s in his office if you need anything. Love you.’ Them: ‘Where’s my basketball kit? I’m hungry. Where’s the remote? Can I have twenty quid? There’s no bog roll!’ ”
Harriet laughed. “You’ll miss it all when they’re gone.”
“I promise you I won’t.”
“Let’s have this chat in five years’ time and we’ll see how you feel then.”
Emma flopped dramatically to one side, her face buried in a Larkspur patterned cushion.
“Five years! Is that how long I’ve got to wait until they leave home? FML!”
When Emma left, Harriet turned up the volume on the TV to drown the quiet. Then she went round and blew out the scented candles.No point leaving them burning just for me.
Seven
Harriet walked into her tutorroom at 8:15 a.m. for morning registration to find the famous five already waiting quietly. This was clearly a concerted effort on their part; usually students wandered in between 8:35 and 8:45 a.m. in various states of bleary-eyed lethargy—the famous five were particularly prone to lateness. But not today. The rest of the class had yet to arrive, and those already gathered looked either contrite or sheepish. She took a seat behind the desk.
“Good morning,” she said in what her daughter termed herbright but dangerousvoice.
The students shifted uncomfortably in their chairs; Billy was captivated by something inside his rucksack. Leo looked pensive as he scribbled away in his sketchbook. Even Carly seemed unsure of herself.
There followed various offerings of “Morning, miss,” in voices significantly smaller than usual. She let them stew. Finally, Billy asked, “Are you in trouble, miss?” at the same time as Ricco asked, “Are we in trouble?”
All faces pointed at her.
“It wasn’t the best afternoon I’ve had, sitting in a police station.” They had the good grace to look guilty. “But I wasn’t charged with anything”—she watched their shoulders sag with relief—“on the proviso that I cleanup the theater. And by that, I mean clean up the mess that I didn’t make.”
