Page 78 of Kiss Me at Christmas
Emma was quiet for a moment while she absorbed Harriet’s words.
“It makes perfect sense,” she said finally. “And do you know what? I’m glad. I couldn’t have enjoyed the day knowing that you were sobbing into a Pot Noodle and talking to the walls. But this new option, this sounds healthy.”
“I only need to do it once. Next year I’ll be back in the fold, quarreling kids and all. This year I need to show myself some love.”
“I’m proud of you. You’re showing me the way for when it’s my turn. Although at this point, the idea of empty nesting sounds champagne-cork-popping fantastic. Wipe!”
Harriet chuckled.
“Trust me, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, how was it in the land of thespians and troublesome teens today?”
“Pretty good, actually. Not too much sniping. Miraculously the play seems to be coming together. Grace and Billy have entered into a tentative truce; she brought him in a piece of homemade flapjack wrapped in foil today.”
“Awww, that’s sweet, she must know that the way to any teenage boy’s heart is through his stomach,” said Emma. “Jordan is permanently hungry. I wondered if he had worms for a while, until someone at work told me it was normal for teenage boys to be ravenous. Now I pretty much just throw trays of cooked chicken into his bedroom at regular intervals to stop him ransacking the kitchen; it’s a bit like having a pet tiger with chronically cheesy feet.”
Harriet groaned and thanked her lucky stars she’d had a daughter.
Emma found a parking space just along the road from the venue, and they linked arms as they wandered up the pretty high street. The streetlamps were wound with evergreen garlands, and little white dots of light shone out from them. Every artisan shop window showcased its wares festively; even the hardware store had managed to make hammers and bags of nails look like worthy Christmas gifts. It had stopped snowing, but the cold was biting and under the moonlight the ground was glittering with ice. They laughed nervously, gripping tighter on to one another as their feet occasionally slipped, knowing that if one went down the other would follow.
Warm light poured out onto the pavement from the windows of the gallery. A few people loitered outside, muffled in coats, glasses of sparkling wine—presumably the one Emma was promoting—in one hand, cigarette or vape in the other, their hushed conversations blended into the louder hum of the crowd within.
“They’re very popular, this mystery artist,” said Harriet, peering in at the shimmering crowd made nebulous by the thick condensation on the glass panes.
“Free booze, isn’t it?” Emma replied as she pushed open the door for them. “Except for me. I’m technically working, but I’m hoping to make up for the lack of booze by eating inordinate amounts of canapés.”
The heat enveloped Harriet. She was already clawing at her coat buttons as a server dressed in black and white with a tight bun clinging to the top of her head handed her and Emma each a glass of wine and a program for the exhibition. Harriet placed them both on a handy white plinth and pulled her coat off.
“Here, give me that.” Placing her glass on the plinthnext to Harriet’s, Emma took her friend’s coat and threw it over her own arm.
“Ladies,” came a man’s haughty voice. “Kindly desist from perching your wineglasses on the exhibits.” He handed back their glasses and motioned to a printed sign in front of the plinth that read“White Noise Hiding in Plain Sight.” A statement piece by Lionel Heggard.
“It still looks like a plinth to me,” Harriet whispered.
“That’s because you’re a philistine,” Emma hissed back, and they fell against one another laughing.
“I feel so judged. I’m afraid to touch anything.”
“Just don’t hang your coat up or sit down and you should be fine.”
Harriet smiled and blew her hair out of her face. She looked properly at the program for the first time and her stomach dropped.
The Valley Gallery Presents
Interpretive Art Works by
Lionel Heggard
and
Paintings in Oil and Acrylic by
Lyra Hope
“What?” asked Emma, seeing her friend’s wide-eyed alarm.
“Look at the name!” she replied, stabbing at the program with her finger.
