Page 49 of The Night Before Christmas
The next day, Felicity put on her ancient and yet still slightly uncomfortable hiking boots and walked south towards the first stop on her self-imposed itinerary and the one she hoped would be the most straightforward. Ease in gently, that was the idea anyway.
It was less than a mile to Icart Point, a small headland on the southern coast of Guernsey, which had been the setting of the only decent holiday she’d ever had as a child. Her grandparents had taken pity on her in the summer after their father walked out, and they had treated her and her brother to two weeks in the lovely old hotel just along the footpath.
Sitting there now, perched on top of the cliffs on the newly painted (and still somewhat sticky) green bench, she could almost hear their voices carried on the tide as it swept and rolled around the rocks below. Every so often, the navy-blue sea would send up a plume of salt spray, soaking her in its fine droplets. Gulls sailed overhead and the winter wind rushed past, burning her cheeks. It was all jolly idyllic.
Felicity pulled her coat tighter around her and strained to remember that holiday. Forced herself even. There were happy memories somewhere deep down if only she could bring theminto focus. She waited patiently… and slowly, slowly, slowly they came.
First, there was a stout blonde waitress from Scotland who loved to swim slow lengths in the hotel swimming pool, which was heated like a bath. Even in the height of summer you could see the steam rising off its surface. Then, she pictured a dessert trolley heaving with sweet pavlova and thick chocolate mousse and sticky caramel apple granny and remembered how she’d once been allowed to have two ice creams for tea. The simplest things brought them joy back then. And there was that glorious day below the cliffs in Saint’s Bay when they had sculpted a perfect little boat in the sand and rowed to the Caribbean and back in an afternoon, dodging pirates along the way. It was all jolly idyllic and wholesome.
But there was one thing about that holiday she had no memory of at all. Before she’d died, her nana told her that Felicity had spent hours during that holiday sitting on this same bench, staring out to sea. Eyes wide. Face stern. Hands clenched.
Sometimes, apparently, she would bring a small picnic, or her beloved toy rabbit, Mr Higgins, or even her granddad’s binoculars (although they were usually held back to front or the wrong way up). She would set up camp on the bench with her precious items and it would take all their ingenuity to persuade her to leave when it was time for tea.
‘Waiting for your daddy, you were, I’m sure of it,’ her nana had said.
No use waiting for him anymore, thought Felicity grimly, but all the same she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sea. She stared down into the waves as they chopped and swirled in the cove below and, as she did so, the image of that tiny figure with her cuddly rabbit and her granddad’s binoculars threatened to break her heart wide open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The following day,Felicity drove slowly round the island in her hire car – with a maximum 30mph limit everywhere, even 20mph in some places, slow was really the only option. It was restful, mostly, unless you encountered a local coming the other way on one of the tiny roads. They really did not like tourists. Not one bit. And when they spotted her telltale number plate most of them seemed to speed up towards her instead of slowing down. Several of them had already attempted to barge their way through a 10cm gap between her tiny hire car and the low drystone walls they seemed to love so much. She’d already lost two wing mirrors and a headlight.
Still, in between all the low-speed crashes and minor road rage incidents, trundling along at that slower pace had allowed her to get her bearings and marvel at the strange Franco-English beauty of the place. Her memories of the island were so hazy but this was properly like stepping back in time. You could almost imagine horses and carriages trip-trapping along amongst the houses, except for the fact that, despite the low speed limit and narrow wobbly stone-lined lanes, every other car seemed to be a Ferrari or some other kind of sports car.Rich people are peculiar.
She had already made a mental note to visit the neighbouring island of Sark, where cars are banned completely and only horses and carriages, and tractors and bikes, are permitted. Or Herm, a tiny island with the most incredible sandy beaches, according to the sexy Irish barman, where there are barely any vehicles at all.Do they still hate tourists?
Felicity bought herself a crab sandwich and a portion of chips and drove to Jerbourg point, the most southerly and easterly point of the whole island. On a clear day you could see both Herm and Sark from here, but she mostly just looked at the sea. Two hours, just staring out at the Channel. Watching the birds wheel overhead and listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below. It was a kind of healing and a grasping, trying to get hold of something, memories perhaps, that were just out of reach. Somehow in the middle of all the staring, she was crying again. Who even knew where the tears were coming from at this point? But the whole place had made her so nostalgic for a sense of home or family, in a way she just hadn’t expected. Deep down inside her, her heart ached.
And it wasn’t over yet. There was one part of the island she had avoided, even though she knew it was also the one place she really needed to be. She had told herself that Saturday was the day.
When it was time for bed that night, Felicity felt as though she’d run an actual marathon, she was so emotionally drained.
And that was supposed to be me easing into this gently.
Supremely grateful to be back in the safe, warm cocoon of her hotel room at last, she had caved and texted James.
Hey, Mr Penguin Man, play a song for me x
Silence.
Hmmm. Should she risk it and call him? Felicity had a mortal fear of speaking to people on the phone but, like a tax return or jury service, she knew it was something that occasionally had to be done. What if he didn’t answer though? That would be mortifying.Had she messed it up completely with him this time? She was still confused and reeling from the brush-off he’d given her at the weekend. She’d spent the remainder of the journey here trying to work it out, making her brain ache from the effort. It had been a long time since she’d dated anyone but surely things hadn’t changed that much. He had liked her, surely? He still liked her. She was (almost) sure of it.
So, if it wasn’t that, then what? What could have possibly happened in less than twenty-four hours to change things so utterly? She knew it was a risk, going away like this, right at this moment, but if he really liked her then maybe whatever was going on at his end would have sorted itself out by then too.Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Doesn’t it?
And then there was Adam of course. The cheating bastard. Three years of guilt and shame, for nothing. She felt robbed. Like he’d taken her prime years away from her.
The thought of Adam and the daylight robbery of her best years made her feel so wretched she got up off the bed and paced around the room. Her window overlooked the hotel’s courtyard and, although it had been dark for hours already, they had strung fairy lights from every tree, so it looked like a miniature Tivoli Gardens. Or so she imagined anyway. In her adult life Felicity had never been further than Nottingham (before now of course) but she did a lot of travelling in her head. A lot ofgoogling and a whole lot of reading theLonely Planetguides. Copenhagen was definitely on her list.
Just then, her phone made a kind of mechanical squeaking noise. James was replying. There they were – oh joy – the three dots! He was typing a reply. He was taking his time about it though.
Felicity eventually got fed up with staring at the screen, and wandered through to the bathroom to run a bath, flicking on the kettle on the way through. Her eyes felt bruised and swollen from all the crying she’d been doing. Very attractive. She splashed cold water on her face without looking in the mirror and went back through to the main room in time to pop a tea bag in the mug and pour the water in just after it boiled, a small but satisfying moment. Finally, her phone buzzed again.
I’m only moderately sleepy and it’s not like there’s any place I’m going to… fa la la… x
We missed you at work today. Holly and Gennie are missing you too. Andrea is… well, Andrea x
Hurray! A reply. But how did that take him so long to type? And also, he was at the centre? He wasn’t meant to be. Felicity felt a twinge of anguish at missing a day spent with him, then remembered she was meant to still be mad at him for standing her up. She was all too aware that he had yet to explain.
Felicity (play it cool, she told herself):
