Page 22 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
Every day in the north Norfolk village felt like a precious and very temporary gift, especially since she’d started turning her phone on more frequently, responding to messages from her mum and dad, and Edmund, as vaguely as she could. They all wanted her to come home. They didn’t understand why she wasn’t already there, fixing the things she’d broken.
On Friday, everyone in the village was busy being gainfully employed, Lucy was at school, and most of themistletoe was ready to be given out to villagers. At ten a.m. Imogen was still in her – or rather Birdie’s – pyjamas and, without anything to distract her, the panic was creeping in.
‘Maybe I should go back,’ she said, as she shook coffee beans into her gran’s swanky machine.
‘Nonsense.’ Birdie was sorting wool at the kitchen table, separating out balls of different colours and thicknesses. ‘Do you know what you want to do? Are you going to reschedule your wedding or kick Edmund to the kerb?’
‘I’m not going to “kick him to the kerb”.’
‘No?’
‘Not literally, anyway.’ She pressed the ‘go’ button and the kitchen filled with the sound of angry beans, grinding to powder in front of her eyes. ‘I don’t know if—’
‘Youdoknow what you want to do, but you don’t know if you’re ready to admit that you know,’ Birdie said.
‘Such clarity.’ Imogen grinned.
‘This is your future, Imogen. You need to do the right thing foryou.’
‘I’ve been away for a week.’
‘You were due to be away for three on honeymoon. Give yourself that long, at least.’
‘Edmund is getting impatient.’ He had been impatient since the day she’d met him, in one way or another. Impatient to get on with his life, and so sure about every aspect of it. Why hadn’t Imogen noticed earlier? She had been blinded by his charm, but the moment she misbehaved it was nowhere in sight.
‘Do you love him?’ Birdie asked.
Imogen stared at the coffee powder, waiting for it to tellher the answer. Waiting for someone,something, to tell her it was OK to admit what she already knew.
‘You don’t need to go home yet,’ Birdie said. ‘Edmund can wait. I can’t imagine he’s used to that, so it will do him good. If you want to take until the new year to decide what you’re going to do, then that should be your right. It’s a huge decision.’
‘I’ll lose my job.’ She thought of her organized desk, the invoices and phone calls, reports and meeting minutes, managing every aspect of her father’s work life. So different to getting gold paint in her hair and eating delicious pizza on a dusty floor, the wintery scents of pine all around her. Though of course none of that had been an actual job.
‘Your father would fire you?’
Imogen shook ground coffee into the cafetière, then stood on one leg while the kettle boiled. ‘Maybe not, but he’d be very disappointed. Even more than he is already.’
‘What about you? Would you be disappointed in yourself if you went back to a life you didn’t love? Better to take the time now, before it’s too late, than realize a year into your hastily rearranged marriage that you’re not doing anything that makes you happy.’
‘I just want to stop thinking about it for a little while.’
‘There you go,’ Birdie said smugly. ‘You need more time here. Let your mum and Edmund know that you’re not coming home any time soon. It’s right to be courteous, but they can’t dictate what you do.’
‘You think?’
‘Darling, if they’re not prepared to give you time, then you should be walking away from them for good.’
‘OK.’ Imogen nodded. ‘I’ll call Edmund again, and letmy dad know about work. It’s not like he’s expecting me for a couple of weeks anyway. I’m meant to be sunning myself on a beach in Mauritius.’
Imogen wished she had Birdie’s forthrightness. Her call with Edmund was, predictably, horrible. He didn’t understand why she was feeling discombobulated when she was the one who’d run away. Her dad was kinder. He sounded concerned, and said she didn’t need to worry about work, that they had a pool of PAs who could take over while she was gone, and she almost cried with relief. Then he ruined it: ‘I have faith that you’ll realize everything you have here. Edmund is a key part of the business, and he’ll take good care of you. There really couldn’t be a better arrangement, Imogen. It was all working out so perfectly.’
As Imogen dropped the phone down on the sofa cushion, her first thought was:for who?Because she didn’t think that she’d ever been the most important part of thearrangement.Or at least, her feelings hadn’t. She dreaded to think where she’d be right now if she hadn’t overheard her dad and Edmund talking, plotting their perfect business deal.
But at least she had told them she needed more time, and what could they do about that? Resting her head in her hands, she realized the sad truth was that they were concerned about her, but not concerned enough to expend any energy on finding her. She was a pothole of a problem, rather than a sinkhole. They could skirt around her if they wanted to.
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself,’ she said into the empty living room – Birdie was in the garden – making her voice boom like Ian McKellen playing Gandalf. It felt good, likeexpelling her pent-up anxiety with a scream. ‘You caused this, and youMust. Fix. It.For you as well as them.Youmatter too. You can fix this foreveryone. You are strong and youcanbe forthright and—’
‘Err, hello?’
