Page 68 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Oh. I don’t really know.’ Until her mum’s message, she had been trying to ignore the practicalities of Christmas, because it all seemed too complicated. If shewasstaying here, would she need to send presents to London? Would she still have to get Edmund something, even though they were no longer together – although apparently he hadn’t given up on her, so what didthatmean for present-buying? Surely she should leave him off her list to make a point. She usually got his parents something, a few hamper items because she couldn’t afford a whole hamper, but she was pretty sure they hated her, and now there was Birdie, and Sophie, Harry and May, Dexter and Lucy, and …
‘Hey.’ Dexter squeezed her arm. ‘You look like there’s a storm raging inside your head.’
Imogen stared hard at her empty plate. ‘It’s all such a mess.’
‘What is?’ She heard the concern creep into his voice, and wondered if he was always on high alert, waiting for the next problem he had to solve.
‘Everything. But I …’ She didn’t want to ruin this dinner by inflicting her life woes on Dexter and Lucy.
‘No, go on,’ Dexter said. ‘We might be able to help.’
Imogen smiled. ‘That’s kind, but—’
‘A problem shared is a problem halved,’ Lucy said authoritatively.
‘That’s a much better saying,’ Dexter pointed out. ‘And I agree.’
‘Right.’ Imogen let out a long, slow breath. ‘Well. A few years ago, I sent out Christmas cards to all my friends and family – a cute cartoon design with a sprout hanging from a Christmas tree, and a caption that said,Check your baubles.’
Lucy let out a peal of laughter, and Dexter snorted.
‘They were charity cards, supporting breast cancer awareness, so I thought they would be well received.’
‘They weren’t, I take it?’ Dexter said.
‘My mum doesn’t appreciate humorous cards, even if they have a helpful message, and she was furious because I’d sent it to her and Dad and some of their friends. After that, she said I had to get my cards from Liberty’s, and send her the confirmation email to prove it.’ Shame washed over her, because saying it out loud, she wondered why on earth she’d capitulated. ‘I know what you’re thinking – that I should have said no. But there issomuch to navigate with my parents, especially as I work for Dad, and life is a whole lot easier if I say yes to things.’
‘Yes to overpriced Christmas cards?’ Dexter asked softly, an eyebrow raised. It felt like permission, so Imogen let it all out.
‘Yes to Christmas cards that don’t reference boobs, and to buying a new dress,every year, for their Christmas Eve dinner, and to picking up the most elegant dessert andnot the one you think looks tastiest – although actually it would be better if I made dessert, despite Dad always asking me to stay until close on the twenty-third because I’ve been there so long I know the solutions to all the problems.
‘Andnoto me and Edmund exchanging stockings because it’s childish, and to the glitter ball bauble I found in Camden market even though this onedoesn’thave nipples on it, because it doesn’t fit in with the tasteful gold and black colour scheme he has decided on – even though he won’t, actually, raise a hand to help with the tree, apart from directing the delivery men when it turns up because he thinks that makes him manly.’ She took a breath, but she wasn’t finished. ‘No to jogging bottoms on Christmas Day, even though I found sparkly ones and was going to consume more food than is sensible so I needed an elasticated waistband, because you have to look properly groomed on Christmas Day apparently, and it’s just … expectation after rule after obligation. Christmas is meant to be ice skating and spray-painted mistletoe and quirky homemade decorations, and secret book deliveries and hot chocolate with cream and …’ she gestured at their empty plates, ‘pizza, and sneaking glasses of whisky and groaning loudly when you’ve eaten so much you’re basically spherical, and I just— I should have been given a copy ofGreat Expectations, notNorthanger Abbey.’ She flung her arms in the air, even as the blush heated her cheeks. ‘God, I’m so sorry.’
Lucy and Dexter were staring at her, stunned, and she wondered if she could make it to the front door and put her shoes on before they snapped out of it.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Dexter said after a moment. ‘It doesn’t sound like your Christmases have been a whole lot of fun.’
‘No, they have,’ she said automatically, then swallowed. ‘Not always. There’s so much performance.’
‘I’d like some homemade decorations,’ Lucy piped up. ‘We could get some shells from the beach and some really nice twigs, and paint them so they’re sparkly.’
Imogen’s throat clogged up. ‘That’s so kind, but—’
‘A foraging expedition is a great idea,’ Dexter said.
‘Really?’ Imogen asked. ‘I’d love to explore Mistingham a bit more.’
‘Yay!’ Lucy clapped. ‘Can I go and get ready for Amber? She’s coming soon.’
Dexter glanced at the clock, his face sharp with alarm. ‘Of course – go.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ She scraped her chair back and raced from the room.
‘I’m sorry,’ Imogen said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone on like that. I didn’t mean to force you into some random foraging trip, especially when it’s so cold.’
He shook his head. ‘It’ll be fun. And if it makes you feel better, then …’
‘It’s not your job to make me feel better. I shouldn’t have burdened you with all my family rubbish.’
