Page 69 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

She shook her head, remembered he couldn’t see her and managed another no. She placed her elbow on her knee, her palm on her forehead and wished she could teleport herself back to Conningworth. But she’d walked away, so confident about Layla’s arrival, unable to imagine her disappointing her again. He’d tried to warn her, but she hadn’t wanted to listen.

She wiped her tears away with the heel of her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you. I can’t run back into your life because I ran headfirst into a brick wall.’

‘Okay, I need you to listen to me,’ Gus said in what she recognised as his officer-commanding voice. It wasn’t any louder than normal, but she heard steel in every word. ‘This is what you’re going to do.’

She was a strong, independent woman but shesoneeded someone to tell her what to do. Just this once. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Go to the front desk and ask someone to call you a taxi. Then go up to your room and wash your face and blow your nose. In the outside pocket of your rucksack, the one with the South African flag sewn onto it, there’s some cash for the taxi and there’s a train ticket. The train to Kendal leaves at six o’clock from Euston station. I’ll be there when it arrives.’

Oh, that’s exactly what she wanted to do, Conningworth was where she needed to be. Tonight, maybe for the rest of her life. ‘Gus…’

‘I’ll see you later, Sutt,’ he gently told her. ‘Don’t let me down.’

Having been through something similar herself, just ten minutes ago, she had no intention of letting that happen.

* * *

Gus punched the red button on his phone and rested the screen against his forehead. The urge to find his car keys and belt to London and find Sutton was strong, and he had to take a few deep breaths before that passed. After calling Eli over to watch the twins, he yanked on his coat and slipped out the back door, needing to walk off his anger and frustration. The cold air slapped his cheeks, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. The trees, bare of their vibrant foliage, stood tall and statuesque, stoically waiting for spring.

His boots hit the ground and crunched through the thin layer of powdery snow. As always, being outside, in nature, soothed him and the hot licks of his temper faded away. Gus hit a narrow path, enjoying the solitude, and trying not to think of Sutton in London, possibly in tears, pushing her way through the Christmas crowds.

He knew this would happen, knew Sutton’s friend would let her down. That was why he bought a ticket and tucked it away because he knew only one person would show up.

Because that’s what Sutton did, she showed up. Sure, they hadn’t met under the most auspicious set of circumstances, but showing up – for her brothers, for her friends, for the people she loved – was what she did.

Unlike Kate…

No, that wasn’t fair. As he decided at the market, he couldn’t keep judging Kate, and everything she did and everything she was by her affair. She’d cheated on him, but being an adulterer wasn’tallshe was. She’d been, before the craziness of being a mum of twins, running everything in Conningworth, her responsibilities to the Hall, a wonderful life partner, fun and feisty and fantastic. She’d loved the twins, and still, probably, loved him. She’d stepped out of her life for a few weeks or months – he didn’t know whether she would’ve stepped back into it, and he would never know.

The temperature suddenly dropped, and Gus lifted his collar and buried his bare hands in his coat pockets.

He reached a small clearing, and a sense of calm settled over him. He leaned his shoulder into a thick tree trunk, enjoying the quiet.

It was time to let the anger and the resentment, the guilt at not knowing why she had an affair, go. He needed to remember her for what she was, not what she did. His wife had been wonderful, a Christmas nut, crazy about their kids and for most of their time together, crazy about him. And he still loved her, and always would. He no longer needed to keep up the facade of loving Christmas, throwing himself into the projects she loved to remind himself she was a good person who did good things.

But Kate’s story was over, and he needed to write a new one. One that included him being a little more truthful, maybe more open. Being involved in so many Christmas projects kept him from being with his kids, and he needed to spend more time with them. If Sutton hadn’t helped him these past few weeks, his kids would’ve had a fairly unimaginative Christmas. He wanted to enjoy the season with them, and not watch them enjoy it.

He also wanted to share his coming Christmas’s with Sutton. While he knew he’d have his kids around for, hopefully, forever, Sutton was a different story. She was at a different stage of her life, she needed different things than what he did. And that was…

Problematic? Frustrating? Yes. Insurmountable? No.

It was what it was. He couldn’t change her, he couldn’t change the situation. He could either be a part of her life, on her terms, or not. If he demanded more from her than she could give, then he’d lose her.

And, shit, he’d already lost too much, sacrificed too much. He wasn’t prepared to let her go without a fight.

Gus turned to retrace his steps back to his always chaotic house and the demands of his children, and his busy life. He’d do what he could to make it work. His best was all he could ever do.

* * *

Sutton sat on a worn window seat on the packed train, her gaze fixed on the shadows beyond the passing landscape, but lost in the past. Ignoring the man next to her who was dictating notes on a complicated deal into his phone, and the woman opposite her making rapid charcoal sketches – she would be forever immortalised as ‘Woman Falling Apart On A Train’ – Sutton kept her head turned away as a series of messages pinged on her phone.

I can’t believe you are doing this!

Are you seriously tossing away a two-decade friendship?

Why are you hurting us like this, Sutt?

They were all from Layla, variations on the theme, ranging from desperate to devious to bitter and bolshy. She ignored them all but couldn’t stop the memories from rolling over and through her. The many afternoons they spent practising their dance moves to the latest club beats, trying to look both cool and sexy. How they screamed with laughter at horror movies, the many ‘I’ve got my period and I hate the world’ or ‘Come and get me, I’m drunk’ texts. Layla standing back when Sutton asked the pharmacist for the morning-after pill Layla needed, and Layla feeding her ice-cream when she had her tonsils out. Holding hair back as they puked, keeping an eye on each other’s drinks in clubs. The rhythmic clatter of the train’s wheels was a melancholic soundtrack to the video clips playing on the big screen of her mind, and within the sound she heard the repeated chant of ‘Layla is gone…Layla is gone…’

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