Page 43 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Gus’s half-smile heated the special spot between her legs. ‘I know.’

‘I let Moira in, we chatted and she accidentally nudged the phone with her hand and it lit up with Layla’s beach pictures. I had a meltdown because I realised the bitch is on a beach in Grand Baie.’

‘Pretty impressive alliteration.’

She thought so.

‘Sucks.’

Oh, hail the master of understatement! Gus half turned to face her, hitching his leg up onto the cushion. ‘What have you done to try and get your money back?’

‘Begged, threatened, demanded, but nothing has worked,’ she told him. ‘I messaged her, saying she didn’t have to handle things this way, that we could work this out if she talked to me.’

‘But it’s not really about the money, is it? Or not all about the money. It’s about the betrayal, the disappointment and the utter disrespect she’s shown you and your friendship.’

In just a few sentences he had nailed the essence of her feelings. Hegotit. And for the first time in months, Sutton felt like she’d been seen and heard. ‘So my anger is justified?’ She just needed to make sure.

Annoyance flickered across his face. ‘How can you even doubt that? Of course you have a right to be angry. She made a promise and didn’t keep it. And now she’s ducking and diving.’ He placed his hand on her knee and squeezed. ‘If anything, I think you are trying to find an excuse for her, to minimise what she’s done.’

She considered his words and knew he was right. ‘She’s been my friend for most of my life, Gus. I want her to be better than this.’

Something flickered in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t identify. ‘Wishing something is different doesn’t make it so, Sutt. People are who they are. You can’t mould them into being someone you want them to be because it makes you feel better.’

Sutton dropped her knees and sat cross-legged on the couch. ‘I feel like such an idiot because this woman is the keeper of my secrets, she knows the most intimate things about me. She’s the only person who knows where and how I lost my virginity—’

‘Is there more than one way of losing your virginity?’ Gus asked, popping his tongue in his cheek.

She blushed and waved his words away. ‘You know what I mean! My point is, she’s been a witness to my life. We spent a night in jail together because we got stroppy with a misogynistic policeman, went on a southern African road trip, snuck into clubs when we were underage. We figured out how to navigate our periods together, birth control, boys, how to be reasonable people with only one parent.’

His attention sharpened. ‘Did you lose a parent?’

‘Sort of. My dad took off when I was small and then my stepdad left my mum with four kids under ten to raise. I did my fair share of potty training and bedside stories when I was younger.’ She cocked her head. ‘Do you know your parents? Do you have any contact with them?’

He shrugged. ‘Mum died, Dad is an alcoholic. I’m not sure where he is at the moment. He pops up every few years and lets me know he’s alive. As I said, I grew up in the system, foster and group homes.’

She knew those could be tough and she winced. ‘Was that…horrible?’

‘Wasn’t fun,’ he conceded. ‘It made me grow up fast. As soon as I could, I left. I had two choices, crime or the military. I chose to join up. Regular meals, clothing, less chance of getting knifed or beaten. Or dead.’

Sutton couldn’t take her eyes off him, she could listen to him all night. ‘Did you go anywhere dangerous?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Sudan, and I did a stint in Afghanistan. It seems like a lifetime ago. I’ve been in business as long as I was in the army.’

She thought about the quiet village, its pretty cottages and clean streets, the daily wish-wash of village life. ‘Wasn’t Conningworth boring after the army, after doing what you did?’

‘It’s stable, Sutton. And I like stable,’ Gus told her. He nodded to her half-full glass of wine and told her to hand it over. She did and Gus sipped, before handing it back to her. ‘So, what’s the plan for after you leave here?’

Slam! The door to his personal life was closed, and locked. His question was also a subtle reminder she was leaving, and she could never be a part of his life. Of course she couldn’t – a life spent in a village in the Lake District, being a stepmum and partner, wasn’t what she wanted. Or not yet, at any rate. She needed to establish her career, to use her degree, to make a difference. To live a little. Or a lot.

She told him about the Fort Johns Hospital and how she was hoping to interview for a position with them. ‘Working with stroke patients, people who’ve undergone life-changing injuries, is my dream job. They will be opening the interview process in the first week of the new year, and I want to be in London so I can do face-to-face interviews. I think they are better than video calls.’

‘Will you be allowed to work here?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a specialised position, but I have some experience and I trained for this. If Fort Johns Hospital tells your government they need my skill set, I’ll get a work permit. But I have to get the job first.’

‘Maybe if you get it, I could bring the twins up to see you one weekend, and we could take in the sights,’ Gus softly suggested.

She smiled, happy to know that when she left, she would be able to keep them in her life. ‘You do know London is not nearly ready for your daughter, don’t you?’

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