Page 68 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Sutton frowned, trying to keep up. ‘I invited you to come with me. I begged you to come with me. I mean, you had the money, and you could’ve let your partner run the business, you told me you would do that.’

‘I had too much on.’

No, she didn’t. What she didn’t have was control. Over her little world, and her friends. Layla liked knowing where she was, having her boxes stacked, and operating within her little fiefdom. She hadn’t been sure how the rest of the world would react to her – newsflash: it didn’t care! – so she’d stayed where she was.

Understanding and clarity flashed, as bright as the African sun. Layla resented her for being brave enough to go without her. She disliked Sutton for doing something without her, for flourishing and having adventures. She was supposed to stay in Layla’s shadow.

Knowing Sutton would never refuse her anything, Layla used the ruse of needing a loan, and not paying her, as a way to force her to come back home. When her manipulations didn’t work, Layla repaid her and then punished her by not meeting her in London. It was games and gaslighting, manipulation at its highest form.

Sutton remembered what Gus once said to her, about Layla not celebrating her victories. ‘I got a hell of a job offer a few days ago,’ she said, testing her. ‘It’s effectively my dream job.’

‘It won’t work out, you’ll miss home too much,’ Layla shot back. ‘They probably do things way differently over there and you’ll find yourself messing up. I give you three months.’

Wow.Nice.

‘Wrong answer, Layla,’ Sutton said, exhausted.

‘Look, can I call you back later, because we’re late for another function…’

No, she wouldn’t allow her to duck out of this conversation. ‘It’s the wrong answer because you’re wrong for me, Layla, you’ve probably been wrong for me for a long time,’ Sutton said, vaguely aware of tears pouring down her face. This felt like a death, a rip in the universe, a fracture in time. But she had to step through it, go over or through it and deal with it. ‘You don’t need to worry about calling me back, Layla, because we’re done.’

‘Jesus, Sutt, can you lay off the dramatics for a moment? I’m tired—’

‘We’redone, Layla. Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t do anything… I wish you well but this, whatever this is between us, is over.’ Sutton pushed the ball of her hand into her eyes, not wanting Layla to hear her sobbing. She needed to be cool and calm, to sound determined and collected. If she didn’t, Layla wouldn’t believe her and would think she was just overreacting and being over-emotional. She had to get this right the first time.

Because she only had the strength to break up with her once.

‘I can’t be friends with someone who's jealous of me—’

‘What the hell, Sutton? I’m not jealous—’

Sutton spoke over her. ‘I can’t be friends with someone who needs to keep me in my place, who can’t be happy for me, who put me in a situation where my safety was compromised. I’m no longer willing to be your doormat, Layla.’ It was a wound being lanced, oh-so-painful but also an intense release of pressure. ‘Have a good life, Layla. Don’t contact me again.’

‘What? Hell, are you being serious right now?’ Layla screamed. Right, the message had, finally, landed. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m saying goodbye to someone who is no longer good for me, saying goodbye to a friendship I treasured but which no longer serves me. I’m saying goodbye to my past,’ Sutton calmly replied. ‘Merry Christmas, Layla. I did love you and I’m so grateful for the good memories.’

‘Sutton, wait…youcan’t.’

‘I can. And I am.’

Sutton killed the call and fought the urge to curl up into a little ball on the hotel’s couch, to assume the foetal position to avoid the sharp stabs of grief, the rolling waves of nausea, the wet, hard repeated slaps of pain. She needed to get up, and go to her room. She could fall apart there. Cry and sob.

The wound went deeper than she thought, was wider and yuckier. A minute ago, she thought she’d only need a couple of plasters, now she required a trauma surgeon and a transfusion. And no, she wasn’t being dramatic. She’d been strong, and done what she needed to do, but now she felt like she’d fallen in on herself. Devastated, emotionally whipped and utterly exhausted.

She had to get to her room, the sooner the better. Pushing herself to her feet, she swayed, and half bent down to grip the arm of the chair. She didn’t want to be alone, didn’t think she could be. Not right now. But her family was so far away, and she was the one they called, not the other way around. The one person she would’ve called when her world fell apart was the source of all her unhappiness.

Sinking back down to sit on the couch, she realised she would get more sympathy, and attention, from Will and Eli, from Moira. And from Gus…

Gus was who she most wanted to talk to. If she heard his rumbly voice, she’d feel steadier, more in control, able to cope. He radiated strength and capability and he’d pass some of his strength to her.

She fumbled through her contacts, looking for his number. Finding it, she rubbed her hand across her wet cheeks and dialled. She shouldn’t get her hopes up; it was Christmas Eve, and he’d be busy. What was on the town’s Christmas schedule tonight? There were carols by candlelight on the green, followed by hot chocolate. But it was still early, he would still be at home, trying to corral the twins. Or, more likely, at the shop, serving last-minute customers.

‘Sutt? Are you okay?’

She gulped, and her throat constricted. She managed, just, to tell him no.

She heard his F-bomb. ‘She didn’t arrive, did she?’

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