I lay in bed that night, in the brief moment before tumbling into post-party sleep, and thought about how my parents and Cameron would have spent the evening. Reading, probably. Or if they were feeling particularly wild, playing Trivial Pursuit. Not that there was anything wrong with reading, or playing a knowledge-based board game. I liked both those things. But when there was no warmth, no merriment or good cheer? When that was as close to celebrating as it got?
I’d choose my new ShayKi family every time.
Christmas Day, I did wrench myself away from Shay’s parents’ flat to have dinner at my grandparents’ austere house in Grindleford. They made clipped conversation about roadworks, fuel prices and the neighbour’s new conservatory. Grilled Cameron about his degree and plans for the next year.
Nobody asked what I’d been up to. I wolfed down a bowl of bland, dry Christmas pudding with thin white custard, and headed back to a home brimming with love.
13
BECKETT
‘Hey, how was the lunch date?’
Beckett stopped dead. He hadn’t intentionally overheard Sofia’s surreptitious comment to Mary from the other side of a pillar, but he absolutely waited to earwig the answer.
Was that what it was? A date? Under most circumstances, going to a Christmas market and having lunch with a woman – a woman who had eyes that made him feel genuinely seen, whose voice on the phone soothed the tension in his neck, whose smile made him feel invincible, who he wanted to take care of, fight for, cherish – would 100 per cent constitute a date.
Mary had a tiny baby. Who had a father somewhere. Whatever had happened to her, it couldn’t have been good. The last thing she needed was a date.
‘Are you joking? The last thing I need right now is a date.’
He released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, nodding in agreement, even while his heart sagged with disappointment.
Although, depending upon Mary’s circumstances in the future, it didn’t mean there couldn’t ever be a date. In the meantime, Beckett was more grateful than he would have thought possible to have her as a friend.
‘Oh, you know what I mean. Did you enjoy the market?’
He really should move away.
‘Oh. Oh, Mary. I’m sorry. Come here.’
He did move, then, at the same moment Sofia started ushering Mary to one of the sofas, so their paths crossed anyway.
‘Hey,’ he stammered, resisting the urge to flick Sofia’s arm off Mary’s shoulder and replace it with his. ‘Is everything okay?’
Clearly not, but it would have been wrong to ignore the tears on his friend’s face.
‘Yes, honestly. Yes. I cried earlier this week when Bob’s umbilical cord fell off. I’ve become a person who gets emotional about a dried-up scab.’ Mary gave a weak laugh. ‘I don’t even know if I’m crying because I had such a nice lunch, or, well, because…’
‘Because I made a tactless comment?’ Sofia shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t joke about things that are none of my business. Sometimes my natural curiosity bulldozes through the line into intrusive. I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine. Like I said, I’m overreacting.’
Beckett’s glow at Mary’s lunch comment was severely tempered by how upset she was at the thought of it being a date. Irritated, he could deal with. Incredulous, even. But upset? He couldn’t begin to process what that meant. Apart from that he’d never ask her out, ever.
At that moment, Gramps called from one of the other sofas, asking if they’d finished yakking and could they take him home before he missed Tipping Point, causing Mary to briskly wipe her face, stick on a smile and give Sofia a quick hug before turning to Gramps.
‘Have you enjoyed yourself?’ she asked.
Beckett braced himself for the answer.
‘He had a whale of a time!’ Bill said, pausing as he strolled past.
Gramps huffed. ‘Maybe a small fish of a time. A minnow. Or a sea slug.’
‘Okay, so next week shall we aim for a seal, or a small walrus?’ Bill asked, his grave tone betrayed by the glint in his eyes.
‘I have to do this again?’
