‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’ve never seen a life-size gingerbread man before.’ Not only is there a group of giant gingerbread men waiting to greet guests, but there’s also a band of merry elves singing jaunty Christmas carols. I can’t help but be swept along in song, and my mood lifts. How can anyone be gloomy listening to ‘Jingle Bell Rock’? Maybe this won’t be so bad.
‘I’m actually a gingerbread woman, but it’s hard to tell under all this fur. Between us, it’s horrifically uncomfortable but I’m not supposed to say that so forget you heard,’ she says in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I’m your official welcomer, Sabrina.’
The gingerbread outfit does look rather cumbersome, but Sabrina is doing a good job navigating it.
Sabrina lifts a clipboard to her chest. ‘Can I get your name? I’ll check you in and you can go and find your cabin.’ I’m impressed she can read through thick plastic gingerbread eyes.
‘Aubrey Evans.’ Thankfully, I hadn’t even looked at changing any ID to my married name; figured I’d do all that much later.
‘Evans. Evans…’ Sabrina runs a pen down the list of names. ‘Ah – here we are! Evans and Walker. Oooh, our “Just Married” lovebirds! You’ve certainly picked the most romantic holiday for a honeymoon!’
Her gingerbread costume doesn’t hide the volume of her voice that rings along the platform, drawing the eyes of many of my fellow passengers. All those damn canoodlers. With some effort, Sabrina lifts her sizeable gingerbread head from the clipboard and searches over my shoulder. ‘Where is Mr Walker then?’
I suffer a moment of sheer and utter panic with so many love-heart-for-eyes twosomes within earshot. Who wants to be known as the jilted bride among these kissy-wissy pairs packing on the PDA? Not me.
‘Ah, he, umm…’ I didn’t factor in that I’d have to explain my missing spouse, a huge oversight on my part. I can’t tell the truth and risk ten days of pitying stares, whispers behind hands. What if they think I’m defective or something? No, I need a solid excuse, one they won’t question. It feels oddly quiet on the platform, like they’re all waiting for an answer. I creep close to Sabrina and say as quietly as I can, ‘He died. Tragically. In London.’ I want to slap my own face. He died! In London! I suppose it works in the scheme of things. They won’t question a widow, will they? ‘Not long after our wedding.’ Why I feel the need to blurt further details is beyond me.
There are gasps from the couple behind me, and I feel so very seen and uncomfortable in my own skin.
Sabrina’s gingerbread hand flies to her gingerbread mouth. It’s quite comical under the circumstances but I do my best not to laugh, or else she’ll assume I’m a sociopath. ‘He died not long after you said I do? Oh, it’s too sad to even fathom.’ Why does she need to broadcast it like that when I have so clearly spoken in a whisper? ‘What happened?’ I’m not sure Sabrina is cut out for this role. Shouldn’t she be a little more circumspect?
‘There was an… accident.’ Oh, keep going, Aubrey, sheesh!
‘What kind of accident?’
Should she be questioning a widow like this? Still, I need my story to work, so I roll with it.
How do people routinely die in London? I have no clue. I recall my morning in transit and all the ways in which I might have come to harm. Ah! ‘Miles didn’t… He didn’t mind the gap.’ I use my pointer finger, showing his rapid descent from here to down there.
‘What! He died falling down the gap?’ She’s obviously realised I don’t want all of Calais to hear and has lowered her voice accordingly.
‘A little bit,’ I mumble. Surely I’ve done enough to stave off any further queries?
‘Oh my God, this is terrible. Was he… tiny?’ Sabrina says, choking up.
‘In a lot of ways, yes.’ I’m not going to shame the man about the size of any of his appendages, and it’s strange of her to even ask. ‘I’d prefer not to discuss it.’
‘Of course. Of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘He’s in a better place.’ A place where it’s acceptable to wear your insides on the outside without judgement.
A big, buff, broody guy appears just to my side, gorgeous with striking bluey-green eyes framed by thick dark brows. He’s got an enigmatic smile and a quiet intensity about him. He’s earth-shatteringly hot and quite knocks rational thought from?—
Oh no.
I can’t think. Of words. Of reasons. Or why I’m still staring at him, mouth agape. It’s not like I’m married, is it? I’m resolutely single, aren’t I? Or should I say widowed when I’m among this crowd? It’s not illegal for me to appreciate this very fine specimen of a man. It, that, him, would be a bad idea. A complication. Holiday flings are fun, sure, but I’m rather vulnerable right now and men are dead to me. D.E.A.D.
He does that hot-guy head lift, eyebrow-raise thing that sends a shiver down the length of me. Oh, this is not good.
But that’s not all that catches my attention. It’s the sceptical tilt of his lips that makes me slightly uneasy, as if he doesn’t believe my extremely plausible tale of woe. Will he call me out? Surely not!
He must sense my appraisal – not hard given I’m openly staring at him dumbstruck – because he holds out a hand and says, ‘I’m Jasper. I’m travelling solo too.’
I take his outstretched palm and feel a zap. An actual zap. As if a current of electricity runs between us. What on earth? This is some weird off-the-charts chemistry. That or I’m hallucinating, which would be more my luck.
‘I’m Aubrey.’
I’m transfixed by him, and how can that be? He’s said exactly six words and all I manage to pick up is his rather sultry American accent. I slip off to fantasyland. I bet he lives in some cosy cabin in Vermont where there’s a fire roaring, shelves overflowing with well-thumbed books, a charming space where we could cuddle on a wrinkled leather sofa— WHAT. Clearly, some broken part of me is running the engine – I cannot trust myself to be rational. And I’m not transfixed, like the heroine in some kind of insta-love wintry romance movie. I’m simply overwrought. Aren’t I madly in love with Miles? Yes, he might have massively let me down, but love doesn’t switch off overnight. Does it? Or does it? Right now, I’m having a hard time remembering what Miles even looks like.
