‘Yeah. When my granny was in one, I used to go in and read to the residents. That was pretty nice.’
‘I can imagine you’d be good at that.’
‘It was nice. One lady was super into raunchy historical romances, real bodice-ripper stuff. She said I was very good at the voices.’
Otto barks a laugh.
‘So you decided to have your own ones?’ she asks.
‘Essentially, yes. I managed to acquire several estates, the houses of which were perfect once we’d refitted things, and the residents love walking the grounds and taking in nature. It’s been growing steadily, and really it probably needs someone on the ground to run it properly, but that wasn’t what I had in mind for Christopher – he’s a polite boy, but not the most talkative of people.’ He swirls his drink. ‘Really, I suppose we need someone more like you who is willing to muck in.’
Haf finishes off the last of her whisky and tries not to wince as the peaty taste tickles her nose. ‘Hah, I’m sure there’s plenty of people willing to read a good bodice-ripper to an octogenarian.’
A huge yawn racks her body as she sets down her glass. ‘That has properly finished me off. Thank you for the nightcap. I should get to sleep.’
‘You’re welcome. And Haf, thank you for talking to me. That was kind of you.’
She hangs in the doorway, turns back to him and says, ‘Just talk to him. Listen to what he has to say. He just doesn’t want to disappoint you. I know feelings aren’t the easiest things to say, but lead with that.’
He gives her a warm smile and a nod as she leaves.
The whisky has warmed up her bones, and she practically glides back upstairs.
Maybe this is a good sign that things will be okay,she thinks as she sinks down into the covers.
Boxing Day is a new day.
Chapter Twenty
When she wakes, Christopher is gone, but has left a note on his pillow.
Gone to Laurel’s to help take down the decorations. A good excuse to give me and Dad some space. Sorry for disappearing, thank you for yesterday. Be back after lunch, hopefully. C x
Bloody early risers, she thinks.
She retrieves her phone from under the pillow and finds a message from her mum. Inside is a dodgy-looking link accompanied by,Look what we got up to, followed by a winky emoji. She hopes that it’s not some kind of WhatsApp scam or something horribly raunchy, and clicks on it.
To her surprise, the Facebook app loads. She didn’t think it was installed on this phone, as she’s not been on there for so long.
Posted on the page of the hotel they must be staying at is a photo of her parents playing limbo very well, which is both alarming and impressive in equal measure. Her dad is almost horizontal under the beam, and behind him, Mum cheers.
She clicks out of the photo, but before she can navigate back to the message from her mum, she is presented with a new and entirely more devastating photo.
Freddie and Jennifer stand in front of the most enormous Christmas tree, dressed in matching but very tasteful Christmas jumpers. Her hand is extended towards the camera, and on one perfectly manicured finger is one hell of a rock.
They’re engaged.
Realengaged, not fake engaged like she is.
As though no time has passed, she’s right back in her old house, watching Jennifer walk right into the life she used to have. Remembering Freddie brushing her off like he’d never promised her a future, told her she was the love of his life. They had broken up, sure, but she had thought it was just while she got sorted in her new life. Clearly, he had moved on. He’d promised so many things to her when they were together, so many futures. But it was all a lie.
Maybe it was always a lie.
She doesn’t even love him any more, but the hurt is still real.
Before she can think better of it, she opens the comments and scrolls through their mutual friends from uni, congratulating them both. That shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, but it is. They know what he did to her. It stings.
Fuck everything.
