Chloe was torn. She’d been loving the Christmassy bubble of Penham, but the mess with the paparazzi aside, she suspected it would now feel empty without Archer. Then again, how would Lucy’s parents feel about her disappearing off to London—and on Christmas?
“Um …”
“Of course. This is probably all a bit much. It’s just … I’m mindful that you’re not here for very long and I want to spend as much time with you as possible. But, with everything that’s happened, I shouldn’t have presu—”
“No, it’s not that,” she interrupted. “I mean, yeah, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the paparazzi thing, but …” She looked over her shoulder towards the kitchen.
“Oh, right,” he said, lowering the volume of his voice further. “You’re worried that it might seem rude.”
“Yes, exactly. The Brownings have been so lovely, and they’ve really gone out of their way for me.”
“Of course, I understand.” He frowned.
“Chloe love, can I borrow you in the kitchen for a moment?” asked Susan. “Alan, pop in and say hello to Max, will you?”
The two thirty-somethings did as they were told and within moments, Chloe was on the receiving end of a conspiratorial whisper. “I hope you don’t think I’m poking my nose in, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” If Susan said the word, she’d stay, no questions asked. “You should go with Alan.”
“Really?”
“If it’s what you want to do, then absolutely,” came the whispered reply. Oh, thank god! “Alan—sorry, Archer—as I said, he’s a good egg. And if you can sort out all this other business, well, then … go. Go and have a lovely time, and we’ll be here when you return.”
Chloe dropped her cool façade and bounced up and down on the spot. “Thank you. I do really like him.”
“Yes.” A simple reply, but it meant the world to her.
“But Chloe love, we’re going to have to do something about a proper coat for you. I can’t bear to think of you freezing half to death like you were yesterday. I think I have something that will do.”
“Oh, I was fine. You don’t need to—” Susan’s raised eyebrows said otherwise. “Okay, you’re right. Thank you!” She gave Susan a kiss on the cheek and went to tell Archer the good news.
Chapter 19
Jules
“Hi, Dad! Merry Christmas!”
“Hi, sweetheart. Same to you, although it’s the twenty-sixth, there, huh?”
“Boxing Day, yes.”
“The Canadians call it that too, although I’ve never met one who could explain why.”
“Same here. As far as I can gather, it’s a lot like the Friday after Thanksgiving—leftovers, watching Netflix, and lounging about in a food coma. It’s also ninety-eight degrees today, so we’re inside with the A/C on.”
“I can’t even fathom that. It’s a balmy five degrees here today.”
As much as she missed her family, especially her dad, Jules was glad to be where she was. “So, what’s going on? The usual craziness?” she asked.
“You guessed it. I just finished cleaning up after breakfast.” She could imagine the giant spread—cinnamon rolls, pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Her dad’s Christmas Day breakfasts were legendary. “I think we’ll be opening presents soon.”
Jules knew the scene by heart—the giant scraggly Christmas tree decorated in popcorn and paper chains, just like when they were kids, surrounded by a mountain of presents which would turn into a mountain of discarded wrapping paper over the course of an hour. She’d always been someone who enjoyed the giving part more than the receiving, waiting to see the delight on her family’s faces as they unwrapped what she hoped were the perfect presents.
And not that she was ungrateful, but it was rare that she received something she wouldn’t buy for herself if she wanted it. Her best present last year had been from her dad. He’d gifted her a chunk of air miles, enough for an international flight. Actually, his gift had “paid” for her flight to Australia, but it was the thought that counted most to Jules, that message of, “I see you, that you need to go and explore this world. Here, go and see some of it on me.”
“Take photos for me, Dad?”
“For sure, sweetheart.”
“Especially of the tree,” she laughed. “How bad is it this year?” As much as her family Christmases felt claustrophobic at times, she cherished their tradition of finding the worst tree in the forest—one that no one else would want—then draping it in as many homemade decorations as possible. Chloe would have hated it, she realised, thinking of the department-store-ready tree that dominated the living room.
“We have hit optimal awfulness, an extremely poor specimen. But I think it may have baffled Lucy. I’m guessing from her reaction that you didn’t warn her.”
Jules laughed, “Oh, no, poor Lucy! I totally forgot about that.” The thought made a U-turn in her mind as she remembered that things weren’t right with Lucy—totally her doing. Feeling the sting of remorse, she added, “Hey, Dad, so how is Lucy?”
“Oh, sweetheart, if we can’t have you here, it’s almost as good having Lucy. She’s a doll.”
Jules gulped down the lump in her throat.
“Is she there? Can I talk to her?”
“Sure. Hold on.” She could tell her dad was on the move, because the screen blurred, and she had to look away so she didn’t get motion sickness.
Her mom’s face appeared on the screen. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
“Oh, Mom, hi! Merry Christmas. You look beautiful.”
Her mom laughed off the compliment as she always did. “So how was your Aussie Christmas?”
