Sometimes he would get annoyed that I couldn’t spend more time with him, as I had to work nights when he was over, but what could I do? I couldn’t let the guys at the club down and if Tom loved me, then he should understand that. Anyway, I was doing this for him too. Ray had promised me a huge bonus if the club hit the astronomical targets that he’d set and every penny of that was going to the wedding fund. And the phone bill! When Tom was in Ireland, we still had our long, lingering phone calls every night, even if they were sometimes punctuated by my snores as I fell asleep after another eighteen hour shift.
Inevitably, Christmas loomed and so did the end of Tom’s patience. I knew that he was anxious for me to stop work and move to Ireland as soon as possible. I was too, although I must confess to one or twenty moments of trepidation when I realised that I’d be expected to cook, clean and share a house with his parents. I’d never been a fan of communal living and I came out in a rash if I even saw a vacuum cleaner. I could sense his mother’s disapproval from over three hundred miles away.
Still, it would be worth it to snuggle down at night with the most gorgeous, loving, kind and funny man on the planet.
Looking back, I should have seen that this was a disaster just waiting to happen.
Tom wanted us to spend the festive season in Ireland, but the last two weeks of December are the busiest of the year for any club, so we reached a compromise – he would spend Christmas with his family and then New Year in Scotland with me.
I’d be working Christmas Day anyway, but I planned to nip round to my parent’s house to see them for a quick dinner, until I got a call from my mother that derailed that idea.
‘Just to let you know, Carly, we’re not doing Christmas dinner this year.’
I’m ashamed to say my first reaction was relief that I didn’t have to spend my only two hours off on Christmas Day listening to my dad rambling and my mum moaning about the state of him. I already knew that my gran was off on a cruise with her line dancing pals, Callum was in New York, and Michael was going to an all-night rave.
‘No worries, Mum. Are you and Dad going out instead?’ I asked, trying to make conversation.
‘No, darling, we’re divorcing. I know we should have told you face to face but you’re always so busy.’
I was stunned into silence. They were actually doing it. I did a quick self-scan to check for twinges of hurt or sadness, but there were none. They should have done it years ago. Neither of them were bad people, but they didn’t belong together and they truly made each other miserable. Maybe this would spur my dad to do something about his drinking and perhaps my mum could finally find some happiness. It could only be a good thing.
‘Are you ok, Mum?’ I asked her, feeling a bit weird. She’d never been the type of woman to talk about her feelings or to show emotion or sentimentality. I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day linking up my parents’ dysfunction to my commitment woes, Callum’s flippant disregard for relationships and Michael’s insecurities, but we weren’t the kind of family that delved into any kind of self-reflection.
Case in point…
‘Absolutely,’ my mum replied curtly. ‘Bloody relieved to tell you the truth. Anyway, must go. I’ve a step class at one o’clock.’
The line went dead. Holy crap. I immediately dialled the number of the student flat that Michael had moved into in September.
‘Hey, just checking in,’ I told him, with as much cheeriness as I could manage. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Not bad…’ he said. Oh God, did he not know? ‘… for a child from a broken home,’ he added. So he knew. Relief.
‘I just heard,’ I told him. ‘How are you feeling about it all? You know that if you need me I’m always here. You can stay with me over Christmas if you want to.’
‘Eh, thanks, sis, but I’m good. Honestly.’
I heard another voice in the background at his end. ‘Mikey, baby, come on…’ a female purred, giving me the giggles. No wonder he was fine.
‘Mikey baby?’ I asked him, my amusement obvious.
‘It’s… erm… need to go. Love you, sis.’
A swell of happiness drowned out the worry. Mikey baby was happy and was going to be ok. I left a message on Callum’s answering machine, but I knew he’d be fine too.
And me?
I really had no idea how to feel, so I went with my usual approach to anything deeper than the fluid in my contact lens case – I compartmentalised it into a box in my mind, shoved on a padlock and consoled myself with the thought that my Christmas dinner would now consist of a mega pack of Wotsits and a family size Whole Nut.
And at least I still had New Year with Tom to look forward to.
I was missing him, but I was way too busy to dwell on it. Christmas passed in a blur, as we worked round the clock to accommodate a full house every night, and spent the days getting the club ready to do it all again. No time off, no cosy yuletide moments, just hard graft creating a seemingly endless party.
My heart was bursting with excitement when I finally collected my love at the airport at 2 p.m. on Hogmanay. It was a brief reunion, as I dropped him at my house, then headed to work for the ultimate celebration of the year. We could lie in bed all day tomorrow – the only day of the year that the club was closed.
At 11 p.m. that night, sixty minutes before the
