Already my colleagues have drunk deeply at the well of Westcroft’s free booze account. I’m not doing too badly myself. Four glasses of wine – twice my usual quota – and a Baileys coffee and, it’s fair to say, I’m feeling mellow.
While there’s a hiatus in the proceedings before the disco starts, I take a moment to walk out of the hotel and onto the High Street for a breath of fresh air. This would be a good time to check in at home to see that Jaden’s slight fever hasn’t got any worse in my absence.
Out on the street, the temperature has dropped again and I’m glad that I thought to collect my coat on the way. Pulling it round me tightly, I fish my phone from my handbag. The weathermen have forecast yet more snow for later this week, and it looks as if my wish for a white Christmas might well come true. This winter has seen the most sustained period of snow that I can remember in years. Because the temperatures have stayed low, the snow that has already fallen is still lying on the ground on top of a good coating of ice, making the pavements treacherous. Not the best thing to negotiate in high heels.
On his hands and knees, farther down the street, someone is being sick into the gutter.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
He nods at me and pulls himself to his feet, swaying alarmingly. ‘Merry Christmas, love,’ he says, and weaves off down the road.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I reply. There is such a thing as too much Christmas spirit, I guess.
I punch in the number for home. The landline gives me nothing but the busy tone, so I try Rick’s mobile phone. That goes straight to voicemail. I leave a message to say that I’m trying to contact him – anyone – to see how things are going. Then I try Chloe’s mobile, which is also engaged. I hope she’s not on to NHS Direct. Moving on, I try Mum’s phone. After two rings, she answers.
‘Mrs Rita Britten speaking.’
‘Hello, Mum,’ I say. ‘Just phoning to check that everything’s OK at home.’
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Juliet.’
‘Juliet who?’
‘Juliet, your daughter.’ Freezing her butt off outside in the snow.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘That Juliet.’ My mother knows no other Juliets – and, particularly, none that is her daughter. ‘How are you, dear?’
‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m just phoning to check that everything’s OK there.’
‘It’s lovely, thank you very much. Nice talking to you again. You must drop by for tea sometime.’
‘Mum!’ But she’s hung up already. Christ on a bike!
I ring Dad. His mobile goes straight to voicemail. Sometimes it’s worth ringing Dad’s phone just to listen to his message. Today, it breaks my heart as Dad hasn’t changed his message and it’s Samuel’s voice that you hear first.
Samuel: ‘Press that button, Francis, and then speak.’
Dad: ‘What, this one?’
Samuel: ‘Yes.’
In the background I can hear Noel Edmonds and Deal or No Deal at full tilt.
Dad: ‘I still can’t hear anything.’
Samuel: ‘Have you pressed the button?’
Dad: ‘Which one?’
Samuel: ‘That one there.’
Dad: ‘Is that the banker on the phone?’
Samuel: ‘Yes. He’s offered ten thousand pounds.’
Dad: ‘Hmm. I think he should take it. I’ve pressed the button. What shall I say now?’
Samuel: ‘Ask them to leave a message and say you’ll call back.’
Dad: ‘Whoever this is phoning me, can you . . . ’
Then the tone cuts Dad off and I leave a message. ‘Dad, can you ring me, please? I’ve tried everyone else.’ I realise that I sound shrill. ‘I just want to know that everything’s OK.’
I stand in the cold for five minutes more, admiring the Christmas lights that are strung across the street, swinging in the icy breeze. Then, just as I’m about to abandon my quest to contact my family, my mobile rings. It’s Dad.
‘Hello, love,’ Dad says. ‘Where’s the fire?’
‘What’s everyone up to?’ I ask. ‘I just want to know that you’re all fine. How’s Jaden? What’s Chloe doing? Is Mum OK? Where’s Rick?’
‘Jaden’s fine,’ Dad says soothingly. ‘His temperature is down a little bit. Chloe’s still upstairs, lying on the bed next to him.’
That’s nice. Even if she is on the phone to someone while she does it. Maybe it’s Mitch. That would also be nice.
‘Mum just went off for a bit of a wander,’ Dad continues, ‘but I’ve brought her back now.’
God. This does seem to be an increasingly regular occurrence. How are we going to stop her from going walkabout? I wonder if we can get one of those electronic tags that they put on criminals for her? ‘Where did she go?’
‘She was going across the road to look at the Harrisons’ lights.’
‘Oh, Dad.’
‘She’s fine now,’ he assures me.
‘Someone called Juliet’s been ringing me,’ I hear my mum shout.
‘This is Juliet,’ Dad explains. ‘She says hello.’
‘I don’t know who she is,’ Mum says. ‘Tell her to fuck off.’
‘Mum says hello too.’ Dad is good at subtext.
‘And where’s Rick, for heaven’s sake?’
‘He’s in the shed with Merak,’ Dad says. ‘I’m sure they’re fine, too.’ There’s a sigh in my father’s voice. ‘Why don’t you just go and enjoy your party? The house won’t burn down while you’re out. Even if it does, I’m still quite capable of dialling 999.’
‘I know.’
‘Then go and have some fun.’
‘I will.’ I hang up. Right. As I am currently superfluous to my family’s requirements, fun, here I come.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Uncertain as to whether I’m reassured or not, I swing back into the hotel. As I’m hanging up my coat, Robin appears behind me.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Hi there.’
‘I was just wondering where you’d got to,’ Robin says.
‘Trying to make contact with my family,’ I explain. ‘Despite the multiplicity of technology available to me, it would be a damn sight quicker to send out smoke signals.’
‘You’re missing the party.’
‘I know. My father has instructed me to have fun,’ I tell Robin. ‘I think that might involve me drinking more alcohol.’
‘Then I’m happy to oblige. There’s plenty of champagne on offer.’
I follow Robin back into the party room. The disco is in full flow. Coloured lights sweep the room, glittering off the Christmas tree, and the walls vibrate. Our colleagues gyrate alarmingly. Robin and I exchange a worried glance.
‘Someone’s going to put their back out. Or lose an eye,’ he notes.
I laugh as Robin pours me a glass of champagne.
‘To a very happy Christmas, Juliet,’ he says.
‘Happy Christmas, Robin.’
We clink glasses and drink together.
‘Come on,’ he says when we’ve finished our drink – in double-quick time. ‘They’re playing our tune.’
‘I didn’t know we had a tune.’
They are, in fact, playing Kings of Leon and ‘Sex On Fire’. While the rest of the room are bouncing to the song, punching fists in the air, Robin takes me in his arms and pulls me close. In the corner of the dance floor we circle slowly to the pulsing beat. My boss holds me tight and I feel his cheek against my hair, his breath on my neck. His hand is hot in the small of my back. My heart is beating faster than it should.
The music changes to the Black-Eyed Peas and ‘I Gotta Feeling’ and, not surprisingly, still we are the only smoochers. It feels strange to have Robin’s lean body pressed up against mine. Did he do this at last year’s party? If he did, I don’t remember. I start to relax and enjoy it, entirely aided by the champagne. Robin dances nicely, moving smoothly with the rhythm, holding me close. On the rare occasion that I can drag Rick onto a dance floor, he moves to a rhythm
utterly of his own making, and not necessarily connected to the music, but I’ve got used to it after all these years.
When that song finishes, Robin leans in close and whispers, ‘My ears are bleeding now. Shall we move to somewhere quieter for a coffee?’
‘That sounds nice.’
Grabbing a bottle of champagne and our glasses on the way, he steers me along a corridor and into a quiet bar where there are squashy leather sofas. There are just a handful of other lightweights in here. We both flop down into the welcoming cushions.
‘I like to think that I’m still young and trendy,’ Robin admits. ‘But it’s at times like this that I realise I’m not.’
I giggle. ‘Me too. When I’m at home every night with my cocoa, I long for a party like this. Then when I’m out, I realise that I like being at home with my cocoa.’
‘We are very sad people,’ Robin agrees.
‘I’m sure our colleagues will be the first to tell us that tomorrow.’
‘They’re all having a great time,’ he notes.
‘That’s because they’re young and foolish and don’t mind having a monstrous headache that wipes out the following day.’
‘We can have our own more civilised party here.’ He pours us more champagne.
What I actually need is the coffee that he promised, but then I remember my father’s instruction to have fun, so I knock back the proffered fizz. It goes straight to my head. Why do bubbles make you feel squiffy more quickly?
‘Was everything all right at home?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I give an airy wave of my hand. ‘I don’t know why I worry myself sick about them. They all manage quite perfectly without me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘No, you’re right. It isn’t.’
‘You seem to be at the very centre of your universe.’ He turns to me. ‘I envy you that. I seem to be on the periphery of my own.’
‘You couldn’t persuade Rosemary to come along tonight?’
Robin shakes his head. ‘Pressing matters at the book group.’
‘Ah.’
‘The sad thing is,’ he continues, ‘that I haven’t actually missed her.’ He tops up our champagne again. ‘Without her here, I can relax.’ Robin turns to me on the sofa. ‘What I like about you, Juliet . . . what I love about you . . . is that I can be myself with you.’
I’m not sure what to say to that. Perhaps it’s the drink talking. Both of us have probably had more than enough.
‘That’s why I wanted you to have this.’ From his pocket he pulls a small white box.
It’s one from Ornato. Now I’m an aficionado of their wares, I’d recognise it anywhere.
‘I can’t accept this.’
‘You don’t know what it is yet.’ Robin smiles. ‘I just wanted to buy you a little token of my affection,’ he says. ‘A thank you for all the support you give me.’
‘Robin, I’ve done nothing.’
‘I would disagree with you,’ he counters. ‘Just seeing you in the office every morning gives me a lift. You’re always smiling, always cheerful.’
I’m bloody sure I’m not.
‘You’re always willing to listen,’ he continues. ‘And there’s no one else I feel that I can talk to. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it.’
He hands the box to me and, as if I’m sleepwalking, I open it. Inside is the delicate silver teardrop necklace that I admired so much.
‘Oh, Robin.’
‘You like it?’
‘You know I do. It’s very, very lovely.’
He smiles shyly. ‘Can I put it on for you?’
As luck, or fate, or something would have it, I don’t have a necklace to wear with this dress. I sit forward on the sofa while Robin gently lifts my hair and fastens the delicate chain.
Then he sits back to admire me. ‘It looks beautiful,’ he says.
I don’t even need to look at it to tell that it sits perfectly on my skin. It feels fantastic. ‘I really can’t accept this.’
‘You can,’ he insists.
‘It’s too much, Robin.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
This is more than Rick will buy me. It’s stunning. I run my fingers over the smooth teardrop. How can I possibly say no without offending him? This is so thoughtful – perhaps a little too thoughtful. And, I admit, the shallow part of me really, really wants this gorgeous necklace. ‘Well. Thank you so much. It’s too kind of you.’
He bats away my protest. ‘Just a small Christmas present from me. Nothing more.’
But I think it possibly is much more, and my thoughts are confirmed when he leans towards me and kisses me tenderly on the lips.
‘Robin . . . ’
He puts his finger to the place where he’s just kissed. ‘I know. You love your husband.’
‘I do.’
‘Bizarrely, your devotion, your loyalty, it only serves to make you more attractive to me. You are a truly wonderful woman.’
‘Really, I’m not. I have a small, ordinary life. I’m nothing special, Robin.’
‘That’s where you are so very wrong.’ He leans in to kiss me again and I place my hand on his chest gently to block it. I don’t want Robin to cross the line and make it difficult for me to work with him. I love my job. I love my boss. But not like that.
‘You need to make things right with Rosemary,’ I remind him.
‘Oh, I am trying,’ he assures me. ‘Really, I am. I’m blaming this kiss on the madness of the moment.’ He looks at me regretfully and sighs. ‘But Rome wasn’t built in a day, Juliet. I’m not content to settle for what Rosemary and I have any more. It has to be better than just existing together. I want the sort of relationship that you have with Rick. I’m very jealous of him.’
‘We’re hardly the perfect couple.’ I think again of the secret texts that Robin knows nothing about. Perhaps it’s just as well, or maybe he’d have tried to press that kiss home.
‘I’d be a very happy man if I could have what you two have with my own wife.’ His eyes fill with tears.
‘Oh, Robin.’
‘I’ve said too much.’ He holds up a hand. ‘Just consider yourself a friend, a colleague who I’m very, very fond of.’ Robin picks up the bottle of champagne again and drains it into our glasses. ‘Now. I think we should go and join the party again, and get absolutely rat-arsed.’
I laugh. ‘That sounds like a splendid idea.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It’s gone midnight, and I’m ridiculously drunk. More drunk than I’ve been in aeons. And now the office Christmas party is over for another year.
My colleagues, too, are more than a little worse for wear. The staff from Olney and Towcester totter off to their respective minibuses. At least, I hope they all get on the right ones. The state that they’re in, they could end up anywhere. We wave them goodbye with much whooping and hollering.
Then the staff from our own branch, in turn, all kiss me goodbye and say that they’ll see me in the morning. Robin has, very graciously and very sensibly, decided to open all of the offices at ten o’clock in the morning to give us a little lie-in. Frankly, I’m not sure that some of them will make it in at all. We stand together and watch the youngsters dance off down the High Street, still singing ‘I Gotta Feeling’ at the tops of their voices. If there was a nightclub in Stony Stratford, I’m sure they’d be heading straight there. As it is, they seem content to career off into the cold, cold night without a care in the world. Most of them don’t even have coats on.
Robin has offered to escort me home. He’s already called a cab for us, and we’re just waiting for it to arrive. As everyone else departs, my boss and I are left alone.
‘It’s been a lovely evening,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much. And thank you again for my present, too.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Robin glances at his watch. ‘The cab should be here any minute now. I’ll go and find our coats.’
I’m desperately in need of
mine. Already, hypothermia is setting in. I give an involuntary shiver and rub my arms as we go back inside the hotel reception area.
Robin heads towards the cloakroom and leaves me to my own devices.
If there was a nightclub in Stony Stratford and my colleagues were going to it, I might well be tempted to go too. I feel light and energised. Given half a chance I’d waltz along the High Street, take my shoes off and twirl in the snow, swinging round the lamp posts in the style of Gene Kelly.
I feel frisky, too. Perhaps too much fizz is the key to unlocking our sedate sex life. I could go home and ravish Rick. If we didn’t have a house full of family, I could ravish him on the rug in front of the fire. As it is, we’ll have to stick to our bedroom. But I want to be a sexy, saucy seductress. My husband gave me a strong enough hint that he’d like it, too. I wonder, does he rue the waning of our love life more than I do? I should make the effort more. Especially now that I’m competing with someone else.
Then I notice that there’s a table set out advertising the hotel’s Christmas lunch package. The table is set with shiny silverware, sparkling crystal and festive flowers. The whole ensemble is decorated with Christmas confetti in red, green and gold. It looks beautiful.
What if I pinched some of the confetti to give Rick a Christmas treat? I’m thinking a little striptease routine followed by a confetti shower reveal. Without any further planning, and buoyed by too much alcohol, I take generous handfuls of the confetti from the table and scoop it into my bra. I shake it down – bit scratchy – and pile in some more. Admittedly, the enticing table looks a little bare now, but my bra is a secret holder of seasonal delights. Just wait until Rick gets an eyeful of this.