‘Tess,’ Amy said, slipping her arm through mine as the others peeled off to their rooms, leaving us en route to the fourth floor. ‘What happened? With Nick?’
‘Nick happened,’ I told her, holding out a hand to cut her off when she opened her mouth. ‘And no, I don’t need you to go and chop off his balls. At least not tonight, let’s give him twenty-four hours.’
‘Well, don’t be upset when you open your present and you’re not surprised,’ she said.
‘Ho ho ho,’ I said, pushing open our bedroom door. ‘And a merry Christmas, every one.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘WAKE UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS.’
Amy announced Christmas Eve by jumping up and down on the bed and bashing me in the face with a pillow, still wearing her paint-splattered sweater and stripy pants.
‘It’s Christmas Eve,’ I corrected, grabbing the pillow out of her hands and throwing it across the room. ‘And it’s early.’
‘It’s nine,’ she said. ‘That’s not early. Come on, Tess, I have so many things I want to do today.’
‘Like what?’ I reached up to touch my hair; the night’s adventures had turned my silky straight locks back into a curly disaster. I assumed it had happened right as the clock struck twelve.
‘Skating in the park, a carriage ride in the snow, Saks, Bloomingdale’s, Tiffany,’ Amy said, opening the curtains to reveal another bright, sunny, snowy day, ‘and as much hot chocolate as my body can handle. We’re going to have a perfect day.’
‘That sounds amazing,’ I said. And it did. ‘But I have to submit my photo for the Spencer prize by two and I still have to pick a bloody photo and get it framed.’
‘There’s a framing place right down the street,’ she said, still bouncing up and down. ‘I’ve had stuff done there and they’re nice and they’re Jewish so they don’t celebrate Christmas and won’t be getting pissed in the back. They’ll fit you in.’
‘You’re amazing,’ I said, meaning every word. ‘Do you think we can we fit our perfect day into a perfect afternoon?’
Amy pouted. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But only because I love you very much.’
‘Thanks,’ I smiled, preoccupied with my newly charged phone. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’
‘I still have some making up to do,’ she replied, crawling up the bed and back under the covers. ‘I don’t know what I was doing last night.’
‘I’m sorry I left the presentation,’ I said, tossing my phone down and turning my head to look at her properly. Her short hair was sticking up in every direction and she had dark blue circles underneath her eyes. She looked exhausted. ‘And I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t believe in you.’
She shrugged and flickered an eyebrow. ‘There’s a slim chance I was the one who didn’t believe in myself,’ she said. ‘Which is ridiculous given how awesome I am.’
‘Still, I could have been more supportive,’ I admitted. ‘I think I might have been a tiny bit jealous.’
‘In that case, you’re a complete twatknacker,’ she said, bashing me in the head with a pillow. ‘I’ve been totally shitting it ever since you left Milan. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing last night and if it weren’t for the fact you’ve been here all week, I’d have been sat in the back of the wardrobe with my knickers on my head, sobbing.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I told her. ‘You’re doing brilliantly at all of this. Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Do you know what I would do every time I started freaking out?’ she asked. ‘I’d think, “what would Tess do in this situation?”’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said, slightly weirded out that she was the second person in a week to say the same thing. ‘Tess has been making some really sketchy decisions lately.’
‘I disagree. Tess is the best,’ Amy replied, a look of quiet certainty on her face. ‘Tess follows her dreams, Tess is brave – Tess tells boys how she feels even when it’s scary which is Beyoncé of her.’
‘You’ve been spending too much time with Kekipi,’ I muttered. ‘But if you say so.’
‘Tess takes advantage of every opportunity that comes her way,’ she said. ‘You’re working your arse off to make this happen when it would be so easy to trot back to your old job and I’ll be buggered if I’m going to let Nick Miller bring you down now.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said, the aching sick feeling that had been buried in my stomach starting to fade away with her words. ‘Shall we agree that we both feel terrible but we’re both brilliant so we should eat things, drink things and buy things until we feel as awesome as we are?’
‘Like I said, Tess is the best,’ Amy said. ‘Can I see your photos?’
‘Yes.’ I sat up, suddenly excited, and grabbed my laptop from the bedside table. ‘You want to help me choose my entry?’
‘Show me, show me, show me,’ she said, clapping.
‘Well, there’s these,’ I said, flipping through the shots from Sadie and James’ shoot. It didn’t have New York in the photo as such but the gorgeous evening gown and elegant tuxedo and general tone of the image really couldn’t be set anywhere else. It screamed Manhattan elegance to me. ‘And I took these in the park the other night. They’re so different, I don’t know which to choose.’
‘What about this one?’ She pulled up the photo I’d taken of Al from the terrace. ‘Wow, I’ve never seen Al look like that. When did you take this?’
‘Yesterday morning,’ I said, zooming in on the image. ‘But he didn’t know I was there.’
‘Before the presentation?’ Amy asked. ‘No, he looks so sad. It’s a really good picture though, Tess.’
‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘But I’d feel weird submitting it for a competition. It’s really personal, I’d have to ask him if it’s OK and I don’t want to upset him again.’
‘I understand,’ she said, scrolling back through the others. ‘They’re all good. I’m not helping, am I?’
‘Not really,’ I said with a smile. ‘But you’re trying. Maybe this one?’
I opened one of the photos of Sadie and James. It wasn’t one Angela was using in the magazine, but it was one of my favourites. James was holding a party popper in the air and Sadie had her arms high above her head, neon-bright streamers standing out against their black outfits and the white background. The colours were bold and deeply saturated and the lighting was clear and stark. Everything popped.
‘It looks like something from an advert or something,’ Amy said, giving my worried expression a second look. ‘No, it’s a compliment. I mean it looks totally professional.’
‘I just don’t know,’ I sighed. She half fell off the huge bed and staggered over to the bathroom, smoothing down her morning manga hair. ‘It looks like something Ess might have taken. That’s good though, isn’t it? He’s really successful?’
‘If you say so,’ she said, hanging off the bathroom door. ‘Shouldn’t it look more like something you took?’
‘I did take it,’ I replied, stubbornly. ‘I think I’m going to send this one.’
‘I’m going to have a shower,’ Amy said. ‘Whichever one you choose will be perfect. They’re all really good, Tess.’
I’d never felt so unsure of myself before but it wasn’t because I didn’t think my photos were good, it was because I knew they mattered. I didn’t really expect to win the Spencer prize but I wanted to make a good showing. I wanted to have something to show Agent Veronica that would convince her to have faith in me, something that she wouldn’t write off as a favour from a friend.
The photos from the park, the photos from the shoot, the photos of Paige? They were all nice but nice wasn’t good enough. The picture of James and Sadie had something, even if that something was two celebrities. That was the one, I decided, popping it on a memory stick and turning back to my phone while it loaded.
There was nothing from Nick. I knew he was currently on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. But they had phone signal from JFK, didn’t the
y? And his apartment. And the cab in between.
But I did have a missed call. Leaning back against the pillows, I picked up my phone before I could think better of it and dialled.
‘Hello, Mrs Grinch,’ Charlie answered on the first ring. ‘You’re just in time for the song.’
‘Hello,’ I replied, smiling. ‘I can’t believe I’m missing our Grinchmas.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘Binning me and Grinchy off to live it up in New York with Amy. How’s it going over there?’
‘Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘Missing our routine to be honest.’
‘What, listening to me sing Slade songs all the way up the M1 and then eating your mum’s shit sprouts?’ he asked. ‘I still don’t know why she insists on doing them every year. No one ever eats them. Ever.’
‘Because she’s a martyr,’ I reminded him, calming down just a fraction. ‘But I’d probably even eat a liquid sprout about now. It’s beautiful here, though.’
I could hear the soundtrack of the movie for a moment, the happy Christmas song in the background, and imagined myself snuggled up on Charlie’s sofa, cup of tea in my hand, Cadbury’s selection box between us. He would eat the Crunchie, I would get the Buttons.
‘Tess,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, almost certain. ‘Just weird being away. I’m quite worried they won’t have pigs in blankets, if I’m honest.’
‘You’re in America, not Hell,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m sure you can sort some out.’
‘You’re probably right,’ I said, cheered by the sound of his voice. Having him back in my life made me miss him even more in a strange way. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Seeing some friends,’ he replied, no stress in his voice at all. ‘I’m in charge of the Christmas pud.’’
I smiled.
‘Marks and Sparks’ finest then?’
‘I’m not going to make the bugger myself, am I?’ he said. ‘They’ll still have some if I go this afternoon, won’t they?’
‘Definitely,’ I lied. ‘Go and get your shopping done.’
‘All right then,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure you’re all right.’
‘All the better for speaking to you,’ I replied, considerably happier than I had been before I made the call. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m always here for you,’ Charlie said. ‘You know that. Apart from those six months when we didn’t talk at all, you know I’m always here for you.’
I let out a choked laugh and squeezed my nose together to stop myself from sniffing. Sniffing led to more crying and there was no crying at Christmas.
‘And if you can’t find a single pig in a blanket in all of America you can always come home,’ he said. ‘Planes don’t know it’s Christmas. I could even boil some sprouts to death for you.’
I looked through the window and saw a crosshatched pattern of vapour trails in the sky. What do you know? He was right.
‘I’ve got Amy to look after me,’ I told him, wishing he could hear her singing the dirty version of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ in the shower. ‘I’ll see you when I get home.’
‘You will,’ he promised. ‘Merry Christmas, Tess.’
‘Merry Christmas, Charlie,’ I said before I hung up the phone.
Lying back on the bed, my thoughts inevitably circled back round to Nick and the night before. He was angry with me and I couldn’t for the life of me fathom why, I clearly was not the arsehole in this equation. Turning up on his doorstep had done nothing to resolve my confusion. If anything, I was more messed up than ever, but one thing was certain now, I’d done all the running I was going to do. He knew where I was and he knew how to get hold of me. Although given that I’d told him to call me when he wanted to talk like grown-ups, that was never likely to happen, he wasn’t capable.
‘I’m not going to ruin today,’ I announced to the bedroom. ‘I’m not going to let Nick Miller ruin Christmas.’
‘Good,’ Amy said, popping a wet head out of the bathroom. ‘And now get your arse out of bed and into the shower. It’s a holly jolly holiday and I want to be drunk by three o’clock at the absolute latest. It’s traditional.’
‘Well,’ I said, pushing back the covers and trudging towards the bathroom, ‘who am I to argue with tradition?’
‘Babychams all round!’ Amy shouted. ‘Babychams for all!’
‘You’re getting married a week today,’ I told Kekipi as he scooped spoonfuls of rice onto his plate. After a day full of Amy’s Christmas traditions, we were indulging in one of Kekipi’s. Chinese takeaway for Christmas Eve dinner. ‘That’s insane.’
‘I know,’ he said, handing me the little white box full of sweet and sour chicken. ‘I really shouldn’t be eating this.’
I held up the takeaway box for Amy to snap a pic on her phone.
‘Straight on Facebook,’ she said before diving in with her chopsticks. ‘You look awesome. It’s not like you need to worry about fitting into your dress, is it?’
‘No, but I do need to worry about marrying a man who is a foot taller and twenty pounds lighter than me,’ he replied, merrily shoving wontons into his mouth. ‘It’s OK for women. Even if you gain a little weight, you still have boobs to distract a straight guy. Everything I have, he has. He can tell straight away if something’s not quite right.’
‘Never thought of it like that,’ Amy said, snapping at thin air and coming up with nothing. ‘Can I have a fork? I’m tired.’
‘I’m tired, you’re drunk,’ I corrected. It had been a good day. I’d tracked down a professional photo lab that had printed my picture with brilliant colours, and taken it to the lovely people at Amy’s framing shop, who mercifully accepted my groaning credit card without there being an embarrassing scene, where it had been printed and framed while I waited – well, while Amy waited and I went out in search of snacks – and once I had hand-delivered it to the Spencer Gallery, Amy and I set off on our Christmas extravaganza. I couldn’t think of any other occasion when I had consumed so much sugar in such a short space of time. Every time I ate something, Amy drank something. I was amazed that she was still vertical, let alone capable of speech.
‘Did you know eggnog is really boozy?’ she asked Kekipi, squinting across the table with one eye. ‘And if you put peppermint schnapps in hot chocolate, it’s delicious and it’ll get you wasted.’
‘More wine?’ he asked, topping off her glass and righting the cockeyed Santa hat on her head. He was a terrible enabler. ‘I can’t believe he’s going to make an honest man out of me. I’ll finally be respectable after all these years.’
‘He’s marrying you, not working a miracle,’ Amy said. ‘Domenico is only human.’
‘This is true,’ Domenico said as he walked into the kitchen where we were all crowded around the table. ‘Did you save me a spring roll?
Kekipi had declared that Chinese takeaway in a formal dining room was ‘just wrong’ and I was inclined to agree. The kitchen was much cosier. And we were going to be stuck with takeaways for the foreseeable. Genevieve had been given a few days off for the holidays and, after her experiment with mind-altering substances at Amy’s party, I wasn’t entirely sure how soon she’d be coming back.
‘You two need to watch how much you put away,’ Kekipi said as Amy rummaged around in the drawers, looking for a fork and settling for an ice-cream scoop. ‘If you can’t fit into your bridesmaid dresses, you’ll be banned from the wedding.’
‘I should be your best man anyway,’ Amy argued, through a scoopful of rice. ‘I look brilliant in a suit.’
‘She does have more balls than most men I know,’ Domenico replied. ‘And she would throw you the best bachelor party.’
‘Oh, I’m definitely doing that,’ she promised. ‘It’s all planned out, don’t you worry.’
‘I wasn’t worried,’ he said, concern on his face as Kekipi clapped. ‘Until now.’
‘Should we save some for Al?’ I asked, looking at the rapidly disappearing food. ??
?I think there’s some more on the kitchen top.’
‘He’ll probably eat on his way back from church,’ Kekipi said. ‘There’s a diner on the next block he loves.’
‘Church?’ I was surprised, Al didn’t strike me as the religious type. ‘Is that a thing?’
‘Not so much for him,’ Domenico explained. ‘But Janey was Irish Catholic. They always went to Mass on Christmas Eve, so now he goes and lights a candle for her.’
I nodded and smiled but didn’t say anything. Al loved his wife so much that he went to a church he didn’t believe in and lit a candle, after she had died, while all I could inspire in the man I loved were snarky comments and radio silence.
‘That’s really lovely,’ I said, determined not to wallow in my Miller misery.
‘Is that your phone?’ Amy turned too quickly to look over her shoulder and promptly fell off her stool. My phone rattled across the kitchen counter where it was charging again. ‘Tess?’
‘It’s my mum,’ I said, disconnecting the charger and staring at it for a moment. ‘What time is it at home?’
‘Umm, midnight?’ Kekipi said as Domenico hauled Amy up off the floor.
‘Something must be wrong.’ I swiped to accept the call and walked straight out of the kitchen, my hand tapping against my chest. ‘Mum, is everything OK?’
‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ she replied curtly. ‘I can’t call my daughter without there being something wrong?’
‘No, you can.’ I sat down on the bottom step of the staircase, in the dark. ‘But you usually don’t.’
‘Because I’m such a terrible mother,’ she said. ‘I apologize.’
Well, this was going well. Things weren’t great between my mum and me. I knew we loved each other in that ‘you came out of me so I’m stuck with you’ kind of way but I often found myself wondering whether or not she actually liked me. Having spent a fair part of this year not talking to each other at all, our stalemate had finally been broken in the most middle class of ways: when I had to ask if I could redirect my mail to her house so I didn’t miss my monthly subscription to the Hotel Chocolat chocolate club while I was in Milan. Since then we’d had an uneasy truce built on text messages and Moonpig birthday cards and passive-aggressive Facebook posts. It was the new Yorkshire way.