Page 7 of Home This Christmas

SIX

‘But you will be back for Christmas Day, though, won’t you?’

I am in town shopping with Coleen, taking a coffee break at a cute café near Covent Garden.

The market has been transformed into a magical wonderland, the area strung with thousands of fairy lights and a towering Christmas tree dressed in red and gold.

The cobbled streets are alive with shoppers, many of whom are taking a break in the café, laden down with bags, and sipping hot chocolates topped with whipped cream and marshmallows.

The café is so warm I unwind my scarf and remove my coat, wishing I had not worn so many layers.

‘Of course! I’ll stay overnight as it’s a bit of a trek, but yes, I will be back for Christmas Day.’ I certainly don’t want to be the sad person staying in a hotel and dining alone at Christmas, surrounded by groups of families and friends.

‘I promise you will have a great day with us,’ she says, squeezing my hand. ‘I know it might be a bit strange without Ade, but it will take your mind off things, especially with my lot! Although my niece has a new karaoke machine so you might want to bring some earplugs.’

‘Sounds fun. I might even treat you all to a rendition of my favourite Christmas song.’

‘Maybe it’s me that might need the earplugs,’ she teases.

Coleen loves spending time with her two nieces, as she and her husband have no children, although it is not for the want of trying.

‘Thanks, Coleen, I don’t know what I would do without you.’ I look gratefully at my best friend who has always been there for me. ‘You really are the best friend I could ask for.’

I don’t want to reject her invitation, and I know she means well, but I may have to see how I feel closer to the big day.

Maybe I will want to feel the hug of a warm family, or perhaps I will prefer to dive into that new book I am looking forward to starting, alongside a cheeseboard and a decent bottle of red.

It’s good to know that I have options, though.

Outside, the contrast in temperature is so sharp, I’m glad of those layers after all as we walk, and my frosty breath hits the air.

We take in the talented street entertainers, including a magician who has attracted quite a crowd.

A child claps their hands and giggles wildly when the magic man produces a teddy bear from an empty hat, which he then hands to her.

‘I don’t suppose live rabbits would be allowed these days,’ Coleen comments as we observe the sweet scene. ‘Animal rights groups would never allow it.’

‘Probably not,’ I agree.

Further along, next to the impressive Christmas tree, a choir are singing such a perfect rendition of ‘O Holy Night’ that it almost brings a lump to my throat. It is all so joyfully festive, yet my heart still feels a little heavy as we walk.

This time last year, Ade had surprised me with a last-minute trip to a German Christmas market, and it was in between filming, so I was able to go.

I’m not sure I would have done, if I’d been busy with work.

Perhaps he had been right in saying our lives could never align.

Deep down, was I happy to see where my career would take me, with or without him?

It seems in life we will always have choices to make.

I tell myself not to get caught up with sentimentality, especially when we pass one of Ade’s favourite gadget stores that we would spend hours in as he marvelled over the latest piece of wizardry.

‘Shall we?’ says Coleen, gesturing to a nearby stand selling mulled wine.

‘Go on, then, as it’s freezing.’

We stand sipping our delicious drink to the strains of a Christmas song being sung by a street busker nearby. A few people smile at me as they walk by, and one or two ask for selfies, which always amuses Coleen, and she tells me how proud she is to have a celebrity as a best friend.

‘I don’t feel like a celebrity.’ I laugh as I fish into my pocket and throw a few pounds into the guitar case of the singer.

Our drinks finished, we go our separate ways as Coleen has arranged to meet a client with some material samples for a dress.

I head to the tube station, and as the doors of the train close with a hiss, a bloke comes haring down the stairs.

As he draws closer to the train he has just missed, I can see that it is Ade.

I stare at him from my window seat. We are literally several feet from each other, but our eyes do not meet.

Should I wave? I am about to knock on the window, when Ade takes his phone from his pocket.

Is he about to call or text someone to tell them he will be late?

I wonder, recalling the times we would do the same thing with each other.

Surely it could not be a romantic interest, but then his departure was rather quick when I think about it.

Perhaps he got chatting to someone in our old neighbourhood pub.

I watch him pressing the phone to his ear and speaking into it.

He could be calling anyone. I guess I will never know.

To my relief, I don’t feel too bad after catching sight of Ade.

There was no sinking feeling in my heart, and as London is a big place, it’s unlikely our paths will cross too much in the future, but if they do, I am sure it will be fine.

Maybe understanding that we wanted different things has made the separation that tiny bit easier.

Not for the first time in my life, I realise.

I take a deep breath and decide to look forward to my evening out with Coleen later at a stylish new bar. Suddenly I feel good about the future. I even dare to think that the best is yet to come.

Coleen and I spend a pleasant evening at the newly opened bar, where jazz music is playing in the background and I quickly get into the Christmas spirit over a few cocktails.

‘Don’t forget, you have an open invitation to Christmas lunch,’ says Coleen. ‘The first Christmas on your own is always tricky,’ she says as she sips her drink through a straw.

‘I know, and thanks,’ I say, raising my glass to my friend and feeling touched by her thoughtfulness. ‘Although, I think I will be just fine. I felt nothing but a little regret when I saw Ade today.’ Once more, I realise my work has been my saving grace of late.

We say our goodbyes after a lovely evening, and it is almost midnight, when I receive a text from Mum telling me she will call me tomorrow, as it’s probably a little too late to call now. I FaceTime her at once.

‘Ruby, darling, how are you?’ she asks brightly. She looks healthy, I notice, her skin lightly tanned, her grey hair swept up into a bun.

‘Fine, Mum – and you? You’re awake late, aren’t you?’ Kenya is three hours ahead of the UK.

‘Oh, I am, but we have been taking it in turns to nurse an elephant calf. Abandoned after her mother had been killed by poachers.’ She sighs. ‘The cruelty of humans for the pursuit of money really does shock me sometimes.’

‘Gosh. Mum, that’s truly awful.’

‘It is. The good news is, looks like she is going to make it.’

‘Thank goodness,’ I say, wondering what is wrong with some people in this world.

Mum once worked as a veterinary nurse at the village practice, so when the opportunity arose to help at the game reserve, she was off like a shot. Mum is in her late sixties, and I did worry about her initially, but it seems she has found a new lease of life.

‘Sounds like you are really enjoying yourself, then?’

‘It’s been a wonderful experience: it’s so beautiful here, and I am working with such a lovely bunch of people,’ she gushes.

‘That’s nice, Mum.’

The selfish, some might say childish, side of me longs for her to say that she will get on a plane and head home to spend Christmas Day with me. Instead, she prefers to spend the festive season with a bunch of strangers and the thought of it has me swallowing down a lump in my throat.

‘I will call you earlier one evening and show you the sunset!’ she says as we are about to finish the call. ‘It really is quite magnificent.’

‘I will look forward to it. Night, Mum.’

‘Goodnight, Ruby.’

Despite my disappointment at her not being here, I tell myself that I am a thirty-six-year-old woman, and a short time ago I was in a relationship. Even if I wasn’t, Mum absolutely has the right to spend Christmas how she likes – though it stings a bit that she isn’t here. I guess I just miss her.

I climb into bed exhausted after a long but pleasant day. Tomorrow I will be on the train journey up North and stay overnight at one of only two hostelries in my old village. Judging the gingerbread contest in the village hall is the least I can do, and you never know, I might even enjoy myself.