Page 46 of Merry & Bright
He hoped Rob Armstrong wasn’t at the café today—he didn’t fancy being chucked out. Then he really would get grilled by Eilidh.
Chapter Two
“Don’t you dare takethat tinsel down!”
Rob turned with a guilty start to find Val standing behind him, hands on hips. Her fire-engine red hair was styled into a beehive and the capped sleeves of her full-skirted 1950s dress allowed the entire sinuous length of the water dragon snaking up her left arm to be seen. The demure little collar of the dress was a startling contrast to all that green and turquoise ink—all in all, she was an ambiguous siren was Val, with a little Christmas kitsch sprinkled on top in the form of flashing reindeer horns deely-boppers.
“I was just adjusting it,” Rob lied, turning back to fiddle with the Blu-Tack holding up the green glittery garland, as Michael Bublé began singingIt’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas. Again.
“No, you weren’t,” Val accused without heat. “You’ve been whinging about the decorations all day.”
Rob gave a reluctant laugh. She was right, of course. He’d been hoping to at least whip away the tinsel round the coffee machine while she was in the loo. Maybe take down the snowman chimes on the front door. Val maintained that it was bad luck to take the decorations down before twelfth night but Rob just wanted them gone. It wasn’t that he was a complete Scrooge—he liked tinsel and Christmas trees as much as the next man in the lead up to the big day, but by now, four days later, the sparkle was gone. The angel at the top of the tree was listing from its perch and everything just looked a bit sad. Flabby and redundant. A stark, visual reminder that, for all the build-up, Christmas tended to be a disappointment these days. Dinner with friends and a few modest gifts to take home afterwards. Eggnog for one in front of a late night film.
“What’s up?” Val said, interrupting his thoughts. Her concerned expression was at odds with the flashing reindeer horns. The lights on them kept switching from red to green and back again. Rob hoped none of the customers had epilepsy.
“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I was just—miles away.” He sent a smile in her direction but it felt weak, even to him.
“You really should leave those decorations up,” Val said. “You could do with a bit of extra cheer.”
“What do you mean?” Rob protested. “I’ve got plenty of festive cheer!”
“I don’t mean that,” she said gently. “It’s just—I know this time of year must be hard. Because of Andrew.”
“Andrew died in November, not at Christmas,” Rob pointed out calmly.
November four years ago, to be precise. This year, Rob had observed the occasion with a long walk along the coastline and the realisation that he had become used to Andrew’s absence.
That he was no longer stricken with grief.
It was hard though, to let the grief go. It had shaped the rhythms of his life for a long time.
His response didn’t seem to satisfy Val. She frowned, opening her mouth to say something else, only to freeze when she noticed something over his shoulder.
“Oh my God, you’ll never guess who’s walking towards the front door—” she muttered. He went to turn but she grabbed his sleeve. “No, don’t turn round, he’s coming in and he’s looking this way.” The snowman chimes peeled merrily as the front door opened and closed.
“Who is it?” Rob said under his breath, extricating his arm from her grip. She was such a drama queen at times.