Page 27 of The Christmas Express

Sara

Cali was on typical Cali form last night. She’s out here forcing things, but the fact is, we’ve all grown apart. It was happening before we moved out of the house, before we even went to Spain. I’d felt it for a while, to be honest. That’s just life.

I stand in the tiny shower, swaying with the rhythm of the train, and let the steam roll over my skin. I’ve cracked the window so cold air can rush in. In here it’s just me and the countryside of Canada.

When my daughter was a baby, my shower was my little sanctuary, just a few minutes of me time with the window open and a wide view of the moors, while she was safely gurgling about with her dad.

Not that I’m comparing this group to a bunch of babies, but.

.. a chuckle escapes and rises with the steam nonetheless.

I moved into the townhouse in London about two years before the Spain holiday.

The rest of them were solid, not quite a clique, but laughably co-dependent.

However, they shined their light on me and let me in and for a while everything was great.

But it was always just a temporary home, a stage in my life, plus there were little things that would happen, little memories that were discussed in front of me that I was never a part of.

And that’s fine! That’s totally fine. But what used to get me was the, ‘Sorry, Sara, it’s a bit of an inside joke. ..’

They could have let me inside a little more.

I step out of the shower and take a moment to smell the clean air floating through the open glass.

No, I don’t need this group back. They aren’t my friends any more. But they aren’t my enemies, they’re just my past.

It’s like my ex and me. He’s a great dad, a great guy, and we had a great relationship that produced our beautiful little girl, but then we grew apart.

And I’m good. My independence is my favourite thing about myself, and having him still in my life, sharing parenting responsibilities, encouraging me to take trips like this is awesome.

Wrapping myself tightly in a towel, I pad back to my cabin, which is empty, and make a call. My daughter’s face fills the screen within seconds, the video feed sharp and clear, despite the distance.

‘Hi, baby, happy Christmas Eve!’

‘Mummyyyyyyyyy,’ Dina says, all toothy smile and flour-dusted cheeks. She must be baking Christmas cookies with her dad and grandpa again – her favourite festive activity, actually her favourite activity full stop when she’s spending time with him and his family. It’s pretty precious.

‘What are you making?’

‘Nothing,’ she replies, distracted by a spoon covered in chocolate-coloured dough.

‘That’s accurate,’ her dad, Billy, says from behind her. ‘She’s eating more than making at this point.’

I laugh. ‘Good girl.’

‘How’s your trip?’ Billy asks, taking the phone from Dina just as I’m about to be put face-first into a mixing bowl.

‘It’s good. The scenery here, oh my God. You’ve been to Canada, right?’

‘A long time ago. How are your friends getting on?’

‘I’m not sure I’d call it “getting on” yet, but nobody’s thrown anyone off the train so far, so that’s a good sign.’

‘They’re still holding grudges?’

Billy knows a little about what happened between us all, but it was so far in the past, at least a year before I even met him, and who really cares at this point? I filled him in on the basics when I got the invite.

‘They’re still holding onto something,’ I tell him. I guess I am as well, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.

‘What are you doing today?’ he asks, as Dina comes back into view and stares at me with a happy grin as she licks the spoon.

We chat for a while and I fill the two of them in on my Christmas Eve plans, which generally consist of enjoying the train journey, staying out of the drama, and maybe getting to know my old neighbours/friends a little more again.

I’ve not even told them about Dina yet, and everyone should know about her, she’s the best. Look at that face.

‘Tell me about your Christmas plans.’ I smile at my daughter through the phone as she launches into a babbly mini-monologue about singing Christmas carols for her grandparents.

I lie back on the bed in my towel, a sigh of contentment escaping from me. It pulls at my heart being so far away from her, but I love how easily she fits in with life, with changing plans, with how the world keeps on turning and she can be sad but doesn’t let herself be bitter.

This crowd could learn something from her.