Page 3 of The Christmas Express

Ember

It’s my birthday. In this moment, I’m happy. Chilled, a little merry, a little silly. But my friend Tonia is circulating the campfire with a bottle of whisky, so we’ll see how the night unfolds.

I breathe in the smoky air and the salt of the sea.

Above me, the sky is cold and clear and the stars stream across it like spilled glitter on black marble.

Being November, we have the beach to ourselves, me and this funny gang of friends who enveloped me when I moved here over half a decade ago, and who rarely seem to ever be out of my sight now.

‘Whisky for the birthday beach bum!’ Tonia pads barefoot over the sand towards me, stumbling, giggling.

The flames highlight the clementine streaks in her hair and twinkle the stick-on stars she’s made us all wear on our faces tonight.

She flops down beside me, spraying sand onto my jeans.

‘Have we hit the wall of regret yet, or do we still have time?’

Ha! I snatch the whisky out of her paws and top up my paper cup. She knows me so well.

Tonia and I have celebrated every birthday (and holiday) together since I arrived in Cornwall, and sometimes spend months staying at each other’s home if we’re going through hard times.

I was there for her when she broke up with her high school boyfriend.

She was there for me when I had long Covid.

I took her in when she suffered a house fire.

She took me in when my parents passed away within weeks of each other.

That was a particularly tough time, and she didn’t even know me very well back then.

Speaking of... ‘We still have time,’ I tell Tonia. ‘But let me know if you’d rather I started with the social media stalking of my ex, or the photo memories of my folks.’

Tonia chuckles softly. ‘Let’s wait until the end of the night to reinstall your social media apps, when we need a little light relief. Maybe we’ll strike it lucky and Bryn will have posted something that gives you the ick?’

‘Here’s hoping,’ I cheers her.

An hour or so later and the tide is creeping closer, the low waves audible even though Jack brought out a speaker and is playing birthday-themed music alongside the hisses and crackles of the campfire.

The eight of us have huddled in closer now, the flames glowing on our faces, a billion blankets keeping out the worst of the wintery night air.

I love it out here. I don’t mind that it’s cold.

That it’s dark. When I think that I used to live in a city, sat in an office all day, surrounded by tall buildings and hundreds of people and all those artificial lights even when I stepped outside, I can barely even remember that version of myself.

Now, I work as a surf instructor when the ocean allows me to, and a coast path walking guide during any other weather, and I can’t ever imagine being stuck inside a room, day after day, ever again.

‘How do you feel about being the big “three-one”, Ember?’ calls Kim from across the other side of the fire.

‘I love it,’ I call back. ‘You wish you were my age.’

Kim, at aged twenty-five, raises her cup in the air. ‘Oh, to be as wise as you! Tell us, is there anything you’re hoping to do this year?’

‘More of this?’ I suggest. ‘Lots and lots more of this?’ The group awwws at me but keeps staring. I think they want a real answer. Um... ‘I don’t know. I’m quite content as I am.’

Tonia snorts. ‘I have a suggestion.’

‘I know what your suggestion is, it’s the same every year. But I don’t want a girlfriend.’

‘I know, you don’t want a girlfriend ,’ Tonia argues. The same argument I hear from her all the time. ‘But just at least have—’

‘Some kind of love life?’ I finish for her, along with the rest of the group.

Tonia grins at her cup, scrunching her nose at me. She loves to tease me about my whopping lack of romance and I don’t care. ‘I just want you to be kissed, really well; one of those old Hollywood kisses you like to drool over in the movies you always watch.’

‘I don’t... I don’t always watch them.

’ Yes, I do. Especially the black and white ones.

I love the happy endings. And Audrey Hepburn taught me the winged eyeliner that I always wear, even now when I can rarely be bothered to put on any other make-up.

‘Hey,’ I say to the group, topping up my drink again.

‘Talking of love life, do we think we’ve reached a good time of the night to log into the socials? ’

‘I do not encourage this behaviour,’ says Jack, edging closer to look over my shoulder as I take out my phone.

When I moved away from London, I let so much of my outer shell slip away.

My clothes became looser, more comfortable.

My hair less styled. My shoulders less tensed.

And after a while I deleted my social media apps, just to clear my headspace a little.

And I felt more like me again, even though I’d never realised I’d been anything but myself before.

But I never deleted my accounts. It’s not like I stopped enjoying them, I just needed some distance. So once a year I reinstall, see what’s going on in the lives of people I once knew, and, after a few drinks, check up on what my ex-girlfriend is up to these days. Totally normal behaviour, right?

My friends gather around. We’re a warm huddle of blankets. Whisky breath misting into the air. Limbs leaning into each other. Sand on the denim of our jeans. Orange flickers of ash drift up to join the stars above our little beach town.

‘Do you know if your ex is seeing anyone?’ Kim asks. She’s snuck in right behind me and is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching me download the apps.

‘No idea,’ I reply. I’ve truly not checked up on Bryn since this time last year. I’m not still in love with her or anything, I’m just... curious.

She and I dated for about a year. I was Kim’s age when we split, but before that we’d got pretty serious.

We’d discussed moving in together, getting engaged.

We used to lie on her sofa together in her flat in that house she shared in London with all her friends and plan our dream wedding.

Just silly, coupley conversations, dreamy fantasies, but the kind that make you glow inside with possibility.

I know it’s over now. It’s been over for five years. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to see her face sometimes, know she’s okay.

That’s why I navigate straight to her, my fingers tapping her name into the search bar as soon as I’m logged back in.

There she is. I smile, and I know Tonia’s eyes are on me. ‘Stop judging me, Miss T,’ I say without looking away from my phone.

‘I will judge you until you move on from this tradition,’ replies my tough-love friend.

There’s a pink circle around Bryn’s face. Her profile photo has changed since last year, now it’s a close-up of her pulling a silly face with a woollen hat on and a backdrop of snow. I touch my own woollen hat, and click on her face to open her story.

My screen fills with a photo of Bryn, wrapped up in a coat, a mountain behind her, a glass of something warm and steaming being held out to the camera. She’s smiling, which makes me smile back at the image of her. She looks happy. I’m glad.

The story moves to the next photo, a mirror of the last one, showing another girl holding up a matching glass, the windowed doors of a café behind her revealing Bryn’s reflection taking the photo, the smile still on her face.

The other woman has a long, loose plait coming out of the side of her hat. Her lips are a soft pink which matches the cold flush in her cheeks. Are they... ?

‘Oh no,’ mumbles Jack as the picture changes again to a selfie of the two of them, the other woman now sitting on Bryn’s lap, while Bryn kisses her cheek. They could not look more like a happy couple, like a poster for a romantic winter movie set in the mountains.

The smoke is swirling in my eyes, the cold air suddenly making my nose run. ‘It’s fine,’ I say to them all. ‘It’s cute.’

It’s ridiculous that my throat is even feeling dry, or that my heart has ebbed like the tide. Of course I want her to have all the love and laughter in the world, and they look good together. I wonder how long they’ve been a couple?

The story moves on again, this time it’s the same picture but with a text overlay, and in time with a moonlit wave, my heart crashes.

Can’t wait to marry my love next month!

‘Shit.’ Tonia reaches over and takes my phone from me, exiting the app and stuffing it into the inside of her coat pocket. Kim pours extra whisky into my cup. Jack yanks a blanket off one of our other friends and wraps it around my shoulders, on top of the other three.

Bryn is getting married.

Okay.

‘It’s fine,’ I say to them all again.

‘Is it?’ asks Tonia.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Of course. I’m happy for her.’

The whisky woozes in my head and I think I might be ready to call it a night.

I’m not sad. I’m not sad. I’m not sad.

She has every right to get married, to be happy, to be so, so loved. But did I have to find out on my birthday?