“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Mum asked.
I looked up to the ceiling hoping for divine intervention. Nothing too serious; I didn’t want the woman hit by a bolt of lightning. A sore throat would have done, as long as it prevented Mum from using her vocal cords. “Lovely to speak to you too,” I replied.
“Because there’s no shame in changing your mind.”
Mum had had nine months’ notice in which to get her head around the fact that I wouldn’t be around for Christmas yet had spent the entire period doing anything but. I despaired. “I haven’t changed my mind, Mum.”
“Well I think you should. You know how much me and your Dad…”
While Mum chunnered, I let my mind drift back to that lazy Sunday afternoon when Jeremy announced he’d organised our holiday of a lifetime.
The fire glowed orange and I lounged on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand and a good book in the other. I may have been reading a psychological suspense novel, but I couldn’t have felt more relaxed.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jeremy said, entering the room. “About next Christmas.”
“Really,” I replied. As far as I was concerned, it was only March and we still hadn’t recovered from the last one. “It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?”
“I’m being serious,” he said.
So was I.
“I’ve decided we should do something different this year.”
I looked up from my page, his assertiveness surprising me. Jeremy had always been more of a negotiator. I’d been caught out quite a few times by his ability to make me think something was for my benefit when in reality it had been more for his. “Dangerous talk.”
I knew Jeremy hadn’t appreciated spending our first Christmas Day together at my parents’ and that given the chance, he would have come up with any excuse to get out of going. But celebrating with Mum and Dad was a given in my family and apart from the odd gripe, he’d suffered in silence. I supposed he was bound to make a stand over our second Christmas at some point and deciding it only fair I listen, I let my book fall and swung my legs forward to make room for him to sit.
“Don’t you think it would be nice to have our own little event?” he asked, plonking himself down next to me. “Just you and me, without all the fuss?”
I’d have been lying if I’d said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But going to Mum and Dad’s house wasn’t just tradition, it was expected. “Yes, but…” I could already envisage their disappointment at not having us there. “You know how much they love Christmas.”
“Really?” He feigned surprise.
I laughed. “Don’t be like that.”
He shifted round to face me. “Be honest. Where would you rather be? Here in the cold? Or somewhere hot, strolling hand in hand along stretches of white sandy beach?”
Picturing the scene, it was a far cry from all the festive sleet and slush I was used to. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Would you rather we were shading ourselves under a palm, or gathered around a Christmas tree?”
I let out a wistful sigh. “Shading under a palm any day of the week.”
Jeremy smiled. “Then how does ten days in the sun sound?”
“Heavenly.” Thanks to Jeremy’s word painting, I was already there.
“Worth missing out on Christmas pudding with your parents for?” he asked.
I scoffed. As romantic as he’d made it sound, Jeremy had never gone in for that kind of ardour. In the six months we’d known each other, the word romance hadn’t featured in the man’s vocabulary, let alone put that kind of pressure on his wallet. His idea of extravagance had been a bunch of garage carnations. “As if,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow in response, enough to tell me he knew something I didn’t. “What’s really going on here?” I asked. In my experience, men only went all out when they’d been up to no good and I looked at him, suspicious. “What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” Jeremy replied.
He reached into his pocket. “Unless you include this.” He pulled out a folded sheet of paper and held it out.
“What is it?” I asked. Opening it up, I scanned its contents, my eyes widening in disbelief with every word. I looked from the sheet to Jeremy, telling myself that he didn’t do things like book holidays. April Fools’ Day had to have come early. “This is some kind of joke, right?”
“Nope, it’s for real,” Jeremy replied, sitting there with a big satisfied grin. He nodded to the paper in my hands. “And that’s the booking confirmation to prove it.”
My excitement was building. “The Caribbean? Really?”
“Really.”
I giggled as I looked at the sheet again, bouncing up and down in delight. I threw my arms around Jeremy and planted a kiss on his lips, any concern for Mum and Dad disappearing into the ether.
“Are you even listening to me?” Mum said, breaking into my thoughts.
“Yes,” I replied. “I’m listening.”
At first, Mum did well at pretending she was okay with our plans. But the closer our holiday got, the harder it was for her to keep up the façade. Subtle hints about the importance of family time began creeping into her conversations. Then Jeremy’s affair came to light, leaving me no choice but to dump the man, which opened the door for Mum’s comments to become less refined. I rolled my eyes. Despite my insistence to the contrary, she seemed to have convinced herself that if she pushed hard enough, I’d stop being silly and jump back into the festive fold.
“It’ll feel strange,” Mum said, clearly hell-bent on keeping up the pressure.
I looked up to the heavens once more, telling myself that God loved a trier, even if I didn’t. “What will?”
Her responding sigh seemed to go on forever. “Being on your own at Christmas?”
I couldn’t help but smile as I envisaged our usual festivities. Waiting for us to arrive, Mum and Dad would be at the window like a couple of excited children, waving us in.
After losing ourselves under mountains of wrapping paper, they’d insist we spent the afternoon stuffing our bellies as much as humanly possible, eat, drink and be merry having long been the Noelle family Christmas motto. We’d watch Christmas movies and play board games. My heart warmed as I pictured Mum and Dad’s happiness at having us all there. “It’ll certainly be different,” I replied, my heart not warming quite enough.
“For us as much as for you,” Mum said, obviously going for the sympathy vote.
I forced myself not to laugh, knowing full well Mum was doing her best to hide her irritation at me not changing my mind. But whereas my sister had inherited Mum’s slimline physique, her stubbornness had been passed down to me. And as much as Mum refused to accept defeat on the issue of my holiday, so did I. Short of Vee going into labour, I was getting on that plane.
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” she asked. “Because if something happens the last thing you want is to be stuck all that way away, with no means of getting back.”
I could think of worse places to be stranded.