Wish Upon A Christmas Cake. Darcie Boleyn
then that had developed into more, but now… ‘You’re a man.’
‘What?’ He grinned and his chocolate brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
Did I say that out loud?
‘Uh…what I mean is…you’re all grown up.’ No better!
I tugged my jumper down over my jeans as my cheeks burnt with heat. Why did some people just get better with age but some got softer and more dimpled?
‘Yes, Katie, that tends to happen as the years pass. I’m thirty-six now, same as Karl. I guess that’s quite grown up.’ He shifted the box to one side. ‘Do you need help with your bags?’
‘No I can manage, thank you. I’ll just grab my holdall.’ I pulled it from the boot, glad to have a moment to hide my face which I knew would be all red and blotchy by now, then retrieved my handbag. What was Sam Fairfax doing here at the Warham family Christmas? Other than making me all jittery, throwing my cakes around a barn and stoking a flame in my belly that I hadn’t felt in quite some time.
Oh those shoulders, that chest, those eyes… It had been such a long time since I’d seen him.
Sam…
Could I cope being near him again? Would he still hate me for leaving him? Would this all be too much on top of losing Granny or would it be some kind of welcome distraction? My stomach churned as I realized that I had no idea how this would affect Christmas.
Realising that I was just standing in the middle of a cold barn staring at my former lover – rather rudely he must think – I slung my bag over my shoulder then locked the car. The ceiling of the open barn was lit with those harsh tube lights and I became suddenly conscious of the fact that it was probably showing up the roots of my hair where the random whites were fast emerging from the dye. If I’d known that we were having attractive friends over for Christmas, then I’d have made more of an effort, maybe tried to resist the mince pies we’d been selling for the past six weeks. But they were so yummy and I had to test our produce before we sold it. Besides, I’d been convinced that there was no point in denying myself some comfort foods in the run up to Christmas. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see me naked anyway.
‘Everyone else is inside but I was just taking some air,’ Sam explained. ‘There’s quite a crowd of Warhams here.’ I watched his breath emerge like white smoke as it hit the chilly air of the barn.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, Sam, but how are you here?’ Nerves tend to make me blunt and I’ve never been mistress of flirtatious small talk. I was struggling to hold a whole host of memories at bay and bluntness is one of my coping mechanisms.
He cast me a sideways glance as we crunched across the gravel towards the backdoor. ‘Karl invited me. He said it would do me and the kids good to get away.’
Kids? A dagger pierced my thundering heart. He was married, of course he was, and he’d gone on to have children. I remembered Karl gently telling me that he was going to Sam’s wedding a few years back. No wait, it must have been more like seven or eight years ago. I’d swallowed hard and acted like I didn’t give a damn then drunk a whole bottle of wine and cried into my pillow. The next day I’d had a sore head but I’d got up, got dressed, gone to Waterstone’s and bought a new cookery book, then baked like a woman possessed. Kneading at bread dough and beating cake mixes had always been therapeutic for me, like a form of self-hypnosis that somehow separates me from the world and my pain.
So Christmas was going to be different to the version I’d imagined when Karl had first suggested it. A happily married couple and their children would be joining us over the festive period. Unfortunately, the husband happened to be the man I’d once loved with all my heart. The pleasant warmth of the lust I’d experienced at seeing Sam so big and brawny had now completely melted away and the biting chill of the air that swirled around the house made me shiver.
‘You’re cold,’ Sam said. ‘It’s warm and cosy inside, come on.’ Had it really been nine years since I’d last seen him, when I’d told him that it wouldn’t work between us? And all because I’d thought that we wanted different things from life and that I had something to prove to myself. I’d thought that I was doing the best thing for both of us; helping us to leave a terrible experience behind. How could we have continued, moved on and loved each other, after what we’d been through? And what if it had happened again, if I’d ever had the courage to try to get pregnant after our loss, that was. No. I’d done the right thing at the time, for sure.
Sam opened the door and the heat coming from the large brightly lit kitchen literally hit me in a wave, along with the delicious aromas of roast chicken, thyme and potatoes. My stomach grumbled automatically. My mother had clearly been busy and the woman sure could cook. Sam stood back to allow me to enter first and I walked into the room.
‘There you are. At last!’ My mother’s clipped tones stopped me in my tracks. Back out…go back through the door. Leave now before she says anything else. I shrugged the traitorous voice away. As if I could actually walk away from Esther once she got going. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pursued me, just like that time when I was seven and I told her she reminded me of Miss Piggy from The Muppet Show. She’d chased me around the streets and confiscated my favourite Barbie doll for a week as punishment. Even then, I hadn’t meant that she resembled the puppet pig physically, just that she had the same snooty self-important air and that she treated my dad a bit like Kermit.
Sam placed the box of cakes on the counter and held out a hand. ‘I’ll take your bag through to the hallway if you like. I bet you and your mum have lots to discuss.’
I allowed myself one last perusal of his lovely face with its shadow of stubble and full sensual lips and smiled. ‘Yeah. I bet we have.’
‘See you at dinner.’ He grinned at me and, in spite of my disappointment, I grinned back as I handed him my holdall. Even if he was here with his wife and kids, it would still be nice to catch up. I hadn’t seen him in such a long time and we’d once been so close.
A flush stole over my chest. At the height of my teenage crush on Sam, he’d seen me as little more than his friend’s younger sister. Yet he was always really kind, polite and considerate. He’d been bright and mature, nothing like the boys in my year at school who only ever spoke to me to comment on my big jugs. That was until I’d gotten a bit older and one night, when Sam was home from university, we’d ended up alone and realised that there was more than just friendship between us. Six years later, we’d seemed to have it all but then it had turned sour and we’d parted ways. Amicably, though it had broken my heart at the time. So yes, it would be good to hear what he’d been up to and to see how the years had treated him.
But now I had to deal with Esther and it was an experience that called for a stiff drink. I grabbed the single malt off the counter and a crystal tumbler from the tray on the side then poured a generous measure.
Here I go! Merry Christmas…
Esther Marie Warham. Sixty-two. Five foot eight. One hundred and twenty-four pounds. Shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair. Wife of Charles Michael Warham. Mother of Karl Lewis Warham and Katie Alice Warham. Currently clothed in a fawn silk gypsy-style blouse and fitted black trousers which showed off her pert gym-toned bottom and nude heels.
I sipped my Jura and held the fiery amber liquid in my mouth as I waited for my mother to begin talking herself in circles.
And waited.
‘How are things at the shop, Katie? Were you busy today?’
I swallowed the whisky and stared at my mother. What, no reprimand for being late?
‘Good thanks. We’ve been really busy.’
‘Will Ann be all right there tomorrow without you?’
I