Love At Christmas, Actually. Jenny Oliver
you think maybe I did this for you? To stop your life being ruined and your dreams being smashed?’ She put her cup down on the table, back straight, ready to fight.
‘Oh, how selfless of you to run off on Christmas morning after I’d asked you to spend your life with me. How kind of you to wait for me to tell you I loved you before you disappeared for ten years!’ Lucas made a face. ‘Grow up, would you? You weren’t protecting me.’
‘Well I thought you were going to leave this place and make something of yourself! If I’d have known you were going to throw it all away anyway, I might have stayed!’ she heard herself shout.
‘Megan…’ Lucas’s jaw was locked, and she knew he was holding back his anger. He’d never shouted at her, ever. But, she sort of wanted him to. ‘I’m here because I have a life here. I have family, friends. A steady career. I get to play music when I want. Do what I want. What part of that is failing to you? Should I have just run off and started a new life because I didn’t give a fuck about the people I left behind?’
‘I cared. I cared too much to see us both stuck here. You think I would have trained in what I trained in if I’d stayed here? You think I would have been able to raise my daughter how I wanted? You wouldn’t have been able to train as a teacher. We wouldn’t be here now.’
‘No, we wouldn’t,’ he conceded, the light coming back into his eyes a little. He twitched his mouth.
She took a deep breath, expelling the words she knew she needed to say. At least to start with.
‘It is good to see you, you know. As angry and sad as I’ve been, it’s good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’
They sat briefly in silence, staring at the wall.
‘You really think we could have raised a kid together?’ Megan asked suddenly.
‘No doubt whatsoever,’ Lucas said seriously, but she watched as the corners of his mouth turned up. ‘I mean, you’d have killed me, and it would have been stressful and your mother would have been around all the time, and we would have had the local oldies making snarky comments and we would have hated each other, but…seventeen-year-old me was a genius.’
‘Adult you isn’t bad either,’ Megan grinned to herself, shaking her head.
She looked across at him, his hair no longer flopping over those bright eyes, his smile warm, and he looked so stable. So safe, and loving and wonderful. And she knew it was time to go.
‘Well, I’ve avoided the family game of Monopoly too long. Skye’s probably bought up all their real estate and is making them work it off as indentured slaves.’ She stood up. ‘But it’s been good to see you, really good.’
He walked her to the door, hand resting briefly on her lower back.
‘I’ll see you again, whilst you’re here, right? Coffee, or something?’ Lucas rested his head on the door frame as a cold draft made her shiver.
‘You want to?’ she said in surprise.
‘Of course. One evening of almost arguing doesn’t really make for a decent catch-up,’ Lucas shrugged. ‘If that’s okay?’
It was more than okay. It was too okay. She could feel him sucking her back in with that smile and those eyes. And he should be more angry, more curious. But that’s how he’d always been. Relaxed, laid back. Everything happening at its own pace, regardless of humans. ‘Things happen when they want to, Meg,’ he used to tell her when she couldn’t play a certain riff, or wanted exam results back sooner. He was always fine with that, when she always had to control fate as much as she could.
‘It’s very okay,’ she nodded, her breath catching a little as he moved in to kiss her cheek, and he was there, scratching her skin a little as his stubbled cheek brushed hers, smelling of spice and CK One and cinnamon.
Something in her chest ached as she trudged back out into the cold grey night towards her car, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.
***
February 2004
They lay intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder as they stared at the ceiling.
‘It’s a good plan.’
‘It’s a terrible plan.’
‘We’ve got something here, Angel, we really do!’ His enthusiasm was usually infectious, but Megan was tired and stressed. All her parents talked about were university choices, and degree options. Which Cambridge college she’d go to. Future plans and careers and weddings. And when she opened up to Lucas he just wanted to shag and talk about the band.
‘Yes,’ she nodded, interlocking their fingers and holding up their joined hands, ‘we have something, but the band… I’m not just going to go running off into the sunset on a tour bus. This isn’t Almost Famous. It’s a hard slog, and I don’t want to be a musician.’
‘But you are one.’ Lucas squeezed her hand and turned on his side to face her. ‘Look, why does everything have to be so set? Finish college, play some gigs, do some teaching, see what happens?’
‘Because that’s how you lose years. That’s how you end up being Estelle, back in this stupid town and stuck here, because you haven’t planned for anything better,’ Megan snapped. ‘I don’t want to waste my life.’
‘How’s it wasted if we’re together?’ Lucas asked, watching her hand as he stroked it with his thumb, delicate circles.
‘I want to do something, I want to help people, or make a difference.’
‘How are you going to do that with an English Lit degree?’ Lucas raised an eyebrow.
Megan sighed. ‘I don’t know, but I know that I want to matter.’
‘You matter to me.’ That little sorry smile that said he knew he was being childish, and he accepted her no matter what. He knew she was destined for an academic world with boundaries and rules and order, because that was Megan. She did the Right Thing, all the time. But he just wasn’t like that.
‘You matter to me,’ she replied, kissing his chest and settling back down, counting down not only the hours before she had to be back home, but the hours until things changed for good.
Megan had phoned Jeremy that morning, eager for a catch up before Skye started demanding that she speak to Anna.
‘So what’s going on in Casa Anna?’ She curled up on her old bed, and it could have been any weeknight when she’d been on the phone to Lucas, or any of them. She rubbed the corner of her old blanket against her cheek.
‘The biddie army arrived yesterday, with food orders and demands about decorations. They’ve decided they want a Gatsby-themed Christmas. I’m sure most of them can remember the 1920s firsthand,’ he bitched. She could imagine him there, filing his nails, or putting on his make-up. Or maybe he was scratching away in his notebook, sitting with a glass of Sangria in the Ideas Cupboard.
‘How’s Anna finding all that?’
‘Loves it, as always. She’s been a bit more worn out though, sleeping in a lot more. I told her I’d take over things.’ She heard the grin in his voice.
‘Oh sweet Jesus, please don’t tell me you’ve replaced their Gatsby with drag chic?’
‘Just a few changes for my own amusement,’ he laughed, ‘like they’re even going to