Page 65 of A Merry Little Christmas

He hugged her gently. ‘Thank you. You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.’

‘I …’ She took her time, feeling her emotions thicken her throat. ‘I need help with a lot of things.’

‘Name them,’ he encouraged her. ‘Anything I can do to make your life easier, I’ll willingly do.’

She looked at his hands and linked her fingers between his. What had she done to deserve this man? There were so many things she wanted to say, about how letting others in made her vulnerable, how losing control of her life, her body, her freedom was freaking her out. How already she’d alienated Nell and ruined not only their working relationship but their friendship too. But there was one worry above all others that she knew she had to share with him: her fear that she wouldn’t be a good mother.

She shook her head, feeling embarrassed and glad that he was behind her and couldn’t see her face. ‘Cole? I’m scared.’

‘Oh, darling, that makes me sad to hear.’ He pressed his cheek against hers. ‘Why? Tell me.’

She swallowed. ‘I can’t. I want to, but I just can’t.’

He didn’t push her any further, just held her close. ‘When you’re ready, I’ll be there to listen. I’ll always be there, and whatever you’re scared of, we’ll face together. We’re a team, OK, you and me?’

‘And baby makes three.’

‘Hey, how about we talk about names?’ he said.

‘I’d like that.’ She smiled happily. They’d broached the subject several times. Cole had even suggested creating a spreadsheet at one stage, but she’d managed to persuade him against it. Choosing a name for their child should be a creative task, not one with columns and rows and tick boxes.

‘OK.’ He picked up his glass and took a sip. ‘I thought Robin. Works for a boy or a girl.’

‘What!’ She propelled herself up to sitting, sending a tidal wave of water over the edge of the bath. ‘Robin Robinson? Are you kidding me?’

From behind her came a low rumbling laugh. ‘I was kidding, yes, and it was totally worth it to see that reaction.’

‘You tease!’ Merry peered over the edge of the bath and snorted with laughter. ‘You might be changing your mind when you have to put on wet pyjamas.’

Cole pushed himself forward, sending an even bigger tsunami onto the bathroom floor.

‘Cole!’ she squealed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Making you laugh,’ he said, burying his face into her neck and covering her with kisses, ‘because it’s the best sound in the world and I love it. And I love you. Far more than dry pyjamas.’

‘I love you too,’ Merry said. ‘Far more than anything.’

She leaned back into his embrace and felt the steady beat of his heart. She’d be fine, she told herself, she might not have much confidence in herself, but he had enough for both of them.

Chapter 24

Nell

‘Thank you.’ Nell swung first one leg and then the other out of the taxi, took a deep breath and heaved herself out onto the street.

She was going to die, she was sure of it. And if by some fluke she survived, she was never drinking again. Never. Her hangover wasn’t just in her head, it was in her stomach, her scalp, her toes – in fact, every cell in her body was hovering at the point of permanent failure.

‘A cold can of Coke will do the trick.’ The driver grinned as she handed him her fare, plus a generous tip for agreeing not to speak or play loud music. ‘Works every time. Oh, and peanut butter on toast.’

Nell thought about how a layer of peanut butter would feel stuck to the roof of her mouth and tried not to gag. She shut the taxi door as softly as she could and weaved her way up the path to her front door. Her head felt as if someone inside it was trying to hammer tent pegs into concrete; the slightest noise was torture.

Olek’s van wasn’t parked in the drive. This shouldn’t be a massive surprise given that it was almost 10 a.m. and he always left for work without fail at 8 a.m. sharp. But under the circumstances, she’d expected him to be waiting for her when she got home, either concerned about her or angry with her. Her stomach flip-flopped with nerves. She’d never stayed out all night, at least not without letting him know where she was; there had never been a night when her preferred place to be wasn’t in her own bed with her husband. If he’d done this to her, she’d have been worried to death.

Her hands fumbled with the keys as she let herself in through the front door, aware of the urgent upward pressure on her oesophagus. She dashed into the cloakroom, flung up the lid of the toilet and just made it in time before throwing up. She stayed still for a couple of minutes, waiting for the trembling to subside and thinking that she’d never liked herself less. Finally, she stood to wash her hands and face in cold water, caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror above the basin and shuddered in horror: murky complexion, bloodshot eyes and her hair, usually her crowning glory of auburn waves, hung in matted, dull clumps.

She couldn’t remember much about how last night ended. She remembered not being able to find her phone and using that as an excuse not to call Olek. That was unforgivable and cowardly; she knew his number. She could have called if she’d wanted to.

Waking up this morning in the bedroom above the shop, snuggling up to Woody, had taken some unpacking. But she took comfort in the fact that neither of them had removed any clothes. What she did remember with absolute clarity was the sound of the shop door slamming and the revving of Olek’s engine as he accelerated away from her. And the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that her Jenga tower of lies was about to come crashing down.