Page 126 of Christmas Every Day
‘Oh, we can’t wait, can we?’ Ashley said. ‘It sounds simply incredible. Now, questions. I’ll go first. Where did you get your inspiration from for this story, and was it you and Jenny?’
Excuse me?I opened my mouth to protest. Then I remembered I was desperate to hear the answer, so I shoved one of Jamie’s mini mince pies in instead.
‘Maybe, in parts. She is an inspiring person to know.’ He coughed. ‘Also, my parents. The Neil Diamond songs they play while cooking dinner. My sisters’ families. The reintroduction of beavers into the UK. A conversation I overheard in the queue to buy a newspaper. And, as always, everyone I’ve ever met, and everywhere I’ve ever been, somehow mashing together inside my imagination and eventually congealing into something vaguely coherent. For starters.’
‘Is it a love story?’ Sarah asked.
Those naughty women. I begged a sinkhole to appear and swallow me up right there. While at the same time my ears nearly strained off the sides of my head.
‘Yes. Falling in love with life again, mostly.’
‘Mostly, but not completely?’ Ashley needled.
‘Put it this way. I don’t think my regular readers will be disappointed. And that’s all I’m saying. You really have to wait and read it.’
The conversation moved on as Mack answered more questions. I assumed they were about his other books, or his career in general. I’d given up listening, due to the more pressing issue of struggling to breathe. That, and my own wild thoughts careening about my head waving their hands about and screaming, ‘Mack thinks I’m an inspirational person to know. That has to be a good thing, right? Can you inspire someone in abadway? She inspired me to write a book about avoiding a disastrous rebound relationship with an annoying neighbour. HOW DO I INSPIRE YOU, MACK?’
‘Right, well, if there’s no more questions, I’d best get back,’ I vaguely heard Mack say, as if from the end of a very long tunnel.
Mack stood, his features in silhouette as he hovered on the edge of the glow cast from the candles. Tension crackled. Nobody moved or spoke.
Which seemed a little rude, considering he’d interrupted crafting his latest blockbuster to come and visit a village book club, and now nobody even offered a thank you, good luck or please come again when the book is finished.
Lucille sneezed, swiftly muttering, ‘Damn, I’m so sorry,’ as she fumbled for a tissue.
Kiko thrust a napkin at her. ‘Shh!’
Mack rubbed a hand over his messy hair before carefully putting his hat on. He cleared his throat. Twisted his body round to look at the door, turned back.
‘Can I walk you home?’ he asked.
‘I think he means you, Jenny,’ Ellen stage-whispered, leaning closer. ‘It would make sense, you being neighbours.’
I scrabbled my wits together, took the deepest breath I could, and jabbered out a sort of ‘yes’.
So while the others finally offered appropriately enthusiastic goodbyes, I shrugged into my coat and hat, patting to check my keys and phone hadn’t miraculously climbed out of the pocket, and we set off into the frosty night.
Walking. With Mack. In the dark.
Oh, boy.
44
As we entered the black of the forest, I slipped on a patch of ice. Mack, without breaking stride, took hold of my hand.
The feel of his hand wrapped around mine. Warm, assured, still a perfect fit. Gooey, tingling loveliness ran down my arm like honey and settled in my stomach.
Halfway home, he still hadn’t spoken. Part of me didn’t care, didn’t care whether he felt me quaking. Wasn’t bothered if he’d only taken my hand to stop me tripping, and had spent the rest of the time wondering how to extricate it without seeming rude. I could have kept on walking like that for hours, in and out of the moonlight, feet crunching on the frozen leaves in time with each another, the night deliciously chill against the throbbing heat beneath my skin, carrying the scent of pine trees.
But the other, possibly wiser, certainly bolder part of me had to get some answers. Like, what the heck was going on, for starters.
And when, as we reached the clearing behind our houses, the first few flakes of snow began to fall, softly twirling in the glow of the fairy lights I’d hung in every window, I took that as a sign.
Bursting with impatience and frustration and an unbearable mixture of fear and hope, I stopped beside the picnic bench.
Mack turned to face me, still holding onto my hand, his face silver in the moonlight, a snowflake settling on his eyelashes.
‘You wrote a book about me.’ I paused, corrected myself. ‘About us.’
