Page 6 of Holly's Christmas Countdown
It was just like Dad to remind me of that. I’d talked about becoming an author ever since I’d learnt to read. To transport a reader into another world; to enable them to experience a journey they might never go on in real life; go to a place they might never visit. My love of the written word was the very reason I’d studied creative writing at university. Then the reality of student debt came into play and I ended up doing the next best thing – working in a bookshop. As real life took over, dreams of being a writer faded into the background. I’d been a bookseller ever since. “Exactly!” I said. “And to write I have to live. This holiday is just the beginning, Dad. Who knows where I’ll be in twelve months’ time?”
Dad let out a laugh, while I imagined myself shading under an umbrella on a Caribbean beach, scribbling in some fancy notebook, jotting ideas down for my magnum opus. I clicked enter on the computer screen, my excitement only increasing as I got ready to add my passport details.
My stomach lurched as a message popped up.
Booking cancelledI read.
That can’t be right.
“I understand,” Dad said, as if finally resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be around for Christmas. Dad lowered his voice. “Even if your Mum doesn’t.”
“I can still hear you,” my mother said, yet again proving she had the aural equivalent of twenty-twenty vision.
“Thanks, Dad.” By then I was only half listening, but even with my attention elsewhere, it was still good to know at least one of my parents finally accepted my decision.
I shrugged, telling myself I must have missed a digit somewhere and needed to try again. “Sorry, Dad, but I’ve got to go,” I said. Staring at the screen, I wanted to focus on the task at hand.
“Okay, love. Well you take care.”
“Tell Mum I’ll try and ring before I leave, yeah? If not, it’ll be when I get to the resort, so you know I’ve landed and got to the hotel in one piece.”
“Will do.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Holly.”
I ended the call to the sound of Mum protesting that he couldn’t hang up yet because he hadn’t got me to change my mind. I felt sorry for leaving him to take Mum’s flack on my behalf and made a mental note to bring him back something extra special from my travels.
I put all thoughts of my parents to one side, instead concentrating on every individual character as I inputted the booking reference for a second time. I paused before pressing enter, keeping everything crossed that on that occasion I’d get through to the next stage.
Booking cancelledit said again.
Confused, I tried to absorb the words in front of me, and adamant that there had to be a blip in the system, I tried again.
Booking cancelled.
A picture of Jeremy popped into my head and my heart sank. As realisation dawned, anger began to well. “How could you?” I said. “You… You… Bastard!”
I slammed the laptop lid down, at the same time asking myself how I could have been so naïve? I’d known Jeremy had the right to cancel, of course; he was the one who’d booked and paid for our trip. But that didn’t stop me feeling furious. I’d assumed after what he’d done, even he wouldn’t have stooped so low as to want his money back. Especially when I’d told him I had every intention of still going.
How could you be so stupid?I asked of myself.
4
Isat there dazed, trying and failing to figure out what to do. Not only was my Christmas ruined, that holiday had represented more than an escape to the sun. It was meant to herald a new way forward, the start of a brand-new outlook.
Thanks to Jeremy, who had held all the cards when it came to my trip, I felt powerless. And stuck, I realised. My bank balance wouldn’t stretch to a few days in Blackpool, let alone somewhere as exotic as the Caribbean. In fact, the only Christmas I could afford was the one I’d spent the last nine months insisting I wouldn’t be partaking in. “Mum’s going to love this,” I said.
I jumped when my phone rang to break the silence. Picking it up off the coffee table, I saw my friend’s name appear on the screen. Tempted to ignore the call and instead host a pity party, I asked myself what would’ve been the point in that? Not speaking to people didn’t change anything and it wasn’t Annie’s fault my ex was a conniving douche. I hit the answer button.
“Seriously,” Annie said, before I could even speak. “I know she’s my daughter and I love her to bits, but if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to kill her.”
My friend was forever complaining about her one and only offspring. Although most of the time, I appreciated why. The girl did have a penchant for drama. “Can’t you just send her home?” I asked, knowing that’s what I’d have done in Annie’s shoes.
My cancelled holiday continued to nag at me.
Annie whimpered. “That’s the problem. According to Emma, she is home.”
