Page 17 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
Chapter 13
Sat on the sofa in front of a roaring fire and with a cup of coffee to hand, I propped my phone against a bowl on the coffee table and tapped to video call Jules. It felt odd not being able to pop round for a proper catch-up and not for the first time that day I thanked goodness for technology.
Her smiling face suddenly appeared on the screen. “Just a second,” she said. Glue stick in hand, she was attaching a Christmas tree cut-out to a sheet of white paper. She had glitter in her hair and what looked like a shiny silver star stuck to her cheek. “I’ve decided to make better use of my time while I’m stuck in this chair,” she said. “Instead of buying cards this year, I’m crafting some of my own.”
With less than two weeks to go until Christmas Day, I couldn’t help but think she’d left it a bit late.
Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. “This looked a lot easier when the woman on the telly did it,” she said. She was using her broken leg as a workstation; tubes of glitter, not all of them upright, sat with a pair of scissors, a pile of different coloured card, and a pack of felt-tip pens, on the section of cast that ran from her thigh to her knee. While I couldn’t deny I’d seen less mess in kindergarten, Jules smiled as she held up her efforts to assess them. “Perfect,” she said.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was enjoying her immobility a bit too much.
At last, she put the glue stick down and gave me her full attention. “So, how are you getting on?”
“Okay,” I replied. “Apart from nearly killing myself yesterday.”
She looked back at me, horror-struck.
I told her about my experience with Oliver. How I’d thought we were going sightseeing only to find myself hanging off a rock face. How mountain rescue had had to intervene and how I couldn’t show my face in public again thanks to the shame. Any shock my friend felt fast disappeared. It was a debacle that Jules didn’t just find amusing, she found it hilarious. The more I talked, the more tears of laughter streamed down her face.
“Enough,” she finally said. “If you carry on, I’m going to wet myself.”
I took in my friend’s hilarity. “Jules, none of this is funny. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“I’m sorry,” she said trying to pull herself together, but the odd snigger continued to escape her mouth. “While we’re on the subject of exploring…” She paused mid-sentence to reach down the side of her chair before producing what looked like a handwritten note. “I know you’re not interested in what me and Harry had planned, so I’ve been doing some research on your behalf. There’s a Christmas market on nearby. I’ll send the details so you can check it out.”
“Never mind that,” I said, staring at her.
“You mean there’s more?”
“No. I mean it’s time for you to fess up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you breaking your leg on purpose. So you wouldn’t have to come here.”
Jules chuckled, clearly wondering where our conversation was going.
“You knew how weird this place is,” I carried on. “So you threw yourself down those steps. Come on. Be honest. The rubbish bins had nothing to do with it.”
Her laughter continued. “There’s nothing wrong with Little Leatherington. It’s a beautiful village.”
“I can tell you’ve not met the locals recently.” I picked up my drink.
“They can’t be that bad.” She reached down the side of her chair again. This time to retrieve her flask and pour herself a cup of coffee.
I scoffed. “Oh, they’re worse than bad.”
“Really. Knowing you, everyone’s probably just being super friendly. You’re a new face in town and they’re making an effort. You should try it some time.”
Drinking a mouthful of coffee myself, I almost choked. “I’m telling you. The local residents are seriously strange.”
“How would you know? People aren’t exactly your thing.”
“Normal people are.”
Jules let out a laugh. “You think? Antonia, the only friends you have are me and Harry. You avoid every other human being like they’re diseased.”
“I do not,” I replied. Feeling indignant, I dismissed the fact that only a day prior I’d totted up my funeral numbers.
