Page 2 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“They’re still at it?”
“Yeah.” She scrubs at her cheek with a little frustrated sigh. “I’ve hardly seen Christian all day. If the only way I could carve out space for the wedding was to agree they could use this week as some sort of band camp, then I suppose the odd day like this is the price to pay.”
I grin at her. “One time—”
“—at band camp…” we say together, the echo of too many nights watching old movies.
“Well, it’s only the married lot—or nearly, like you and Christian—who’ll be having late-night bedroom jam sessions at this band camp,” I splutter between giggles.
“Oh, I dunno. There are a few eligible single men coming to the wedding. You never know…”
“Yeah, maybe a quick shag in a back room during the reception. Could do wonders for my ego.” I toss it out there as a joke, but in reality, maybe it’s a worthwhile ambition.
We bump my case upstairs to the second floor. Haley pauses partway along the wood-panelled hallway, twists an elaborate brass knob and swings open the door to reveal a spacious bedroom. There’s a fire burning in the hearth; it’s gas, but the dancing flames are so realistic I swear I can smell pine smoke. Along the mantel, a garland of greenery decorated with ruby ribbons and silver-frosted pine cones adds a touch of Christmas cheer.
A small Christmas tree sits on a side table in front of heavy golden brocade drapes drawn against the drizzly winter night. The tree glistens with baubles of cream and gold, bows of green satin ribbon dotted in between.
“I see you’ve been busy. I suppose it’s no surprise with you here. Christmas taking over the whole house.”
“A team effort—Loreena and me. It’s been fun. Took my mind off the wedding.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The slight divot of a frown lurking between them is Haley’s little tell. There’s tension behind the scenes. While that’s normal for the bride a week out from her wedding, this is no normal wedding.
The groom is a rock star, so it was always going to attract the curiosity of the press. But it’s Haley deal with the reality showSheSaid Yesthat’s turned it into a circus. That’s why we’re all here in advance—to give our special girl her people to lean on while she navigates the very public airing of the most important day of her life.
“When does the film crew arrive?” As bride and bridesmaids, these past months, we’ve already endured the cameras crashing dress fittings, cake tastings, menu trials, and even a fake ‘hen night’ the producers decided would play better on screen.
“Not till next Friday. Said they want to capture the wedding party on the day before—as the nerves amp up.” She grimaces. “To be honest, Rache, they already are.”
“It’s going to be fine.” I squeeze her hand. “We’re here.”
“I know. And I’m still glad I did it. It’s not just their money. The publicity for the refuge is worth it.”
Haley and Loreena’s charity project, a refuge that takes in women escaping domestic violence as well as their pets, is an all-consuming passion. Even so, this intrusion into Haley’s life isn’t easy for her. I draw the conversation away from the source of her anxiety.
“You’ve done well with the decorations.” I cup a delicate filigree bauble. “But I expect nothing less from the queen of Christmas.”
“Thanks. It’s taken days with the size of this place. But I loved doing it.”
The gorgeous four-poster bed and elegant decor are worthy of a luxury hotel. But the little touch of Christmas adds a homely, welcoming feel.
“And wow, this room. It’s amazing.”
I dump the laptop on the bed, covering it neatly with my favourite Prada handbag, and flop back on the luxurious duvet. Above me, intricate plasterwork sprawls across the ceiling, gilded flowers and vines winding round the cornices and a huge central rose around adelicate chandelier, the light bouncing off the walls casting patterns and shadows.
“Yeah. The house is gorgeous.” Haley abandons the suitcase and drops onto the bed beside me. She swivels her dark head towards mine, fixing me with moss-green eyes, soft with empathy. “Thank you for doing this. The whole bridesmaid thing. I know it can’t be easy.”
I flail around for a reason to escape the pity that lurks behind her grateful eyes before she catches the storm in mine. Sitting up, I fixate on prising the shiny black Louboutin heels off my aching feet. Must have walked a bloody mile in these between meetings today. Swallowing down the jagged lump in my throat, I force out the words I need to say, even though they come with a necessary lie.
“It’s perfectly okay, Haley. Why wouldn’t it be? Your happiness is absolutely the best antidote to the past couple of months.”
She sits up, resting one gentle hand on my shoulder, mouth curving in a sad little smile. “You’re the best, Rache.”
I press on. “Haley, seeing you and Christian shows me what’s possible. My life might be fucked up right now, but there’s hope. It won’t always be like this.” Will saying it out loud, manifesting what I want, make it come true? I’m not normally a believer in that woo-woo shit, but desperate times and all that. “You’ve been where I am, love. And look at you now.”
It’s true. Only Haley was twenty-four when Jack did the dirty on her—wounded, but young, with time stretching out ahead, years to rebuild and find “the one”. I’m a decade older. For me, every year that goes by isn’t just another heartbreak survived—it’s anotherdoor quietly closing.
My reassuring words to Haley aren’t total fiction; I really do hold on to a tiny ember of hope. But it’s dimming by the day, as the clock ticks, counting the beats of a life passing me by in heavy, sombre strokes.
