Page 89 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
Dress sharp; they’ll listen to the words.Here’s hoping Grandad was right—and that Rachel’s hearing every one of them.
Chapter 32
TheTVmuttersinthe background while I fold towels. Just another fun night in with the laundry. Seven chimes echo from the mantel clock, a reminder I’d rather not have. Teddy’s party must be in full swing. For a second I wonder if he took someone else—Bianca or Tilly? Lola? Keeley? I teeter on the edge of that slippery slope, then slam the thought down hard and retreat to safety.
Tuesday was for wallowing—wine, crying on Sam’s shoulder, protesting the patriarchy, ranting about the unfairness of being forced to choose. Wednesday is for getting a grip and facing hard reality.
Yet now, pushing aside my emotions and focusing on the facts is somehow worse. I’m at the mercy of my analytical brain, a defendant in the dock, trying to justify her crime. The counsel for the defence argues this was the courageous path; I put my future first. The prosecution snidely suggests I took the coward’s option, accepting what is, rather than insisting on what’s right. Guilty as charged.
I trudge to the linen cupboard, stacking the towels in an orderly pile. That’s my life—neatly meeting all the expectations, yet so fucking miserable.
Back in the lounge, I pick up the oversized Christmas jumper Haley sent me: a grinning snowman. He’s the only one feeling the Christmas cheer tonight. I pull the jumper over my head, letting the warm layer envelop me like the hug from a friend I really need right now. I close my eyes and try not to think of the dress hanging in my wardrobe.
“…that rumour’s about as real as reindeer in July.”
Teddy’s voice drifts from the telly, and my eyes fly open, focusing on the screen. My heart pa-rum-pum-pum-pums.
“Rachel and I are still on the same track.”
He makes a wisecrack about Christmas jumpers. Does Frosty know something I don’t? Teddy’s final wink at the camera feels like it’s just for me. A message in his smile: we’re not broken, just paused, and tonight he’s giving me a reason to hit play.
The camera cuts across a marble foyer, and I glimpse Haley, her head tipped back laughing—pure joy. I recognise it. I’ve felt it these last two weeks: a lightness I’d almost forgotten, the sense that life could be good despite everything behind me. Christian’s arm curves around her waist, his eyes fixed on her like she’s the only thing in the room. Like he sees all of her and wants every bit of it. I recognise that too. I had a chance with someone who actually sees me. The me who, for the first time in twelve years, put work in its place—something to support, not define me. And then on Monday I handed the power right back.
Becoming partner was supposed to be the prize at the end of all the impossible hours and polite smiles. But if I get it, does my lifeexpand—or tighten? More dinners I don’t want, more rules about how a ‘serious’ lawyer should look and love, less room to breathe. Have the last twelve years been about the work… or the gold star? Maybe the firm’s public face doesn’t change unless someone pushes it. Maybe clients won’t flee in droves. Maybe the right ones will stay—and new ones will come—the kind who don’t give a toss if their solicitor dates a rock star. Maybe that future is wider, not smaller.
Fuck Miranda and her threats of doom. Time for me to do what I should have done all along. I search for Gavin’s number. He answers on the first ring, as if he’s been expecting me.
“Traffic’s hellish,” he says, “so call it twenty—twenty-five.”
Twenty minutes to ditch Frosty, twist my hair into ‘deliberately messy,’ and throw on a face. I slip into the fir-green velvet dress Teddy’s gift card bought, the fabric hugging me with quiet, stubborn confidence. When Gavin’s silver Bentley slides up to the kerb, I’m already on the step, coat buttoned and courage humming beneath my skin.
“Glad you could make it after all,” Gavin says, as the Bentley noses into traffic.
“Work fires, Gavin. Now extinguished.” I sink into the leather, twiddling with the catch on the small velvet clutch that matches my dress.
We draw up to the Hotel Portobello at 7.43pm. The fairy-light strung awning glitters in the rain. A security guard steps in front of me, a challenge ready on his lips, but the doorman intervenes, recognition on his face.
“Right this way to the ballroom, Miss MacDonald.”
The instant I cross the marble threshold, my nerves desert me.
I veer into the ladies, chest heaving. Snowflake garlands dangle over the sinks, fluttering every time the door swings.
“You okay, love?” A woman in a burgundy dress, her face sprinkled with friendly freckles, passes me a tissue.
I force a smile. “First-night-out jitters.”
She twists her lipstick shut, studying me. “Wait—aren’t you Teddy Hargrove’s girlfriend? Saw your picture in the papers.”
The words “Teddy’s girlfriend” fold around me, like a silk wrap settling over bare shoulders. “That’s me,” I admit.
“Heard that thing he said about you on the telly earlier.” Her grin is conspiratorial. “Don’t think he’d mind if you did turn up in a Christmas jumper. Better go knock ‘em dead, eh?”
My spine straightens. I blot my lipstick, breathe in the vanilla-spiced air, and step back into the corridor.
The ballroom is a snow globe of glittering gowns and fairy lights. No Haley. No Liv. Then I spot him, copper curls thrown back in laughter beside a tall brunette whose brown eyes glisten like liquid chocolate. She’s athletic and inconveniently perfect. Nausea surges, but I swallow it down.It’sshowtime, Rachel.
I hover behind him, fingers tightening round my velvet bag, teeth worrying my lip.
