Page 76 of The Christmas Catch
“The place looks great, by the way. I love what your parents did with it.” The walls were covered in crisp, patterned wallpaper that looked straight out of a magazine. Plus, the light fittings were a copper-inspired triumph that was all back in vogue now, as it had been in her great-grandparents’ era.
Ali paused on the landing. “Yeah, my parents have a way of making places feel just right.” She paused. “Parent.” She drew her mouth into a straight line.
Morgan went to grab Ali’s hand, but stopped. That wasn’t in the script anymore. “I’m sure your dad had a hand in it, too.” She pointed to the right. “Definitely in hanging that Mexican hat over the hallway cocktail cabinet.” Ali’s dad had always been obsessed with Mexico, along with its food and drink. Tequila had been his drink of choice.
“That has Dad written all over it.”
Ali led Morgan through to what had been her bedroom, now the guest room.
“This has had a makeover, too. It looks like a boutique hotel room.” The walls were a cool midnight blue, the skirting boards and ceiling crisp white, with splashes of chrome and gold on the accessories. Morgan was impressed.
“It’s not bad, is it?” Ali put her code into her case lock, but it didn’t budge. She glanced up. “Okay, what’s your code?”
“1234.” Morgan would fail sleuth school on the first day.
“Seriously?” Ali put it in and the lock opened. “How the hell did that happen? I hope you’ve got mine.”
Morgan crouched down, unzipped the case, and checked the items. Yes, it was hers. “The only thing I could think was, we took the wrong cases from when we got out of the taxis. Remember that was the first time we met on our doomed trip?”
Ali nodded, her face inches from Morgan’s. “I do.” She exhaled. “That must be it, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Morgan gulped. Ali was so close, her instinctive reaction was to kiss her. But she couldn’t. No matter how much every hair on her body craned towards Ali. No matter how her brain screeched inside that they were meant to be. That this was right.
Ali didn’t agree.
“There you are!”
Morgan jumped at the interruption, jerking forward and head-butting Ali instead. Smooth work. Now, rather than kissing her, Morgan clutched her head and toppled sideways. The pain in her skull was acute, but it had nothing on her embarrassment, currently running red hot through every cell of her body. She looked up to see Ali’s mum in the doorway. Had she always been orange, or was Morgan seeing things?
Ali got to her feet, rubbing her head with a frown. She still jingled. “I’m going to change this bloody jumper,” she muttered.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Ali shook her head. “We were just checking cases because ours somehow got mixed up.” She pointed. “That’s Morgan’s, so she must have mine.”
“These airlines and their mix-ups. Did I tell you about the time your gran went to Paris and her case flew to Athens? Spent the first three days of her trip with the same clothes on, including pants!”
Morgan got to her feet. “Hi, Mrs Bradford.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m Elaine, you know that.” She paused. “Could you give us a hand for another ten minutes, love?”
Ali nodded. “Of course.” She glanced at Morgan. “You okay to wait and we’ll sort the cases out?”
Morgan nodded as her head throbbed. “I already told you I’m prepared to wait.” Shit. She hadn’t meant to saythat. “I’ll get your case from the car in the meantime.”
Ali stared, then nodded. “That would be great, thank you.”
* * *
Morgan putthe front door on the latch, then took her case out to the car and brought Ali’s in, making sure for about the tenth time the padlock didn’t open and it was indeed Ali’s case.
It was. She shivered as she returned. Fuck winter. Summer was definitely more her vibe.
However, she’d do romance in the winter if that was what Ali wanted. Red wine, snow, roaring fire, the works.
She put Ali’s case on the floor by the front door, then stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and glanced around the hallway, her teenage years playing in her ears like a tinny speaker at a bad party. She’d had fun here with Nicole. Back then, Ali had been an afterthought. Very much in the background, a tiny speck on Morgan’s watercolour of life. Never once had she figured in Morgan’s thoughts or daydreams. How times had changed. She was very much figuring now.
Morgan spied a photo of Ali and Nicole when they were kids. Nicole was around eight, and Ali grinned up at her, the tell-tale home-style wonky fringe in full view. It was around the time Morgan stole Ali’s trumpet. To make amends (albeit 30 years later), she’d bought her another one from the gift shop in Lower Greeton. She wasn’t sure she’d get to give it to her now. They weren’t on their trip anymore. They’d gone off road.
