Christmas at Rosewood Read online

  ‘Until her boyfriend came back, anyway,’ Aiden said, and broke the spell of my memory. ‘Then she forgot all about me, and left me to pine alone for what might have been…’

  I forced myself to roll my eyes. ‘I see fame hasn’t beaten that sense of the overdramatic out of you, then?’ A tight, uncomfortable feeling swelled up inside me. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth either. And if anyone asked too many questions…

  I’d never told Edward that I’d seduced his best friend. That we’d had a brief, but intense, fling that Christmas – or that I’d avoided him until I’d graduated and moved away the next summer. He didn’t even know that Darren and I had broken up that December, or that we’d only made up in the January when he proposed.

  As far as Edward knew, Aiden and I had kept each other company watching The Muppet Christmas Carol and eating turkey pasties on Christmas Day.

  Which was only a tiny fragment of the real story.

  ‘I make things up for a living,’ Aiden pointed out. ‘Being overdramatic is kind of compulsory. Besides, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It let me know what to expect from the big bad world.’

  Had he ever told anyone what really happened that Christmas? I studied his face – his burning, knowing eyes, his sharp smile, but I couldn’t read anything into them. The Aiden I’d known, however briefly, was fourteen years away. This was a new man altogether.

  At least, that was what I was telling myself.

  ‘And what about deepest Cheshire?’ I asked, keen to bring the conversation back to the present. The past was too hard to deal with. ‘What should we expect from Rosewood?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t be the one to answer that,’ Aiden said. ‘I’ve only been here six months.’ Six months? What could have happened to drag him away from his illustrious career as the face of British crime fiction in London for so long? Usually, he was on the telly every few weeks, or pictured at the premiere of one of his film adaptions, or escorting some model or pop star to some hot new restaurant. But, now that I thought about it, the tube posters were all I’d seen of him since the summer.

  Not that I’d been looking. Obviously.

  Okay, maybe a bit. Aiden was a popular figure, and someone I’d once known. Of course I’d followed his career over the years – but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how it would have brought him to Rosewood for six months.

  ‘An outsider’s perspective, then,’ Saskia put in. ‘You probably see the place more clearly than the rest of us, anyway.’

  Aiden looked from her to me. ‘Okay, then. How about this. Rosewood is a place of stories, of merriment and of celebration.’ Well, that didn’t sound too bad. I could live with that.

  Then he caught my gaze. ‘And secrets, of course. Always secrets.’

  Our secret. I knew then that he hadn’t told a soul until he came here. Because that had been the deal. No person in the world but the two of us knew what had passed between us that Christmas. But now, I had a feeling the secret was out.

  And seeing him again, I knew that despite the years, those two weeks we’d spent together had never left me. From the way he was looking at me, Aiden hadn’t forgotten them either. Not one bit.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Edward said, laughing. ‘I don’t think any of us can have any secrets left, do you? Not after publishing the Journals.’

  Aiden smiled back at him, easy and open. So, Edward didn’t know then. That was something. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are no more secrets here at Rosewood. But there is definitely liquor, and I was promised a Christmas cocktail by Saskia’s grandmother, and I intend to claim it. Anyone joining me?’

  ‘Let me get Mum and Freya and Max settled first,’ Edward said. ‘Then we’ll see. Come on, everyone. Let me show you to your rooms.’

  We trailed dutifully up the stairs after Edward and Saskia, our bags shared out between us all. But I couldn’t help but pause at the top of the stairs and look back down into the hallway.

  Aiden still stood in the doorway, watching me go. I looked away fast.

  Edward had always said that Rosewood was home to ghosts. I just hadn’t realised it would be my past, my secrets, that were haunting me.

  Chapter Two

  Edward and Saskia deposited me and my bags in a bright yellow bedroom looking out over the Rose Garden, then Saskia promptly retreated to show Mum and Max to their rooms, leaving Edward and me alone.

  I got the feeling that this was something of a pre-planned attack.

  I could hear Saskia talking to Max as they left. ‘Aiden’s a writer, you know – you might have heard of him. Aiden Waites?’ I groaned as I realised the wider implications of Aiden’s presence at Rosewood. Max had been begging to read Aiden’s books for months – apparently his mates had all read them, something I knew from talking to their mums wasn’t the case. Actually meeting the man himself wasn’t going to make my ‘they’re not suitable for a twelve-year-old’ argument any easier.

  Edward shut the bedroom door softly behind him, muffling Max’s excited reply, then leant against the dressing table. I took a seat on the bed beside my suitcase, wondering if there was a way out of the inevitable ‘we’re all worried about you’ conversation I knew was coming.

  ‘So,’ Edward said.

  ‘So,’ I echoed.

  He sighed. ‘I’m no good at this.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said, taking pity on him. ‘Mum asked you to “have a word” with me, without specifying exactly which words to use?’

  ‘Oh, she was pretty clear about the words, actually,’ Edward said, giving me a half-smile. ‘Mostly “mistake,” “forgiveness,” and “family”.’

  ‘Right. Yeah, no.’

  ‘That’s what I figured.’ He pushed away from the dressing table and came to sit beside me on the bed, the suitcase between us. ‘Is she right to be so worried about this? I mean, I know I’ve been away, but you don’t look like you’re falling apart, and Max seems okay.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I mean, I’m fine. Furious, but fine. But Max… I don’t know. I hoped maybe you might be able to talk with him. See how he’s doing.’

  ‘Of course,’ Edward agreed, instantly. ‘How much does he know?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ Darren was still his father, whatever he’d done, and I didn’t want Max to lose all respect for him. All the same, not telling him hadn’t made things noticeably easier between them, anyway. ‘We just told him that as much as we loved him, Darren and I had grown apart, so we were separating. We kind of focused on the “still being a family, just with two houses” thing, rather than the adultery and betrayal part. As far as I know, Darren hasn’t told him about his new girlfriend yet, either.’

  ‘You realise he’ll have to know the truth eventually, right?’ Edward asked. ‘One thing I’ve learned since coming to Rosewood – the truth always comes out.’

  God, I hoped not. ‘Maybe. But not yet. After Christmas, at least.’

  ‘Okay. So, you okay with being here for Christmas?’

  Here, with a houseful of strangers, my disapproving mother, and the man I had the most intense relationship of my life with fourteen years ago? Sure!

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely,’ I lied. I wasn’t sure at all. In fact, I was pretty convinced it might be hell on earth for three days. My doubts must have shown on my face, because Edward didn’t look at all convinced. I hunted for something else positive to say. ‘Actually, it might do us good to be somewhere with no memories this Christmas. I mean, given everything.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Edward got to his feet. ‘Maybe we can even make some new family memories, yeah?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I said, and I wasn’t even lying that time.

  ‘Right. You relax,’ he said, crossing to the door. ‘Take a shower, have a rest, and come down when you’re ready. I’ll take care of Max and Mum.’

  He was trying to help, I realised. Trying to make up for not being there when Darren left – for being half a world away
on a book tour when my life was collapsing around me. Maybe for being happy, when I wasn’t.

  Except… I wasn’t unhappy, either. And that was something I couldn’t admit to – couldn’t tell Mum, or Max, or Edward. How could I tell them that the end of my marriage felt like the beginning of something new? Of a fresh start for me? How could I explain the relief I’d felt, the day I realised that Darren was cheating on me?

  I couldn’t let Max know that I was glad his father had left. Just like I couldn’t tell Mum that I’d given up on my marriage long before it actually ended.

  Neither one of them would even begin to understand.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, putting on the brave smile I’d perfected in the days after Darren left. ‘I’ll be down soon.’

  ‘No hurry.’ He shut the door tight behind him, and I was alone.

  I sighed, and flopped back to lie on the bed, my mind still swirling at being at Rosewood, at Edward’s words, and, most of all, at the sight of Aiden, two hundred miles away from where I’d expected him to be.

  It was strange, knowing we lived in the same city, but never running into one another. Never even considering the idea of making contact. I’d wondered, once or twice, what I’d do if I saw him – across the street, on the tube, at some event or another. I’d never been certain – but I’d always suspected I’d have turned and walked away and pretended it never happened.

  And now, here he was. And here I was. And pretending we weren’t really wasn’t an option.

  No. I wasn’t thinking about Aiden. I’d spent fourteen years hardly ever letting myself think about him – why stop now? I needed to focus on my family, on my son, on our Christmas together.

  I threw an arm over my eyes, listening intently to the silence. I supposed it was kind of nice to have some peace and quiet after Mum chattering in my ear all the way from London.

  The problem with Mum was that she meant well. She was so earnestly supportive and helpful and encouraging that I couldn’t ever get properly mad at her.

  She just had absolutely no understanding of how I felt.

  When Dad died, it was as if the world ended for her. They’d been married for over thirty years, and never had a cross word. There’d been no warning, either – his death had come like lightening from a clear sky, one bright and sunny spring day. And for a while, I’d honestly worried that life might never start up again.

  But it had. Mum had found strength she’d never needed before, and she’d carried on living and thriving without Dad. It was only in the quiet moments – when I caught her looking at old photos, or staring out at the tree in the back garden that Dad had always planned to cut down but never had – that I realised anew how much of a hole he’d left inside her.

  Well, not just then, in truth.

  Every time I’d mentioned a problem in my marriage – even just a niggle or an annoyance – Mum had been quick to remind me how lucky I was to have Darren. And when he’d finally left… she’d been distraught. Bereft. As if she were the abandoned wife. Almost as if she were losing Dad all over again.

  No, I really wouldn’t be telling Mum how I actually felt about Darren’s departure. Especially not over Christmas.

  And not with Max here, listening in at corners like he had been for months. Trying to find out all the truths his father and I were protecting him from. Wanting to know why his world had changed so drastically – even if he’d be better off never knowing.

  I didn’t want to poison my son’s relationship with his father. Which meant never telling him what an utter bastard he was, unfortunately.

  I might not mind being without Darren, and I might not be mourning his loss. But that didn’t mean I was particularly happy about being cheated on and abandoned after thirteen years.

  When I’d finally confronted him, the last time, all I’d got was, ‘I’m unhappy here. I can’t help being in love with someone else. I’m leaving, tonight.’

  Hardly the grand apology one would expect under the circumstances.

  Of course, two weeks later, he’d thought better of it. He’d shown up on my doorstep at closer to midnight than was really appropriate, begging me to listen. And I had. I’d heard all about how he missed us, how he was scared he’d rushed into something he shouldn’t have. How he was worried he’d made a mistake.

  How he wanted to try again.

  And I’d sent him back out into the night, telling him firmly and calmly that it was too late.

  I’d never mentioned that late night visit to Max, though. Or to Mum.

  I sighed, pushing thoughts of my ex from my mind as I levered myself off the bed and crossed to the window. Below, the famous Rose Garden was full of sticks and thorns, with sludgy looking grass peeking between the still falling snow between the paths. Hardly the stuff of grand romance, even if that was what it was supposed to be famous for.

  And grand romance made me think of Aiden again, and the woman I’d been all those years ago, for just two weeks. My jaw tightened at the memory. A woman I’d never be again. She’d disappeared the day I’d accepted Darren’s proposal, melting away into a life of doing what was expected, what made others happy.

  But I didn’t have to do that any more, did I? As long as Max was happy, no one else really mattered. I might not be able to be that twenty-one year old Freya again, but I could be a new version. A better version.

  Hopefully a happier one, anyway.

  Laughter floated up through the stairwell and I figured that if it was loud enough to reach me all the way up here, something had to be pretty funny. I took a moment to smooth down my blonde curls as best I could, and rummaged in my bag for some perfume to spritz on to cover the travel fug, then headed down to find out what was going on.

  After all, we’d come here for a fun, family Christmas, and I wasn’t going to find that hiding in my room. And if a small part of me wondered if that was Aiden’s laugh I’d heard – low and resonant and amused – well, I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself just yet.

  As I rounded the curve in the stairs, I paused and watched the scene in the hall below. The whole family seemed to have gathered in my absence, and were merrily tearing open boxes of Christmas decorations, unwrapping them one by one.

  ‘Oh look!’ Saskia held up a small, painted wooden book, glinting in the light from the chandelier overhead, and the candles in the wall holders. ‘This one was Nathaniel’s favourite.’

  The laughter dimmed, just for a moment, at the memory. I supposed this must be their second Christmas without him, but the grief was obviously still raw.

  She handed the decoration to a woman I recognised as her grandmother Isabelle, who smiled, then passed it on to a younger girl who stood on a step by the tree.

  ‘Caro? Why don’t you hang this,’ Isabelle said. Caro. That must be Caroline – Saskia’s younger sister.

  With a solemn nod, Caro took the book decoration and stretched up to hang it on one of the four branches sticking out and curving up like a crown, around the top of the central point, which already held a silver star.

  For a moment, I felt utterly out of place. What were we doing, gatecrashing someone else’s Christmas? This was a mistake. We’d given up our own traditions only to impose on Saskia’s family’s.

  ‘Tricia?’ Isabelle asked, and Mum looked up. ‘Did you bring any of your own decorations to add to the tree?’

  Mum nodded, and pulled out a small box from behind her back. ‘Just a few.’ But as she took each of them out in turn, handing them to Caro and Max to add to the tree, I knew she’d brought all the important ones. The half-eaten apple Dad had brought home from a business trip in New York, the Paris bauble I’d bought them on my year abroad. Even the manky old feathered dove that had hung on our family tree for longer than I could remember.

  Every one of those decorations held a memory, as dear as the ones Saskia and her family must have of theirs. I was suddenly very glad that Mum had thought to bring them.

  The sensation that I was being watched crept up the back
of my neck, and when I looked away from the tree I found Aiden’s gaze on me. Our eyes met, briefly, before he tore his away. I wondered what he was thinking, behind that hot and angry gaze. Was he remembering the tiny fake tree in my empty flat on campus? The way the lights used to flash on and off – not because they were supposed to, but because there was a loose connection. Or the tinfoil decorations we made from mince pie containers?

  How was it I could still remember that, but not what Darren had bought me for Christmas last year?

  ‘Mum? Did you bring any of our decorations?’ Max's voice pulled my attention away, and I hurried down the remaining stairs to join the rest of them in the hallway.

  Our decorations. The box of perfectly coordinated purple and turquoise baubles that Darren had insisted on after we redecorated the lounge? No. All the handcrafted ones that Max had made in primary school had found their way to Mum’s house, somehow, and none of the ones that were left meant a damn thing to me.

  ‘Um –’

  ‘I’ve got this one of yours, Max,’ Mum broke in, pulling the three lollipop-stick reindeer that Max had been so proud of six years ago from her box. Now, he just rolled his eyes.

  ‘Why did you bring that old thing?’ he asked.

  ‘Because it’s my favourite,’ Mum said firmly, choosing a branch for it.

  Caro and Max exchanged a look – one that I was pretty sure meant ‘Grandparents. What can you do?’ At least he wouldn’t be lonely this Christmas, away from all his friends. If he’d found someone else to be sulky and sarcastic with, he’d be happy as anything. In a subdued, glaring sort of a way.