Never Close Your Eyes (40 page)

‘But what does it involve?' Evie had no idea.

‘It's like therapy,' Zelda explained. ‘Using hypnotism, you go back in time to a past life. You can find out how your past lives have influenced your relationships and make sure you don't make the same mistakes again, see.'

Evie shivered. ‘It sounds scary.' There might be things in her past that she'd really rather not know about. She was fascinated too, though.

‘It's not cheap,' Zelda said. ‘It'll cost you seventy-five pounds.'

Evie sucked in her cheeks.

‘It's up to you, darlin' . . .'

She knew she was going to do it.

‘You'll have to book an appointment. It'll have to wait till the New Year.'

‘The New Year?' That sounded such a long way away. ‘But what am I going to do
now
– about Steve I mean?'

‘Go and play with them kiddies of yours,' Zelda said firmly. ‘That Steve'll turn up eventually with his explanation. Men always do.'

Evie put the phone down. The call hadn't exactly been satisfactory. She spent a fortune on Zelda but she really didn't feel that she'd had her full attention today – and now she was contemplating forking out seventy-five more pounds on this regression thing. Maybe Zelda was busy with Christmas arrangements, but Evie somehow doubted it. Zelda hardly ever talked about her own private life, but Evie had gleaned enough to know that she lived alone, had probably never been married and almost certainly had no children.

She could smell the turkey cooking downstairs. She thought Freya was in her room and Michael was probably watching TV. He'd be glued for hours if she let him. She bit her lip. She almost wished that she hadn't put Neil off. Last Christmas – their first apart – he'd been with them practically all day, probably because he felt so guilty. He cooked the meal and she nearly convinced herself that they were back to normal, that his leaving had all been a nightmare. She even remembered feeling happy, off and on.

Now she faced the prospect of spending the entire day alone with the children. They'd already opened their presents and there were hours stretching ahead that she'd somehow have to try to fill with Christmas spirit. She loved their company, that wasn't a problem. But it was hard having to do everything herself.

She tried Steve's number one more time. ‘The mobile phone you are calling is switched off. Please try again later.'

Bastard. Tears sprang in her eyes. She threw the phone on the bed and stalked from the room. He was so cruel. She couldn't imagine an explanation in the world that would satisfy her.

She opened the sitting-room door. Michael was absorbed in some cartoon or other. She must think of him and Freya now, not herself.

‘Hello, darling,' she said brightly, putting on her best happy mummy smile. ‘I thought we'd have the turkey around five, OK?'

He grunted without looking up.

‘Would you like to go for a walk?'

He ignored her. She repeated herself.

‘In the rain?' he said at last, glancing over to the window. It was still bucketing down.

‘We could put on cagoules and wellies. It's fun walking in the rain if you're well wrapped up.'

‘Mu-um.' He gave her a look as if to say d'you think I'm three? before turning back to the TV.

The phone rang. She rushed to answer it in the kitchen. She was panting slightly as she picked the handset up.

‘Eve, is that you?'

Her heart sank. It was her mother. She supposed she did have to speak to her mother on Christmas morning.

‘How are you?' Evie tried to sound cheerful. ‘And Dad? Are you having a nice day?'

‘Not really,' her mother replied.

Evie sat down at the kitchen table. This was going to be a long one, she could just tell. ‘Why's that?' she asked, not wanting to know.

‘Your father's insisted on opening the shop so I'm all on my own.'

‘Opening the shop?' Evie cried, ‘but why, for Heaven's sake? Who on earth wants to buy furniture on Christmas Day?'

‘I know,' said her mother gloomily, ‘but you know what he's like. He says there might be people from other religions out and about – Buddhists for example. Or what's that religion that Madonna likes? Kabbalah, that's it. There might be some Kabbalah types.'

Evie laughed; she couldn't help herself. ‘How many Kabbalah followers does he think will be wandering around Ottery St Mary on Christmas Day looking for furniture?'

‘Well, you know he doesn't really like Christmas anyway,' her mother sighed. ‘He'd rather be in the shop reading his book than stuck at home with me.'

Evie swallowed. She felt guilty. She could have taken the children to Devon, especially in view of the fact that they weren't now seeing Neil – and she wasn't seeing Steve. But the thought of being cooped up with her parents for several days was too much to bear. They'd spend most of the time criticising Neil – and her indirectly for having chosen him – and telling her how she should be managing her affairs.

‘And you should get yourself a proper job,' her father would no doubt say. ‘Your mother and I could help you find a decent franchise somewhere. Or you could join our business. This airy-fairy wedding-dress lark is all very well but it doesn't pay, never will.'

She was never, ever going to join their business. Not even if she were destitute. She'd rather slit her wrists. No, it was just as well that she'd refused their invitation for Christmas on the grounds that the children needed to see their dad. She was better off here. At least then she could wallow in her misery without her parents breathing down her neck saying, ‘I told you so.'

Freya glowed with pleasure.
nothing much,
she wrote.
my mum's cooking. she's in a funny mood. i think she's upset about her boyfriend or sumthing.

Freya's hair was annoying her. She scraped it up on the top of her head and fastened it with a scrunchie. That felt better.

Freya got up, opened one of her curtains just a chink and peeped out. It was tipping down with rain outside. She closed it quickly. The room was almost pitch black, save for the muffled light coming from the little bedside lamp behind her which she'd covered with one of her black T-shirts.

hes a creep,
she typed.

She didn't want to think about him. Al was asking too many questions.

wot u doing anyway?
she wrote.
where's your daughter?

with her mum,
Al typed back.
wish i was with u.

Freya's insides ached. If only things were different. If only she'd picked a normal boy her own age.

mum and dad had a big row yesterday,
she said.
I'm not seeing dad today.

She thought for a moment. No, she didn't mind, she was relieved not to have to see the horrible girlfriend. She pictured Dad's smiling face. He was crouching down. She was a little girl running, running across the grass into his wide-open arms. He scooped her up and swung her round in a big circle. She swooped and swirled; she was a bird, flying in the sky.

She looked at the screen again.
a bit,
she typed.

wish i could c u. i miss u,
he said.

She regretted her words immediately. For an agonising few minutes she thought that he wasn't going to respond. At last he did.

love isn't always predictable Freya
, he typed.
sometimes 2 people fall in love and to the outside world it seems completely wrong. only those 2 people know the truth.

She scratched her head and shifted slightly in her chair.
yeah, i spose so.

anyway,
he said,
u r so grown up for your age. u don't seem like a child, u r so mature. if things were different id luv to take u away 4 a romantic weekend.

A romantic weekend? Her tummy tingled.
where would u take me?

maybe paris?
he asked.
u ever been?

Her heart started to gallop. She could see the Eiffel Tower, the shops and pavement cafés.

never,
she replied
. ive always wanted 2 go.
She frowned.
but mum would never let me.

A thought crossed her mind. She waited, fingers crossed, willing him to read her. She was much too shy to suggest it herself.

At last his reply came back. She grinned, hugging her arms around her.

Evie was surprised to hear a knock at the front door. Neil? Her heart skipped. She checked herself and frowned. She'd specifically told him not to come today. This was very bad of him.

She opened the door. Bill was standing there in the porch clutching a brown paper bag. He was wearing his ancient-looking Barbour, but his head was uncovered and his face and silver-grey hair were sodden.

‘Merry Christmas!' He smiled. ‘I've brought you some potatoes from the allotment.' He thrust the paper bag into Evie's arms. ‘They're Desiree, straight from the ground. They keep best there. They're resistant to pests, unlike other varieties.'

‘Oh.' Evie was nonplussed. ‘I was expecting . . .'

‘I'll be off,' he said quickly. ‘I only wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas and give you these. I've got masses, I can't eat them all and it seems a shame for them to go to waste. They're very good.' He started to go.

‘Wait!' she cried. ‘Come and have a drink. I mean, if you've time?'

‘No thanks, I don't want to disturb—' He peered behind her, as if looking for someone.

‘You're not disturbing anything,' she interrupted. ‘It's just me and the children. Please, we'd love you to come and share some Christmas cheer with us. We need it, I tell you.'

‘But I thought . . .'

Evie shook her head. ‘I asked Neil not to visit today but when you knocked I thought he'd probably turned up anyway. You know what he's like.'

Bill frowned. ‘He should respect your wishes. It's not on.'

She laughed. ‘Respect my wishes? That would be a first.'

Bill hesitated. ‘What about . . . ?'

Evie knew what he was thinking. ‘Steve? Oh, let's not talk about him. He's in my bad books.' She peeped into the brown bag. There were five or six creamy brown potatoes in there, still with clumps of soil on them. ‘They smell lovely,' she said, ‘all earthy. We'll have them with our turkey.'

Bill rubbed his hands together. ‘Turkey, eh? I'm having goose this year.' The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

Evie cocked her head on one side. ‘Any of the family with you?'

He shook his head. ‘They did ask me to go and stay but to be honest, it's not good timing. Henry's in the middle of building work and the house is chaos and Robert's wife is eight months pregnant. She doesn't want her father-in-law around now. I remember how Jan felt when she was at that stage of pregnancy. She just wanted to be able to get on with turning out the cupboards and cleaning the inside of the washing machine.'

Evie laughed. ‘I don't remember cleaning the inside of the washing machine when I was pregnant. But I did buy dozens of baby blankets and spend a lot of time rearranging them. Neil thought I was mad.'

‘There you are,' Bill said, grinning, ‘it's that nesting thing that women do. I'd hate to get in the way of a woman and her nesting.' He stamped his wellie-clad feet on the floor to keep warm. ‘No,' he said, agreeing with himself, ‘I'm in the best place, with my goose and my books. I'm rereading Trollope's
He Knew He Was Right
. Have you read it?'

She shook her head.

‘Excellent stuff,' he said brightly. ‘I'd forgotten how good he is on women and the inner conflicts caused by their position in Victorian society.'

‘Bill!'

Evie swung round.

Freya was on the bottom stair. She beamed. ‘Happy Christmas!'

Evie was startled. Freya rarely smiled, let alone at adults. Bill was blessed indeed. ‘I was trying to persuade him to come in for a drink,' she explained.

‘Please do,' Freya said. ‘We need some company, don't we, Mum?'

Bill hesitated. ‘Well, if you're sure? Just for half an hour . . .'

Evie grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. ‘That's settled then,' she said happily. ‘I've got homemade mince pies and a lovely bottle of mulled wine from M and S. You can try a little, Freya, it's delicious.'

They sat, the three of them, round the kitchen table, breathing in the roasting turkey smells and sipping mulled wine. Soon they were joined by Michael, clutching his Cluedo board. His eyes brightened when he saw Bill.

‘Can we all play?' he said.

Evie glanced at Freya, expecting an immediate ‘no'. She never played board games these days.

‘Only if Bill does,' Freya said. ‘He'll stop us arguing. We'll have to be polite if he's here. And only if I can be Miss Scarlet.'

Evie was flabbergasted. She looked at Bill. ‘I like a good game of Cluedo,' he said, rubbing his thighs. ‘But be warned – I get very competitive.'

Evie giggled. ‘Well, so do I. In fact I always win, don't I, kids?'

Michael plonked himself down next to Freya. ‘Rubbish,' he said. ‘You're always so desperate to win you don't check all your clues, then when you turn the cards over you've got it wrong and ruined the game.'