. . .’ I shake my head. Callum is sweet, and we’ve had loads of fun. He’s been up for anything, and he’s always seemed to get me – until now. ‘Well, to be totally honest,’ I need to be, ‘if Auntie Lynn had been at home, then I’d want to spend Christmas Day with her. Look Callum, you’re brilliant, but I can’t do the whole settling down, meet the parents, thing.’
‘Cool.’ He shrugs. ‘No problem, there’s plenty of time. There’s always next year.’ The grin is a bit lopsided, but totally sweet, totally Callum. ‘Or I could come to Canada? They won’t mind.’
I hate myself.
‘No, I need to go on my own, it’s work, and,’ I take a deep breath, put my hand over his and do my best to look him in the eye. ‘Who knows what I’ll be doing next year? I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, Callum.’ I go back to studying his neat finger nails. ‘You need a nice, sweet girl you can marry, have kids with, and I’m not that person.’
He opens his mouth to object, and I put my fingers to his lips.
‘Not now, maybe, but one day. You’re wasting your time with me.’ I shrug. ‘Settling down isn’t my thing.’
I hate doing this to him. To us. I hate to chase the happiness away. But I can’t help it.
When I look up, he’s shaking his head in denial, but I can see it in his eyes. He does know. He knows me well enough. ‘You’ve already decided, haven’t you? The hair, everything. You’re not going to change your mind.’
‘I have.’
‘Sah, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ From the look on his face, I think I probably will. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I do love you, and you’re fab, and a total laugh, and daring but . . .’
‘But?’ It’s my turn to wait for the ‘but’.
He squeezes my hand. ‘You do need to get your shit together you know, you can’t keep running away from people.’
‘I don’t run away.’ I can hear the indignation in my voice – and the hurt – as I pull my hand away from his.
‘Forget I said it, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t – let’s drink to Canada, shall we?’ He’s already out of bed, and dragging his jeans on over his naked, toned butt, and pouring vodka shots out before I’ve even got my T-shirt over my head.
We perch on the edge of the bed and drink in silence, punctuated by awkward attempts at conversation. The link is gone. Broken. We aren’t the same any more. We aren’t a couple.
‘Hey, I do like the hair. Blue is good.’ He kisses me on the nose as we stand at his front door, both knowing our lives are about to head off in different directions. ‘But don’t forget your pink side, will you?’ His voice has a wistful edge that makes me feel like a naughty child.
‘I just needed a change.’ I run my fingers through my cropped hair.
‘One day a lucky guy will come along who you don’t mind being pink for, and,’ there’s a long pause, ‘who you want to spend Christmas with. I’ll miss you, you mad mare.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Callum.’
And then he winks and opens the door wide for me, shoves his hands in his pockets, and that is that.
‘Sugar.’ Sam is pounding the keyboard of her computer frantically when I get in to work. Luckily there are no clients (or Aunt Lynn) around to witness the abuse. Although it does occur to me that the keyboard will soon be my property. My responsibility. Shit, all this responsibility could be totally weird. The nearest I’ve come to commitment before has been to book a flight more than four weeks in advance. Now I’ve got a boulder-sized slab of obligation hanging over me and I’m not quite sure how I feel. They say love and hate are close buddies, don’t they? Well, so are petrified and proud. Right now, it’s anybody’s guess which one will win the day. I’m either going to end up crushed or feeling like I’ve done Aunt Lynn proud and shown her what I’m made of.
I’m not Spiderman, though, I haven’t got great power, just responsibility. I wish I was Spiderman, actually, I’m sure he could sort this out in a jiffy. He could whizz over and truss up Mr Armstrong in a super-strong web, and he wouldn’t care a fig that the one person he loves isn’t going to spend Christmas with him.
‘You’re frowning.’ Sam has stopped pounding.
‘No, I’m not.’ I force my face into what I hope is a chilled expression. But is probably just looking down my nose pop-eyed. ‘What’s up?’
‘I just accidentally booked my mum on a non-refundable last-minute deal to Kenya.’
‘And she doesn’t want it?’ Sam’s mum is funny. She’s one of those mothers who is so well-meaning it gets embarrassing, if you know what I mean. But she is lovely, and totally means well. Like mother, like daughter.
‘Does she buggery.’ Which figures. She is more big-hat hunter than big-game hunter. ‘She wants to go to Lapland, not bloody Kenya.’ Sam goes back to abusing my assets.
‘You can’t actually undo what you’ve done just by typing fast you know.’ I sit down and push her wheelie chair, and her, to one side. You see? This is what I meant when I thought it was weird Aunt Lynn leaving Sam on her own. At least this is a family booking cock-up, and not a customer. ‘Pressing delete doesn’t work when it isn’t on the screen any more.’
‘I know that.’ She suddenly smiles. ‘Actually, maybe that’s the best idea I’ve ever had, and my brain just hasn’t realised. Sending Mum off on her own would solve all kinds of problems.’ The frantic typing stops. ‘Christmas can be such hard work if we’re all together. A few days with just me and Jake on our own would be ace.’
She’s got a dreamy look in her eyes, and for a moment I feel a pang of jealousy. Sam has got a lovely boyfriend, a wonderful family and she’s all set for the perfect Christmas. Unlike me. I’m just about to book a ticket to hell. This was not a good idea at all. Me and my big mouth. Why can’t I think before I speak? Just once would be nice. I think they call it ‘filtered’, whereas I’m more another f word.
And I so like Christmas. What have I done?
Sam frowns. ‘Unless she gets eaten by a giraffe or something.’
‘What?’
‘Mum, in Kenya!’
‘Aren’t they vegetarian? They eat leaves and stuff.’
‘Well, a lion. Or what if a rhino tramples them? I mean, you know how she likes to be centre stage, she’ll be throwing her arms around and projecting!’ Sam’s mum is into amateur dramatics and sees herself as the next Dame Judi Dench. ‘How good is the health and safety at these places? They must do risk assessments, yeah?’
‘Yeah, of course they do! They have to, and you don’t often hear of tourists getting chewed up or trampled to death, do you?’
‘Well
