just let me in on it.
I brush my thumb over the tiny heart tattoo on my left wrist. I had gotten it shortly after Scott and I got back from our honeymoon, seven years ago now. I had been in a state of newlywed bliss and on the spur of the moment, while I was with Madi when she was getting the rose on her shoulder, I decided to get one to symbolize my love for Scott and to remind myself that when things got tough to never forget the love we had for each other. Now he has simply moved on with his life. I know I must do this too, but I can’t seem to find the switch inside me to flick it to ‘stop thinking about Scott’.
I return to my spot on the bed and nibble on a now cold, but still delicious, slice of French toast and pour myself a lukewarm coffee and get back to the task at hand.
*
By 7 p.m., I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my screenplay is not going to be finished today. I make my way into the living room where I am greeted with a glow from the orange and yellow flames that sway in the fireplace, the light glaring from the TV and the multi-coloured lights that flicker from the tree in a corner of the room.
My mum’s tree has always been beautiful, but out here against the rustic décor, the wooden ceiling beams and stone fireplace the lights, the flower ornaments and homemade wooden Santas and sleighs are something else.
Madi is curled up under a turquoise throw on one side of the L-shaped couch and my parents are snuggled up together on the other side. I make myself known and sit down near Madi, so I can pinch some of her blanket.
‘What are we watching?’ I ask, as my mum gets up and walks into the open kitchen that’s part of the spacious living room area. Madi looks over at me.
‘Oh, just a Pegasus Christmas classic that had a bunch of input from an incredible writer I know,’ Madi answers, giving me a wink and pulling her long legs towards her so that I can get more of the blanket.
‘It’s one of yours then?’ I say, genuinely smiling and returning Madi a wink of my own.
‘So, did you get it finished?’ Madi asks, sitting up straighter. My dad looks over.
I stretch my arms above my head, loosening the knots in my neck, as my brain stumbles over the word ‘no.’ With all eyes on me a wave of panic swoops in, catching me off guard. Reluctant to disappoint Madi and wanting to get the festive fun underway, I have no control over the words that spill from my mouth next.
‘Yes, I did, I sent it all off too.’ Inside, I’m cringing. I’ve just lied to Madi, but I can’t bring myself to be the reason she doesn’t get to celebrate Christmas for the second year in a row.
‘Atta girl,’ Madi says, offering me a high five. I grin and clap my hand against hers. Madi’s eyes linger on mine a touch longer than needed and I quickly turn my attention to the TV, not wanting her to see the truth in my eyes.
‘That’s fantastic, sweetheart,’ Mum says, coming up behind us with her own concoction of mulled wine. It’s a blend of herbal teas, no alcohol needed, and I haven’t had it since my parents moved out here. The cinnamon hits my nostrils and I immediately sink back into the soft couch, momentarily allowing my worries to melt away with each warm sip. But with the Pegasus Entertainment adverts buzzing in the background, my moment of bliss is short-lived. Not only do I have to put my past aside to write the best screenplay of my career, I now have to figure out how to do it in three days without my best friend knowing.
The next day I make my way down to the kitchen with the hope that Madi might have decided to treat herself to a lie-in, so that I can grab some coffee and sneak in an hour or two of editing before she wakes. But the minute I enter the kitchen I’m greeted by my one and only, who informs me that my parents are out and that the day is ours for the taking. She’s wearing her signature turquoise headscarf and her blonde hair is pinned up in a bun, with mint Converse and a white tee under a thin strap denim playsuit. She looks perky and bright making me yearn for a dose of what I would really prefer right now: a day with my favourite person. All thoughts of writing dissipate.
In comparison to Madi, I haven’t parted with my oversized olive cardigan since we got off the plane, my hair is a tangled and knotted mess, and the black leggings I’m sporting could do with a wash. I have yet to put any make-up on my face. I stare at Madi’s bold pink lips and envy them a touch. I catch her looking me up and down and I can see her brain ticking. My ensemble represents my frazzled state. I can’t actually remember the last time I felt one hundred per cent myself, but looking at Madi I feel motivated to channel my usual vigour when it comes to choosing outfits every day.
I look up from my comforting mug of liquid gold in time to see Madi curiously give me a once-over, and then she smiles. I smile back, an idea coming to my mind.
‘Mads, will you do my make-up today?’ I ask, feeling a spark of happiness ignite in my stomach. I love it when Madi does my make-up. If she wasn’t so brilliant at writing screenplays and if I didn’t love working with her so much, I’d suggest she become a make-up artist. Madi responds by shooting up off her chair, grabbing her mug of coffee and hooking my elbow.
‘Absolutely, Harp. It would be my pleasure. Then I thought we could go to the Handmade Holiday Market. Everywhere is within walking distance around here and Jerry was telling me whichever way we walk we will find something to do or see,’ she says, marching in the direction of my room, taking me with her.
The spark in my belly is now a full-on flame; warmth takes over my body. The Handmade Holiday Market sounds perfectly idyllic and wonderful. Madi knows me so well. Plus, looking through the glass double doors and the large windows that surround my parents’ house, I can’t hide the patter of excitement that awakens in my stomach when I see the high mounds of snow and forest that they look out on to. I can see why my parents love it here. The trees are magnificent, towering over the house with their thick trunks and spindly branches with deep green thistles and a coating of icing-sugar snow. You could get lost pointing out every intricate detail that made each one so unique despite their shared name. In fact, I am getting lost in them and momentarily forget that Madi is waiting for my response.
‘That sounds lovely, Mads; maybe I can pick up something for Mum and Dad,’ I say. It’s been ages since I got my parents anything truly thoughtful and the guilt hits my gut as I remember yet another gift card that I sent them in the post last year. Living so far away, it became the most practical option. It wasn’t like it was entirely thoughtless. I love gift cards and think they’re the perfect gift for people to treat themselves to something they ordinarily might not allow themselves to. I often used to get so busy at this time of year, what with Scott’s family living long-distance too and him having a brother and sister and nieces and nephews to accommodate, gift cards were the easiest options all round, even though I hate to admit it.
‘Ooh and we can find a cute brunch spot while we’re out too. I wonder if the markets are like back home.’ Madi cocks an eyebrow at me. We love finding local family-run cafés whenever we visit a new place. Even back in London we like to make it a fortnightly affair to visit a place we haven’t eaten at before and go for a coffee or have a change of scenery while we’re writing. And at Christmas, Nutella crepes from London’s Winter Wonderland are a must. The guilt is stacking up this morning as I think of all the things I have neglected and brushed to the wayside over the past year.
‘Brunch out sounds perfect,’ I say as we enter my room. I rummage through my suitcase and pull out knits, leggings and floaty dresses while Madi sees to collecting my make-up. In the bathroom I throw some water
