It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in the hotel and I love it. Madi has gone to get us another drink and I’m stood by the eight-foot Christmas tree that is covered in so much tinsel and fake snow, I’m surprised it’s still standing. Everywhere I look there are trees and baubles and stars dangling from the chandeliers. It’s what Christmas grotto dreams are made of. I try and focus on all my favourite things and keep my mind from wandering to the shambles my current home life is in. Scott came home the other night after three days and it was like nothing had changed between us. The banter was lovely, the sex was passionate and hot until the minute it stopped, and I turned to ice when Scott insisted the break was working and it was what we needed. I haven’t heard from him in two days.
I’m swaying gently to the music – Michael Bublé’s ‘Let It Snow’, of course. It’s not really Christmas without Michael Bublé, is it? I soak up the words, trying to drown out my thoughts. The hotel is packed with people. I merrily smile and wave and chat to my co-workers. Suddenly I stop swaying and stand motionless in between the hustle and bustle. Through a gap in the clearing I can make out the back of his head. He is sitting at the bar chatting casually to a bunch of men in suits, colleagues I recognize from work events I had attended with him in the past. With Scott being in production, he attended events that didn’t always include writers like me, but mainly the directors and producers and all the behind-the-scenes staff from the movie sets.
That’s when it happens. I watch as a tall blonde approaches him. His face lights up, greeting the blonde with a smile. He places a hand on her hip and a delicate kiss on her lips. My stomach hits the floor with a vengeance making me wobble in my boots. I put my hand out to steady myself against the wall, feeling like a goldfish out of water. I can’t breathe. The air is not reaching my lungs.
I can’t let him see me like this, so weak, so pathetic. I try not to stare as I try to walk away, my legs not quite remembering how to do so as they shake with each step. Yet I can’t seem to pry my eyes away from the scene. She’s wearing a long gold sequined dress, half her luscious blonde hair pulled back with a few strands dangling around her beautiful face and her arms are resting on his shoulders, as she throws her head back and laughs at something he says.
I have to avert my eyes, but they won’t budge. All I can do is stare as I stagger for air, a space to breathe. Maybe if I stare long enough it will go away. Maybe the longer I stare the more used to it my brain will become. What’s that thing they say about spiders? The more you look at them and face them, the less scared you will become? Shoot, if it didn’t work for me with spiders, I sure as hell don’t think it is going to work now, because it seems the more I look, the more pain I feel.
I find a quiet corner, hidden by a gorgeous purple and silver Christmas tree, but I can still see him. I can still see her. My heart feels like it is about to burst through my rib cage, and I can’t calm my short gasping breaths. I feel stupid. For a moment I think I might be sick. What am I doing? I need to get out of here. Just then Madi finds me and panic fills her pretty blue eyes when she sees me. In that moment I see them out of the corner of my eye. They kiss, full-on kiss, and I am eternally grateful that my best friend chose now to find me. I feel like I’m about to pass out from the uncomfortable pain I feel in my heart.
I torture myself taking one last look at them before Madi grabs my wrist and pulls me out of there; away from the Christmas party that I look forward to every year.
*
I jolt as a piercing pain stabs my chest and I shoot upright. I’m in bed. My pillow is soaked, and my body drenched in sweat. I pat myself down, pinching myself, telling myself it was all a nightmare, when I turn to see Madi lying in my bed next to me.
‘Madi, what’s going on?’ I shout, the fear in my voice making tears fall fast and heavy down my face.
Madi stirs and blinks a few times, wiping her eyes before registering that I am awake and shouting at her. Her eyes suddenly dart open and she becomes alert, pulling me in for a hug.
‘It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK,’ she says softly, trying to soothe me. I don’t find any words, just more tears.
‘When is this going to stop, Madi?’ I whimper. It’s a week and a half until Christmas and it’s not the first time I have had this nightmare, which isn’t just a nightmare but my brain dredging up the events that took place last Christmas. My mind has re-enacted this scene over and over for the past twelve months, but since the countdown for the twenty-fifth of December began on the first of December, it has become the gift that keeps on giving every single night – hence Madi’s presence. I feel drained and completely spent, lying on my bed having exerted no physical energy whatsoever. I try to rake my hand through my locks, but I’m sat on most of my hair which makes it difficult. Instead, I wipe at my tired eyes, causing the delicate skin around them to sting as I do so.
Madi retrieves a brush from the bedside table and slowly and tenderly starts brushing my hair. ‘Harper, I’m your best friend and you know how much I love you. I value your feelings and respect every emotion you have gone through and you know I’d never rush you, but baby, enough is enough now. You can’t do this to yourself any longer. I can’t allow it.’ She pushes my arm gently so she can tug my hair from under me and brush out the knots. I glance around my bedroom, Scott’s and my bedroom, spot the overturned pictures and the occasional item of Scott’s, and I feel ashamed. Not much has changed, and Scott hasn’t lived here for a year.
‘You’ve barely left the house, you’ve been neglecting your parents, your work is suffering, Harp. If your recent lines hadn’t been such bloody brilliant pieces of writing and transformed those horror scripts, Lara would probably have fired you by now – but you’re a romance writer, Harp. We’re romance writers and I miss bouncing ideas back and forth. Come on, you need to get out of this house and file for divorce so you can move on with your life,’ Madi says boldly. She’s right. I know she is and I’m not mad at her honesty. I’ve never appreciated it more.
‘Why don’t you go and have a hot shower and I’ll make us some breakfast,’ Madi says, holding my face and looking me in the eyes. Her own are filled with tears and concern. I nod, but when she leaves the room the softness and safety of my blanket has me sinking back under the covers. My eyes are heavy and I no longer have the will to keep them open.
*
I take a breath in, torn and terrified. My finger hovers above the enter key on the laptop that is open on the desk in front of me. This isn’t me. I don’t do things like this. I don’t snoop on my husband or invade his personal space. I’ve never had any reason to before, but that all changed last night after seeing him at the Christmas party. He’s given me reason.
‘Are you sure?’ Madi whispers from behind me. My office is cold, reflecting how I feel inside. My hands tremble. No, I’m not sure, I’m not sure at all, but that doesn’t change what I feel I have to do.
‘Madi, it’s been a little over a week since Scott walked away so casually out of my life, with nothing but a vague explanation and a promise that he would be back, that we would be OK, that he just needed some space. He chooses to speak to me when it suits him, popped in for sex when he fancied, all while not caring how much that affects me mentally. He texts me like I’m some old friend. Yet he cannot seem to find the time to give me answers as to what all this is about. He has watched me cry, he has listened to me fight for him all while shrugging his shoulders in response. And to top it all off, he doesn’t think twice about kissing another woman at the Christmas party.’ I pause. I don’t quite know who I am talking about now. It all feels so absurd.
‘Christmas