Page 46 of Five Gold Rings
‘One last thing. Do you know why she didn’t tell me? Our dad?’ he asks.
‘Because it’s Eve,’ I say. ‘She didn’t want to—’
‘—ruin Christmas?’
‘Pretty much.’
He laughs under his breath. ‘Well, it sounds like you know my sister. Tell her I’m here and to call me as soon as she can.’
‘Will do. And I guess, Merry Christmas, Noel.’
‘I believe it’s Merry Christmas Eve,’ he replies.
I glance back at Eve again in my back seat as Noel hangs up. This was supposed to be her day. I watch as her breath shudders in her sleep. What the hell am I doing? The sky has faded to dark now. And it is Christmas Eve, I keep forgetting. This would be the time I’d be hanging up my stocking. Making sure we had enough carrots for the reindeer, fizzing with anticipation about the next day. I’m not sure that excitable feeling sits in my bones at the moment, though. Not after what I heard in that hotel. I rest my head against the steering wheel. If I can’t be with her then maybe I just need to deliver some rings and look after her. I reach over to my glove compartment and get out the gift I’d wrapped for her, placing it inside my jacket pocket, ready for when all of this is done.
TWELVE
Eve
‘Is it Christmas yet?’ I say, sitting up as Joe’s car lurches to a halt. I look out the windows at unfamiliar cobbled streets, multicoloured houses all lit up with lights and festive décor. How long have I been napping? I feel my current state is fuelled by cumulative drinking, my body telling me it can’t cope anymore with all this emotion and alcohol, and the only way it can stop me from abusing it anymore is to shut it down with sleep. I look down at a puddle of drool I’ve left on Joe’s hoodie and wipe down the damp side of my face.
‘It’s all good. You just sleep. I’m just going to drop off this ring,’ Joe tells me, adjusting his bowtie in the rearview mirror. I catch a glimpse of myself as he moves away. It’s giving me zombie festive chic. I try to flatten out my frizz.
‘Where are we?’ I ask, looking out of the window.
‘Notting Hill.’
I suddenly remember dropping my phone out of a car window. ‘My phone?’
‘In your bag, safe. Don’t ring Chris again,’ he tells me.
‘I did do that, didn’t I?’ I say, mortified.
‘You left him a voicemail,’ he tells me. ‘But chances are he’ll never get it because you threw his phone out of a window, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Phones and windows seem to be a running theme. I’m leaving mine here to charge so don’t go near it, OK?’ he tells me, bemused at how I seem to be perfectly still but swaying. ‘There’s a bottle of water there if you need it, and some Coke. Stay hydrated.’ His tone is a little flatter, pedantic. He’s annoyed with me, I can tell.
‘I will. You’re lucky I’ve got a big bladder so I can retain all this fluid,’ I tell him. That’s a winning sexy factoid about yourself, Eve. He doesn’t reply. ‘You don’t need me to come?’ I ask him.
He forces a smile, shaking his head, and leaves the car. This either means I look such a state he doesn’t want to be seen with me or he doesn’t think me presentable enough to be representing Caspar & Sons’ bespoke ring delivery service. I open the Coke, spilling a little on my dress and downing it furiously, then burping quite loudly. I really hope he didn’t hear that from across the road. Oh, Joe. What is going on here? I don’t even know what I feel anymore. I think I might be falling for him. I kissed Joe. Why can’t I stop thinking about that kiss on the rooftop?
This isn’t right, though, and doesn’t feel fair to Joe at all. I need to behave. I’m just drunk. Needy. Stop watching him walk towards the house and studying his arse. That’s terrible behaviour. He approaches the yellow house that is wrapped in ivy, a twiggy wreath as large as a lifebuoy hanging on the modern wooden door. He straightens out his jacket and turns to the car to smile. He’s just a very excellent friend. I put a hand in the air. I don’t think I should hold my breath like this when a friend smiles at me.
I catch my reflection again and stare with pity at the girl looking back. Not that it matters anyway. Whereas Joe is revealing the true loveliness of his character, I may very well be doing the reverse. It’s like he is seeing the very worst of me. Some poor emotionally sodden, drunk, rejected version of myself. He’s seen me sob cry. He’s watched me drool in my sleep. I may as well fart in front of him now, tell him I can’t do simple addition and that I like watching snooker on the television.
My phone ringing grabs my attention and I reach around in my bag to find it, happy to see the number.
‘Mrs Caspar! We’re on our third ring. It’s all…’
‘Where are you?’ she says hurriedly.
‘We’re at Mr Tolv’s house in Notting Hill.’
‘ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!’ she shrieks.
‘What? Abort what?’