Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)
They’d celebrate her exhibition and later they’d enjoy a more intimate celebration. The two of them in her luxurious hotel suite with a bottle of champagne. Tomorrow they’d visit the ice rink at Somerset House. She’d walked past it the day before and spent a happy hour people-watching. Her creative brain had soaked up the kaleidoscope of colour and smiling faces. She’d absorbed it all: the uncertain, the wobbly and the graceful. Twirling teenagers, parents holding eager children, lovers entwined. After that, the London Eye at night. She’d watched the slow, graceful rise of each capsule over the dark ribbon of the Thames and decided she wanted to experience that.
It would be romantic, and she and Richard needed to spend more time on their relationship.
She stared out of the window, thinking about it.
Was this love?
Was this it?
She’d always assumed that when she finally
fell in love she’d know. She hadn’t been prepared for all the doubts and questions.
‘Christmas party, love?’
The cab driver glanced in the mirror and Skylar gave him a smile, glad to be distracted from her thoughts.
‘Not exactly. A private showing. Jewellery, pots and a few pieces of art.’
A series of watercolours she’d painted on a trip to Greece to visit Brittany. Having a best friend who was an archaeologist had expanded her horizons. That trip had been the inspiration for her collection: Ocean Blue.
‘Where are you from?’
‘New York.’
‘I hope you bought your credit card. Prices are high in this part of London. Whatever you buy is going to cost you.’
‘It’s mine.’ Excitement mingled with pride. ‘My collection.’
He glanced at her in his mirror. ‘I’m impressed. To have your work on display in these parts at any age would be something, but for someone as young as you—well, you’re obviously going somewhere. Your family must be really proud.’
Her good mood melted away like the snowflake she’d held in her palm.
Her family wasn’t proud.
They were exasperated that she persisted with her ‘hobby’.
She’d invited them. Sent them a pretty embossed invitation and a catalogue.
There had been no response.
Turning her head, she focused on the snowy scene beyond the windows of the cab. She wasn’t going to let that ruin her evening. Nothing was going to ruin the evening.
The cab driver was still talking. ‘So you’ll be flying back home for the holidays? Family Christmas?’
‘That’s the plan.’ Although not the reality. ‘Family Christmas’ sounded cosy and warm, like something from a fairy tale. It conjured up images of prettily wrapped gifts stacked beneath a tall tree festooned with twinkling lights and homemade decorations, while excited children fizzed with anticipation.
Christmas at her parents’ house felt more like an endurance test than a fairy tale, more corporate than cosy. The ‘tree’ would be an artistic display of bare twigs sprayed silver and studded with tiny lights—part of a larger display planned and executed every year by her mother’s interior decorator. Stark, remote and absolutely not to be touched at any cost. The ‘gifts’, artfully stacked on various surfaces for effect, would be empty boxes.
Any child hoping to find something magical under her family’s tree would be disappointed.
Those gifts summed up her family, she thought.
Everything had to be shiny and perfectly wrapped. Appearances mattered.
Leaning her head against the cool glass of the window, she watched as a man and a woman loaded down with bags struggled through the snow with two bouncing, excitable young children. She imagined them arriving home and decorating the tree together. They’d write letters to Santa and hang stockings, counting the number of sleeps until Christmas Day.
The most important things in life, she thought wistfully, couldn’t be wrapped.