Christmas Eve
Steve made Daphne a cup of tea, just how she liked it, and brought it into the lounge, dodging a low-hanging Christmas decoration. Since Lydia’s late birthday meal, the week had flown by. Work at the hotel had been hectic, and Steve had failed to find the opportune moment to talk seriously to Lydia. In fact, really, he’d been a chicken, which wasn’t Steve’s nature at all, but the importance of Lydia being in his life had made him lose his nerve. What if she rejected him?
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” Steve said to Daphne handing her the teacup. “We have sherry.”
“The mulled cider is good.” Alice raised her glass.
“No, dear, thank you. Maybe later.”
Apart from Daphne, the whole party had agreed to wear their garish Christmas jumpers; the louder the better. Steve, wearing a navy blue jumper with a reindeer’s face on the front Ruby had found him, returned to the kitchen, to where Ruby and Brett were preparing the buffet. His stomach rumbled as he took another small platter of party food into the dining room. With Brett’s assistance, they’d dished up a variety of delicious canapés from smoked salmon parcels to honey glazed sausages. None of it was ready made or supermarket purchased; Brett had made everything from scratch. The one thing Ruby had insisted on was having an orange poked with cocktail sticks of chunks of cheese and pineapple – a party favourite. Lydia, Alice and Callum chatted amongst themselves in the lounge, with drinks in hand, making Daphne welcome.
“It used to be a family tradition on Christmas Eve to have a buffet tea and play games, so I hope this is okay?” Steve placed a homemade pizza cut into thin slices onto the table, squeezing it between egg sandwiches (another family tradition) and a bowl of stuffed olives – those may have been shop bought.
Steve remembered the look of dismay on Brett’s face – the master chef – when he’d insisted having egg sandwiches. These were presented as delicate fingers, crusts removed, with a scatter of cress, whereas Mum would have cut them into triangles and wouldn’t have cut the crusts off as it would have been a waste. There was enough to feed the whole street. Steve could see he’d still be eating this in January. Would he have room for turkey tomorrow afternoon? It was just like Mum to make sure there was a good spread laid out.
Finding matches, Steve lit a couple of Christmas candles Ruby had dotted around on the table, then glanced at Lydia talking to Daphne and Alice, and a wave of anxiety flushed through him. Tonight he had to tell Lydia the truth, then he would tell the others, too. Ruby had agreed. His nerves eating away at him left him not feeling so hungry – but someone had to eat this food.
Lydia excused herself and joined Steve’s side, linking her arm through his and smiling.
“Doesn’t all the food look great? Like a Nigella Christmas buffet,” she said. He weaved his arm around her waist and squeezed her closer. “Brett could be our very own celebrity chef one day.”
Ruby came out carrying a dish full of seasoned potato wedges. “Right, everyone, come and tuck in. Grab a plate, and take what you want. You’re not leaving until it is all gone. And there’s pudding to get through too.”
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Lydia said.
“No, no, start eating. Besides I actually think I’m getting in Brett’s way.”
“Anyone need another drink?” Steve held up a champagne bottle, realising that entertaining could be stressful. In LA, when he’d held a party, he’d had caterers in and they did all the hard work, worrying if guests had enough food and drink. His guests all shook their heads. “Well, all the drinks are in the kitchen, so help yourself otherwise.”
Callum, in a bright red jumper with a snowman, reached the table first and started loading food onto his plate. Lydia assisted Daphne.
“What game shall we play first? Twister?” Steve said mischievously glancing at Daphne.
“You young ‘uns can,” Daphne said, chuckling. “I think my twisting days are over. I’ll spin the wheel.”
“Not spin the bottle?” Steve winked.
Daphne laughed more. “You’re so cheeky. I do like charades though.”
“Oh, yeah, we could team up,” Callum said, his plate piled high with an array of food.
One by one, they returned to the sofas, placing their plates on their laps, eating, drinking and chatting. It was so normal, and the kind of party Mum used to throw when Ruby and Steve were kids. Family and friends visiting, the evening ending with them all sat around the table playing a game of cards for real money, albeit just coppers.
“Mmmm…Brett, Ruby, well done on the food.” Alice raised her glass.
“Brett did it. I assisted.”
“Yes, no wonder the restaurant does so well,” Lydia said.
“He wants to run his own restaurant,” Ruby said, rubbing his arm proudly.
Brett popped a sausage into his mouth and shook his head.
“And you’re happy to be losing a good member of staff?” Alice looked from Ruby to Brett questioningly.
“Well, the hotel can always find another chef. I wouldn’t want to stop someone following their dreams.” Ruby looked at Steve then. “Besides—”
“Ruby could actually run the restaurant for Brett, and let him concentrate on the kitchen sides of things.” Steve had suddenly thought of a solution for Ruby.
She glared at him. Not main beam, but a look that said ‘not so fast.’ “We’ll see. It’s early days for me and Brett, remember. And I was going to say, it might be healthier for our relationship if we didn’t work together.”
“I’d love you to join me, Ruby.” Brett kissed her forehead. “You could manage front of house.”
“We may have lost our sous-chef and manager.” Alice chuckled, elbowing Callum, who couldn’t respond because he had stuffed his face gleefully with all the delicious food.
“It’s early days. Don’t you lot spread rumours around the hotel, please.” Ruby almost went into boss mode.
“Right, let’s get this party started.” Steve stood up, about to turn up the music a little, a Christmas party songs CD inserted and ready to play.
The letterbox rapped loudly.
Ruby looked at Steve, confused, then through the lounge and out the window. Her eyes widened.
“Oh shit!” she said standing, food falling from her plate.
“Fuck!” Steve hissed.
Daphne stood, surprisingly spritely for her age, and took the plate slipping from Steve’s hand while muttering, ‘Oh my dear, why now?”
Lydia looked at him, confusion etched on her face. She hadn’t noticed the gang of reporters outside the house, their presence lit up by the streetlamps. A crowd trying to peek through the front window to get a good look, with the odd flash from a camera. Thank God, the Christmas tree took up most of the window. “Stuart?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, gently cupping her face with his hands and filled with an unbearable sadness that he hadn’t spoken to her before this moment. This was the worst possible way for her to find out. “I was going to tell you. Tonight.”
“Tell me what?”
“Steve Mason! We know you’re in there!”
Steve jumped away from Lydia as if touching an electric fence.
“How do you feel about Erica Kealey marrying her latest leading man?”
“Why the stunt double in the Caribbean?”
Ruby tried to draw close the curtains. “Steve, the tree’s in the way!”
“What’s going on?” Callum said, bewildered.
“Leave it, Ruby!” Steve snapped, ignoring Callum. Think. What the hell should he do? How had they found him? Why Christmas Eve? He raced up the stairs, where he knew his cell phone was and dialled Marie. He needed a safe passage out of the house, that way Ruby and everyone would not get sucked into this.
“Marie, sorry to disturb your lunch. The press have found me. They’re banging on Ruby’s door now. You need to get me an escort organised and a flight out of here, please,” Steve said to his PA, giving her the address details.
He rubbed his forehead, a headache already forming at his temple. He threw his glasses across the room in anger and heard a crack.
“I’m sorry, Marie, but you’re going to need to get me home on the first plane to LA.” He explained the situation.
“I’ll get you an internal flight from Bristol to somewhere other than Heathrow, where they’ll be expecting to see you.”
“Thanks, that’s a good idea.”
“Suppose you’re in too much of a rush now to buy me a present from quaint old England?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
Once he’d ended the call with Marie, he grabbed his wallet, passport and anything else important he could carry in his jacket. His clothes and other belongings would have to wait. He needed to travel fast, and light. As he rummaged, he caught a glimpse of his Christmas jumper in the mirror. He heaved it over his head and found a more suitable sweater. He didn’t want to turn up in LA wearing a reindeer. He really wasn’t in the mood.
He thundered down the stairs to hear Ruby bellowing through the closed front door.
“Haven’t you bastards got anything better to report on? It’s Christmas Eve for fuck’s sake! Piss off to your families. You—”
Steve pulled her away from the door. “Don’t give them ammo, Ruby.”
Tears welled, then trickled down her cheeks. “But this means you’re leaving. You have to go. We don’t get Christmas.”
He hugged her tightly, closing his eyes, which he could feel prickling. He didn’t want to leave her either. Not yet. He hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted to spend Christmas with Ruby up until this point, when he now couldn’t have it. “I know.”
The banging at the door and the kerfuffle outside continued. Men peered through the window.
“Should we call the police? They’re trespassing after all?” Alice said, her mobile phone at the ready.
Brett placed a hand on her arm. “No, not yet,” he said softly. “It might make matters worse.”
Releasing Ruby, Steve turned to the five faces gawping at him, speechless. Plates abandoned. The food untouched.
“Lydia, I’m so sorry, I was going to tell you. In fact, I was going to tell you all tonight.” Steve took her hand, trying to pull her into a hug, but she stared blankly at him. “I love you. You have to believe me.”
“It’s all a lie? A lie. Your name isn’t Stuart?” She grimaced, meeting his gaze.
“No, what I feel for you isn’t a—”
“How could you?”
“No, Lydia, I love you.” Before his very eyes he could see he was losing her. She hated him. What had he done?
“Leave me alone!” Lydia yanked her hand out of Steve’s grip and barged past Ruby. Frantically she started to unlock the front door, but Ruby grabbed her hands away, blocking the door, Steve following.
“Don’t go out there. Not yet!” Ruby yelled, pushing at her, as Lydia fought for freedom and sobbed.
“Lydia, please,” Steve begged. “Ruby’s right.”
“Stay away from me!” Lydia screamed, shoving Steve, tears streaming. She bolted past him and up the stairs.
His head was spinning; his gut felt like it had been wrenched up through his throat. He started after her, but Ruby clutched his arm. “Leave her, Steve. Let her calm down. I’ll talk to her.” A door slammed upstairs. He prayed Lydia would stay away from the windows, wouldn’t look outside. He didn’t want her to see the amount of press he could draw. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Calm down. Think.
“Everybody, in the kitchen,” Steve ordered, helping Daphne. Brett grabbed a dining room chair and took it with him, to seat her comfortably. “I’m sorry, it’s probably best to wait in here where they can’t see us.” As a precautionary measure, he drew the blind by the window over the sink. Even though it was dark outside, it looked out to the back garden, and he wouldn’t be surprised if a bastard got over the back gate.
Everyone was silent, dumbfounded. Even Callum was speechless. Brett put a protective arm around Ruby as they leaned against the work surface. Steve continued to rub his forehead.
“I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I was going to tell you all.”
“Let’s have a cup of tea,” Alice said calmly, sounding completely out of character. She would be suggesting Vodka usually. “Daphne, tea?”
Daphne nodded. Alice soon had the mugs on the counter for those who wanted tea, pouring the steaming water and handing them out. Daphne got the first one. Steve refused. There was an uncomfortable silence in the kitchen for what felt like nearly twenty minutes. Everyone afraid to speak, not knowing what to say, what to ask. He knew they all wanted to ask him something, but were all in a state of shock. Even Callum remained quiet and withdrawn.
From their point of view, Steve thought, this probably was a very surreal moment in their lives.
Steve muttered softly, “I’m sorry,” probably for the umpteenth time. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye. Only Ruby. She would wipe a tear away every time one escaped. He could tell she was trying to hold it in.
Daphne patted his hand and softly said, “We know you didn’t mean any harm, dear.”
She was attempting to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working. Steve was racked with guilt over Lydia. Feeling remorse, he glanced up at the ceiling wondering which room she had taken refuge in above them. What was she thinking? He hated that he couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t convince her that he was sorry. The fact he wasn’t going to say goodbye properly pulled him apart. His chest felt tight, and his body empty, drained of all sense and feeling. Nothingness.
Why couldn’t he have had a couple more days? A couple more hours even?
Anger bubbled inside of him, which he would not release until he was safely tucked away in his apartment in LA.
Loneliness was creeping back into his heart.
Eventually, there was a heavy thump at the front door, making both Ruby and Steve jump. Everyone looked towards the front door, instead of their feet.
“Mr Mason, we’re your escort,” a gruff, deep voice shouted from behind the door.
Steve hugged Ruby tightly again, her tears making his cheeks wet, and they both made their way towards the front door.
He was about to open the door, confront the press, but the thought of not saying goodbye to Lydia hurt so much. Emotion and pain swirled inside his chest. He took the stairs two at a time, and reached the landing. His bedroom door was the only one shut. She was in his room.
He gently knocked. “Lydia, please let me say goodbye.” There was no reply. “Lydia? Please, honey, I love you.”
He rested his hand on the door handle, warring internally whether to open the door. His hesitation cost him, as he heard a bang behind the door, as if she’d thrown herself against it, blocking his entrance. “I don’t want to speak to you.” The anger that laced her words stung, straight to his heart.
“Lydia, please, let me in.”
“Go away. I never want to see you again.”
Steve rested his forehead against the door, closing his eyes, before they betrayed him, and prayed. Praying that she didn’t mean it. She was angry. She would calm down and forgive him, wouldn’t she?
“Steve,” Ruby called calmly up the stairs, “you’ve got to go.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I really am. If there was anything I could do to change this. I would.” He slowly turned, and with a heavy heart, lumbered back downstairs.
“Goodbye, Ruby. I’m so sorry. Please talk to Lydia.” He glanced again at the stairs, hesitating. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“Go!” she ordered, wiping her face, losing control of her tears. “I promise I’ll talk to her.”
“I’ll call you.” Steve nodded, then opened the front door – photographers flashed cameras, questions shouted all at once. Most asked why he was in Bristol, what was he doing, who was he with? It all blurred, becoming numb with the assault.
Two intimidating muscle men in black suits – like bouncers outside a club, almost as wide as they were tall – ushered Steve with force towards an awaiting black car with blacked out rear windows. Another car waited behind it. Two other men were pushing cameras out of the way and clearing the path. One of the men with Steve opened the passenger door. Steve quickly ducked inside the car, the bodyguard joining him. They’d moved him so fast, the car sped off before he could think. He didn’t even have a proper look at the house – the home – he was leaving behind. Glancing out the back window, the other car followed with its passengers – his men in black.
His heart heavy, he closed his eyes. When would he see Ruby and Lydia again? What a shitty way to say goodbye. Leaving the ones you loved always hurt. God, did he love Lydia. And dear God, this was the worst way he’d wanted her to find out who he was.
But this was show business. The show must go on. The press didn’t care about who got hurt.
Anger surged through his body. His fist clenched and he ground his teeth. His whole body tensed. He wanted to punch something, but years of training made him take a deep breath, and breathing out, he released the anger. But it didn’t alleviate his emptiness.