For the Love of Christmas. Kate ForsterЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Rebecca

      Rebecca Swanson sat in the back of the taxi, taking one leather glove off her slender hand, then sliding it back on again. She liked the firmness of the quality leather that cocooned her fingers, as they nestled in the inner cashmere lining.

      ‘Home for Christmas?’ asked the cabbie cheerfully, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

      ‘Yes,’ Rebecca said, with the half smile usually reserved for people who asked too many questions. The business press saw it often but the cabbie didn’t seem to pick up on the nuance.

      ‘Staying with family?’

      Was she?

      She had no idea since no one was waiting for her at the airport.

      She had hoped to see Jamie there, with Oscar and Sofie by his side, maybe with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. White lilies and a few red poinsettia branches interspersed, as an acknowledgement of her two favourite things: Christmas, and the colour red.

      Instead there was a lonely arrival at busy Gatwick. Her fellow travellers from Denver all seemed to know someone, as they waved and hugged people who waited by the barriers.

      It was only on this flight that she saw how far she had come, and not just geographically. Each round had been hard fought, each awakening like a punch to her heart, but what she was about to face would put everything she had learned to the ultimate test.

      Sofie and Oscar’s faces came into her mind and her stomach clenched both mutual fear and nerves.

      How could they ever forgive her?

      ‘They will forgive you when you forgive yourself,’ a voice in her head said calmly.

      When will that happen?’

      ‘When you’re ready, you’ll know it,’ the voice stated ambiguously.

      Stupid voices in her head, she thought. For years they had been saying other things, encouraging her instead of telling her to stop. Making allowances for her behaviour, and always lying to her.

      ‘Done your shopping yet?’ the cabbie asked.

      She didn’t know which voice was more annoying.

      Rebecca closed her eyes and leaned her head against the seat.

      ‘Not yet,’ she answered.

      There hadn’t been any time to buy anything in Denver, and there certainly wasn’t anything in the gift shop of Arrow Lodge, where she’d stayed for the last eight weeks. She didn’t want any memories of the time spent there; it wasn’t a place to celebrate with a keepsake.

      ‘Better get to it,’ he said. ‘Only five days till Christmas.’

      Please don’t sing, she thought, as he broke into song.

      ‘On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me …’

      She stared out of the window. Gifts were easy to come by, and as the CEO of the biggest online luxury store in Europe, she could have ordered anything, and had it delivered; wrapped with red grosgrain ribbon, and under the tree on the same day.

      Except she couldn’t make phone calls to anyone who wasn’t on the list when she was away, and the last people she felt like talking to were people at work. Surely the gossip was running hot with the news their CEO was on leave for eight weeks.

      ‘Where did you travel from, love?’ The cabbie’s voice broke through her dark thoughts.

      ‘Colorado,’ she answered, too tired to think of a lie.

      ‘I read that the whacky baccy is legal there now,’ he said.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘The marijuana.’ He said the word slowly, stretching it into five syllables.

      ‘I believe so, yes,’ she answered, not because she knew that much but because it seemed like he wanted her to know.

      ‘Did you partake of the ganja?’ he asked and Rebecca wondered how many names he knew for the legal herb.

      ‘No,’ she snapped, and the cabbie was silenced.

      She wished she could have felt more shame at her rudeness but the cab was edging closer to home and Jamie and the children would be waiting. She had to be prepared.

      The shop windows became more decorative and beautiful the closer they got to Notting Hill.

      This was the time of the year she would put the beautiful red wreath on the door, made of red velvet oak leaves, and she crossed her gloved fingers that Jamie knew where to find it in the attic.

      The cab slowed down as they turned into her street. ‘Just past the green Citroen,’ she said, pointing to her neighbour’s car.

      The first thing she noticed when the cab came to a standstill was that the door was wreathless. Then she saw there were no clumsily cut snowflakes taped to the windows. And finally she saw that there was no welcome home party at the door.

      No words on computer paper taped across the door, just some mail sticking out of the letterbox.

      ‘Here you are,’ said the cabbie stiffly and she regretted being impatient with him earlier.

      ‘Thank you,’ said Rebecca as she handed him his fare and a generous tip, enough to encourage him to help her with her large suitcases.

      Mollified, he got out of the car.

      ‘Must be nice to be home,’ he said, as he heaved a case from the boot of