Make My Wish Come True

That’s when Sam had run. And, unlike Greg, who’d at least had the decency to have a conversation with her before he’d left, Sam had just upped and gone, packed her bags and disappeared, leaving only a short and unsatisfactory note.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Will’s features. She began to apologise, but he shook his head and dismissed the words before they’d left her mouth. This was why she didn’t drink much, and especially not on an empty stomach; she always ended up saying things she regretted later.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And that’s why I’m not in the market for another relationship like that – another woman like that. I’m looking for someone sensible, grounded. Someone who understands the concepts of home and family.’

Those words could have been instantly forgettable, if not for the way he was looking at her. Brown. His eyes were brown. Her pulse skipped again and she held her breath.

Something new appeared in Will’s expression. Something that looked suspiciously like a question.

In an instant, Juliet was out of her seat and clearing away wine glasses and fussing with fudge pans. Why? she asked herself, as she placed the empty wine bottle in the glass recycling. Why couldn’t you have just stayed still and looked back at the good-looking man who seems to like you? Why did you have to scurry away like Polly’s scared hamster?

Even now she couldn’t stop her busyness. It seemed to be her default position when anything uncomfortable happened. Eventually, she managed to slow herself down enough to not put on a pair of rubber gloves and start the washing-up. Instead she turned to look at Will, who was pushing his chair back and reaching for the jacket that was half-dangling on the floor.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

His mouth didn’t move from the straight line it was set in, but somehow she felt as if he was giving her the slightest of smiles. ‘For what?’

For not being ready, she wanted to say, but all she did was swallow.

Will gave her an infinitesimal tilt of the head. ‘The fudge was fabulous, by the way …’

‘Thanks,’ she said weakly as he disappeared through the back door. She heard him collect the mower and wrestle it back into his own garden, and when everything was silent outside once more she sat back down at her kitchen table and finished the entire pan of fudge off on her own.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_938b5b95-23d5-5ef0-9288-1a089912c3d0)

Gemma stopped her car outside Juliet’s house, engine still running, but didn’t pull onto the drive. She sat there for a few moments, staring at the neatly-clipped evergreen hedge.

This was stupid. She was a grown woman in her thirties, but every time she approached Juliet’s front door the same thing happened: the years peeled away and suddenly she felt like a little kid who was merely something to be tolerated, a problem to be managed.

She drew in a long breath and blew it out again. This was no big deal. Just Juliet. She handled tougher situations on a daily basis at work.

Don’t care. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of you.

She pulled down the sun visor in her sports car and checked her reflection in the mirror. Apart from a couple of blonde ringlets, only her eyes were visible. As she stared at herself they transformed from round and wide like Bambi’s to apathetic and hooded like Garbo’s.

Good. She was ready.

Visiting one’s relations shouldn’t really involve goals and manoeuvres and tactical planning, but Gemma had learned the hard way that going in and dealing with Juliet without a battle plan was like going to war with a water pistol. The plan for today: a flying visit. She would swoop in, deliver the kids’ Christmas presents, chat for as long as she absolutely had to, then exit by fourteen hundred hours. It should be a piece of cake.

She took a deep breath and let it out again before edging her car onto the noisy gravel drive. She was sure Juliet had resisted paving, not only because she liked the old-fashioned look of the little stones, but because no one could approach her domain without her knowledge.

The place looked gorgeous, as it always did at Christmas. The steep gables and red brick of Juliet’s Victorian house suited the season so well. Plain white fairy lights were wound round a tree in the front garden and the struts of the covered porch. An evergreen wreath, complete with pine cones, silver jingle bells and a big red velvet bow graced the glossy black front door with its stained-glass panels, and the lights of a Christmas tree twinkled tantalisingly through the leaded windows of the living room. No doubt, half a forest’s worth of greenery would be inside, tastefully draped on fireplaces and wound round the banisters.

Gemma turned off the engine, got out of the car then went round to the boot to retrieve the two big bags of presents she’d bought for her nieces and nephews. When she’d been shopping for them she’d felt warm and fuzzy – generous – but now the overflowing bags just seemed a little bit much, as if she was trying to make up for something.

Which she was. Not that Juliet knew that yet, of course.

As she closed the boot, Juliet opened the front door and stood waiting for her on the front step. She smiled – albeit thinly – and wrapped her arms across her middle to stave off the chill of the December afternoon. Gemma wished she could experience a little lift of joy at their reunion, but her stomach began a downward journey, like a lift travelling all the way to the basement.

‘Hi!’ she said, walking towards Juliet, her own smile feeling just as brittle and fake. She avoided a full hug, using her laden-down arms as an excuse, and just leaned in to kiss Juliet’s cheek.

There was a stampede of feet once she got into the hall and three small forms came racing towards her and flung their arms around her hips and legs and middle, emitting squeals of, ‘Auntie Gemma!’ ‘Here, let me take those,’ Juliet said, and began to relieve Gemma of her bags before she’d even given an answer.

‘Hey, Josh …’ Gemma said a little breathlessly. ‘You’re squeezing a little hard, mate.’

He looked up at her, still squeezing. He was surprisingly strong for someone that small. ‘I’m Jake. That’s Josh,’ he said, and the other twin just giggled and started squeezing just as hard.

‘Whoever you are, cut it out!’ she yelled. ‘Or I’ll put those Christmas presents back in the car and take them back home.’

That did the trick. Both boys released her and stood watching her hopefully, faces a picture of angelic innocence.

Juliet shook her head. ‘You know the rule, boys. No presents until Christmas morning.’ And she disappeared upstairs with the parcels, much to the very vocal disappointment of the twins. With no brightly wrapped incentive to keep them hugging her, the smaller ones ran off again, leaving the way open for their older sister.

Polly was staring at her in a most unnerving fashion. Gemma smiled at her.

‘You sent me a card that said “Happy Birthday Groovy Eight Year Old”,’ Polly said in an accusing tone. ‘I’m ten.’

Whoops. To be honest, Polly was lucky she’d got one at all. Gemma wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. ‘Sorry,’ she said with a big smile, ‘but you’re growing up so fast I can hardly keep track! Look at you!’

Thankfully, Polly seemed appeased by that answer. ‘You can make it up to me next year,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Gemma smiled and gave her a kiss. ‘I promise I’ll get you one with a big eleven on it.’

Polly just blinked. ‘I was thinking more in terms of cash. And notes are better than coins.’

Gemma bit back a giggle. She’d got her old man’s wheeler-dealer instincts, this one. But she remembered how galling it was to be thought younger than you were at that age, especially when you were the younger sister, always straining to catch up to your older sibling and never getting any closer. She pulled a ten-pound note out her pocket. ‘Why don’t I start now?’ she said in a whisper. ‘But don’t tell the others.’

‘Don’t tell the others what?’ a voice said from the top of the stairs.

Gemma spun round. ‘Violet!’ She waited while her eldest niece descended the stairs then scooped her into a hug. She didn’t always get it right with the little ones, but she and Vi got on like a house on fire. She pulled back and took a good look at her niece. ‘Nice outfit, and I would kill for those legs!’

Violet was wearing a Fearless Vampire Killers T-shirt and skinny jeans that looked sprayed on.

‘I’d kill for a pair of those shoes,’ she said, indicating Gemma’s bright red suede heels, ‘but Mum won’t let me.’

‘You’ll have to forgive her,’ she said, glancing up, ‘she’s too old to remember what having fun is like.’

‘But you’re old too!’ Violet protested. ‘And you know how to have fun.’

‘Thanks … I think,’ Gemma said, laughing softly, and then she leaned closer. ‘Has that cute boy you mentioned in your last email asked you out yet?’

Violet blushed and shook her head. She started to answer, but Juliet appeared on the landing at that moment, so they just shared a conspiratorial smile.

Juliet frowned as she came back down the stairs and Gemma could feel her sister’s disapproval radiating stronger with every step. She knew Juliet and Violet had been going through a bit of a bumpy patch – didn’t all fifteen-year-olds do that with their mothers? – but she couldn’t really help it if Vi saw her as the cool auntie she could talk to about stuff.

When Juliet reached the hall she smiled sweetly and said, ‘It’s really lovely to see you after such a long time.’ But Gemma heard the reproach beneath her words, as only a sibling could. That was the way Juliet did things. Nothing showed on the surface; all the negative stuff simmered unhealthily underneath. Gemma couldn’t stand all that passive-aggressive business.

‘Lovely to see you too,’ she said, smiling back and wishing Juliet’s perfect shell would crack just once, just to see if she was really human.