hiding the face she didn’t want to look at. She went to the back of the wardrobe and pulled out a brand-new set of bed linen she’d bought years ago because she’d loved its bright Moroccan pinks and oranges, but Seth had refused to use. She yanked the beige-striped linen off the bed, throwing it straight into the recycling box.
As she shook the duvet into its new cover her mind twisted and back-flipped around Nick’s parting words, dissecting every one. Their relationship had shifted for him too, but were they both heading down the same path? Did he want to just stay friends? Did
she
want to just stay friends, if it really came down to it? Was she subconsciously doing something to keep the distance between them?
The bed was ready; Claudia stripped off her clothes and climbed under the cool covers. She lay on ‘her’ side of the bed, looking at the blank space next to her, the uncreased other pillow. She stretched her hand out and felt … nothing. Seth was really gone.
‘You told me you’d never leave me,’ she whispered to the space. ‘You said it so many times. But you were telling me lies. And now I’m lonely.’ Some tears came and she let them. She felt like these might be the last, and they needed to come and not be wiped away or told to stop.
‘Listen to me, Seth. Listen to me. I’m getting over you,’ she choked. ‘I won’t keep dreaming about the life we’ll never have and the things that’ll never happen. You’re not my maker, and I’m going to make it without you.’
She was going to make it.
The world seemed brighter when Claudia awoke the next morning. Although the sun was yet to stretch up over the horizon, the dawn light behind the curtains was more opal than slate. She had slept for nearly sixteen hours, and her stomach growled to complain about it.
She stepped her rested, naked body out from under her beautiful duvet and padded over to the window, grabbing her dressing gown en route. Pulling back the curtains she gasped at the street below. The entire dark grey road and all the rooftops and chimneys of London were covered in thick white snow, tinted Tiffany blue by the early-morning sky. Looking up, she saw fat white flakes lazily drifting down from the clouds and she smiled. She’d made it.
Claudia pushed her iPod into its dock and cranked up her Christmas playlist. To the classic sounds of The Ronettes and Wizzard she danced her way through the flat, flicking on the multi-coloured lights of the Christmas tree, rehanging some tinsel that had fallen off a picture frame, filling the expensive coffee maker they’d hardly ever used with her stash of finest Hawaiian hazelnut coffee.
‘Hello
me
,’ she said to her reflection, and – to hell with the ballet – threw some amazing shapes that would have made Beyoncé snap her up as a backing dancer.
Getting through her first night alone in the flat, giving Seth a piece of her mind, allowing herself to have a good cry and leaving things a bit odd but not
too
horrendous with Nick had all contributed to lifting the gloom and making her feel like the Ghost of Christmas Present. Even better – the one from
The Muppet Christmas Carol
. She’d vowed at Hyde Park that she wouldn’t let Christmas pass her by.
She wanted pancakes. Not because Seth didn’t like them and she rarely made them just for her, but because
she wanted
them. She merrily mixed up a batch of her favourite peanut butter and bacon batter and fried three large fluffy pancakes. She poured half a bottle of maple syrup on the top, popped a Santa hat on her head and settled down on the sofa to watch
Sunday Brunch
.
‘Single life is great!’ she told Tim Lovejoy and Simon Rimmer through a mouthful of pancakes, while they sampled Christmas cocktails on the TV.
Her phone tinkled with its text-message reindeer bells. ‘Good morning,’ she said to it as she reached into her dressing-gown pocket.
Seth. ‘Go away,’ she mumbled, but opened the message anyway. No more
As she shook the duvet into its new cover her mind twisted and back-flipped around Nick’s parting words, dissecting every one. Their relationship had shifted for him too, but were they both heading down the same path? Did he want to just stay friends? Did
she
want to just stay friends, if it really came down to it? Was she subconsciously doing something to keep the distance between them?
The bed was ready; Claudia stripped off her clothes and climbed under the cool covers. She lay on ‘her’ side of the bed, looking at the blank space next to her, the uncreased other pillow. She stretched her hand out and felt … nothing. Seth was really gone.
‘You told me you’d never leave me,’ she whispered to the space. ‘You said it so many times. But you were telling me lies. And now I’m lonely.’ Some tears came and she let them. She felt like these might be the last, and they needed to come and not be wiped away or told to stop.
‘Listen to me, Seth. Listen to me. I’m getting over you,’ she choked. ‘I won’t keep dreaming about the life we’ll never have and the things that’ll never happen. You’re not my maker, and I’m going to make it without you.’
She was going to make it.
The world seemed brighter when Claudia awoke the next morning. Although the sun was yet to stretch up over the horizon, the dawn light behind the curtains was more opal than slate. She had slept for nearly sixteen hours, and her stomach growled to complain about it.
She stepped her rested, naked body out from under her beautiful duvet and padded over to the window, grabbing her dressing gown en route. Pulling back the curtains she gasped at the street below. The entire dark grey road and all the rooftops and chimneys of London were covered in thick white snow, tinted Tiffany blue by the early-morning sky. Looking up, she saw fat white flakes lazily drifting down from the clouds and she smiled. She’d made it.
Claudia pushed her iPod into its dock and cranked up her Christmas playlist. To the classic sounds of The Ronettes and Wizzard she danced her way through the flat, flicking on the multi-coloured lights of the Christmas tree, rehanging some tinsel that had fallen off a picture frame, filling the expensive coffee maker they’d hardly ever used with her stash of finest Hawaiian hazelnut coffee.
‘Hello
me
,’ she said to her reflection, and – to hell with the ballet – threw some amazing shapes that would have made Beyoncé snap her up as a backing dancer.
Getting through her first night alone in the flat, giving Seth a piece of her mind, allowing herself to have a good cry and leaving things a bit odd but not
too
horrendous with Nick had all contributed to lifting the gloom and making her feel like the Ghost of Christmas Present. Even better – the one from
The Muppet Christmas Carol
. She’d vowed at Hyde Park that she wouldn’t let Christmas pass her by.
She wanted pancakes. Not because Seth didn’t like them and she rarely made them just for her, but because
she wanted
them. She merrily mixed up a batch of her favourite peanut butter and bacon batter and fried three large fluffy pancakes. She poured half a bottle of maple syrup on the top, popped a Santa hat on her head and settled down on the sofa to watch
Sunday Brunch
.
‘Single life is great!’ she told Tim Lovejoy and Simon Rimmer through a mouthful of pancakes, while they sampled Christmas cocktails on the TV.
Her phone tinkled with its text-message reindeer bells. ‘Good morning,’ she said to it as she reached into her dressing-gown pocket.
Seth. ‘Go away,’ she mumbled, but opened the message anyway. No more
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