2. Confessions
1025 Words
2
Confessions
‘You know, lying on a C.V. has to be some kind of crime,’ Melanie said, handing Lucy a coffee, then lifting an eyebrow and nodding at the sugar bowl as though that would make everything all right. ‘So you switched your first and middle names? A good job I’m too lazy to ask for passport copies, isn’t it? So your name is Frances Lucy Drake?’
Lucy sighed. ‘It gets worse, since this is confession time. It’s Frances Lucinda Scullion-Drake. Scullion is my mother’s maiden name. Somehow that got me the nickname of Onion Duck in primary school. It only dropped when we started on the Spanish Armada in secondary school history class. Never mattered to the other kids that the male version is spelled differently. I’d get kids I barely knew hollering ‘Admiral’ or ‘man the cannons’ at me from the other end of the corridor. I went with Frankie for a while, but that always felt so … eighties.’
Melanie chuckled. ‘Could be worse, being named after a historical figure. Melanie Dorothy Jones … pretty boring, don’t you think?’
‘It’s a nice safe name. Francesca was my grandmother’s name on my father’s side. Apparently, he went with Frances because it was easier to spell.’
Melanie laughed again. ‘You must be able to see the funny side. You’re good at your job, but you could do with lightening up a little.’ Melanie lifted her coffee. ‘Anyway, your secret’s safe with me. And possibly with Paul, but I don’t think he really caught what was going on.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Have you decided where you’re going for Christmas this year?’
‘Can’t you just keep the shop open? I’ll work it on my own if you like.’
Melanie’s face turned serious. Lucy had heard the story before, but Melanie looked set to tell it again.
‘Absolutely not. My father died of a stroke on December 28th, 2003,’ Melanie said, taking a long sip of coffee and then wincing at the heat. ‘I wasn’t there, because I was working. I worked all that Christmas period, and I vowed I never would again.’ She smiled. ‘And now this is my shop, so I can do what I like. Doors close December 18th, and I’ll see you again on January 2nd. No arguments. And if you pitch a tent outside I’ll call the council to come and sweep you away.’
‘No chance, then?’
‘None. What are your plans? Come on, we can get some juicy staff discounts. What was it last year? Trekking the Black Forest?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘That was two years ago. Last year I walked the Scottish coast path.’
‘In the freezing cold? I bet that was fun.’
‘I enjoyed it. It didn’t snow every day. In fact, mostly it just rained. Must have been the sea air. I was thinking of something a little more Christmassy this year, like doing the Mont Blanc circuit.’
‘How will that be Christmassy? Snow alone does not a Christmas make.’
‘Well, what do you suggest?’
Melanie grinned. ‘Here’s a radical idea. Why don’t you go and see your family this year? I know I can’t force you, but you know what I feel about it….’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I went there for Christmas Day last year. I flew out for Scotland on Boxing Day.’
‘So you gave them one day of your vacation? How kind of you. You know that goes against my philosophy, and Christmas Day is the worst anyway, because that’s when everyone’s rushing around trying to get things opened, drunk, cooked, and served. It’s the other days that are the best, when you’re just lounging around. Why don’t you spend a few of those with them?’
Lucy closed her eyes. Other unpleasant memories were coming back. ‘I don’t like being around too many people,’ she said. ‘I find it awkward. All that joviality, all that laughter—’
Melanie put down her coffee cup with a sudden bump. ‘Look, Lucy, I’ll be straight with you. You’re a pretty girl. At thirty you’re probably not quite as pretty as you were at twenty-two, but you’re not on the shelf just yet. You’re wasted traipsing through forests over Christmas. You should be with your family, or in the arms of some lusty woodcutter … or is that why you go?’ Melanie lifted an eyebrow and flashed a conspiratorial grin. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Lucy gave a violent shake of her head. ‘No—’
‘Just lighten up a little. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.’
The conversation was moving into areas Lucy wanted to avoid. ‘I think my break’s over,’ she said.
Melanie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not on a break. This is a staff meeting. And as your manager, I’m commanding you to enjoy yourself this Christmas.’
‘I like deserted beaches and forests. Perhaps this year I’ll go ice-canoeing in the Norwegian fjords, get the best of both worlds.’
‘Alone?’
‘Of course.’
Melanie shook her head. ‘I can see into your head, Lucy Drake.’ She lifted her glasses and squinted at Lucy. ‘And what I see is a girl running away.’
‘I’m not running away. I just like solitude a lot more than I like being around big groups of people, all laughing and trying to get me drunk, and … and laughing….’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Melanie said. ‘Either you spend some quality time with your family this year or I’ll change your name tag to Frances Drake and put you in charge of historical holidays.’
‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’
Melanie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Try me.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good. Right, we’d better get out there. It sounds like Paul’s run off his feet.’
They went back through into the shop and found Paul standing alone by the leaflet rack advertising student holidays to Eastern European cities.
‘All right?’ he said, turning around. ‘Just tidying up.’
‘Paul,’ Melanie said, ‘how do you like to spend your Christmas?’
‘With me mates,’ Paul said.
‘How about family?’
Paul shrugged. ‘Depends how much booze the old man has got in.’
Melanie lifted an eyebrow as she turned to Lucy. ‘See? Paul likes to spend his holidays with his friends and family.’
Paul looked from one to the other then gave a shrug as though older women were an entirely different and unexplainable species.
‘You’ll love it,’ Melanie said. ‘And it’ll do you good.’
‘I’ll think about,’ Lucy said with another sigh.
- Writer
