God, I remember writing letters to Father Christmas when I was little. They used to get quite long and involved, with illustrations and pictures cut out of catalogues, just in case he got confused.
A pair of pink-faced girls of about ten are posting their wishes, all giggly and whispery, and just the sight of them gives me a rush of nostalgia. It seems wrong not to join in. I might jinx it or something.
Dear Father Christmas, I find myself writing on a card. It’s Becky here again. I pause, and think for a bit, and then quickly scribble down a few things.
I mean, only about three. I’m not greedy or anything.
Minnie is scribbling earnestly all over her card, and has got felt-tip on her hands and her nose.
‘I’m sure Father Christmas will understand what you mean,’ I say gently, taking it from her. ‘Let’s post it in the well.’
One by one I drop the two cards in. Tiny fake snowflakes are drifting down from above and ‘Winter Wonderland’ is being piped out of a nearby speaker and I suddenly feel so Christmassy I can’t help closing my eyes, clenching Minnie’s hand and wishing. You never know …
‘Becky?’ A deep voice penetrates my thoughts and my eyes snap open. Luke is standing in front of me, his dark hair and navy coat dusted with fake snow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Too late I realize I’ve been fervently mouthing ‘Please … please …’ with my eyes squeezed shut.
‘Oh!’ I say, a bit flustered. ‘Hi. I was just …’
‘Talking to Father Christmas?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I regain my dignity. ‘Where’ve you been, anyway?’
Luke doesn’t answer me, but starts walking away, beckoning for me to follow.
‘Leave Minnie with your mother a moment,’ he says. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
I’ve been married to Luke for three and a half years now, but I still don’t always know the way his mind is working. As we stride along his mouth is hard, and I almost start to feel nervous. What could it be?
‘Here.’ He comes to a halt in a deserted corner of the shopping mall, and gets out his BlackBerry.
On the screen is an email from his lawyer, Tony. It consists of a single word: ‘Settled’.
‘Settled?’ For a split second I don’t understand – then I have a sudden flash of realization.
‘Not – Arcodas? They’ve settled?’
‘Yup.’ And now I can see a tiny smile glimmering.
‘But – you never said … I had no idea …’
‘Didn’t want to raise your hopes. We’ve been talking for three weeks. It’s not the greatest deal for us … but it’s fine. We’ll be fine. The point is, it’s done.’
My legs feel a bit shaky. It’s over. Just like that. The Arcodas case has been hanging over us for so long it’s started to feel part of the family. (Not a good part, obviously. The malevolent old witchy aunt with the warty nose and the nasty cackle.)
It’s two years since Luke went into battle with Arcodas. I say ‘battle’. It wasn’t like he firebombed them or anything. He just refused to work for them, on a matter of principle: the principle being that he didn’t want to represent a load of bullies who mistreated his staff. He owns a PR company, Brandon Communications, and has had most of his employees for years. When he found out the way Arcodas had been behaving to them, I’ve never seen him so angry.
So he quit, and they took him to court for breach of contract. (Which just proves how awful and overbearing they are.) Whereupon Luke took them to court for not paying for the services they’d already received.
You’d have thought the judge would have realized who was the good guy instantly and ruled in Luke’s favour. I mean, hello, don’t judges have eyes? But instead they’ve had stupid hearings and adjournments and the whole thing has dragged on, and been totally stressy. I have to say, my opinion of lawyers, judges, so-called ‘mediators’ and the whole legal system is a lot lower after all this. Which I would have told them, if they’d only let me speak.
I was dying for Luke to call me as a witness. I had my outfit ready and everything. (Navy pencil skirt, white shirt with ruffle, patent courts.) And I’d written this brilliant speech, which I still know by heart. It begins: ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to look into your hearts. And then I ask you to look at the two men before you. One honourable, upstanding hero who puts the well-being of his staff before money …’ (where I would point at Luke), ‘… and one odious, sexist man who bullies everyone and has as much integrity as he does dress sense …’ (where I would point at Iain Wheeler from Arcodas). Everyone would have been stirred up and cheered and the judge would have had to bang his gavel and cry ‘Order! Order!’ And then I was going to cunningly assess the jury, like they do in John Grisham novels, and work out which ones were on our side.
Anyway, all my plans were spoiled when Luke said there wasn’t going to be a jury, it wasn’t that kind of court. And then he said it was a murky swamp full of dirty tricks and he’d be damned if I got dragged into all this too and I should stay at home with Minnie. So I did, even though the frustration nearly killed me.
Now Luke exhales and pushes his hands through his hair.
‘Over,’ he says, almost to himself. ‘At last.’
‘Thank God.’
As I reach up to hug him, I can see traces of weariness in his face still. This whole thing has nearly wiped Luke out. He’s been trying to run his company, and deal with the case, and keep his staff motivated, and win new business.