December 22nd, 1990

December 22th, 1990

At home, England

Headed straight to mum and dad’s this morning to celebrate Christmas before they head to Spain first thing tomorrow.

We munched on mince pies whilst opening presents and mum was all ears, wanting to know what happened in New York. I wanted to tell her about my chat with William but I still haven’t found the right time to tell her David and I split up. I just can’t seem to get the words out, perhaps because I know she’ll be really disappointed.

Dad helped me load the presents into the car and like me, he hates saying goodbye, so when he wiped away a tear, I pretended not to see.

“Right hen, I’m away to take Tini for a wee walk, enjoy Christmas and your trip,” he said, pushing a wad of cash into my hand.

“Dad!”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Use it to enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said, kissing his cheek.

The second dad was gone, mum said, “You’re awful tight lipped.”

“I’ve been up all night, don’t forget.”

“So, you’re just tired?”

“Uh-huh,” I uttered, getting into the car.

“Did something happen in New York?” she asked.
“A lot happened in New York, it’s the city that never sleeps!”

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s all good, mum.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said, straining my neck to receive her kiss on my cheek.

“As long as you’re alright,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I smiled. “Happy Christmas, enjoy Spain, take lots of pictures.”

“Same to you, hen,” she said. “See you next year!”

I probably should have just told her about William but it’s not as if I have any intention of keeping in touch, which is why I gave him a fake phone number and address.

 

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