Paper Chains by Nicola Moriarty Read Free Book Online Page B

scenario, but it’s not really, is it?’
    Hannah stared at India, taking in all of the information. She had so many questions. But one was particularly bothering her. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘You said you came to your senses, remembered “why you’re doing this” – what do you mean?’
    India smiled. ‘How about this – I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.’ There was a pause as Hannah looked back at India, confused, and then India laughed and added, ‘What, you think you’re the only one with secrets? Anyway, we’re not here to talk about me, I want to know more about you, my dear. More real stuff please.’ Hannah was pleased to see that India seemed to be returning to her old self, looking relaxed and laid back once more.
    India paused to think and then said decisively, ‘I know, you could tell me about your last Christmas. What was it like? Where were you? Who were you with? What did you get?’
    Hannah didn’t have time to be surprised by the random question. An image flew into her mind. She saw a beautiful Christmas tree, a real, live one – it had been the first time she’d ever had a real Christmas tree in her home. She could almost smell the pine needles, feel them crunching under her feet, hear them being sucked up by the vacuum cleaner – ping, ping, ping! She saw Liam, laughing as he sifted through their box of dismal decorations that she refused to throw out. And then she heard another voice, joining in on the laughter, jolting her senses. Her throat closed up and pin pricks speared against the back of her eyes. Her words tumbled. ‘Do you mind if I don’t . . . please?’
    India leaned across the table to grab at her hands before she could escape as she had the previous night. ‘Okay, forget it,’ she said in a rush. ‘Take a deep breath. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to tell you about my last Christmas. And you’re going to picture it with me, and it’s going to make you laugh and you’re going to stop thinking about whatever it is that’s so painful for you, okay?’
    Hannah nodded and India launched into her story. Apparently she had made the decision last year to skip Christmas, she wasn’t in the mood for it (for reasons she didn’t divulge) and she spent the day on the beach in Ibiza, resolutely ignoring the fact that it was the middle of winter and attempting to tan anyway. Just under two weeks later she had moved on to Moscow, glad that Christmas was all over. Apparently she was wrong. It turned out that in Russia, Christmas was celebrated on the 7th of January and she had inadvertently arrived in the city on their Christmas Eve. She gave in to fate and decided to join in the celebrations. Somehow she befriended a large welcoming family at a church service and was invited to spend the night with them sharing their twelve-course feast, eating vegetarian porridge and having honey crosses drawn on her forehead. She said it came close to the best Christmas she had ever experienced and had completely renewed her faith in the holiday.
    Hannah didn’t press her for the details as to why she had first been put off Christmas, nor did she bring up India’s revelation that she had a secret in her past; she was too busy recovering from her own moment of anxiety as she had thought about home. But India’s story had managed to calm her and the rest of the lunch break continued somewhat uneventfully.
     
    ‘You think a person can just be vanilla?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    India had befriended a florist. Or perhaps he had befriended her, she wasn’t really certain. Either way, she had been taking an early morning walk through Notting Hill and had stopped to admire some beautiful daisies, and ended up chatting with the young guy as he tended to his displays. Now they were having a coffee together at a café around the corner from the flower shop.
    ‘So there’s this girl. And all this time I’ve been certain that there’s