Читать книгу Four Christmases and a Secret - Zara Stoneley - Страница 15

So, I have arrived at the party minus a boyfriend, and plus a dog and a flatmate. And now Ollie frigging Mr Perfect Cartwright is here.

Brilliant.

‘Oh my, how lovely to see you, Daisy, sweetheart!’ Uncle Terence manages to catch the plate (minus most of the sausage rolls), put his foot on Stanley’s lead, flick most of the pastry off my jumper with his silk handkerchief and kiss me on both cheeks without breaking into a sweat. ‘Splendid jumper, by the way!’

Stanley is so shocked he stops licking my toes, sits down and stares.

Uncle Terence is a bit of an enigma. He’s rather debonair, the only man in the village who can pull off a bowtie and is a kind of cross between a cuddly uncle and a London man about town. Yes, I know, it’s hard to imagine until you meet him. I’ve also absolutely no idea how old he is, except he’s older than me and not as old as my mother. I also know he used to run a literary agency which he thought he’d hand over to Ollie (he actually is his uncle) until Ollie’s dad persuaded his son that the medical profession was a much worthier cause.

‘Thank you! Looking forward to the party!’ I flash my new-lipstick smile, and he looks impressed – it looks like the magazine was right, it was well worth spending all that money on. I reckon it cost more than the entire contents of my make-up drawer.

‘Oh, my goodness, they look a bit pasty, don’t they?’ My mother picks up a sausage roll and eyes it suspiciously, before dropping it behind a pile of books and finally forgetting about Simon and my pompous prick comment offers her cheek for a kiss.

At least she’s been distracted from the lack of boyfriend.

‘Oh darling, what happened to your boyfriend? Tell me again!’ Bugger. Spoke too soon. Mum peers around me, as though I might actually have brought him and forgotten.

‘He had to cancel, I told you, things came up!’

‘Oh no. Such a disappointment.’ For a moment her face falls, then she chirps up. ‘Never mind, we’ll find you another nice young man. Sadie at Number 17 has a lovely son, he’s a dentist, always handy to know a good dentist! Don’t you think so, Terence?’

‘Far too boring for a bright young thing like our Daisy.’ Terence winks at me. ‘No hurry is there my dear? Get your career up and running before you go for all that nonsense, eh?’

‘Oh, my goodness, yes, we forgot to tell you.’ He’s now set Mum’s mind off in a new direction, which I’m not sure is a good thing. ‘Daisy has got another job!’ Terence raises an eyebrow. ‘She works for the Hunslip and Over Widgley Local Guardian, she’s in charge of promotions and marketing you know. They headhunted her, a proper job!’

‘Really?’ Uncle T whispers in my ear.

‘Small ads, not exactly proper.’ I whisper back, as my mother carries on regardless.

‘No?’ Uncle T studies me for a moment, then smiles. ‘Well, what is proper, my dear? What would you really like to do?’

‘I’m not quite sure yet.’ I scan the room and am quite relieved that Ollie seems to have disappeared from view. With any luck he’s gone home. It’s just so bloody embarrassing, the way my mother still keeps trying to throw us together when our lives have gone in totally opposite directions. Why on earth would the hugely successful Ollie, with his glamorous girlfriends and on-track life even want to talk to me, let alone father my babies?

‘Oh, she’ll soon be editor, won’t you Daisy!’ My mother has high expectations. Terence merely raises an eyebrow.

‘You can do whatever you want my dear, you know. You’re awfully clever, you always were such a bright girl.’ He pats my hand, then hands me the end of Stanley’s lead back. ‘And who needs a date, when you’ve got a dog?’

‘Exactly!’ I told you Uncle Terence was nice. Very nice.

‘Back in a jiffy, just going to stir the mulled wine dear girl, then I’ve got a gorgeous original edition to show you. Quite a find, a real gem, and I know you of all people will appreciate it!’ He winks.

‘Fab!’ I grin back at Uncle T.

‘Ollie has a proper date, you know!’ Mum nudges me in my ribs.

‘What a surprise.’ I mutter. Ollie has a date for every occasion apparently. How does he do it? Every year, according to my mother and Vera, Ollie flaming Cartwright has a different woman in tow.

‘Vera thinks he might even marry this one!’

I frown. This raises the stakes as far as my mother is concerned.

‘Such a shame you two couldn’t get together, we were so sure you’d get on well when you were little, your first kiss!’ She’s gone a bit swoony. ‘I hope you haven’t missed your chance!’

I admit it. Ollie and I have snogged more than once, it wasn’t just that drunken fumble under the mistletoe thirteen years ago.

He kissed me when we were six years old, when he was Joseph to my Mary in the Nativity at the village hall – egged on I think by our mothers. Honestly, what kind of parents encourage that kind of behaviour in innocent children? So, I battered him with the baby Jesus. A plastic version, obviously. I hit him pretty hard, though to give him his due he didn’t cry or hit me back, but he shouldn’t have kissed me.

He didn’t try again for another 12 years.

He was a pain in the backside when we were kids. He once pulled my bathing suit down and tried to drown me when we were semi-naked in his paddling pool (‘Just playing, how sweet,’ said Mum), then progressed to blowing out my birthday cake candles before I could (‘Hilarious,’ said his mum).

These days he is even more of a pain, though at least I haven’t actually had to see him in person. Well, until now. When Frankie spotted him across the crowded room and pointed out that not only is he successful, rich and has his life in order – he is also a tiny bit dishy. How did that happen?

Ollie passed all his exams, attended the medical school at Oxford University and is hugely successful and well thought of (according to my mother). He is very serious and always has an attractive, clever girlfriend with him whenever he comes home (according to his own mother – who then passes the information on to my mother).

I, on the other hand, buggered up my exams, did a rubbish degree at a university I’d only heard of through Clearing, still live within the same postcode we were brought up in, lost my job at the local vets after behaving irresponsibly with a scalpel when they tried to euthanise an incontinent cat (I think threatening to report me for GBH if I didn’t leave the building immediately was a bit OTT though), and so foster rescue dogs and have just managed to get a pretty naff job on the local rag.

How can my mother possibly still think we’re compatible when he’s everything I’m not? Have it all Ollie pleases his parents, is smart, has a life plan, a partner, but absolutely no sense of humour (from what I have observed), whereas I have no idea what I’ll be doing tomorrow, let alone in five years’ time.

‘You were such happy, chubby, little things.’

‘We were toddlers, Mum. Toddlers are always fat and happy.’

‘Well, you’re not now, are you! You need to do an egg timer test.’

‘What?’

‘I was reading all about them when I was having my car serviced, they have a wonderful set of magazines in there you know! Not just about cars, although there were car ones as well for your father, and a golf one.’

‘Why do I need to do an egg timer test?’

‘To see how much longer you’ve got before they go off dear! Then you can decide if it’s worth freezing a pack for future use.’ She pats my hand. ‘I mean, now Ollie is off the market.’

‘Mum,’ I sigh. ‘Ollie was your fantasy, not mine.’ Well, he was my fantasy for one brief night after that snog. Well, maybe several nights if I’m honest. But that was all. I mean, at eighteen it doesn’t always take much does it? ‘There are other men, and anyway, I might not want one.’

‘Not want a man?’ She frowns. ‘Oh my! That explains everything! You’re a lesbian! Oh, darling, why didn’t you say?’ She hugs me. ‘Everybody loves a lesbian these days.’

‘No, I’m not.’ I struggle free.

‘How exciting! Is it that Frankie girl?’ She frowns. ‘Is she bi? She’s still bothering Ollie, you know!’

‘No, Mum, she’s not, she’s straight, she’s got a boyfriend and I—’

‘And you can get a sperm donor these days, you can be Mummy and Mum, or Ma, or Mom!’

‘Mum, stop!’ I lower my voice to a hiss, as everybody else has stopped talking – just not her. ‘I am not a lesbian, but I still might not want to get married, and I might not want a baby!’

‘Oh rubbish.’ She shakes her head. ‘Of course, you want a baby. And you need one while I’m still young enough to push a pram, and your dad can still play football with him!’

We seem to have made a massive jump here, from egg testing to kids hurtling round the garden kicking a ball. There also seems to be an assumption on sex. ‘What if it’s a girl?’ I say, which I shouldn’t have done because it suggests there might be a child in my not so distant future.

‘They play, too! Honestly, I thought you youngsters understood all about equal opportunities, you kicked a ball around at school, you know! I mean, you weren’t exactly George Best, but …’

I’m about to ask who George Best is, then decide it might be best not to.

‘Daisy, how lovely to see you!’ Vera kisses my cheek and hands me a glass of mulled wine. ‘Any idea who that tall girl with black hair is? She’s rather monopolising Ollie!’

‘Oh don’t worry about her,’ says my mother, ‘she’s bi, she’s already got a boyfriend and a girlfriend!’

‘Back in a jiffy, Stanley needs a drink!’ I take this opportunity to run off, before my imaginary (and rather more interesting than in real-life) sex life is dissected.

‘Oh my God, I need to do something, I can’t go on like this for the rest of my life, can I Stan?’ I pass Stanley the sausage out of the mini toad-in-the-hole and pop the rest in my mouth. He takes it off me delicately, puts it on the floor than examines it for signs of poison. ‘I mean look at me, and you!’ He looks straight at me, munching his treat, a sadness in his brown eyes. ‘Sorry, I love you, you know that, but you weren’t supposed to be my plus one.’ I sigh. ‘You’re not even mine, you’re on loan.’

I am over thirty, and I’ve brought a dog to Uncle Terence’s Christmas Eve party. And he’s not even my dog. I’m fostering him until a suitable home can be found.

It isn’t the fact that my boyfriend ducked out of Christmas, and my life, at the very last minute. He was just the straw that broke the camel’s back so to speak. It is everything.

My mother will, of course, be disappointed that Simon isn’t with me. And that I still show no signs of getting engaged, let alone married or with-child, and she won’t waste any time in telling me and everybody else in hearing range. But it’s not like a man is the missing piece in the jigsaw of my life. The whole bloody jigsaw is a mess, it’s a mishmash of several different puzzles at the moment. Or at least that’s how it feels. And I need to work out what the finished picture is supposed to look like.

‘Oh God, Mum is heading this way again!’ I adjust my antlers, straighten my rather fine Rudolf jumper and take a swig of mulled wine. ‘Brace yourself, Stanley, this is my “must try harder” moment!’ Stanley stares at me, his lovely brown eyes look worried. ‘Me, not you, there’s nothing at all wrong with you.’ I reassure him. ‘Well, there is, but we can talk about that later. Minor point!’ He doesn’t look convinced.

Stanley and I are huddled together in the corner of the rather lovely bookshop. It’s cram packed with old furniture, books and antiques that have seen far better days. The air is heavy with the smell of leather, of new and old books, of dust, and potpourri. And mulled wine and sausage rolls.

On any other day it would be heaven, but I know that all my shortcomings are just about to be broadcast. One of them being Stanley.

‘Long time no see, Daisy!’ I am so focused on watching my mother approaching that I haven’t noticed Ollie sneak up on the other side. ‘On your own?’

‘No, I’ve got Stanley!’ I wave my glass a little too enthusiastically and splatter my reindeer.

He glances around, looking puzzled.

‘Stanley!’ I point at Stanley, who wags his tail rather too enthusiastically for my liking. I was sure I’d explained to him that Ollie was the enemy. A huge part of my ‘must try harder’ problem.

Ollie glances down. ‘Ah, a dog.’ He raises an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitches. If he laughs I might have to throw my wine at him, which would be a shame as I have already wasted quite a bit of it and it is rather fine wine. ‘Lots to be said for sticking with a dog.’ He tickles Stanley behind his ear, and the traitor wiggles his body in ecstasy.

‘So good of you to make it this year! No lives that need saving in the Third World?’

‘I’m sure there are, but I’m based back here now and I’m not on call.’

‘Oh.’ There’s an awkward silence.

‘Room for me?’ He nods his head at the space on the seat next to me, and I’m suddenly feeling all hot and bothered. I’ve just realised that I am sitting in the very spot where we had our drunken snog all those years ago. Where he plonked himself down without asking. Oh Lord-y. I shift up a bit, and before I can object, he’s plopped himself in the gap, his warm thigh pressed against mine. ‘Bit of a squeeze these days.’ He grins.

‘We’ve grown.’ I swallow. Not quite sure where to look, but unable to not look if you know what I mean. My thighs have spread, his have kind of muscled up and gone all firm and take up more space. His chest is also broader, his jawline squarer, his lips still …

‘No mistletoe, then?’ He glances up and grins, hopefully he’s not cottoned onto my under-the-eyelashes sideways staring.

‘Oh no, ha-ha, Uncle T must be slipping, thank heavens for that, eh!’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Seeing as you’re practically married and everything.’

‘And everything?’ The eyebrow quirks higher and his dimples deepen. I’d forgotten about his dimples, right next to his full lips, nestled there in a very tempting, kiss-me kind of way.

Oh bugger. Pull yourself together Daisy. ‘Babies, weddings, saving lives and all that! You’re a responsible adult now, aren’t you?’ I try to shift up a bit, but there is absolutely nowhere to go. The seat has shrunk, it has to have done. I was never that skinny. Although he was, with lanky long legs.

Shit, he’s thrown one arm along the back of the sofa. I really do feel hot now. He is quite sexy, and he seems to be sending waves of testosterone or some other kind of hormone out in my direction. Along with fingers, which seem to have accidentally brushed against my shoulder. I blame my oversized jumper, which keeps slipping.

It must be something they teach them in medical school. I mean, I know I did snog him last time we were sat here, but we were hormone-ridden teens with alcohol-laced blood. This is different.

Flaming heck, I need a fan, or something.

I hike the jumper back onto my shoulder.

‘And what about you?’ His voice is deeper than it was. Unnerving.

‘Me? Me?’ I fan myself with my hand, trying to just make it look like a casual wave and not a life-saving manoeuvre. ‘Oh me, I’m the same, you know, no babies, no saving lives, unless you call a ‘would like to meet’ ad a public service, ha-ha.’

‘No boyfriend with you tonight?’ He chuckles. ‘What was his name? Josh, Josh the slosh, that was it!’

It’s like somebody has grabbed me around the chest and is trying to squeeze the life out of me. The gasp escapes before I can stop it.

‘Daisy?’ Ollie is giving me an odd look. ‘Are you okay?’

I am not okay. I am so not okay. My forehead is clammy and I feel sick. I stare at him and try to hold it all in.

Luckily, I do not feel at all like snogging Ollie now. Kissing is the last thing on my mind. I want to thump him. Or scream and run away.

Josh is history, Josh is a name I never want to hear again. My lust has flown, now all I feel is mild panic.

‘Daisy?’ He prods me, so I swallow down the horrible taste in my mouth and try to think of a witty retort.

‘Oh, there you are, darling! I wondered where you were hiding!’ Whilst I have been distracted, my mother has sneaked up.

‘I’m not hiding, Mum.’ This has to be the first time in my entire life that I have been pleased my mother has barged into a conversation.

‘You’re never going to find another man if you’re hiding next to,’ she squints so she can read the books on the nearest shelf, ‘Ancient Relics and Wonders of the World!’

‘I’m not going to find another man at Uncle T’s party, anyway, am I?’

She ignores me. ‘Look who I’ve found!’ She hustles Vera into our little group. ‘And you’ve already seen lovely Ollie of course!’ She beams at Ollie in a proud mother kind of way and pats his shoulder. She should adopt him. ‘Vera was just telling me all about your new girlfriend!’

‘You have got a new girlfriend?’ I have to ask him.

He shifts uncomfortably. Probably because of the way he’s sandwiched into the seat with me, and that fact that when I turned slightly to face him, I nearly elbowed him in the nose.

How the hell do I get out of this seat without being too obvious? I feel like the last sardine in the tin, the one that has been squashed into the remaining tiny space that is too small for it. I need prising out with a fork.

‘Daisy is on her own again, aren’t you dear?’ Mum has carried on oblivious. ‘Single and independent, she might be gay you know!’

‘Mother I didn’t say …’ I glare at Ollie, daring him to snigger. He doesn’t. He’s not really a sniggering type these days it would appear.

‘Might be? You don’t know?’ A tall, slim blonde girl is peering at me as though I’m a particularly fascinating first edition. ‘How interesting! Are you bi?’ Then she glares at Ollie, who has his elbows squashed against his sides, after trying to remove his arm discretely from the back of the chair.

‘Oh, have you met Juliet, dear? Ollie’s girlfriend!’ Vera announces this as though he’s just won the sack race at school (strangely appropriate, but I beat him hands down at the egg and spoon) and he’s now showing off his trophy. ‘This is Daisy,’ she drops her voice to a confidential level, ‘she’s young, free and single again! Aren’t you, dear? Or are you having a thing with that girl?’

‘No, I’m not, she’s my flatmate. I am lovely and single, free to do what I want, shag who I want, get drunk and …’ They are all staring at me. Bloody hell, it gets hot when you’re wrapped in a jumper and squeezed between a man and the arm of a leather chair. ‘Well, obviously, I don’t shag around, but I am free to kiss anybody I want under the mistletoe this year!’

‘Terence?’ Questions Ollie, drily. Did I mention that he appears to have turned into a very ‘dry’ type? I’m not quite sure if he’s still got a proper sense of humour, it seems to have evaporated as he’s got older, I suppose it isn’t allowed now he’s a consultant. And it is not hip.

‘Definitely!’ I don’t actually mean this, but there really aren’t many people at all at his Christmas parties that you would want to snog, or touch, or even air kiss.

Juliet smiles, and looks down her long nose at me. She has perfect long, blonde, sleek hair and a long, slim, sleek body. Long has never been my thing.

She leans forward, well down, as though she’s greeting a child, and air-kisses.

‘Lovely to meet you, Daisy! How cute!’ Mwah-mwah. ‘Well done! I work in medicine, what do you do?’ It’s not just the words she uses, it’s the way she says them – in a very posh and very serious tone, that makes me feel like a child.

‘Oh, how lovely.’ I have a bad habit of imitating people’s accents when I’m in awe. ‘Medicine, fancy that!’

‘She works in communications,’ chimes in Vera.

‘And you’re a doctor?’ My mother frowns.

‘PR!’ Adds Juliet. ‘In medicine!’

‘Smashing, ha-ha, how clever!’ I say.

‘Christ, so you’re the one they wheel out to apologise when there’s a cock-up? Unexpected deaths and all that.’ Frankie has arrived and is now perched on the arm of the chair next to me. She drapes her arm round my shoulders, though she only has eyes for Ollie. She’s like a cheetah, waiting for her moment. I’m not sure if it’s the moment to leap on Ollie, or the moment to slay Juliet.

My nervous laugh is met with stony silence. Juliet is twitching, Frankie is positively purring.

‘We issue statements to the press, if that’s what you mean.’ Her tone has cooled.

‘Ah that’s what they call them!’ Frankie grins, then glances at her mobile phone, which has launched into a rendition of ‘Stop The Cavalry’. ‘Duty calls!’

‘Splendid.’ I say, to fill the gap as we all watch her sink into a leather armchair, her phone to her ear.

Juliet is not mollified. ‘I spearhead the PR campaigns.’

‘A bit like your job, Daisy, but people adore you, you’re not trying to wriggle your way out of being sued for incompetence!’ Chimes in my mother, who is using a plate of mini burgers as her way into the conversation. Sometimes I could hug her. ‘Daisy’s a journalist now! Canapé?’

‘Ah! Super, thanks.’ I grab a handful and try to move the conversation on from my sadly lacking career. ‘You’re in medicine as well, aren’t you Ollie?’ He raises an eyebrow, which is fair enough. He knows I know what he does, my annual date at Uncle T’s makes it impossible to avoid his accomplishments. But I was just trying to shut my mother up before she started to expand upon my not-so-wonderful career.

‘I thought you were in law?’ A faint frown lines his brow. How is it fair that frowning can be attractive on a man, but a disaster on a woman? ‘A barrister?’

‘Oh no, no, you must have misheard.’

‘Maybe father was confused. I swear he said …’

‘Oliver’s on the specialist register now, so clever, aren’t you, darling?’ Juliet buts in, which is rather fortunate. ‘That’s how we met, at work.’ She giggles and tries to link an arm through his, which is tricky. ‘And what did you say you did, Maisie?’

‘Daisy, it’s Daisy.’ I might have to thump her. ‘Oh, nothing so highbrow!’

‘I wouldn’t say it’s highbrow, just making a living like everybody else.’ Says Ollie. He shifts self-consciously and manages to extricate himself from Juliet’s grasp. ‘Just part of a team. Not exactly rocket science.’ He gives a self-depreciating laugh and Juliet nudges him.

‘More like brain surgery, ha-ha!’

‘Not exactly.’ He looks uncomfortable, and finally manages to lever himself up off the chair. Released, I nearly slither off onto the floor but manage to grab Frankie on the way and scramble to my feet.

‘Nonsense, darling! It practically is!’ She sounds a bit like Vera, I can see what drew him to her.

He has gone highbrow though, all home counties.

‘That’s enough about us though Maisie, what about you?’ She is not to be distracted, even though I swear she’s not listening to a word I say.

‘Daisy works for the Hunslip and Over Widgley Local Guardian.’ Uncle Terence has crept up unnoticed and pats my arm protectively. It’s getting pretty packed in my little corner now, soon our elbows will be squished against our sides and we won’t be able to drink out of our glasses. ‘For now! She’s quietly planning world domination though.’

‘What a mouthful!’ Juliet’s eyes are wide open.

‘Known as HOWL for short.’ Ollie looks amused, and I’m not sure if I should punch him or smile. I smile, then Juliet guffaws. Well, it’s more like a neigh.

What on earth were they thinking when they named the paper that? Why not Over Widgley and Hunslip? Or ditch the Local bit?

‘Oh, my goodness, how hilarious!’ Juliet is gasping for breath, wiping tears from her eyes.

I want to tell her it’s not that funny, but that would be rude.

‘Oh, I’m going to have to tweet that! I really am! Are they on twitter? I’ll tag them!’

‘Still dogging?’ Ollie raises an eyebrow, and glances down at Stanley who is now lying on his back, legs akimbo. The HOWL thing was his fault, so I can’t exactly forgive him for deflecting the conversation.

‘Dogging! They do that here?’ Juliet pauses, mid tweet. ‘Oh my God, I need to tweet that as well! Do they like, advertise in your paper? Or is it really hush-hush?’

‘Ha-ha!’ I can feel myself going red, but I am not going to be belittled. I also would quite like to punch her on the nose or point out to everybody her unusual level of interest in potential dogging sites. Instead I decide to take a mature attitude and ignore her. ‘I help out with animal welfare.’ I tell Juliet, who I don’t think is actually that interested. She’s too busy brushing imaginary fluff off her boyfriend’s shirt. It’s like watching a monkey groom its mate. But at least it is stopping her tapping on her mobile.

‘Oh, you rescue rhino’s, do you? That’s so brave, so, so visionary!’

‘Dogs.’

‘Dogs?’

‘I foster rescued dogs, street dogs, well I don’t actually go and rescue them myself, I help rehabilitate them and foster. I do have an actual job as well you know, I can’t just go racing off round the world.’ Although right now, that might be an idea. In fact it could be quite a good idea. I must make a mental note to think about this one later.

‘Oh. Like woof-woof dogs?’ She looks at me blankly, as though a rhino is every day, but a dog is harder to comprehend.

‘Like Stanley!’ I point to Stanley, whose sleeping on his back routine was a ruse so that I wouldn’t notice him sneak off. He is now skulking under a table with what looks like a turkey leg in his mouth.

‘What is it?’

‘Erm, a dog.’ Surely, she’s not so fixated on safari animals that she can’t recognise a dog?

‘What type?’

‘Stanley is a street dog.’ I say proudly. ‘From Spain. I think. He had fleas, ticks, mange and worms!’

‘Oh.’ She stares, then wrinkles her nose. ‘Have you thought about having him groomed? My mother takes her dog every week.’ She looks at me, horror dawning and takes a step back. ‘You don’t have fleas, do you? I’m allergic.’

‘No! He was sorted when I met him. But I have helped rehabilitate him!’

‘Maybe not a very good example.’ Says Ollie, with a twitch of smile.

‘Part rehabilitated. He’s a work in progress.’

‘So, no rhino’s then? Tigers?’ Juliet says hopefully.

‘They wouldn’t fit in my flat.’ I point out.

‘No garden I suppose.’ Says Ollie, and I’m not sure if he’s taking the piss out of me, or Juliet, or being serious.

‘Very small balcony. There would be health and safety issues. Ha-ha!’ I wish I could stop laughing nervously but being shoved in front of Ollie seems to have that effect on me. I’m perfectly normal in other company. Just not Christmas party company.

‘So, you still live here?’ Juliet sounds incredulous. She sips her drink delicately and I resist the urge to neck mine. I am well aware that my life is pretty crap at the moment, but ten minutes in the company of this pair and I feel worse than ever.

‘Yep.’

‘Ah,’ she looks as though she’s struggling for something to say, then suddenly smiles triumphantly, ‘so you play polo! Everybody does, don’t they in the countryside! My step-brother lives in Cheshire, plays polo all the time, so exciting!’ As she is excited it seems a shame to disappoint her.

‘Oh yes, polo! Great! All that galloping, hot men, chasing a ball! Yes, of course I play, ha-ha! Definitely.’

Ollie raises an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you have been busy, I thought you hated horses.’

‘Hated horses? Me? Never!’

‘I’ll have to challenge you to a chukka or two next time we’re up this way then.’

‘Splendid.’ What the hell is chucking?

‘My brother plays in Argentina a lot, do you?’

‘Oh no, no, not enough time. Dogs to rescue! Oh sorry, phone buzzing! You know what it’s like, all work no play when you’re a journalist!’ It isn’t, well not here. Unless there’s been a mass food poisoning incident and half the village have been rushed to hospital. But I cannot take this much longer. Just hearing about fabulous Ollie and his fabulous life has been bad enough in previous years, but actually being in the same room as him and his silly girlfriend is making me want to scream. Or run away and hide in a corner. With a book. A book never lets you down, a good book, bad book, any book, I don’t care.

I’m just about to dash off, when there’s a shriek.

‘Oh my God, Maisie!’ For a moment, I think Juliet is about to collapse, her hand is on my arm, she’s grasping, long polished nails sticking in. I stare down, slightly aghast. It’s a bit like being grabbed by a bird of prey wearing nail varnish.

‘Daisy.’ I say it automatically.

‘My God!’ She clasps her throat melodramatically. ‘How absolutely awful.’ She flashes her mobile in front of my face, then waves it in front of Ollie’s.

His reactions are quicker than mine. He grabs her wrist, so that the phone stills and he can read it. ‘That can’t be right. I’m sure it can’t. Never read anything so ridiculous. Don’t worry, Daisy.’

I wasn’t worrying, until he said don’t worry.

‘What?’ I grab the phone from her, but as I’m reading, she’s shouting out.

‘How absolutely awful, to lose your job on Christmas Eve! What on earth will you do, poor Maisie?’

‘Job? You’ve lost your job?’ Mum has heard and scurried back over to my side and is trying to extract the phone from my frozen fingers.

I stare at Ollie, I can’t breathe. There’s a massive lump blocking my throat.

If I’d thought the last couple of days have been rubbish, this is the cherry on top of the bloody cake.

Shit. How low can I go? I’ve cocked up my career plan, been dumped, and now even lost my crap dead-end job. I’m overweight, live in a rabbit hutch, and I’m staring at the man who has it all worked out.

I hate him.

‘Even my hair’s a mess.’ My voice has gone as wobbly as my legs.

‘Hair?’ He looks very concerned, and it makes me want to cry.

‘Come and sit down, you poor girl.’ Terence puts one hand on my elbow and the other in the small of my back and steers me towards the corner of the shop where he houses the special editions. ‘You’re in shock. Somebody get a brandy.’

Even feeling like I do I have to take a deep breath and let the smell of old leather and special words (yes, they do have a smell) filter their way into my body. I’m not sure if I want to cry, or curl up with a book and escape, pretend I’m somewhere else.

I also feel a bit heady, which could be dust, words of wisdom, or the goldfish-bowl sized brandy glass he’s pushed into my hand. The fumes alone are making me splutter.

He gently prises the phone from my fingers and hands it over to Ollie wordlessly.

‘You’ve not been sacked, Daisy.’ Ollie crouches down in front of me and looks into my eyes. He’s got the lovely warm brown eyes he had when he was Joseph to my Mary. Before they turned naughty and he kissed me. He was mischievous then, he’s not now, he’s all earnest and caring, but he actually looks a bit like the Ollie I knew. He looks like the eighteen-year-old Ollie with the luscious lips and the nervous smile. Maybe I don’t hate him.

‘But Juliet said …’

‘It says here,’ his tone is firm. It’s quite commanding and authoritative, I can see why he’s so successful. ‘That the three local newspapers are merging. The office is closing, but there will be opportunities for all staff to apply for jobs and no compulsory redundancies are expected. None.’

‘Well, that’s okay then, none!’ My voice sounds pathetic and all wavery to my ears, but it’s the best I can do. I say it again, trying for a stronger tone. ‘None.’

Uncle Terence pats my hand absent-mindedly, but he’s frowning at Ollie. ‘How the hell can they not have announced it in the office, that’s not on is it? Downright underhand if you ask me. No emails, nothing, Daisy, darling?’

‘Erm, maybe I might have missed a meeting while I was writing a missing rabbit ad. It explains why David was avoiding me when I left.’

Something nudges my left leg. Something damp lands on my left knee. It’s Stanley, with a slice of ham.

I stroke his ears and stare at Ollie. ‘It definitely says there are jobs?’

He nods. ‘Definitely.’ Our gazes lock and his is so intent I’m spun back to that Christmas all those years ago. When it was just him and me, and nothing and nobody else mattered. When all I could see were his eyes, when he tasted of whisky and mince pies, when the scent of cloves and cinnamon mingled with the citrus of his aftershave. And now I’m not sure what is past and what is present. I just know I’m glad he’d here.

‘Mince pies, anybody?’ I blink my way back to the present feeling a bit unnerved, just as Mum waves a tray under Stanley’s nose, so I cover his eyes.

‘He’s not allowed dried fruit, it’s poisonous!’ She waves one tantalising close and his nose twitches. ‘Don’t you dare, Mum!’ I kiss Uncle Terence on the cheek and down the rest of the brandy in one gulp. Which could be a mistake. The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat and insides and brings tears to my eyes and makes me cough and splutter alarmingly. ‘Thank you.’ I blink like an owl in sunlight.

‘You’re welcome, my darling. You’re okay?’

‘Definitely.’ I nod vigorously to prove the point. ‘Sorry, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m fine. All ready to party!’

Uncle T smiles. ‘That’s my girl. Oh look – mistletoe!’

Ollie blushes, and just like that he’s the teenager I used to know. Except the grown-up Ollie is even more gorgeous.

He glances at me, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the hint of a smile. A shared secret, and my stomach does a little flip of anticipation.

I want to touch him, kiss him, see if he still tastes the same.

I mustn’t!

I scoop up my dog and take a hasty step away from Uncle T. ‘Come on, Stanley, let’s mingle.’ Then I flee.