Four Christmases and a Secret

‘No, you don’t. And you haven’t got a Christmas jumper.’

‘And does this,’ she peels Simon off the door, prods her finger through the hole in his chest, then rotates him slowly, ‘mean you haven’t got a date?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Well, nor have I.’ She grins, wickedly. ‘I can be your date!’

‘I’m taking Stanley.’ Stanley dives under the bed.

‘Who the fuck is Stanley? Have you been two-timing Simon?’ She gives a low whistle. ‘Dark horse!’

I sigh. ‘Stanley is the dog I’ve agreed to foster over the holidays.’

‘Oh.’ She looks disappointed, then frowns. ‘How did I not know about this?’

‘I smuggled him in, I knew you’d like him once you got to know him.’ It’s her flat, and I really should have asked her, but I couldn’t risk her saying no. Stanley can’t spend Christmas in a kennel.

‘Whatever.’ Frankie suddenly smiles. ‘Well, you can take me too then! Pleeeeeeease!’

‘Where’s Tarquin?’ I look at her with suspicion. She had a night of lust planned, like you do on Christmas eve if you’re a normal person and have a boyfriend, which is why she’s glammed up.

‘I told him to fuck off.’ She downs her drink. ‘He started a sentence with ‘if you really cared about me’, and it all went downhill from there. He needs to get a life.’

She sounds a bit sulky.

‘He is trying to, Frankie, with you.’

‘I’m not ready, I’d be bored within a week and so would he. Can I come?’

I look at Stanley, who is peeking out from under the bed. He stares back, resignedly.

‘It’s full of old people, and books.’

‘You should get a career in sales, oh hang on, you have! Please, it’ll be fun. I can do old people.’

I’m sure she can. ‘You’ll have to promise to behave and not put a straw in the vat of mulled wine.’

‘Promise. I won’t.’

She probably will.

‘And not propose to Uncle T?’

‘Is he rich?’

‘Very, but he’s probably married at the moment. I can’t remember. You mustn’t try and steal him!’

‘Okay.’ She puts on her sweet and innocent smile. But I know she’s not either.

‘Come on then,’ I sigh, I haven’t got time to argue, ‘I’m taking my car and getting a taxi back.’

‘Cool. Can I wear your antlers?’

Chapter 3

7.30 p.m., 24 December

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.