‘No.’ Frankie is using her firm, don’t mess me with tone.
‘No?’ I am using my why not? Little girl tone.
‘Definitely not. You’ll sounds like a needy pathetic weakling, you don’t want that, do you?’
‘Well no, but, I could just …’
‘He’ll know you fancy him, you’ll make yourself look an idiot.’
‘Surely it’s reasonable to just ask, and then I know if I’ll have to move out.’ An image leaps into my head, of Ollie carrying Juliet over the threshold into our apartment. Obviously, he’s practically skipping in, because she’s light as a feather. If it had been me, he’d stagger in then drop me in a heap on the sofa and collapse on top of me. A string of bellboys waltz in after her, with all her posh designer cases and soon there’s no room for my stuff or me. I’m consigned to the tiniest of tiny box rooms. Stanley squashed into a corner.
Except it’s not Ollie’s place. It is Uncle Terence’s. And Uncle T wouldn’t let that happen to me, would he?
‘Dais, are you listening? I know if you ask him, you’ll end up getting upset. Don’t!’
‘I won’t get—’
‘Yes, you will!’ I haven’t spoken to Frankie for quite a while, I’ve been busy working, and I’d forgotten how assertive she was. ‘Do not ask him! You’ll know soon enough if he’s getting hitched when you get the invite.’
‘But …’
She sighs. Heavily. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later to a dish like him, wasn’t it? And you knew you hadn’t got a hope, you just like to fantasise about him.’
For a moment I am speechless. She sounds just like bloody Tim! Is it really true, does everybody feel they have to tell me that I’m just not good enough for him?
‘No, I don’t.’ It comes out a bit strangled, because I feel all choked up – and angry. Frankie is my friend!
‘Shame though, I’d have liked a play with his stethoscope. Oh well, maybe in a year or two when he’s bored of her.’
‘Frankie!’ I put down the phone and stared at the wall.
‘Juliet?’ Ollie has that puzzled look that Stanley gets, when he’s pretending he doesn’t know what ‘get off the sofa’ means.
‘When she came round last night?’ Frankie might have told me not to discuss his proposal (which I want to do purely to establish facts), but she didn’t say I shouldn’t talk about her.
‘Did she?’ While I’m distracted he takes the opportunity to grab a mince pie, unfortunately I mistime my grab as it is heading up to his mouth, and somehow end up smashing it into his face.
I freeze. We stare at each other aghast.
A bit of pastry falls from his eyebrow, and he blinks.
There is a slurping noise, as Stanley Hoovers up the floor around our feet.
A piece of sticky dried fruit slides down his nose. For a moment it sticks on the very tip, and I make a grab for it just as he does. We end up in a sticky hand grasp, our faces nearly touching, and it’s a bit like when we were six, but different. It’s making me feel a bit breathless and peculiar. We stare at each other. Swap breath. Then he grins and the world clatters back to normal. And I realise. He’s actually got the most amazing eyes close up, all brown and liquid-y and flecked. ‘Did you know your eyes are the same colour as,’ I pull my hand free from his and hold it up triumphantly, ‘sultanas? I won!’
‘Give that here, you little …’ He’s grabbed my hand again, and we’re back in those arm-wrestling days. Except we’re not. His touch is so firm, and warm, and I suddenly feel like I might not want to fight, I might not actually want to escape …
But, oh God, he’s about to get married. I can’t do this.
‘Shit, bugger.’ I forget thinking of what I can and can’t do. My feet are slipping backwards from under me and I’m scrabbling with my feet and flapping my free arm, and somehow end up hanging onto him for dear life, then slowly sliding down him. Sinking down onto my knees as I clutch the waistband of his jeans and hope they don’t fall down, because my finger tips are against his red-hot skin, and my eyes are fixed on the band of his designer trunks.
And now I’m nose to nose with Stanley instead.
‘Eurgh, my God, Daisy, what have you stuck down my pants?’ He’s fishing very close to the spot I’ve just been pawing at, and his finger emerges, with that sticky sultana – now thoroughly squished.
‘Some people would quite like me putting my sticky fingers down their knickers!’ I probably shouldn’t have said that. Luckily, I can hide my red cheeks by staring at Stanley. Who appears to have a cherry on his head.
He licks his lips, licks my nose (I really hope he’s not recently been licking anywhere else) then burps. Then sniffs his way along my legs.
‘Ouch! You bugger. Bloody hell.’ I scramble sideways. Stanley has mistaken my little toe for something savoury and tried to eat that as well. He backs off, licking his lips and looking far too pleased with himself.
‘Oh bugger, quick, quick, get all the bits!’ I scramble round on my knees, sweeping up the fruit and crumbs with my hands. ‘It’s poisonous! I’m poisoning him with a mince pie!’
‘I would have thought eating your feet would have been more of a threat to his health!’
‘He likes my feet, even if you don’t!’
‘I didn’t say I don’t like your feet.’
I look up at him, my hands full of fruit and squished pastry, and I think I’ve just rubbed some into my hair.
Ollie grins, then guffaws, then very deliberately wipes the pie from his face and tries a bit. ‘Mmm, not bad for a beginner.’
‘Sod off!’ I shake my head at him. Baking has never been my thing, but I thought I’d make a special effort for Uncle T this year and actually do some home baking rather than just pretend I had. ‘Are they really okay?’ I’m worried now. ‘Maybe I should dash down to Waitrose before they shut?’
‘Definitely not!’
‘Not okay?’
‘Not Waitrose. These are great. Obviously, I would prefer one not mushed into my face, but not bad as a deconstructed thing.’
‘Deconstructed is so in.’
‘It is.’ His eyes light up, he’s got that mischievous look I know I need to fear. ‘We could always deconstruct the rest?’
‘Don’t you dare!’ I drag myself back to my feet, using his legs for purchase and pick up the rolling pin. ‘Touch them at your peril!’ I grin back though, almost forgetting that he is about to get engaged.
‘Shouldn’t that be eat them at—’
‘Stop being cheeky! Anyway, you knew Juliet came round.’ I can’t help it. I can’t not mention her.
‘I did?’
‘You did. You asked her to!’
‘Did I?’
‘She brought the invite for you!’
‘Ah.’ He sits down at the kitchen table and eyes the food up in a way that is very similar to the Stanley stare. ‘That invite. I’m not going to London.’
‘You’re not?’ He’s not! This is fantastic – he can’t propose if he’s not there. Can he? Surely proposal by Skype or Facebook isn’t acceptable, even for busy people?
‘It’s a medical do, she wants an escort.’
I know that feeling. ‘And you are her boyfriend,’ about to be fiancé, ‘so …’
He shrugs. ‘I told her I didn’t fancy it, but she said she’d drop the invite off in case I change my mind.’ This is a bit weird. ‘Can’t miss Uncle T’s do though, can I?’
‘Really? You can’t? No, you can’t!’ So, are they about to get engaged, or not? I am confused. I am very pleased he’s coming to Uncle T’s, but there’s a hard lump in my chest, a pain.
I’ve lost him. Even if he does come to the party, he’s practically married. I’ll never have another kiss.
‘Highlight of the year!’
I decide not to point out that for many years he did indeed miss it, and attend either other countries, dying people, or medical parties in London. Or Birmingham, or Manchester. I also decide I have t
o put a bright smile on my face. I am not going to let this spoil things. I am still going to have a wonderful time.
‘It certainly is.’ I start to pile my mince pies into a tin. ‘I know how many there are, so don’t even think about it!’
He looks at me with what I am sure he thinks is an innocent look, but I know better.
‘I’m going to get showered and changed, keep your hands off!’
‘What time are you meeting Frankie?’
‘I’m not, sorry, she called off. I can give you her number though, for new year? Next year?’
He gives a wry smile. ‘Uncle T will miss her stunning presence.’
I want to ask if he will miss Frankie’s presence, but don’t. And after all, he has got Juliet.
‘Would you like to come with me then, Dais? I can give you a lift?’
‘Juliet isn’t coming?’ I need to double check.
‘Nope, the bright lights of London, and lots of rich consultants are beckoning her.’
‘Oh.’ It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he minds, but I don’t. It’s also on the tip of my tongue to point out that she has high expectations of the evening. But I don’t. Instead I joke. Joking is safer.
‘No trying to kiss me, giving me a Chinese burn, arm-wrestling, or mussing up my hair?’ He has an annoying habit of ruffling up my hair after I’ve spent ages trying to smooth it down.
‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘Deal then. But you still don’t get a mince pie.’
‘Carriages at 7 p.m. my lady?’
I turn, and huff off, I have to, so he doesn’t see the big smile on my face. I can’t help it. Ollie makes me smile even when he’s breaking my heart.
8 p.m., 24 December
‘Oh my goodness Uncle Terence, it’s amazing!’
I can feel hot tears prickling at my eyes, I’m not quite sure why except it really does look amazing, it’s magical. ‘Wow, this is the best ever! You’ve surpassed yourself this year!’
He smiles broadly, and wraps me in a bear hug, blocking my view of everything but a very jazzy black and gold brocade waistcoat. Then he lets go, and the real world returns. Except it’s not really the real world, it is Uncle Terence’s bookshop decorated in the most festive way ever. And I do mean EVAH.
I mean, he does always make an effort, but this year he’s really gone to town, and it’s making me feel quite tearful.
‘The old devil still has it in him, eh?’ Ollie laughs, and Uncle T grabs his hand and they have a man hug.
‘Less of the cheek young Ollie!’
Something nudges my calf, and I bend down and pick Stanley up. He’s feeling left out. I give him a cuddle, then look around more carefully.
Each pane of the beautiful old shop windows has an artful fallen snowdrift, despite the fact that so far the real snow has barely settled outside, and the snowflakes falling down the windows look so real I have to stare to make sure they’re not actually moving.
Stanley suddenly makes his little whiffling noise and struggles free, haring over to the window on the left of the doorway. He stands there wagging his tail and making excited little barks. There’s a little scene from ‘The Snowman’, and it is animated! The snowman is swooping as gently as a moving cloud in a high circle above the prettiest snow-covered village ever, and it’s a copy of our own little church, village green and cottages.
I grab Stanley’s collar. ‘Don’t you dare eat the snowman!’ I can see it now, one crunch and the magic of Christmas will be destroyed for ever.
‘Listen!’ Uncle T is grinning when I look up from the scene. ‘Move closer.’
I lean in, listen carefully and can just hear the haunting music.
‘It’s all in the detail, darling Daisy. It’s the little things that count, the bits we miss if we don’t care enough to pay attention! Now, come and see my cauldron!’
I glance over my shoulder not really wanting to leave the scene, and Ollie catches my eye. He doesn’t smile immediately like he normally does or make a cheeky comment. He just looks, his gaze unreadable for a second. warm brown eyes locked onto mine. Then the gentlest of smiles appears, and he lifts his hand. ‘Go on, he’s dying to show you the rest. It’s taken him ages this year! I’ll go and put this food with the rest.’
We pass Dobie, peeping out from behind the pile of Harry Potter books, a slumped very real looking Scrooge sat by the fire at the end of the nook that houses the classics, another book aisle where a very lifelike Mr Darcy has his shirt plastered damply to his chest and an artfully placed sprig of holly over his privates (I suspect Mabel has been at work) and then Uncle T throws open a door that has never been there before, and we’re in Narnia. With the snow, the signpost, the lion …
‘My God, how did you do this?’ I laugh and turn on the spot.
‘With a little help from my friends! Isn’t it the best? You’ve no idea how many people it’s brought in this month, and I just titivated it up a bit for tonight!’
‘Daisy, darling! No, Tim?’ Mum peers round me.
‘Nope. Ditched him. I told you!’ I’d been um-ing and ah-ing about whether to admit to my dating disaster but had decided to bite the bullet.
‘I was just checking darling, in case you’d changed your mind again. I know what you’re like!’
‘I don’t change my mind!’
‘Well I know you don’t like to disappoint people. I was worried you’d insist on joining Tim’s parents for Christmas dinner just so that they haven’t got an empty chair. Are they vege whatever as well?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t met them.’ This fact should have been forewarning that we were not going to live happily ever after.
‘Well I’m pleased! He was rather annoying dear, pretentious is the word isn’t it? I really didn’t like to say, it’s not my place, you know I don’t like to speak out.’
‘No, Mum.’
Ollie, who is passing with a plate of mince pies grins at me, and it is very hard to keep a straight face. It’s okay for him, he just keeps on walking.
‘But I am glad he’s gone. He was very controlling as well, I thought. Was that Ollie?’
‘It was, Mum. Anything else?’ I say mildly. I’m not bothered, she can slag Tim off all she likes.
‘Well he did try the chicken vol-au-vent on my birthday, I mean I didn’t think he was supposed to do that, and he said it was nice and moist!’
‘He ate a ham sandwich at the office party as well.’ I admit glumly.
‘Well there you go then. A man who can’t resist forbidden fruit is a man not to be trusted!’
‘Where did you get that from Mum?’
‘Oh, some daytime TV thing dear, one of those judgemental things where they pretend they’re trying to help people but really they’re making an example of them. That reminds me, where’s your pillow princess?’
‘My what?’ I nearly choke on my mulled wine. Mother slaps me heartily on the back, and I am so glad Ollie moved on and didn’t hang about to hear more.
‘I heard that on TV as well, apparently you’re a baby dyke!’
‘No, Mum. I am not.’ I put my glass down, for safety reasons. ‘And nor is Frankie, if that’s who you mean?’
‘That’s the one! You see, she’s even got one of those ambidextrous names.’
‘You mean ambiguous.’ I shouldn’t have put my drink down, it’s better to consume more, not less.
‘She was such a funny girl! What was it she called Ollie?’ She pauses, she knows full well. ‘That’s it! A pompous prick. Oh, she did make me smile,’ she leans in, so she can lower her voice confidentially. ‘I mean, he is such a nice boy, and I don’t blame Vera for being proud. I mean she is his mother, but to be honest, dear,’ she cups a hand in front of her mouth to make sure she’s not overheard. ‘I do get a bit sick of hearing his achievements being drummed out by her, day in day out, at every opportunity. I mean, I balance what I say about you. Wonderful as you are, I do recognise that none of us are perfect and
we all have low points. But Ollie? Oh, I ask you. I bet he’s not even got a single pimple on his perfect buttocks!’ Then she gives me an assessing look. ‘Unless you know otherwise?’
‘Mum!’ I am slightly shocked, not by the thought she needs to check I’ve not been inspecting his bare bottom, but by the fact that whilst I have spent the last few years never feeling good enough to meet my mother’s expectations, because of Ollie, she’s actually been slightly pissed off about the whole competitive-mum business. If she’d told me this a couple of years ago it would have totally made my day. But it hits me now, I’m surprised, but not half as bothered as I expect to be.
In fact, Ollie is pretty close to perfect, so I can understand Vera being like she is.
I smile. Broadly. I can’t help it. Okay, I now know Ollie much better, and know he’s as human as he ever was. But I also am beginning to realise I can win at this life business. Or at least give it a good run for its money.
Mum thinks it’s because of her pimply bum comment. She shrugs and gives me a conspiratorial wink. I don’t want to burst her bubble. I’m quite enjoying this moment of solidarity.
‘Well, anyway, that Frankie girl was amusing. She’d make you laugh you know. That’s what’s important in a relationship, being with somebody who makes you laugh.’
Oh God, we’re back on her lesbian theme. Just when I was thinking we had common ground. ‘Take me and your dad, well, you wouldn’t think we have a giggle looking at us together would you?’
I don’t know where this is going, but I’m scared. Very scared.
‘But right from our wedding night when we had a giggle over his dingle dangle I know we’d be okay!’
Dingle dangle? This is heading downhill fast. ‘Need a top up, Mum? Canapé? Wine?’ I don’t manage to knock her off her stride.
‘You know they call it wedding tackle? Well we think it’s because they looked just like two bells, hanging there! He said all I had to do was pull the rope and we’d be ringing out all night. Oh, he did make me laugh!’
Kill me now. I am not ready to hear this. I never will be.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 20
