“Nope,” said Sarah. “Just high on excruciating embarrassment.”
Eventually the laughter died away and quiet contemplation ruled the car once more.
Kate started the engine and put the blowers on full and they rolled down their windows, despite the cold, to try to de-mist the windows.
“I don’t want you to think my feelings for Matt are any less,” said Sarah.
“I don’t,” said Kate.
“It’s just that . . .” Sarah went on. “Oliver was my first true love. First man I ever lived with. First and only person I’ve ever been engaged to.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” said Kate. A seed of unease was sprouting inside Kate’s chest. It took root and she couldn’t fathom its meaning.
“No, I do,” said Sarah. “Because you mean the world to Matt and I know you care for him, and I don’t want you to think that because I’m not ready to do a pub quiz with my ex, it means I’m not ready to get serious with Matt. Because I am serious about Matt. I promise you. Matt is everything I’m looking for in a man and more.”
Kate looked at Sarah face on.
“I believe you,” she said. The seedling sprouted tendrils that inexplicably curled themselves around her heart.
They drove home. And when Kate flopped into bed that night, her heart felt a little heavier than it had when she’d set out that evening. There was a nagging pulling at Kate’s insides, like a kitten’s claw caught in fabric. The idea of Matt getting hurt made Kate’s breath catch. She rolled over in bed, pulling the duvet tightly round with her, but the feeling wouldn’t go away, and when she did fall asleep, her dreams were abundant with ghosts of lovers past and farcical encounters of her trying to go to the toilet in clear glass cubicles.
THE SEVENTH DATE OF CHRISTMAS
• • • • •
Hiking and Hickeys
“Eurgh!” said Laura. “Rather you than me.”
“Well,” said Kate. “You know me, I love a bit of nature.”
They were sitting at the back of the Blexford Manor tearooms. It was Laura’s lunch break and Kate had walked up to meet her. The tearoom was almost deserted; one elderly couple shared an Eccles cake and a pot of tea at the other end of the room.
The sound of hammering and a good deal of shouting could be heard from the courtyard, where the Christmas market stalls were being constructed for tomorrow. Then the tearoom would be full. Blexford Manor’s Christmas fair always pulled in a crowd.
Laura was wearing her uniform: a navy blue skirt and blazer with her name badge pinned on her lapel. Her hair was tied back into a loose but smart chignon. She cut quite a different figure from the harassed mother of two, with mad hair and sick down her top, who went by the same name the other three days of the week.
Laura bit lovingly into her toasted brie-and-cranberry panini.
“I swear to God I come to work for a break,” she said. “I get my food made for me. And my coffee. And nobody pulls on my legs or bites my nipples.”
Kate winced.
“I should hope not!”
Laura wasn’t listening.
“I’m going to have to give up breastfeeding,” she said. “Charley’s teeth are like little needles. It’s agony.”
“Laura, you’re putting me off my lunch,” said Kate.
“Sorry,” said Laura. She took another bite of her lunch and moaned with delight. “Maybe I should come back to work full time.”
“You’d miss the kids too much,” said Kate.
“Maybe,” Laura mused. “So anyway, how come you’re hiking? I thought you were down for laser tag on this one.”
“I was,” said Kate. “But I emailed the rep and she said that Oliver was down for laser tag too. So I swapped.”
Laura pulled a sad face.
“But you really liked him,” she said.
“But he’s still hung up on Sarah,” said Kate. “The whole idea is just way too complicated. And you have to admit it’s a bit icky: me with Sarah’s ex-fiancé.”
“Love weaves its magic in mysterious ways,” said Laura, fluttering her hands in front of Kate’s as though she might pull a stream of colored hankies from her sleeve.
“Yeah, well, I think I’ll leave this mystery alone,” said Kate.
“Not even for a bit of fun?” said Laura, making obscene gestures with her hands. “It’s been a while, Kate. He could brush away the cobwebs for you!”
“Laura, you have no boundaries at the dinner table.”
Laura grinned.
“Have a baby,” she said. “Have seventeen people looking up your vagina and see how many boundaries you have left.”
The tearooms were in what was the original banqueting hall. The ornately painted ceiling was so high that even with dozens of heaters pushing out hot air, the warmth was lost in its vastness.
The Pear Tree Bakery used to supply the manor with bread and still did until the late nineties, when they found a cheaper supplier out of town, a big bread manufacturer that could churn out bulk quickly and cheaply. It was this loss of business that encouraged the Harrisons to retire.
With the recent resurgence of homegrown produce and cottage industry, Matt had been approached by the manor and asked if he had any products to sell regularly in their farm shop. Funny how things go around, thought Kate. Though she suspected Laura might have influenced their interest.
And so Matt had a stall at the Blexford Manor Christmas fair. He’d spent a week in the autumn preserving fruits in brandy, just as his mother had, and stinking up the whole café with his spicy tomato chutneys and chili jams. They would be sold beside Carla’s Christmas gingerbread men and Evelyn’s miniature boozy Christmas cakes. Kate was going to start making chocolate truffle gift bags as soon as she got home after lunch.
“So where are you hiking to and from?” asked Laura. “Have you been assigned a date?”
“Through and around Epping Forest,” said Kate. “We’re meeting at one of the visitor centers at ten a.m. on Sunday. And yes, I’ve been assigned a date.”
Kate reached for her phone before her friend even asked and flipped through to the picture of her next date:
“Phil. Forty. Owns an independent extreme sports store,” said Kate, handing her phone to Laura.
Laura looked at the picture and nodded sagely.
“This,” said Laura, stabbing her finger at the photo. “This is the one.”
Phil’s profile picture was him leaned up against a surfboard. He had matted salt-sea-spray hair and a deep tan, and he wore a wetsuit and a smile that implied complete confidence in the way he looked.
“Well, he won’t be wearing a wet suit on Sunday, that’s for sure,” said Kate. “The weather forecast is minus two that day.”
“Like I said,” said Laura. “Rather you than me.”
Laura scrolled through Phil’s particulars and read them out loud as if Kate hadn’t seen them yet.
“Never been married,” she said. “One child. Loves his dogs. Looking for someone special to share his hobbies with. Awww, he sounds lovely.” Laura swooned. “Let’s hope he wasn’t engaged to any of your friends!”
Kate snatched the phone back from Laura.
“Heard from Dick yet?” Laura asked.
“No,” said Kate. “I haven’t heard from Richard yet. He was the hero of the hour, you know,” Kate went on. “You could cut him some slack.”
“He did nothing more than any decent person would have,” said Laura. “I’ll call him Richard when he actually follows up on the lost date of Christmas. Until then,” she said, using her finger to swipe some spilled cranberry sauce from her plate into her mouth, “he’s a Dick.”
Laura went back to work and Kate ambled back down the quiet roads toward home. The grass verges were still covered in snow, and with the day’s cold clear sky it seemed un
likely they’d be thawing anytime soon.
She pulled her bobble hat down further over her ears. She was looking forward to the hike. She hadn’t been to Epping Forest in years. And there was much less pressure to make conversation on a hike. She’d take her camera with her and if things were really dire, she’d bury herself in finding images for her mood boards and Phil would be none the wiser of her indifference toward him.
Her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize. She almost dismissed the call but curiosity got the better of her.
“Hello, Kate?” said a deep husky voice.
“Speaking,” said Kate.
“It’s Richard.”
Kate’s stomach leaped. In your face, Laura!
“Oh,” said Kate, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “Hi!”
“Sorry it’s taken me so long to get in touch,” said Richard. “Turns out I hadn’t left my phone at the club. It was nicked. I had to have a temporary phone for a couple of days and, well, I won’t bore you with the details, you know how it is. Anyway, I’m calling to see if I can take you on that first date.”
“Yes,” said Kate. She didn’t want to seem too keen, even though she felt like she wanted to climb down the phone and give him a good sniff. “Yes, you can.”
“Great!” said Richard. “My treat. Do you know the Smugglers Arms in Great Blexley?”
They agreed to meet the following night outside the pub. Before she went home, Kate dropped in to see Evelyn to ask if the Sex Kittens could help Sarah’s school with their costumes.
“Well, of course we will!” said Evelyn. “I don’t know why she didn’t ask me herself, silly girl.”
“I don’t think it occurred to her ask,” said Kate.
“That’s what you get from living in the Big Town,” said Evelyn. “Big-town mentality! Every man’s an island!”
Evelyn continued to vocalize her opinions on the failings of living in the Big Town while Kate puttered about the shop, gathering the ingredients she’d need for making truffles.
“Baking for Matt again?” asked Evelyn as Kate laid her shopping by the till.
“As always,” said Kate.
“What would he do without you?” Evelyn mused.
“Find another mug to do it, I should think,” said Kate.
* * *
• • • • •
Tiny bubbles began to ripple beneath the surface of the double cream in the milk pan. Kate kept a steady eye on it, waiting for the first wave of a rolling boil. Laid out across the work surface were three deep glass bowls, each half filled with chopped dark chocolate.
Thick white bubbles broke the surface and began to rise up the pan. Kate whipped it off the heat and gently poured the hot cream over the chocolate in the first bowl. She gave it a moment and then gently stirred the mixture together, slowly and carefully, the dark chocolate melting into the pale cream in rich hickory stripes.
When the hot ganache mixture was fully combined, Kate dropped in some softened butter and two generous tablespoons of brandy and stirred again until she had a smooth glossy texture. The aroma was more than she could bear; her mouth watered. Luckily, she was prepared. She grabbed the extra bar from the cupboard, tore away the foil, and snapped off a glistening dark umber chunk of chocolate, making mmmm sounds to herself as it melted on her tongue.
She set the bowl aside to cool. When the ganache set, Kate would scoop out teaspoons of the mixture and roll it into balls before dipping each one in chopped hazelnuts or cocoa.
Her mind kept drifting to her impending date with Richard. Though it went against her every feminist impulse, Kate found the idea of such a devoted father an appealing trait in a man. She had to keep reminding herself not to discount Phil, her hiking date for Sunday, just because some guy had made her ovaries swoon.
She washed the milk pan and poured in another tub of cream, ready to begin the process again. She would do the next batch with raspberry liqueur. She had some dried raspberries to toss them in when they were ready: delicate little buds of velvet puce. The last batch would be half cocoa and half icing-sugar-dusted whiskey truffles. She just had to make sure she got more in the bags than in her mouth. Not easy.
The phone rang as she set the fresh pan on the stove. It was Matt.
“Hi!” she said. “I’m up to my eyes in truffles for the market.”
“Oh,” said Matt. “Great. Yeah.”
“You all right?” asked Kate.
Silence on the other end. She could hear him breathing. She sensed his hesitation. It wasn’t like Matt to be indecisive. Not with her anyway. He was usually bold to the point of rude.
“Come on!” she said. “Spit it out.”
“Did anything happen at the Dates with Mates night?” Matt asked.
Kate swallowed.
“Like what?” she asked brightly.
“I don’t know,” said Matt. “Just. I don’t know.”
“You’ll need to be more specific,” Kate said. Sarah had expressly asked her not to mention anything about Oliver to Matt, and she wasn’t about to break her confidence. But at the same time, if Sarah had folded and told Matt of her own volition, then Kate needed to know before she denied all knowledge.
“It’s just,” said Matt. “These last few days. Sarah’s been a bit . . . well, distant. And I wondered if you’d maybe said anything to her?”
Kate swirled the cream in the pan and set it back down on the heat.
“Like?” she asked.
She didn’t like where this was going. She had a sudden feeling of nausea in the bottom of her stomach.
“I wondered if you might have said anything that might have put her off me,” he said.
“Matt!” Kate was aghast. “As if I would.”
“No, no,” Matt broke in. “I don’t mean it like that. I meant. Well. I didn’t know if maybe, while you were bonding and being all girly-talky, you might have told her about the way I was with you, you know, at university and then how we didn’t speak for . . . ten years.”
Kate was silent.
The cream rose to a boil. Kate took it off the heat. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. Her hand shook slightly as she mechanically poured the hot cream over the second bowl of chocolate.
“Kate?” he said.
“No, Matt,” she said witheringly. “I didn’t. But thank you for having such a low opinion of me, or such a high opinion of yourself, that you assume I would still be feeling wounded about a bust-up that happened thirteen years ago!”
“Kate,” he said.
“Oh, it’s all right.” She took a breath. Her reaction had taken her by surprise. “I’m just being craggy. Sarah wanted my advice. She felt you might be holding something back.”
“Holding something back?” Matt was incredulous. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” said Kate truthfully. “She didn’t know either, she just had a feeling.”
Matt was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t really know what to say to that,” he said eventually. “I wasn’t aware I was holding anything back.”
“She suggested you have layers,” said Kate.
“Crikey!” said Matt.
“Don’t worry,” said Kate. “I assured her you are far too shallow to have layers.”
Matt laughed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kate,” said Matt. “I feel like a shit now. So essentially each of us has bleated to you that the other is distant and/or holding back.”
“Essentially, yes,” said Kate.
“Right,” said Matt. “It looks like Sarah and I need to work on our communication skills. I’m sorry about what I said earlier; I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Yeah, well,” said Kate. “I’m always telling you, you shouldn’t do thinking. Your tiny brain can’t handle it.”
Mat
t laughed.
“I’ll see you in the morning?” he asked.
“Of course you will,” said Kate.
“Night,” said Matt.
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” said Kate.
The call ended. The same strange unease prickled her insides. It was the same sensation she’d felt the other night with Sarah. Like coiling nettles.
Kate finished making the whiskey and raspberry ganache and placed all three bowls on a cold marble slab in the larder to set. She leafed through her sketches on the table, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead she went into the lounge and built a fire in the hearth and sat on the sofa with her bar of chocolate for company.
Kate and Laura had gone to Liverpool University together: Kate to study fine art and textiles and Laura, business and tourism. Matt went to Manchester to study accounting and finance.
It was inevitable, Kate had supposed, that they should drift a little from one another. What Kate hadn’t expected was Matt’s reluctance to keep any contact. On the rare occasions Kate managed to fix a weekend to meet up, Matt wasn’t the same; he was distant, disdainful even. They bickered. Not so much Matt and Laura—they had never been as close—but oftentimes with Kate, it was as though he couldn’t help but say things that would drive her further away.
One weekend Matt came down to Liverpool, grumpy as usual, to find Laura away visiting Ben and Kate nursing a wounded heart from a breakup with an intense classics student named John.
Kate and Matt went out drinking. They drank hard. One thing led to another.
They woke up the next morning in Kate’s bed, awkward and embarrassed, a poster of Frida Kahlo glaring down at them from the sloping ceiling above the bed in her attic room. The smell of burning toast drifted up the staircase. Someone yelled something from the bedroom below. Matt couldn’t get out of Kate’s room and out of Liverpool quick enough.
After that their friendship quickly deteriorated. It wasn’t that Kate had expected anything from Matt, but his dismissive attitude toward her was hurtful. She didn’t want a declaration of love, just an acknowledgment that it had happened, so that they could move forward.
The Twelve Dates of Christmas Page 13
