I get the briefest kiss on the cheek before he turns smack bang into the wall then almost runs back the way we’ve walked. I experience a moment’s pity for Karina.
Life can be truly weird, I decide. I find Arian’s new-found energy quite exhausting, so as an antedote I think about Marcus and immediately get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
The next night is my dinner date with Marcus and he takes me to an Indian restaurant on the outskirts of Winchester.
‘Hope you like curry,’ he says. ‘I should have checked, but all the damn pubs have Christmas meals and Christmas parties going on, and to tell you the truth, one Christmas meal is more than enough for me.’
‘Curry’s great,’ I say. ‘I absolutely love it and I completely agree about Christmas,’ thinking about my darling mother’s overcooked, dried out turkey, mushy sprouts that make you fart for days, gravy straight out of a packet and Tesco’s value Christmas pudding.
‘So what are you doing for Christmas,’ Marcus asks, as we speed along in the Land Cruiser.
‘Nothing special,’ I say. ‘I’ll probably go to my parents - just for lunch.’
‘That’s nice,’ he says.
‘Actually, it’s not,’ I say. ‘Not really, because I have a mad dog, so I’ll only have one glass of sherry because I’ll be driving home that evening. My mother can’t stand Elmer. She’ll also send everyone insane with her moaning, my father will get as pissed as a fart because it’s the only way he knows to cope with her. I, meanwhile, will bite my tongue most of the time, try to eat the horrific meal she’s cooked and stay sober enough to leave the first moment I can get away.’ I smile sweetly at him. ‘What about you?’
‘Not sure,’ he says shortly. ‘My parents are away - as usual. Even if they weren’t, I’m not sure I’d see them. They live in Salcombe and I’m on call Boxing Day.’
Golly. Salcombe… How very posh. Hmmm. Do I dare invite him to join my weird family Christmas...
But fortunately he says, ‘Actually, Emma and Ben have invited me for lunch. They’ve asked Will too, so I think I’ll probably do that.’
Sounds much more fun than mine will be. I’m envious. Emma’s Christmas lunch will be scrumptious.
‘How about,’ he suggests slowly, sounding quite pleased with himself, ‘You and I have Christmas together on Boxing Day evening? The way we want to do it?’
‘Oooh, that sounds fun,’ I say, envisaging me and Marcus pulling crackers and drinking champagne by my fire.
‘Tell you what,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you leave it to me?’
I have so many presents to buy this year. There’s Mum and Dad of course, Leonie, Emma, and Marcus and Agnes ….and maybe something for Zac. And a box of chocolates for Mr Jones to make up for the carrots that Wurzel stole. So I forego my Saturday morning ride on Horace, and head in to Winchester, wishing I hadn’t, because it’s Christmas shopping at its absolute, bloody worst, with the traffic queuing for miles and queues for all the car parks. And to top it off, it’s wet and windy, which isn’t Christmassy at all.
By the time I’ve finished, I vow that next year all my shopping will be done online. I am never going Christmas shopping ever again.
But then something happens that absolutely makes my day, because I bump into smug Martin, that jumped up little shit of an estate agent that sold mine and Arian’s old home. Battling with the crowds in the streets, I try my hardest to avoid him, but he comes right over anyway and says as smoothly as ever, ‘Mrs Mulholland! How lovely to see you again. How are you?’
As if I were a long lost friend or something, the git.
‘I’m awfully well, thanks, Mr Slime,’ I say, standing there in the downpour, water pouring down my face. ‘Oh yes. Very good indeed. Oh how lovely, I see you’re wearing one of those Value suits from Tesco’s…. excellent aren’t they? I mean, these days, no-one can tell the difference can they? Must go. Happy Christmas!’ and I walk away leaving him looking really stupid as he stands there with his mouth wide open. He’s probably wearing Armani. Tesco’s value is absolutely okay to me, but Martin’s a complete snob.
We close the office at lunchtime on Christmas Eve, and Beamish and Agnes arrive with drinks and nibbles. What we used to do was have champagne and cut Mrs Winkle’s delicious Christmas cake - not this year, though. But Agnes, bless her, has done us proud. It’s not just nibbles at all. There’s the most sumptuous array of delicious hot canapés, and tiny, bite-sized roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, so when all the vets get back, we have a party.
Mrs Boggle always comes in specially, wearing tacky earrings made of singing Christmas baubles, and always says something like ‘Oh, I couldn’t eat another bite,’ as she stuffs yet another delectable morsel into her mouth. Zac’s looking at it all as though he can’t believe his eyes. He told me he’s spending Christmas with Sam at Sam’s sisters. I’m awfully glad he’s got somewhere nice to go to, not just his lousy Mum’s.
It’s lovely having Agnes back here, even if she’s only passing the food around. For once, she’s doing as she’s told and taking it easy. Beamish is terribly protective of her, and even makes her sit down and actually passes some of the food around himself.
Marcus keeps giving me the loveliest of smiles, and Will’s regaling Agnes with various outlandish tales that appear to have her in stitches.
‘She’s a great lady,’ he says to me later.
I agree with him. ‘She is. One of the best,’ I say loyally. ‘Actually, she has been the best friend to me this year. She’s more like a mother than my own mother.’
‘Wow.’ Will is fittingly awed. He obviously realises how special she is.
And so I go home alone, but I’m meeting everyone later on in the pub, except maybe not Marcus who’s on call for the rest of the day. He kisses me goodbye in the car park, which thoroughly baffles Beamish, who thinks he’s given his blessing to my union with Will, which he still hasn’t realised only ever existed in his imagination.
Ah well. So it’s Christmas. That evening, everyone gets to the pub - including Marcus. When I walk in, they all stop talking at once and look over at me.
When I ask Marcus what it is they were discussing, he says, ‘nothing, Lou. Don’t know what you mean.’
I ask Emma too. She gives me an evasive look and changes the subject. Suddenly I’m less than happy.
What am I not supposed to know? Secrets make me uneasy – there’ve been too many in recent months - and I can only imagine the worst, like I’ve done something terrible, or I’m about to be fired – or Marcus’s ex is coming back to him...
36
I wake up on Christmas morning a little less paranoid. Horace has done surprisingly well from Santa this year. As well as a bulging stocking of carrots and apples, he has a lovely new headcollar from Emma and a soft, fleecy rug from me. It’s bitterly cold this morning, so I put it on him. It’s like thermal underwear, with his hefty old waterproof rug over the top and he looks very happy and cosy. I spin it out for ages before turning him out = because now, oh joy of joys, it’s time for the parents.
My mother looks like she has a smell up her nose when she opens the door.
‘Oh, how lovely, darling,’ she says as we air-kiss. ‘You’re just in time to peel the sprouts.’
‘How lovely, Mum. I can’t wait.’ I smile brightly at her. Fucking blasted sprouts. I hate the things. She completely ignores Elmer, who’s had a bath and is wearing a red bow especially for the occasion.
‘Happy Christmas, poppet,’ says Dad, clearly already on the vino. Mum’s obviously on form then.
‘Auntie Lucy and Uncle Peter are coming for lunch,’ she calls from the kitchen. ‘I knew you’d love to see them.’
Auntie Lucy’s okay. She’s Dad’s sister and I can’t imagine how she puts up with Uncle Peter, who’s a lecherous old pervert with an eye for a cleavage. I know Auntie Lucy’s a little on the flat-chested side, but even so, I do my cardigan up to the top straight away, in case I forget later.
Then I have
a glass of wine with Dad while Mum makes the gravy from a packet.
‘How’s it all going then, sweetheart? Still as busy as ever?’ says Dad, looking a little mistily at me. Hmmm, it’s only eleven thirty. Better ease up on the wine, Dad.
‘Really good,’ I say. ‘Yes, works good…’ And I have a gorgeous vet who wants to get my knickers off, my friend Karina’s had Arian’s baby, I’ve sorted Emma’s horoscope habit and Pete is on the up again…only my Dad doesn’t really know any of my friends these days, except Leonie, and he’d never get his head round the whole Arian-Karina thing.
‘Yes. Thanks Dad. Everything’s great. Why don’t I make us a cup of tea?’
But he shakes his head. ‘I’ll stick with this, thanks, poppet.’
But then he surprises me. ‘I’m very proud of how you coped when that, that, you know….’ Ah, you mean the tosser-loser-wanker left me…well, that idiot of a husband left you. Anyway, I wanted you to know.’
‘Golly. Thanks Dad.’
Oh God. The doorbell. Auntie Lucy… and Uncle Peter.
I kiss Auntie Lucy who’s actually very sweet, and always reminds me a bit of Dad, but then they are related. They have quite a lot in common too, having particularly annoying spouses.
‘You’re looking mighty hot, young lady,’ booms Uncle Peter.
I’m not sure if he means the gorgeous kind, or the damp kind. I can already feel sweat trickling down my back but no way am I taking off this cardigan with him hanging around for an eyeful.
‘I’m fine,’ I say sweetly. ‘Absolutely fine, but thank you so much Uncle Peter.’
This Christmas I’m lucky. Mum boils the sprouts until they disintegrate, so we agree, terribly sadly that we’ll just have to throw them away and make do with the frozen vegetable medley that she bought when it was on offer in the Co-op. Fortunately I catch her just as she’s about to feed the pulped mush to Elmer, which would have been catastrophic. There’s a chink in the clouds though, as even Mum can’t ruin the sausages with bacon wrapped around them and though they’re a bit crispy, they’re edible. Thank heavens, I’m thinking to myself. I nearly inflicted this on Marcus. And then I remember that right now they’re all sitting down to an Emma special, and it will be the best Christmas lunch in the history of the world. Filled with a rush of insane jealousy, I swiftly remind myself that I’m lucky to have my parents, who in spite of their quirks, are in their own peculiar way, still my parents.
My dear mother has wrapped tinsel around the napkins, which sheds glittery strands all over the table and everyone’s plates, and she’s bought these candles which were a bargain, only they’ve melted into puddles of wax, even before we’ve sat down. But still. It’s Christmas and this is my family. And as I stare at the plate in front of me, I remind myself - at least we’ve been spared the sprouts.
Dear Horace saves me though, because he’s the perfect reason why I have to leave before it gets too dark. And as my parents’ front door closes behind me, I unbutton my cardigan to let the air in and breathe a huge sigh of relief that it’s over. Perhaps next year, I’ll invite them over to mine, but blissfully, that’s a whole year away at this moment and who knows, by then, anything could happen.
Dear Emma has stuck a Christmas card through my door. When I look more closely, I see it’s not your average card. It’s a photograph, clearly taken earlier today, of her, Ben, and Will wearing silly hats holding champagne glasses in the air. So where’s Marcus? On the back she’s scribbled, hope you had as much fun as we did, come over later? We’ll save you a glass xxx
Ah bless. I might just do that. But by the time I eventually get there, I think perhaps that actually, maybe I shouldn’t have. I’ve never seen Emma so drunk. Ben looks very smiley and he’s slurring all his words, and as for Will… either he’s consumed a huge amount of booze or he’s a complete lightweight. He goes to pick up his glass and misses. Then looks mystified as to what’s gone wrong, so he tries again. Mainly because I’m hours behind them in the alcohol consumption stakes, I pick it up and put it in his hands.
‘Noooooo,’ cries Emma, a mad grin on her face. ‘You’ve spoilt it. He’s so funny…’ and she collapses in giggles on top of Ben, who’s practically wetting himself.
Will studies his glass with serious intent. I really don’t fancy catching this lot up tonight, I decide, so I finish the drink that Emma gave me and wish them all a very good night.
‘And don’t forget to drink lots of water,’ I tell them very sensibly, just before I leave.
It’s only when I get home that I realise I completely forgot to ask them what had happened to Marcus.
And then Christmas is over and it’s Boxing Day, which I love, especially this year, because tonight, Marcus and I are having our first Christmas together. And yes I know, it may be our only Christmas. So, I am going to look my most gorgeous and completely wow him.
I’ve still no idea what he’s planning. He texts me that afternoon, telling me to be ready at seven. So I’m ready at six thirty, with his present wrapped. It’s an ironic present, because it’s the Nickleback CD we were talking about the other night, and I’ve also bought him a very nice bottle of wine. Well, I hope it’s nice, because it cost me twenty-five quid.
Marcus arrives bang on seven. Almost as though he’d been sitting outside looking at his watch.
‘Hello,’ he grins and kisses me lightly on the lips. ‘You ready? Why don’t you bring Elmer?’
Needing no encouragement, Elmer’s there in an instant, wagging her tail most ingratiatingly.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But can you wait while Elmer brushes her teeth, only she wasn’t expecting to be going out…’
Marcus has his arm round my shoulder as we walk out to his car. It’s a lovely clear, frosty night and his body feels warm against mine. He opens the door for Elmer to climb into the back, then opens the passenger door for me. And there’s no awkwardness – it’s perfect.
Just ten minutes later, he turns off the road and pulls up in front of the loveliest old farm cottage ever. The lights are on inside and it looks so welcoming. There’s even a candle burning on the windowsill.
‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he says apologetically. ‘I kind of thought that you’d be all Christmassed out by now, so actually, I thought I’d do the cooking rather than go to a pub. I hope that’s okay?’
Oh, it most definitely is.
He unlocks the front door, and I find myself standing in this glorious cottage. There’s bare brick and battered old timbers everywhere. The floors are wonky and there’s logs burning in the fireplace, but there’s also huge comfortable sofas in his living room, one bright green and the other mustard yellow, and a massive aga in the kitchen, which is crammed with high tech gadgets, everywhere I look. I wouldn’t know how to use half this stuff.
Marcus goes to the enormous fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne, which he uncorks noisily and pours into flutes.
We chink our glasses and say ‘Cheers.’ Then I have to ask. ‘Are you like Emma? A secret Masterchef in the making? Only, all this stuff…’ I gesture around the kitchen.
That makes him smile. ‘Not exactly…’ Then the smile goes. ‘It was my ex who was into cooking. I, kind of, dabble…’
Oh. That’s made me feel a bit funny. So this house was theirs. Then I remind myself to keep this in proportion, because I have a history too.
‘So did you miss Emma’s Christmas?’ I ask him. ‘Only she sent me a picture of all of them completely off their heads and you weren’t in it.’
‘I spent yesterday in a muddy field with a horse that wouldn’t move. When we eventually did get him to his stable, I had another call – a colic – and so on and so on… Someone gave me a turkey sandwich, but that was just about it,’ says Marcus, looking quite relieved that it’s over. ‘Not one of my better days... Anyway, I hope you’re hungry. Don’t expect anything too impressive but it should be edible…’
I actually can’t believe how much trouble he’s gone to. There’s a
rose on the table and a pair of tall candlesticks, and he’s set it out so we’re sitting opposite each other. To start, he’s made a goat’s cheese salad. Well, it’s a large hunk of goat’s cheese which he’s toasted on the top, with some salad leaves and tomato. It’s delicious. It’s followed by salmon baked with herbs, and then there’s lots of cheeses, and medjool dates and mouth-watering dark truffle chocolates. And I haven’t even mentioned the wine. We’ve long finished the champagne and now we’re on this gorgeous velvety red which tastes of oak and vanilla.
I’m not quite sure how I’m going to get home, but then as if reading my mind, Marcus says he’ll call me a cab - later on. So everything is just perfect.
‘Every bit of that was wonderful,’ I tell him sincerely. I don’t think Arian tried to cook for me once in all the years I knew him. ‘You couldn’t have chosen better… and best of all, not a sprout in sight,’ I add, most happily.
‘Well, thank you kindly,’ he says, looking rather pleased.
Then he takes my hand across the table.
‘You know Lou, I’ve messed up most of the dates we’ve been on,’ he starts.
‘And I don’t know if you realise why…’ he says, a little awkwardly. ‘Only it’s because as well as living with Karen, I worked with her too….and…’ He sighs. Oh. I can’t help prickling at the mention of ‘Karen’, but Rachel was absolutely right.
‘And you don’t want to make the same mistake again?’ I say gently, because actually, I really do understand.
He smiles and takes my hands in his. ‘Does it sound silly? I know you’re not remotely like Karen, but after that, I decided I wouldn’t rush into anything.’
‘It’s okay,’ I squeeze his hand. ‘I understand.’
When neither of us can manage to eat another delicious thing, we retire to his living room, where amazingly Elmer is stretched out by the fire, snoring. Kicking off my boots, I collapse on one of the huge sofas, while Marcus sits at the other end, lifting up my feet so they’re resting on his lap. And quite simply, lying there, warmed by the fire and the wine, it’s bliss. And I’m glad I shaved my legs because Marcus is stroking them and it would have killed it slightly, the sensuous feel of stubble poking through my tights.
The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man Page 21
