12 Naughty Days of Christmas - 2016

by Jenny Plumb

  “Oh.” Lucinda hadn’t told her yet and already Mum sounded anxious. She always expected bad news.

  “I’ve been invited to go away for Christmas with some workmates, Mum. They’ve hired a cottage in Norfolk. I’d really like to go.”

  “Oh, Lucinda, that sounds lovely. Yes, you must go.” Her mother sounded relieved, like she always did when Lucinda talked about being invited to social events. “You’re young, you need to have some fun, not be stuck here with us over Christmas. We know it was hard for you when you and Matt parted.”

  Her mum had taken the break-up badly. All she wanted was for Lucinda to settle down and be happy.

  “So where’s the cottage?” Mum asked.

  “In Norfolk. A village called Padham, near Norwich. There’s a train at half-past two on Christmas Eve, about an hour after we finish work.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Mum repeated.

  “It does. You’re sure you don’t mind, then?”

  “No, of course we don’t. We’ll miss you, but like I said, you’re young, you need to enjoy yourself. If you don’t enjoy Christmas when you’re young, you never will.”

  The last time Lucinda had enjoyed Christmas, she really had been young – just a kid. She still remembered the breathless excitement of believing in Santa, of waking up on Christmas morning and feeling the heavy stocking on her bed. Christmas had been magical then – leaving a mince pie and glass of sherry for Santa, listening for sleigh bells before falling asleep, playing with new presents all Christmas Day, the party at Gran and Grandad’s on Christmas night – lots of food, everyone playing party games. Food had been fine then, as a kid; she hadn’t cared about her weight. Food, like Christmas, had only soured when she’d been in her teens. Grandad had died and Gran hadn’t felt like holding any more parties, so Christmas had just been Lucinda, Mum and Dad, and Gran at home. It had still been fun receiving presents, but Christmas had lost its magic. Then Gran had died, her parents had moved, and Dad had lost his sight.

  If she was only twenty-eight now and hadn’t enjoyed Christmas since she was a little kid, did that mean she’d never enjoy Christmas, not ever?

  Don’t be stupid, she told herself. She’d enjoyed Boxing Day with Matt and his family last year. Surely she’d meet another man – the right one, this time – down the track, they’d make their own Christmas traditions.

  Or would she?

  Her mum interrupted her reverie. “Do you want to speak to your dad?”

  “Yes, ‘course I do.”

  She didn’t, really. If he was having a bad day, her dad was so hard to talk to. But he was in good spirits today, told her he was glad she was spending Christmas with friends and that he’d once had friends who lived in Norwich. Then he started talking about the Test match in Australia, the way the England team had collapsed.

  She’d have to buy that cricket audiobook before the weekend, make sure she got it in the post so he’d receive it in time for Christmas.

  The next couple of days were busy. With Christmas with her parents now cancelled, Lucinda had a legitimate reason to hit the shops after work. She bought the cricket audiobook and another one about golf for her dad, bath bombs and candles for her mum. She also ordered an expensive bottle of whisky online to be delivered to her parents on Christmas Eve. They could drink it in front of the telly.

  Of course the downside of having to buy presents was that she had to carry her wallet, so she broke her diet. She tucked into a burger and fries at lunchtime, then bought fancy chocolates and scoffed them on the tube trip home. Fortunately, lunchtime the next day was filled by having to queue up with her parcels in the busy post office. But she still bought McDonald’s that night after work. She didn’t dare go back on the scales; she knew from the tightening of her trousers that she’d gained weight.

  The next day it was back to fruit and crispbread and leaving her wallet in her knickers drawer. And to making more excuses, telling more lies.

  Sorry, I can’t make it to the department dinner – I’m going to the ballet with Aurora.

  Sorry, Aurora, I can’t eat a big lunch while we’re out shopping. I’m having dinner with some colleagues tonight.

  Sorry, Sophie, I can’t make it for dinner before the theatre – I have to finish off a project at work. I’ll be there in time for the play, though.

  And it wasn’t only food she had to concoct excuses around. Just as she’d hurriedly bought and sent presents to her parents, her mum had done the same thing for her. Fortunately, one of them was too large to fit through the letter box and she had to pick it up from the local post office. But two of them had landed on the mat, and either Morag or Broderick had put them on the kitchen table for her. Her parents’ names and addresses were written on the back of the parcel.

  Broderick walked into the kitchen just as she picked the parcels up.

  “Looks like Christmas presents,” he commented.

  “Yeah, for Aurora. My mum always sends her something but never remembers her address.”

  He took a frypan from the cupboard. “I’m making a stir fry. Do you want some?”

  “No thanks. I ate out with Sophie.”

  “I don’t know how you afford to eat out all the time.”

  Whoops. Yet another drawback to having your boss as a housemate was that he knew how much you earned. “I can’t afford it, really,” Lucinda said. “It’s something I’m going to cut back on in the New Year.”

  He grabbed noodles from the fridge. “New Year Resolution, eh?”

  “One of them,” she said. “I’ll take these up to my room, give them to Aurora when I see her on Wednesday night.”

  “Oh,” said Broderick. “I thought we’d have a house meal that night. It’s Morag’s last night here – she’s taking extra leave and going home on Thursday morning. I thought we’d do a Kris Kringle. It doesn’t have to be expensive – say twenty pounds maximum? We all buy a gift and then make sure we don’t open our own.”

  Damn – she was going to have to take money to work again for a lunchtime shop. “Yeah, sounds good.”

  “And they’d better be gender-neutral gifts. I don’t want a lipstick.”

  Lucinda grinned. “You’d be lucky to get a decent lipstick for less than twenty quid.”

  “So you’ll do it then? The Kris Kringle?”

  “Yeah. I probably can’t make the meal, but I’m definitely in for the gifts.”

  The next day she bought a multi-coloured beanie with an LED light, and hoped that Broderick would select that gift. He didn’t have a beanie and he’d need it in the wilds of Norfolk, especially if it snowed late on Christmas Eve the way the weather bureau predicted.

  The closer it got to Christmas, the more Lucinda regretted her deception.

  Listening to people at work and on the tube discussing Christmas plans made her feel increasingly miserable at the prospect of spending Christmas on her own. At first it had seemed a good idea – peace and quiet, a good book, Love Actually, The Bishop’s Wife and It’s a Wonderful Life on DVD, and not a turkey sandwich, plum pudding, slice of stollen or mince pie in sight.

  But just because she didn’t want a dreary Christmas with her parents didn’t mean she wanted an equally dreary one alone.

  She wanted fun, excitement, something to look forward to – like all her friends were having. What she’d planned for Christmas was identical to what she’d have done at her parents’ house – except she’d be alone, and she’d have no Christmas food.

  Change your mind, she told herself. Book a train ticket.

  What excuse could she make, though? If her mum thought the festivities with friends had fallen through, her disappointment for her daughter would be more than Lucinda could bear. Mum had been a nightmare when Matt had dumped her, going on and on and on about how bad she felt for Lucinda. Lucinda hadn’t wanted to call because of her mum’s sadness. Mum would be the same if she thought Lucinda’s Christmas ‘plans’ had been cancelled.

  Still, the thought niggled at her
. Change your mind. Book a train ticket.

  Two days before Christmas Eve, Lucinda checked online for tickets. All the trains were booked out, so were the coaches, she couldn’t even get an Uber ride.

  She was alone for Christmas, whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter 4

  “Oh, good, you’re back, Lucinda. Glass of wine? Piece of cake?”

  Lucinda was glad to be home; she’d gotten sick of spending her evenings hanging around Waterstones. Even seven floors and eight miles of books wasn’t enough to while away every other evening pretending you were out socialising. The fake glowing coals of the gas fire warmed the room and the Christmas tree lights were twinkling. Christmas carols played softly in the background. Either Broderick or Morag had filled vases with holly. No mistletoe, Lucinda noted, not sure whether she felt relieved or sorry. Broderick was good-looking, and he did have the most delectable lips. But kissing your boss was never a good idea, whether under the mistletoe or not. If he’d been only her housemate, though, she’d have been tempted.

  Get a grip, Lucinda. He’s the guy who took your job.

  She accepted the wine, declined the cake. The Kris Kringles lay on the coffee table, wrapped in festive paper. She’d left her own squashy flat round parcel on the table before work. One of the parcels was slender and rectangular. The other was fat and bumpy, looked a bit like a packet of tennis balls.

  “We can open the presents now you’re back,” said Morag. “I don’t want to be up late. I’ve got to be at Euston station by ten tomorrow morning.”

  “You first then,” said Broderick.

  Lucinda was disappointed when Morag picked up the beanie. She tore off the wrapper and squeaked with delight. “It lights up! Awesome! Thank you, Kris Kringle! Who’s next?”

  “Ladies first,” said Broderick.

  Lucinda grinned. “Age before beauty.”

  “Cheeky. For that, I will go first.” He picked up the long, slender parcel and unwrapped it carefully. It was an iBed lap desk.

  “Awesome,” he said. “I’ll be able to balance my coffee on that while I sit in bed scrolling through the news on my iPad.”

  Lucinda had a sudden mental image of him in bed – broad shoulders, red chest hair – and looked away hurriedly. She picked up the final gift and tore it open.

  “Indoor snowballs?”

  “Wow, let me see,” said Morag. So it had been Broderick’s gift. Lucinda opened the plastic wrapping and checked out the snowballs. They looked real, and even crunched in her hand like snow, but were soft and warm.

  “We’ve got to have a fight with them now,” said Morag.

  “No, no,” said Broderick, “they’re Lucinda’s gift. She might want to have an indoor snowball fight with some other people.”

  “No, it’s okay,” said Lucinda, “I don’t think my parents would appreciate them somehow.” She tossed one at Morag, whacking her on the shoulder. Morag squeaked, grabbed a snowball and flung it at Lucinda.

  Lucinda picked up another and eyed Broderick.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You bought them,” said Lucinda, “so you asked for it.”

  Soon they were running around the house bombarding each other with snowballs, and only stopping when Morag decided she really had to go to bed now to catch her train. Lucinda and Broderick retreated to the living room where he poured them both a glass of wine and she packed away the snowballs.

  “You’ll be doing the real thing on Christmas Eve if the forecast is right,” she told him.

  “Well, snowballing seems to be a lot of fun.”

  The most fun she’d had in ages.

  “Real snow is different,” she said. “You need to wear gloves, or your hands get cold and really hurt when you come back in by the fire. But it’s still good fun.”

  “Maybe the snow will still be here when we all get back to London.”

  “If not,” she said, “we’ve still got these.”

  She lay back in the armchair, more relaxed than she’d felt for ages. The snowballs had brought out her fun side, brought out Broderick’s as well. Usually, she was always aware that he was her boss, but she hadn’t felt like that tonight. The awkwardness was her fault, though, she acknowledged. He didn’t behave like her boss at home; it was more that she couldn’t adjust to his having the job she wanted. It felt surprisingly good to have broken the ice.

  “What time do you go home on Christmas Eve?” he asked her.

  “Oh, around two o’clock,” she said. “I’ll finish up at lunchtime, like you.” More deception – she’d have to carry a bag into work, pretending to have packed clothes and presents for Christmas.

  “Which station do you go from?”

  “Victoria.”

  That was something at least. She couldn’t imagine what a nuisance it would have been if they were both leaving from the same London station. She’d probably have ended up pretending to actually get on a train.

  Still, soon Christmas would be over. Social events fizzled out after New Year; she wouldn’t have to keep lying to avoid them. She’d gained a couple of pounds this week through lack of willpower, but she had two and a half days in which to starve herself and lose them. In a few weeks’ time she’d have made her target weight and could enjoy herself like everybody else.

  Damn. He’d left the mince pies in the freezer.

  Broderick had reached the tube station when he realised he’d forgotten them. It was too late to go back; he didn’t want to be late for work. Too bad that he’d spent yesterday evening baking twenty-four mince pies to share with his mates in Norfolk, only to leave them behind. He’d have to pick up some on the way to Norfolk. Packet mince pies were never anywhere near as good as homemade ones. Perhaps in Norfolk he’d find a bakery open with some mince pies left.

  Probably not; by the time he got to Norfolk, the bakeries would have closed for the day. And even if they were still open, if their mince pies were any good they’d have sold out. He’d better duck into a supermarket after work, on his way to Liverpool Street train station.

  Of course, some might see the fact he’d forgotten the mince pies as a good sign. His family and mates would definitely say it was.

  He’d forgotten them because he’d been thinking about Lucinda.

  She’d been so different during that snowball fight the other night. Usually, she didn’t smile very much, was always a bit uptight around him – unless she was saying something cheeky, which she did every now and then, which he always found amusing. But on Wednesday night, she’d relaxed and laughed and shrieked. Her beautiful wavy dark hair had fallen loose about her shoulders and she’d looked prettier, sexier. She’d morphed into the sort of woman you could have fun with.

  A lot of fun.

  It was the first time since Kat had died that he’d thought about a woman in that way. It made him feel a bit uncomfortable, disloyal, but he remembered Kat’s mother’s words to him at the funeral. “Kat was all about enjoying yourself and having a good time, Broderick. She wouldn’t want to see you moping and miserable. She’d want you to live your life to the full. You know that.”

  But it was just his luck to fall for a woman who regarded him not only as her boss, but as the boss she didn’t want.

  She’d left early this morning and was already at her desk when he arrived at the office, buried deep in a new project that could have waited till after New Year. No one could say she wasn’t dedicated to her job. No wonder she’d thought she’d get that promotion.

  He had a couple of meetings that morning, and by the time he came out of the second, everyone, even Lucinda, had given up on the idea of working. Some of the team members suggested going for a drink. Broderick declined, saying he had a train to catch. Lucinda said the same.

  “I think I might get off, though,” he said, picking up his coat. “I need to get to a supermarket before I catch my train and it could be crowded.” He wished the team a merry Christmas and paused at Lucinda’s desk. “You can head off early if you lik
e as well, Lucinda.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the computer screen. “I’ll just finish this off, then I’ll go.”

  “Well, don’t take too long. It’s Christmas – time to relax. I hope your Christmas is as good as it can possibly be.”

  He caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes. “Thanks. Have a great time in Norfolk. There’s definitely snow later on tonight, so you’re getting a white Christmas.”

  “Yes.” He looked forward to that, wondering what it would be like to wake up and have snow outside the front door, on the windowsills. “Well, merry Christmas.” He waved a hand at her.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  He walked the length of the open-plan office to the stairwell, wishing everyone he passed a merry Christmas. The finance team were really letting their hair down, running amok with paper horns. Outside, the pavement was jam-packed with Londoners, heading for the tube, the bus, the pub. Broderick headed across the square towards the tube station. He’d get to Liverpool Street first, look for a supermarket there.

  He’d just crossed the road to the tube station when someone grabbed his arm. “Hey, Broderick.”

  Broderick jumped. It took him a few moments to recognise the man who’d interrupted him – tall, thin, untidy blond hair, wispy beard.

  “Tim! Hey! What are you doing over here?” He gave Tim’s shoulder a friendly slap.

  “Over here for Christmas – my partner’s English,” Tim said. “What about you?”

  It had been six years since Broderick had last seen Tim. They’d been at uni together more than ten years ago in Melbourne and had shared a house for a couple of semesters. They’d lost touch after uni, though, and Broderick had never gotten into social media enough to resume contact with old mates.

  “I’m working over here for six months. Been here for six weeks now.”

  “Coping with the cold all right?” Tim asked with a grin.

  “Yeah, the cold weather and the warm beer!”

  Tim pointed his thumb at a pub on the opposite side of the road to the tube station. “Got time for a quick drink?”