It’s not just locals or those from nearby villages who’ve come along for the festivities – they’ve also brought along members of their extended families to join in the jovial evening. Everywhere I look there are people chatting away and laughing – it’s lovely to see Molly’s-on-the-Hill as a hub of such friendly activity.
I’m behind the counter washing glasses as Mrs Wallis tells me all about her grandson Russell – we went on a date years ago, and he’s now married to a sweet woman called Hannah and has twin boys. She always likes to keep me in the loop, but on this occasion there’s no need as I spotted them all earlier in the evening walking into the shop. That’s something else I love about Christmas – all year long I hear from elderly customers about their families and grandchildren (for years it was only grandsons as they tried to play matchmaker), but when December hits they usually come to Rosefont Hill to visit their nans and granddads. It’s lovely to see their lives changing as they arrive with new boyfriends/girlfriends/husbands/wives and growing families each year. Looking around the room I can see many familiar faces – Mrs Williams’ grandson is still with the same girl he’s been with since joining the army – a curvy brunette who always looks as though she’s frowning – her granddaughter is still single by the looks of it, but is happily chatting up Miss Brown’s great-nephew, even though I know he’s been with the same girl since secondary school. June Hearne (Molly’s best friend for many years – there wasn’t a morning that wasn’t spent with the two of them gossiping on the phone together) is here with her husband John, daughter Claire and her boyfriend Steven. The two of them moved in together at the end of last year, so things are clearly serious there. Mrs Sleep possibly has the biggest family as she has four children of her own and each of them have gone on to have two or three children – all of whom are in their late teens to early thirties and no doubt about to start having families of their own. That’s a difficult family to keep up with as it’s so huge – but they all have the same pointy little noses, so at least that gives me some idea as to which family they belong to. And that’s just a few of our regulars’ families … it’s easy to see how our little hub of a community seems to expand so rapidly on special occasions.
Whilst listening to Mrs Wallis, I watch Billy walk around giving refills of mulled wine to the already tipsy customers. His warm concoction is going down a treat with everyone – something I know he’ll enjoy reminding me of later on when we get home to our little house.
It amuses me watching him in this setting – not because I see him as the huge actor who won a BAFTA for his remarkable talent before opting for the quiet life for a while, but because of the reaction of others to having him there, serving them drinks in my humble little teashop. He’s ridiculously charming, so it’s understandable that, to a certain extent, people gush over him anyway. The local gang of teenage girls gush more than most, though. They cannot forget that he played the lead in the most obsessed-over film trilogy of the decade, Halo, that his poster is pinned up on their bedroom walls or that, for once, one of their heart-throbs is within their reach. Billy is oblivious to the way they still visibly melt whenever he’s around – although they’re far calmer now than when they first met him. If it wasn’t for their shrieking and crying (yes, there were real tears involved) I’d never have found out that Billy was a famous actor – I still cringe when I think of our first few encounters. God knows what he thought of me and my unique ways – especially when I’d kicked it all off with a panic attack. I’m still not entirely sure how that progressed into us dating, but it’ll be a funny story to share with our children and grandchildren one day, I’m sure.
I look through the crowds and spot Aaron and Charlotte sprawled over four chairs that they’ve pushed together, fast asleep – the excitement proving too much. Or perhaps they’re wiped out by the dozens of cakes I saw them scoffing earlier when Colin wasn’t looking, forcing them into a food-coma. Their cheeks are rosy from being outdoors for hours and then coming into the warmth of the shop (even warmer now that there are so many people squeezed inside). They’re huddled close, facing each other in their scrunched-up little balls.
My heart aches when I spot Aaron’s hand resting on top of his little sister’s shoulder – so sweet and simple a gesture. He longs to protect her, but I know, as does he, that they’ve both gone through the worst they’ll ever have to face in their lifetimes. Nothing could compare to the pain and confusion of having Pauline taken from them so suddenly and nothing can erase those feelings of loss and abandonment now they’ve felt them. It’s heartbreaking that they’ve been exposed to so much hurt at such young ages. That their innocence has been compromised.
‘Well done,’ Colin whispers, breaking in on my thoughts and conversation with Mrs Wallis.
‘A wonderful evening,’ nods Mrs Wallis, patting my hand before tottering off in search of more wine.
‘Thank you,’ I smile, taking in Colin’s kind eyes and round face.
‘Think I might’ve overdone it on the mince pie front though,’ he laughs, sticking out his already slightly protruding tummy and giving it a pat.
‘Good! I might’ve gone a little overboard on how much food I made.’
‘Nonsense, Christmas is about eating as much as possible and not feeling bad for it – you’ve done your utmost to ensure people get into that part of the festive spirit early.’
‘Including your little munchkins,’ I reply, nodding to Aaron and Charlotte.
‘The inhibitions of the young,’ he sighs. ‘How I’d love to just grab a chair and do the same myself. At what age did it become unacceptable to do so?’
His face gives a look of utter love as he takes in the adorable sight before him.
‘Right, missy,’ he booms in my direction, tearing his eyes away from his offspring and striding behind the counter. ‘Time for you to grab a glass of Billy’s finest and join in the fun.’
I try to protest but Colin doesn’t listen. Instead, he picks up a clean glass, fills it with wine and places it in my hand before pulling me from my safe spot behind the counter and into the throng of the party.
‘Go and enjoy the fruits of your labour … and if you could bring me another mince pie while you’re at it I wouldn’t complain,’ he chuckles.
3.
I’m exhausted as I crawl into bed several hours later – never have I talked to so many people in one night. Molly was always so talkative that I didn’t really need to socialize too much (something I was thankful for when she was around), and whenever Billy and I used to go out the emphasis was always on him – people didn’t really bother with me, they wanted to talk to the famous one, not the ordinary girl from the teashop.
Usually I’d shy away from having conversations with people, but being in the safety of the shop, the place I love dearly and where I feel the most secure, I revelled in talking to the rowdy rabble. I’d even go as far as to say that I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with people I hadn’t seen for a while. I could totally understand why Molly loved being the hostess so much – it was wonderful looking around and seeing everyone having a brilliant evening thanks to my time and effort.
Just as I’m about to let my body sink into the mattress for a well-deserved sleep, I decide to go on to the shop’s Twitter account and see if anyone’s tweeted. I used to hate the world of social media but the teenage customers talked me in to having one for the shop – and I’m glad they did. It’s fun. I’m now forever posting photos of whatever goodies and treats I’ve made that day, or getting ideas from other little teashops I follow on there – plus, it’s always lovely to hear from happy customers. Retweeting those messages and spreading their little nuggets of praise for all to see is so satisfying.
I grab my laptop from my bedside table, switch it on and try not to shut my eyes as the screen comes alive and the machine powers up with its loud pinging sound.
As I’m waiting for the page to load, a notification pops up on the top right of the screen to tell me I have a new email fro
m an address I don’t recognize – which usually means it’s one of three things: someone who’s visited the shop and wants to share their views (99.9 per cent of the time it’s positive – I’ll never bore of those emails); a fan asking if Billy could send them a signed photo (you have to admire their loyalty to him even though he’s on a ‘gap year’); or spam mail (it’s shocking how much of that I get – I’m really not looking to increase the size of my willy, but thanks for the offer).
A quick glance at this email, though, stops me in my tracks and forces me to read it more thoroughly.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Important – your help is required for a special question
Dear Sophie,
Firstly, congratulations on arranging such a spectacular evening for us lucky lot in Rosefont Hill. Gathering around for carols is always such a special event – but having somewhere warm for us all to relax afterwards as we catch up with one another is terrific. Of course, it helps that there are delicious cakes for us to nibble on and something hot to drink!
While I was in your teashop tonight I was struck by the majestic quality it holds – it’s far more than a twee little village shop. The place has a soul of its own, relaxing its visitors in its warm heart. You should be immensely pleased with what you’ve done with it since taking over.
My partner is a huge fan of you and your beautiful shop – she’s always told me of her love for the place (she’d be in there every second of the day if it weren’t for her job and other commitments), but tonight that love really came alive for me too.
My partner is the most giving, kind and thoughtful person I have ever met. I realize how lucky I am to have her in my life and how I’d do anything to keep her happy and free from worry. Life is too short not to act on such feelings.
I’d love to propose to this wonderful lady on Christmas Eve, and, if it isn’t too much trouble, I’d love to do so in your beautiful teashop. I know you’ll probably be wrapping things up for Christmas and looking forward to closing the shop for a while, but I’d be eternally grateful if you could help me secure my lifelong friend and the woman I want to grow old with.
I’ve added a separate document of the details I’d love to have included – but know your romantic little den is the perfect spot for such a big question.
The village is small, and people talk, so I hope you don’t mind me keeping my identity from you … Hopefully, if you agree, I’ll be able to thank you on the night – especially if she says yes. Fingers crossed.
Many thanks,
The Proposer
x
I stare at my computer agog, my mouth wide open in a goofy expression. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.
‘What?’ Billy quizzes, his eyebrows knitted into an intrigued frown as he studies my face with amusement.
‘Look at this!’ I squeal, shoving my laptop in his face.
His eyes squint at the bright light of the screen, one of them remaining shut as he scrolls through the email. ‘Whoa …’ he says slowly with a tired smile.
‘I know!’
‘Who do you think it is?’
‘I’ve no idea … It’s not you, is it?’ As soon as the question flies from my mouth I feel embarrassed. It wasn’t even a properly developed thought. In fact, I don’t even think I’d processed the thought at all before saying it out loud.
‘Good to know you’d have rumbled my plan straightaway if it was!’ he winks in a cheekily reassuring manner, letting me know that my unfiltered thoughts haven’t fazed him in the slightest – he knows me and my funny mannerisms and still loves me, thankfully.
‘Was anyone acting strangely tonight?’ I ask.
‘I don’t think so …’
‘Did you notice anyone looking gooey-eyed at their girlfriends?’
‘They all were – it’s Christmas. It’s already romantic! Plus there was so much mistletoe; everyone had their eyes peeled to see when they could pucker up. I had to dodge my way around them all night.’
‘Oh,’ I gasp, realizing my error. It’s not just the food I got carried away with, the décor might’ve been a tad on the extravagant side too, with garlands on the counter, festive wreaths on the tables with candles in their centre, fairy-lights draped around the windows and doors, and mistletoe hanging from every possible location. In my defence, I only ordered a tenner’s worth from the florist – I had no idea how much that would get me and was surprised when so much arrived. I didn’t want any of it to go to waste, so sprinkled the kiss-inducing sprigs everywhere. I hadn’t even thought of it being an opportunity for Billy’s fans to seize a chance for a good smacker. ‘Sorry,’ I smile sheepishly.
‘Oh, don’t worry … only Mrs Sleep managed to get her wicked way with me. She acted all innocent too – asked me to help her with her coat and then, BOOM! With a girlish laugh she suddenly realized there was mistletoe above us. She might be elderly, but she’s still a little minx.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
‘And in front of her grandchildren too – the woman has no shame.’
‘They probably encouraged her,’ I laugh, thinking about my sweet customer who’s always managed to hold a special place in my heart. I’ve often referred to her as my favourite (between the two of us), and that’s largely down to her childlike smile and naughty glint in her eye. Even though she’s in her mid-eighties, she’s still out every day walking up and down the High Street and chatting to anyone who gives her the slightest eye contact. She’s an inspirational little thing.
‘I wonder who it is?’ Billy ponders, pouting out his lips as he looks back over the email in front of us.
‘Hmmm … I guess we’ll know soon enough, although I’ll see if I can piece together any clues when we email a bit more. Maybe I can get him to slip up.’
‘It might not be a guy.’
‘Huh?’
‘Could be a woman,’ he says, matter-of-factly.
‘But they talk about proposing to their girlfriend.’
‘Yeah …’ Billy says slowly, raising an eyebrow at me.
‘A lesbian couple?’ I ask, finally catching on to what he’s suggesting. Although not at all convinced that he’s right, I find myself mentally going through all the females that came along last night. ‘Now that would be exciting for Rosefont!’
‘Well, just remember it was me who cracked the case.’
‘All right, Sherlock,’ I smile, before rolling my eyes.
4.
I wake the next morning to find that Billy is already out of bed and absent from my childhood bedroom – pink and girly, with a wall lined with photo frames. They used to be filled with just photos of me, my mum and dad, but a few more have been added recently. Some from my and Billy’s happier times in London, one from the day I reopened Molly’s, one of Molly and me on her birthday one year when we’d invited all our regulars in for a cakefest of an afternoon (she’s got cream on her nose and is pulling the funniest expression while I’m cracking up with laughter – there are even tears in my eyes) and one of Charlotte, Aaron, Colin, Billy and Mum – taken by me on a trip to feed the ducks. A wall of memories – although now I’ve started adding to it, I fear I’ll never stop. Every morning I look at this wall and smile – it’s my own little highly addictive collection of happiness.
It’s very much MY room – poor Billy hasn’t really had much of a say in its décor. When he turned up one day with his suitcases in the boot of the car, Mum and I couldn’t refuse him entry into our humble home. Well, it’s not that we couldn’t – we just had no desire to. Since then, time has flown by, leaving us little time to think about our future plans. Plus, it’s so easy for us both being at home that we haven’t given our living arrangements much thought at all. It’s quite nice having him live with us in the house I grew up in. After all, it’s a place that holds a whole heap of memories for me – some good, some bad – but all have played a huge part in who I am today. Billy’
s brought with him a load of new energy, charm and charisma – reviving our tired little home and bringing it back to life in a whole new chapter.
When I eventually walk down the stairs a little later, Billy and Mum are already sitting at the kitchen counter talking animatedly. Mum is wide-eyed with excitement as she listens to something Billy is saying.
‘Let me hazard a guess at what you two are talking about,’ I tease, pulling out a seat and sitting next to Billy.
‘Oh, Sophie, isn’t it lovely?’ Mum beams, totally side-stepping my sarcasm as she pours me a cup of tea from the pot and places it in front of me.
‘Very romantic,’ I agree, pouring in a splash of milk before taking a gulp. ‘Now I’ve just got to make the whole thing perfect so that I don’t disappoint the proposer … or the one being asked. Imagine if I totally ruin it!’
‘You won’t. You’ll do a wonderful job, love,’ Mum encourages.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I smile.
‘Nervous?’ Billy asks with a grin, already knowing the turmoil that’ll be making its way around my head.
‘Of course,’ I puff, feeling my cheeks redden slightly at the mere thought of the task ahead. It’s a massive flipping deal. I’ll be playing a role in the life-changing event of two people and I haven’t the foggiest who they are. It’s crazy.
‘Have they emailed back?’ Billy asks.
Once we’d stopped speculating over the identity of The Proposer last night, and became calmer about the whole thing, we wrote a reply confirming that we’d love to help – although I did include a few giddy lines of excitement. I couldn’t help myself.
Christmas with Billy and Me: A Short Story Page 2
