‘You ready?’ Carly shouts from her room as I’m throwing on a new festive jumper – I’m a Christmas tree complete with knitted baubles and tinsel. I was in two minds whether to wear it after my dream, but it’s not as though I’m going to be able to avoid the bloody things, is it? Might as well embrace the mayhem.
‘Yep, ready,’ I reply as she walks into my room wearing an even more ridiculous piece of knitwear – one of Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer, complete with a shiny and bulbous red nose and antlers sticking up from her shoulders. ‘How on earth are you going to wear a coat?’ I ask, unable to stifle a laugh.
‘I’ll find a way,’ she shrugs, picking one up and jabbing an arm inside.
Our comical jumpers have become a tradition for the final pub quiz of the year. We all try and get our hands on the most stupid and wacky concoctions we can find and goofily wear them together – united with our silliness. Although I’m pretty sure the boys wait until they’re round the corner before donning them … not that I mind. Us girls just seem more at peace with making tits of ourselves. Perhaps because it comes so easily to us …
The gang have already gathered in their Christmas jumper frenzy when we arrive and have got in the first round of drinks, along with crisps, nuts, pork scratchings and Scampi Fries – whoever ordered it all has seriously indulged in the snackage. Especially as we’ll be munching on a Christmas dinner a bit later too – still, this’ll tide us over and stop us getting cranky. We all love each other, but even we can’t avoid hunger moodiness if we’re not regularly fed.
Looking around the room, I spot that the High-kick-flyers have also assembled. They too have decided to dress up, although they’re all dressed to match as Santa’s elves with green blazers and matching skirts or shorts, green pointy hats, stripy red and white tights and knee-high green boots. Although I hate to admit it, they actually look really good.
‘Where’s Brett?’ asks Carly, looking around the room.
‘Dunno,’ I answer. ‘He should be here by now though.’
‘He’s just out back getting ready,’ grins Josh.
‘Ready?’ asks Carly.
‘You’ll see.’
‘Sit down and have a drink,’ says Natalia, tugging on my arm so that I land on the chair next to her.
I happily oblige.
‘Have you guys been swotting?’ asks Alastair from across the table.
‘It’s all we’ve thought about.’ I nod, my face serious.
‘We’ve done nothing but read up on current affairs all week,’ chimes in Carly, also managing to keep a straight face.
‘Good, good,’ says Dan. ‘Lexie’s got serious baby brain, so I highly doubt we can count on her for a right answer.’
‘Don’t be so mean!’ Natalia tuts.
‘It’s true,’ Lexie laughs, shrugging off Dan’s comment. ‘I spent an hour looking for the car keys the other day, only to find I’d put them in the fridge the night before.’
We laugh at her confession.
‘I do stuff like that and I don’t even have an excuse,’ admits Carly.
‘She’s not joking,’ adds Josh.
‘Well, I think I’m starting to drive Dan a bit mad,’ says Lexie, pulling a worried face at us girls.
‘Only when you start a conversation and then completely forget what you were talking about – mid sentence,’ he says, looking at all of us for sympathy, or at least for us to acknowledge the chaos he’s living in.
‘Sounds awful,’ says Alastair non-committally as he opens up a fresh bag of scratching and dives into the salty goodness. I say goodness, they’re invariably filled with crap and salt – but they just taste so yummy.
‘Josh,’ calls Becky from the bar. I look up to see her gesturing towards the quizmaster’s set-up – a small raised area between the gents’ and ladies’ loos, on top of which is a desk, a microphone and a speaker. Actually, it’s been revamped slightly for the occasion and has fairy lights wound around anything and everything (mic stand, table legs – even flopping over the toilet doors) and the chair has been swapped for a big red throne.
I watch as Josh leaps from his chair and heads over to the microphone.
‘Ladies and gentleman, I think we’ll all agree that tonight is the most important night of the calendar year,’ he says to a raucous amount of cheers from the different groups in the pub. ‘Well, this year, because we’ve all been extra special good, we have an extra special quizmaster. Would you all please be upstanding and give a warm welcome to … Santa!’
A loud laugh flies from my mouth when I spot Brett strutting out from behind the bar in his Santa get-up, carrying a sack of treats. He grins as he high-fives the whole of our group and, strangely enough, my heart flutters when he winks at me before turning to make his way to his lavish seat. Thankfully the sight of him in a Santa costume in my dream hasn’t mentally scarred me.
‘Thanks for the warm welcome,’ he laughs into the mic. ‘Phew, it’s hot in here,’ he says, pulling on his jacket and making us all laugh.
‘Get on with it,’ shouts out someone from the back.
‘Who said that?’ asks Brett, squinting around the room. ‘Any more backchat and I’ll put you on the naughty list, got that?’
The room is silent, like an obedient group of puppies, eager for more.
‘Let’s start. Everyone got their paper and pens?’ he asks, glancing up at the room over the top of the thinly framed gold spectacles he’s wearing.
‘Wonderful.’ He looks down at the paper in front of him and coughs slightly, taking a deep breath before starting. Despite his friendly and jolly manner, I’m sure he must feel nervous at having a room full of people staring at him. I don’t know how Ian stands up there every week and leads us all, especially as he isn’t overly confident anyway.
‘Question one,’ he begins. ‘Let’s start with an easy one. The song “White Christmas”was performed by Bing Crosby in which 1954 film?’
‘Easy,’ Josh mutters as Alastair picks up the pen to write down White Christmas on our sheet of paper without even waiting to confer.
‘Are you sure?’ asks Dan, who loves to triple-check everything written down each week.
‘Positive,’ says Alastair, not even considering the fact that he could be wrong.
‘Didn’t we get tripped up on a similar question last year?’ asks Lexie, frowning at Dan.
‘That was about the first film the song appeared in – which wasn’t White Christmas,’ explains Alastair.
‘Oh.’ Lexie nods, shrugging at me, Natalia and Carly.
‘Question two: Can you name the original eight reindeer from the “Twas the night Before Christmas” poem?’
Us girls smile as we whisper in unison, ‘Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen.’
‘Did you get that?’ grins Josh.
‘Yep,’ nods Alastair, quickly scribbling on the page in front of him.
‘Ho, ho, ho – time for question three,’ sings Brett, clearly getting into his character. ‘What was Mr Bean searching for when he got his head stuck in a turkey?’
The thought alone is enough to make us smile.
‘His watch,’ I whisper, just in case the others weren’t thinking the same.
‘Got it,’ nods Alastair.
‘And on to question four!’ says Brett when a few seconds have passed and the floor of the pub all have their eyes concentrated on him again. ‘In the film Jingle All The Way what toy was Arnold Schwarzenegger hunting down?’
‘Turbo Man,’ says Dan with a smirk. ‘I so wanted one of those,’ he says with a sad shake of his head. ‘Never got one.’
‘Tragic,’ I say, sounding slightly less sympathetic than I mean it to.
‘Next question – number five,’ says Brett. ‘In the Friends episode, “The One With Phoebe’s Dad”, what do Chandler and Joey buy Phoebe?’
‘Toilet seat covers,’ whispers Natalia with excitement, giving a fabulous Phoebe impression.
>
The boys write down the answer without even questioning it.
‘We’re smashing this,’ I exclaim, getting giddy at our input as we speed through the next few questions with continued ease – absolutely certain we’re answering them correctly.
‘Question nine: Which former I’m a Celeb female appeared in the 2014 Christmas special of Come Dine With Me and took selfies with her food?’
‘Argh,’ I groan. ‘Helen Flanagan.’
‘I like her,’ says Lexie. ‘I think she’s totally misunderstood.’
‘I don’t mind her either,’ grins Alastair, cupping his hands in front of his chest as though grabbing hold of a giant pair of melons.
‘Gross,’ I say, shaking my head at him.
‘I’ll take that.’ He shrugs and picks up the pen, writing down our answer.
‘Question ten: Who won the 2014 series of The X Factor?’
We all stare at each other open-mouthed.
‘You should know this,’ says Carly, elbowing me in the ribs. ‘You voted for him enough times.’
‘Oh fuck … ’ I grumble, my mind sieving through a sea of faces in my brain. Suddenly the guy in question springs into my mind. ‘I have a face!’ I exclaim.
‘A name, we need a name!’ encourages Dan.
‘I’m thinking, I’m thinking, I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Ben!’ I say, clenching my fists. ‘Ben Haenow.’
‘Oh, he was fit,’ remarks Natalia, giving an approving nod of the head.
‘You girls will vote for any half-decent-looking bloke,’ says Josh, shaking his head.
‘Actually, he was very sweet, too,’ I say pathetically, knowing it was his smouldering eyes that caused me to pick up the phone rather than anything else – but at least he could hold a tune. In past years I’ve simple voted for a pretty face, even if they couldn’t hold a note. Sad, but true.
‘Is everyone else finding this as easy as us?’ I ask, looking around the room.
‘Not sure,’ says Natalia. ‘I’ve spied the theatre luvvies huffing and puffing – but then, they’re only easy questions if you know the answers.’
‘And that we do,’ I grin.
‘So far!’ warns Alastair. ‘Don’t jinx us.’
‘Eek!’ I squeak.
There’s a pause from our very own Santa as he picks up a new pile of question cards and flicks through them, as though checking they’re in the correct order. I watch as he licks his lips and takes a gulp of his beer, gripping hold of the glass for a few seconds when it’s back down on the table before continuing.
‘Right,’ he breathes, licking his lips again. ‘The next round of five questions are themed around tonight’s specialist subject.’
‘Merry fucking Christmas!’ shouts the same voice as earlier.
‘He’s warned you!’ shouts Josh, much to our astonishment. Josh is our cuddly bear; it’s not like him to speak up in this manner.
Brett, nonetheless, is unperturbed. ‘Tonight’s specialist subject is a rather unique one … It’s Sarah Thompson,’ he says into the mic, grinning over at me as he says it.
‘What?’ I laugh, as my friends look between the two of us, equally as confused. All, that is, apart from Josh, who’s sat with a smug look on his face, clearly aware that this was about to happen.
‘What’s going on?’ Carly whispers loudly at him.
He shrugs as though he has no idea – although his facial expression suggests otherwise.
‘Question one of our specialist subject,’ Brett says, chuckling to himself, rightly finding the whole thing hilarious.
Seriously, what on earth is he up to?
‘In a school report from when she was five years old, teacher Mrs Bottomless said Sarah would be a star pupil if she … what?’
I laugh out loud.
‘Any idea?’ smirks Josh.
‘Yes,’ I say, raising my eyebrows at him. ‘If I didn’t spend so much time staring out the window day-dreaming.’
‘Sounds about right,’ giggles Carly.
Rather than grumble and moan at the interruption to normal pub quiz protocol, the rest of the room seem to actually be getting involved and debating what the answer could be. Which is slightly bizarre as they all turn and glance at me as they talk amongst themselves.
‘Question two,’ says Brett, pulling his bottom lip through his teeth as he waits for the room to quiet down.
‘If asked, Sarah would say that ‘Without Love’ is her favourite Tom Jones song – but what is it really?’
‘He can’t actually know the answer to this one,’ I half laugh.
‘I think this guy knows you pretty well,’ smiles Natalia.
‘It’s got to be one of his cheesy ones, otherwise you’d admit to it anyway,’ prompts Dan.
‘It is. It’s flipping ‘Sex Bomb’ – but only because I love singing and dancing to it in the shower.’
‘Bingo,’ says Alastair, taking pen to paper.
‘Question three, when he was just five years old, what did Sarah tell her brother Max?’ asks Brett with a laugh.
‘Oh my god,’ I moan, covering up my face with embarrassment.
‘What did you do?’ squeals Lexie, clapping her hands in excitement.
‘I told him he was adopted.’
‘Oh, we’ve all done that,’ says Dan.
‘Yes, but then I managed to convince him to pack a small suitcase and leave to find his real parents.’
‘What?’ laughs Carly – half impressed, half disgusted.
‘He only got as far as the front door,’ I state.
‘What stopped him?’ asks Josh, seeming to enjoy my squirming.
‘Mum heard him dragging his suitcase down the stairs and came to see what all the noise was. I was grounded for a week and had my Barbie dolls taken away for even longer,’ I sulk.
‘I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for,’ says Natalia, looking genuinely mortified by the whole thing.
‘Question four – we’re almost there, ladies and gentleman,’ says Brett, seeming to be enjoying himself, but still looking anxious as hell. ‘On a night out at university, Sarah said she witnessed a stranger being sick in her friend Natalia’s designer handbag … but what actually happened?’
‘No!’ I gasp, looking at Natalia with my hand over my mouth.
‘And, for the record, I was there,’ Brett cheekily says into the microphone. ‘I saw the events unfold.’
‘It was you!’ whispers Natalia, her eyes wide in shock.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I groan, putting my arms around her.
Carly cackles crazily beside me – I give her a quick kick under the table but miss.
‘You’re gross,’ says Alastair, shaking his head as he writes down the answer. ‘I don’t know how we’re friends.’
‘We should faze her out!’ nods Carly in a mocking manner, unable to keep a straight face.
‘You guys are just as bad as me,’ I say, pointing my finger around the table.
‘Even worse,’ shrugs Dan, sticking up for me.
‘Sounds like everyone’s doing well here,’ says Brett, taking a deep breath. ‘So now onto the final question of this specialist round.’
He stands from his throne of a chair, takes off his Santa hat and, taking the microphone with him, steps off his stage and on to the pub floor.
Ignoring the audible intake of breath from the rest of the pub, he looks only in my direction as he slowly starts walking towards me.
‘Sarah Thompson, you are totally bonkers,’ he states with a proud grin that causes my insides to flip and my eyes to go all blurry from the tears that are welling up. ‘You watch all sorts of crap on TV, your cooking is questionable, your language is despicable. You have the most vivid imagination of anyone I know when you’re awake, but it seems when you’re asleep things increase ten-fold. You have the most bizarre, crazy, out-of-this-world dreams – and I know you hide the really insane stuff from me.’
‘You bet,’ shouts Carly, giggling out loud, causing t
he rest of the room to laugh along with her.
For a second or two, Brett and I just look at each other as a feeling passes between us that I’ve never experienced before. I’m full of an emotion bigger than any I’ve ever felt – a mash up of hope, understanding, commitment, loyalty, security, but, most of all, an all-consuming and forever-promising love.
Brett smiles at me.
‘Since we re-met last year, I’ve felt like we’ve been in our own little dream,’ he says, licking his lips. ‘And I don’t ever want to wake up and find that I have to spend a single day without you.’
Stood in front of me, Brett takes out a small blue box from the pocket of his Santa trousers and kneels on the ground. Lifting the lid of the box, I see the sparkle of a diamond ring.
My heart sings.
‘Sarah Thompson, I love you. I have done for a long time. Will you do me the honour of becoming Mrs Last? Will you be my wife?’
The suspense in the room as I look from Brett to the ring is indescribable.
I feel as though I’m literally floating above the whole thing as I take in the delighted and shocked (aside from Josh’s) faces of my friends and even suddenly spot all of my family at the bar: Mum, Dad, Max, Andrea and Mavis Rose – all grinning widely. They must have been waiting in the back.
I look back at Brett, savouring the beautifully unexpected moment. ‘I thought you were going to dump me,’ I cry, elation flooding through me. ‘Of course I’ll marry you! Of course I’ll be your wife.’
The ring gets slipped on my finger and, with a slightly forceful push (from my part), goes on perfectly. Brett leaps to his feet and scoops me into his arms, hugging me tightly as our bodies shake with an emotional overload of happiness.
The room erupts into cheers, wolf-whistles and audible sobbing (mostly from Natalia, Carly and a hormonal Lexie), but before anyone can move from the spot they’re in, music swells in the room. I look up to see the High-kick-flyers performing an a capella rendition of Mama Cass’s ‘Dream a Little Dream’.
Complete with ‘Oohs’, ‘Aahs’, some practised movement (twirls and swaying, as well as high kicks) and some gentle jingle bell ringing (well, it is Christmas), the song is sung beautifully – much to the delight of my friends who can’t help but grin at the absurdness of it all.
Dream a Little Christmas Dream Page 6
