by Fiore, Rosie
She had never told Serena she had seen her the day she skipped school, hoping it had been the first time, but she had reinstituted the home-from-school calls with new firmness, and she made sure she walked with Serena all the way to school each morning. She didn’t make a big deal of it – just said she needed the exercise and that now she needed to be at work a little later, it was a good way to stretch her legs. Serena grumbled and sulked, but Mel knew she was at least getting her through the school gates every day.
Mel pulled her attention back to Holly and Jo. Jo was describing Christmas at her parents’ place in Stevenage. ‘I’m looking forward to some lovely free time with Lee and the kids between Christmas and New Year. But Christmas Day … oh boy. My parents know we see a lot of Lee’s parents because they live closer, and to be honest, since my mum broke her hip, they’re not up to babysitting the kids on their own. But they’re jealous of how much Lee’s folks see the kids. So if we’re there for Christmas, they overcompensate horrendously. They buy them way too many presents, and tomorrow they’ll want to drag us off to see Santa at every awful shopping centre within a twenty-mile radius. I haven’t had the heart to tell them that Zach’s decided he’s terrified of Santa this year, so it’s not going to go well.’
‘Oh dear.’ Holly giggled. ‘Families, I ask you …’
But Jo was just getting started. ‘A few days of being together twenty-four seven will also give my mum plenty of time to criticise everything I wear, say and do. Oh, and my mother equates food with love, so there’ll be snacks and treats and meals at hourly intervals from the minute we arrive, and she’ll be mortally offended if we don’t eat absolutely everything.’
‘Ah,’ said Holly. ‘Your mum is the opposite of mine. My mum thinks enjoying food is somehow unladylike. We’re all supposed to compete to have the smallest portions and leave the most food on our plates, so we can look elegant.’
‘Sound like we’ll both be in food hell,’ said Jo.
‘Sod that!’ said Mel. ‘I love my food and I’m not afraid to say it. Anyone fancy sharing a plate of chips?’
‘I fancy the chips,’ said Holly. ‘Don’t fancy sharing.’ She gestured to a waiter and ordered three portions of fries.
‘Aren’t you mum types supposed to be home for supper?’ asked Holly, licking ketchup off her fingers. ‘I told my mum I was out for dinner, so I’m off the hook. But aren’t you expected to produce balanced meals for your families when you get in?’
‘Lee will have fed the kids before he comes to pick me up,’ said Jo, mopping up a glob of ketchup with her chip. ‘We’ve been living on scratch meals ourselves for the last few weeks, both too tired to cook proper stuff. So this is the substitute for the stale cheese and chutney sandwich that would probably have been my dinner.’
‘Serena’s staying at her friend Marina’s house tonight,’ said Mel.
‘Marina?’ Jo smiled. ‘Serena and Marina?’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Mel, ‘when they were little we called them the rhyming twins. Anyway, Serena won’t eat anything I cook at the moment anyway. It’s all “disgusting”, apparently. She keeps trying to tell me she’s lactose intolerant, which doesn’t seem to stop her eating McDonald’s cheese-burgers – just my macaroni cheese or cottage pie with cheese on top. Seems to me she’s more home-cooking and vegetable intolerant.’
Jo laughed. ‘And there was me thinking the fussy eating ended when they stopped being toddlers.’
‘I think for teenagers it’s a new way to assert their independence, or to prove how interesting and quirky they are.’
‘Yawn,’ said Holly drily.
‘Yawn indeed.’ agreed Mel. ‘Another drink, you two?’
Jo glanced at her watch. ‘I’d love to, but Lee’s coming to pick me up right now.’ She got up and kissed the other two warmly. ‘Have a fab Christmas, you two, or as fab as it can be. And here’s a little something to make things sweeter.’ She handed them each an envelope. ‘It’s just a little bonus, not as much as I would have liked, but something to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making the shop a success.’
And with another hug for each of them she dashed out into the chilly night air to meet Lee, and Christmas had begun.
10
HOLLY NOW
Christmas was just as hideous as Holly had expected. Just after Holly arrived at David and his wife Desiree’s house on Christmas Eve, there was a cocktail party. Judith pleaded exhaustion from the journey and went up to her room, avoiding the party altogether. It was a bit rich, as it had only been an hour and a half’s drive up the A40 and miraculously they’d seen very little traffic, but Judith got away with it nevertheless. Sadly, Holly had no such excuse. She decided to go all out, so she dressed in a festive, bright red Doradolla dress, tidied her hair, which in the busy rush of the festive season she hadn’t had time to have cut, and put on make-up. A pair of killer, sky-high patent leather heels completed the look. If she had to suffer a tedious gathering of David’s stuffy academic friends, she might as well look fabulous.
It turned out to be a gross miscalculation. There were no single men at the party, as it turned out, but there were a great many married ones, who were all there with their rather frumpy, M&S-wearing wives. It seemed that in academic circles, dressing-up was considered a little vulgar, and as a result, Holly stood out like a tall and rather exotic flower. The husbands flocked around, and one by one tried ponderous flirtatious lines on her. One or two found a reason to graze a hand across her bottom, ostensibly by accident, or stand too close and leer down her cleavage. She would have been hot with embarrassment, if she hadn’t been frozen by the icy glares of the wives. At exactly 10 p.m., she pleaded a headache and escaped upstairs. She was tempted to wedge a chair under the doorknob of her bedroom, in case any of the most persistent letches followed her upstairs, but she thought that might be a bit melodramatic.
When she woke up in the morning, she thought that perhaps she had overestimated the reaction she’d caused the night before. Maybe she was just flattering herself, she thought, pulling on some clothes to go downstairs. But Desiree’s frosty reception told her that she was not. Desiree was a professor of mathematics, a steely-eyed woman with a cap of short grey hair and a very serious manner. Many of the women at the party would have been her contemporaries and her friends. Holly didn’t know how to apologise, or even how to bring it into the conversation. ‘Sorry I dressed like a dancer from the Moulin Rouge last night,’ seemed rather a poor opening gambit. How about: ‘I wouldn’t touch any of your friends’ grotty husbands with a bargepole, so they’re quite safe’? No, that wouldn’t work either. In the end, Holly made no mention of the night before. She wished Desiree a merry Christmas and asked if she could help herself to some coffee from the cafetière.
There wasn’t much conversation that morning. David seemed not to have noticed the drama at the party the night before, but he didn’t emerge from behind his laptop, even though it was Christmas morning. His children were teenagers, a boy of fifteen and a girl of fourteen, both utterly without conversation and completely engrossed in their mobile phones. Judith sat as close as she could to the radiator and sipped a cup of hot water and lemon, without saying anything at all. David’s family were staunch atheists, so no one would be attending a Sunday-morning church service, and opening the presents would have to wait until Miranda and her family arrived just before lunch.
Holly tried her best to keep busy, repeatedly offering to help Desiree with the lunch, but Desiree had a system and a schedule, and she was going about the necessary tasks with grim and scientific efficiency. There was no call for a vegetable peeler or assistant turkey baster. After an hour or so of awkward silence, Holly was desperate to escape, even for half an hour. David and Desiree had a fat spaniel called Nietzsche, so she offered to take him out for a run. At the sound of his name, Nietzsche opened one baleful eye from his spot at Judith’s feet by the radiator and regarded Holly blankly. He didn’t even bother to open the other
eye. He looked as if he wouldn’t run if you set Godzilla on him. He was her only hope of escape though, so Holly dashed upstairs to grab a coat and gloves, pulled on her boots and found Nietzsche’s leash. Yanking on a woolly hat, she whistled with an energetic desperation, and, thank God, Nietzsche lumbered to his feet and waddled into the hallway. ‘Back soon!’ trilled Holly, and set out into the crisp December morning.
David and Desiree’s house was on a busyish road, but there was a big field just a few blocks along, and that was Holly’s destination. She thought that on Christmas morning it would be deserted, but it was quite busy with dog walkers and a fair number of parents with kids who were trying out Christmas presents: remote-controlled planes, new bicycles and so on. It felt considerably more festive than the house she had just left. It was a mild day, and there was a brilliantly blue sky overhead. Nietzsche didn’t seem to want to gambol about like the other dogs, but he was quite content to amble next to Holly, sniffing at the ground and any trees or poles they passed. ‘Reading the news,’ David called it. Holly was just happy to be out of the oppressive atmosphere and, if she was honest, away from her mum, whose refusal to eat was beginning to annoy her profoundly. It was time to move out. She’d had very little time to spend what she was earning, so she had some money put aside. Maybe in the new year, she’d go looking for a flat close to the shop. With a bit of luck, she could be moved in within a few weeks. It would be nice to be near Miranda and the kids too, she thought. She was very fond of Oscar, and now Martha was more used to her, she was less painfully shy. Yes, new year, new flat, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to think about looking around for a new man? Nothing serious, just a bit of light-hearted fun.
The idea struck her like a blinding flash, or, at least, that must have been what it was, because even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, she saw an intense burst of light, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the grass, gazing up into the blue. It took her a good ten seconds to work out what had happened. The first clue was that Nietzsche was licking her face and his breath smelt horrible. The second was that her head hurt. A lot. And the third was that she could feel something wet trickling down one side of her face into her hair. She had clearly been struck in the head by an unidentified flying object.
The fourth clue came when she heard a man’s voice close by. He was saying something, but either she was concussed, or it didn’t make sense at all. ‘Feathers,’ he was saying, agitatedly. ‘Feathers and crumpets and balderdash.’
Concussion. That must be it. She stared into the sky some more. It was a very pure blue. She could lie there, looking at it, forever, if it weren’t for the fact that the ground was cold and very definitely wet, Nietzsche’s halitosis was overpowering and she was now sure that the wet stuff running into her hair was blood. She raised a shaky hand to touch her head. Ouch. Yes. There at her temple, that was where the cut was.
‘Don’t touch it,’ said the male voice, calmer now and more in control. ‘You’ll only make it bleed more.’
Holly turned her head slightly to see who was speaking. It appeared to be a boy of about seven. That was who was kneeling closest to her. He had a shock of pitch-black hair and very blue eyes and, it seemed, a deep, manly voice.
‘What happened?’ she said, deeply confused.
‘We hit you in the head with our boomerang,’ said the little boy, in a little-boy voice.
‘Can you sit up?’ said the manly voice, and Holly realised that it hadn’t been the little boy who was talking to her in that deep voice, but someone else. She struggled into a sitting position to have a look at who it was. Well, that was a big mistake, as the act of sitting up made her head feel like it was splitting open and brought on a wave of nausea so intense she retched audibly.
‘I’m sorry, you must feel terrible. Look, is there anyone I can call? Can I ring your husband? Do you have any kids here with you?’
‘No husband,’ said Holly. ‘No kids. Just a ditzy mother and a houseful of siblings who hate me.’ And she started to cry. She was vaguely aware that that might not be the information the speaker was looking for, but that was what came out. This was turning into the worst Christmas ever.
‘Okay,’ said the man, rather hesitantly. ‘Well, I can see you need stitches, so I’m going to put you and your dog in my car and run you down to A&E.’
‘You can see I need stitches?’ said Holly sarcastically. ‘What are you – a doctor?’
‘Well, yes, I am actually. I’d stitch you up myself, right now, but I’m not in the mood for a malpractice claim and a massive legal bill.’
Holly raised her head painfully and looked at the speaker for the first time. He was a grown-up version of the small boy who was still kneeling beside her. The bigger edition also had a shock of black hair and blue eyes, but he looked about thirty-five years old.
‘Well, thank you, Dr Sarcastic,’ she said. ‘I’ll quite happily do without your field-hospital ministrations, if you don’t mind. I’ll just go home, and take it from there. It’s not far from here at all.’
She tried to stand up, but her knees just didn’t seem to want to support her, and she lurched alarmingly off the vertical. She peered back across the field; the short walk to the gate and then down the road to David’s house suddenly seemed impossibly long. The man stood too, and gently took hold of her elbow.
‘Look, I really can’t let you go in this state. At least let me walk you home, and then take you to hospital. Please. I feel so awful. I’m supposed to heal people, not brain them with boomerangs.’
He had a fair point, and besides, Holly might have been able to get herself home, but not herself and Nietzsche, who had found a new lease of life from all the excitement and was bounding around her in circles, tangling his leash around her unsteady legs.
She handed the leash to the boy and let the man take her arm. Together they crossed the muddy field and made slow progress back to David’s house. Miranda’s car was in the driveway, and Holly’s heart sank. She didn’t fancy making an entrance in front of the whole family, covered in blood and mud and trailing a pair of complete strangers. She stood on the driveway for a second, then, leaving the man and his son behind, limped around to the kitchen door. She tapped on it softly and Desiree opened it impatiently, obviously annoyed at the intrusion on Christmas morning. When she saw Holly’s blood-covered face, she looked alarmed, but at least she didn’t scream.
‘Look, it’s nothing to worry about,’ Holly said as cheerily as she could manage. ‘I had a little accident in the park. Here’s Nietzsche.’ She handed over the leash, and Nietzsche trotted inside, padding mud all over Desiree’s spotless kitchen floor. ‘Some nice people I met in the park are going to whizz me to A&E. I’ll be back as soon as … well, start lunch without me.’
Before Desiree had time to say anything, she turned and walked back to the man and his son, who were waiting on the driveway. ‘Is your car nearby?’ she asked. ‘Because I don’t think I can walk much further.’
‘As it happens, it’s right there,’ said the man, pointing back down the road. He indicated a muddy estate car that was at least ten years old. Well, he clearly wasn’t one of those Harley Street plastic surgeons, thought Holly.
‘If it’s okay with you,’ said the man, as he helped her into the passenger seat, ‘I’m going to drop Finlay off with his mum. We were only supposed to be gone for half an hour, and she’ll be worried where he is.’
‘Of course,’ said Holly. She was finally sitting down somewhere dry and warm. He could go anywhere he liked as far as she was concerned. She rested her aching head gingerly on the headrest and closed her eyes. They drove for just a few minutes, and then stopped outside a tidy but modest house. The man and the boy hopped out of the car and went to the door. When the door opened the boy went inside, and Holly could see the man talking to a woman standing just inside the house. She couldn’t get a good look at her, but she registered a woman of about her height with long, straight dark hair. He was onl
y gone for a few minutes, and then he ran back and jumped into the car. ‘Right. Let’s go,’ he said.
‘Your wife must be very understanding,’ Holly observed, ‘you disappearing like this on Christmas Day.’
‘Yes, well,’ said the man, ‘it’s not every day I brain someone with a boomerang. These are exceptional circumstances.’
‘This is a first for me too,’ said Holly. ‘I’ve been hit with frisbees before. Ninja throwing stars, custard pies, even small children. But never a boomerang. I thought they were supposed to come back to the thrower.’
‘I’m revising my opinion of this particular one,’ said the man, glancing at the offensive object, which lay on the back seat. ‘I don’t think it is a boomerang. I think it’s just a bloody big stick.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Where does anyone get one? Just like any other twonk who visits Australia, I had to have one. I went to Perth for a conference, and I brought it back as a gift for Finlay.’
‘I’m Holly, by the way.’
‘Fraser. Fraser John.’
‘Fraser John? Are you—’
‘Saying my name backwards? Heard that one.’
‘I was going to say, are you any relative of Augustus John.’
‘You’ve heard of Augustus John?’
‘He’s one of my favourite painters.’
‘I’m impressed. Well, there is a family connection, but a very distant one involving grandparents being third cousins twice removed or something.’
They pulled up outside the hospital. ‘I hope it’s not too busy,’ said Fraser. ‘I also hope you don’t get some nervy medical student stitching you up.’
‘Thanks, I feel better already,’ joked Holly, getting out of the car.
As it happened, they were lucky on both counts. Although the A&E was thinly staffed, they were too early for the rush of alcohol-related incidents and she was quickly seen by a relatively senior doctor. Fraser shamelessly pulled medical rank and stood over the doctor as she cleaned Holly’s head and put a few tiny stitches in the cut.
