Clara at Christmas (Clara Andrews Series - Book 4)

by Lacey London

  ‘Nothing!’ She holds up her hands to protest her innocence, but I can tell that she is lying. ‘It’s my mum! She is so dramatic!’

  I squint my eyes at her suspiciously. ‘She wouldn’t kick you out for nothing, Li. Tell me what happened.’

  Oliver places two cold beers on the counter in front of us and disappears into the living room. Bless him. I have trained him well.

  Taking a big slug of her drink, Li lets out a sigh. ‘It’s Martin. My mum hates him.’

  ‘Martin?’ I run my fingers over the cold bottle and scrunch up my nose in confusion.

  ‘Martin.’ She repeats. ‘Their neighbour’s son.’

  ‘OK...’ I reply slowly. ‘What does their neighbour’s son have to do with you?’

  ‘I bumped into him last night on my way home from work and he asked me out for a drink.’ She shrugs her shoulders and pulls a packet of crisps out of one of the shopping bags.

  ‘And then?’ I probe, not willing to drop the conversation so easily.

  ‘And then... I invited him in for coffee.’ Looking away in embarrassment, she shoves a handful of crisps into her mouth.

  ‘Lianna!’ I yell, unable to keep my voice down.

  ‘What?’ Her cheeks turn pink as she jumps on the defensive.

  ‘You can’t keep bringing guys back to your parent’s house!’ My head throbs as I start to wonder if she has lost her mind. ‘No wonder they are annoyed with you.’

  ‘I know. That is why I need to get my own place.’

  ‘No. You can’t keep bringing back guys full stop.’ Rubbing my temples, I let out a heavy sigh. ‘You don’t need to be with a man to be happy, you know that.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say, you’ve got Oliver to cuddle up to at night.’ She turns to face me and I notice that her eyes are filled with tears.

  ‘Come here.’ I hold out my arms and she rests her head on my shoulder.

  As her tears soak my jumper, I stroke her hair gently. I don’t know whether this is a mid-life crisis due to her impending birthday or a delayed reaction to the collapse of her relationship with Dan. Either way I need to find a way to pull her out this depression and with Christmas just around the corner, I need to find one fast.

  Dear Santa,

  It was all Lianna’s fault...

  December 6th

  Digging through the bags of tinsel, I hand Lianna a pile of metallic baubles and get to work at untangling a string of pink fairy lights. As promised, Marc dumped a mountain of decorations on my desk first thing this morning and ever since I have been just itching to get my hands on them. Surprisingly, he actually did get us a Christmas tree. Granted it is only two feet tall and a little sparse, but now that we have loaded it up with bling it actually looks pretty good.

  Letting out a little yawn, I check my watch for the tenth time today. We still have just over two hours to go and I am already absolutely exhausted. It was almost daylight when I finally crawled into bed last night. After Lianna appeared at our apartment yesterday, we spent the rest of the night drawing up a plan to get her life back on track. For a good few hours she was adamant that a one way ticket to Barbados was the only option. However, with a little encouragement and the help of a few Desperados she eventually agreed not to leave the country.

  After a lot of conferring, Oliver and I decided that Li was going to stay with us for a couple of weeks until she manages to find herself somewhere to live. She has promised to stay away from men and women for that matter and is going to put all her efforts into building herself a future. I keep reminding her that if you aren’t happy with yourself being single, chances are you won’t be happy with yourself in a relationship either. As my mother always said, you have to learn to fall in love with yourself before the rest of the world with fall in love with you too.

  ‘Did you manage to call around any of those property rentals we found?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice light and airy.

  ‘I did.’ She flashes me a small smile and grabs a chair to hammer a piece of mistletoe to the ceiling. ‘I’m actually going to view one this weekend.’

  ‘Fantastic! I reply encouragingly. ‘What is it? Apartment? House?’

  ‘It’s a semi in Bakersfield.’ Hammering a drawing pin into the ceiling, she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Two bedrooms, small conservatory. It needs a little work, a lick of paint here and there, but nothing major.’

  ‘How do you feel about it being in Bakersfield?’ I ask, pursing my lips.

  Bakersfield is an up and coming town around thirty minutes from our apartment. In the past, it did get a little bit of bad press when the university first opened due to the student takeover, but property developers recently tried to revamp the area.

  ‘I don’t mind Bakersfield.’ Li mumbles. ‘Pablo and I spent a lot of time there.’

  Oh, no. She said the P word.

  Not wanting to make eye contact with her, I turn my attention to the fairy lights. ‘Have you heard anything from Pablo since he left?’

  She shakes her head in response and dives back into the box of decorations. Not wanting to push the subject, I decide not to say anything more about him. It was immediately after she broke up with Dan that Lianna met Pablo. During a whirlwind two days in Tenerife, Li declared that Pablo was the love of her life and brought him back to the UK with her. It’s fair to say that Pablo was a holiday romance that came just at the right time. Unfortunately, when the harsh reality of the real world hit home, things fizzled out and Pablo returned home to Tenerife.

  ‘I did hear from Dan though...’

  ‘What?’ I exclaim. Did she just say Dan? ‘Dan?’

  ‘Yep.’ She replies breezily.

  ‘What the hell did he want?’ My heart pounds as I dread to think what she is going to say next.

  ‘He asked for his engagement ring back.’

  My mouth falls open as I stare at her in shock. That’s low a blow even for a scumbag like Dan. ‘What did you tell him?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice low.

  She turns to face me and a wicked smile plays at the corners of her mouth. ‘I told him that I flushed it down the toilet.’

  ‘You didn’t!’ I laugh.

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I pawned it, but he doesn’t need to know that.’

  We both burst into a fit of giggles and try to compose ourselves as Marc steps into the office.

  ‘All right you two, that’s enough with the decorations. It’s like Santa’s grotto in here.’ He looks up at the mistletoe and shakes his head.

  ‘What’s rattled your cage?’ Li drapes a piece of tinsel around his neck and sprinkles him with glitter.

  ‘Nothing!’ He scowls, brushing gold glitter off the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘Oh, come on! We haven’t even got the lights up yet.’ Waving the string of pink lights around to emphasise my point, I stick out my bottom lip.

  ‘I said enough!’ He yells over his shoulder as he marches to his office.

  I wait for him to slam the office door before pushing myself to my feet. ‘Right, where should we hang these lights?’

  When you stop believing in Santa, you get socks for Christmas...

  December 7th

  For many years now, Marc, Lianna and I have made an annual trip to the Christmas markets in Greenton. This one night a year enables us to drink our weight in mulled wine and buy expensive quirky gifts that no one really wants. That is why on a cold Thursday night we find ourselves huddled around an electric heater and working our way through the drinks menu. Well, I say we, but what I really mean is every one expect me. Marc and Oliver are happily glugging away at a strange looking ale, while Li and Gina are on their fourth mug of potent Gluhwein. Sugar plus alcohol is not a good combination for Gina. The extra energy has meant that she hasn’t stopped talking for the past two hours.

  Taking a sip of the hot mulled wine, I grimace at the taste and pretend to listen as Gina reels off her plans for Australia. Normally I love drinking mulled wine at the Christmas marke
ts, but this year it just tastes like stale dishwater. When I was growing up, I thought that my dad was insane for eating blue cheese. He would insist that my taste buds would change as I got older, but I never believed him. I guess now that I am approaching thirty he is finally proving me wrong. Maybe I will have to give Gorgonzola another go. I always did wonder what it was that made people go weak at the knees at the sight of a mouldy piece of dairy.

  Not feeling in the mood for drinking, I place my mug on the table and rub my hands together for warmth. This has to be a contender for the coldest December on record. It has snowed heavily on and off for the past week, whereas last year we only got snow once and even that was more slush than snow. I knew that global warming was a load of codswallop. Realising that Gina has now turned her attention to Lianna, I spy my chance to escape. To be honest, it is so incredibly busy in here that I don’t even think they will notice.

  Zipping up my coat, I squeeze through the sea of people and let my nose lead me to the stalls of yummy food. I watch in amusement as a stressed out mother exchanges a fistful of notes for a bag of festive gingerbread men. The three children who are jumping around by her side squeal with delight as she dishes out the tasty treats. Reminding myself that I don’t particularly like gingerbread, I smile at the flustered woman and carry on walking.

  The cold air bites at my exposed nose as I stop to look at a busy stall. The vendor smiles eagerly, mentally ordering me to make a purchase. Rows and rows of tiny jars line the table top, each one decorated with glitter and Christmas tree gems. I reach down and gently turn over the labels. Chilli Marmalade, Rum and Raisin Chocolate Spread, Hazelnut and Nutmeg Syrup. They all sound amazing! Picking up one of each, I pay the pretty stall holder and pop the small bag into my pocket.

  Trying not to give in to the huge Frankfurter sausages, I promise myself that I will most definitely visit Bavaria next year. It is the one place on my bucket list that is so near, yet once the Christmas hype dies down I completely forget how much I want to go. Oliver would love it too. The amazing artwork, the unique gifts, the sweet temptations and the hand crafted woodwork. He would love it all. Making a mental note to look into it, I push my way through crowd.

  I might be a good few stalls away, but I can hear Gina’s ridiculously loud cackle as though she is stood right next to me. Glad that they haven’t noticed I have gone, I nod my head in time to the music and trudge through the snow. I really want to get Oliver something for Christmas whilst I am here. Scanning the various stalls, I can’t find anything that seems appropriate. Last year we decided not to do gifts and instead booked a weekend away in Chester. I was actually mortified when Oliver surprised me with a stunning pair of diamond earrings on Christmas morning and promised myself that next year I would get him the best gift ever. Just what is the best gift ever? That is the question.

  Light snowflakes fall from the sky as I watch a group of young girls sprint into McDonald’s for shelter. The youngest of the three screams loudly and tugs her Christmas jumper up over head. Laughing quietly, I try to remember what it was like to have my biggest worry being getting my hair wet. Men don’t seem to realise just what a disaster it is to have three hours of straightening ruined in seconds by a quick rain shower. With a splash of water, my hair can go from Jennifer Aniston to Edward Scissorhands in ten seconds flat.

  My eyes land on a stunning snow globe that is glistening under the bright lights of the stall. Removing a mitten to pick it up, I give it a shake and watch as the snow sparkles inside the glass. In the centre, a beautiful Christmas tree is dressed in baubles which shine like rubies as the glitter swirls around the branches. I suddenly have an overwhelming longing to step inside and lose myself in the wintry scene. Deciding that I have to have it, I join the queue and dig around for my purse. I watch in fascination as the market trader wraps the delicate ornament in sheets of embossed paper. Yes, it might be expensive, but if you can’t treat yourself at Christmas, when can you?

  Clutching my new purchase carefully, I suddenly feel a little guilty. I am supposed to be buying gifts for other people, not myself. So far I have treated myself to three lovely condiments and now an amazing snow globe that I don’t have any place for and most certainly didn’t need. Reminding myself that Christmas is about giving, I decide that these will all be stocking fillers, who for I really don’t know. Christmas would be a hell of a lot easier if we all bought gifts for ourselves instead. No unwanted M&S vouchers from Auntie Patricia, no wrestling other customers for the last of the gift sets in Boots and certainly no worrying about what it is that people really want. For months on end I have been racking my brains for the perfect gift to get for Oliver. Something that will take his breath away, something that he will appreciate and something that he doesn’t already have. Well, if all else fails, I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t have any Hazelnut and Nutmeg Syrup...

  It just isn’t Christmas unless you push your body to the brink of alcoholism and diabetes...

  December 8th

  Stopping for breath, I peer into the pram and feel an incredible rush of adrenaline as I see that MJ has finally fallen asleep. This is not part of my job description. How I have gone from designing shoes to running a crèche, I really do not know. How do women do this every day? I feel like I have run a bloody marathon. My feet are aching and my arms feel like lead. Removing my scarf, I take a seat outside Starbucks and try to regain some feeling in my toes. The temperature might be near freezing, but it is safe to say that I am absolutely melting.

  Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window, I let out a little laugh. My face is red and my eyes are puffy from all the panting. I have only been doing this for an hour and already I look like a victim of Japanese water torture. No wonder Gina has lost so much weight since having the kids. Pushing eighteen pounds of baby around is not as easy as it looks. Looking to my left, I watch as a young mother pushes a twin buggy effortlessly along the pavement. Two toddlers dressed in matching Christmas jumpers are walking happily by her side. She looks like she has just stepped off a Mamas and Papas advert. She shoots me a smug smile as she passes by and coos at the adorable twin boys that are laughing blissfully from their designer pram. My eyes fall to her ridiculously high heels and I let out a quiet gasp. How is she doing that?

  Hoping that my skin hasn’t turned green with envy, I dig my phone out of my pocket and check my emails. Still nothing from Marc. He promised that he wouldn’t be longer than half an hour, but that was almost two hours ago! Normally I would never offer to be babysitter, but Marc was so stressed out earlier that I didn’t have the heart to say no. Unbelievably, he decided to book the tickets for Australia without getting MJ a passport first. This resulted in a frantic Gina flying off to the Passport Office and with Marc in an important business meeting it was down to Lianna and I to take charge of the children. Annoyingly, I most definitely got the short straw. I’m guessing that entertaining Madison is a whole lot easier than trying to get a cranky three month old to sleep.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I wipe my sweaty brow and head back towards the office. Considering that it is lunch time, the streets are fairly quiet. A quick look into the adjacent shopping centre tells me exactly where all the people are. Grateful not to be caught up in the hustle and bustle of the Christmas shoppers, I watch MJ smiling in his sleep as I walk. When he isn’t crying, he is absolutely adorable. His chubby pink cheeks and tiny button nose make him ridiculously cute. Unlike Madison, MJ looks nothing like Marc or Gina. He almost reminds me of a little Cabbage Patch doll although I would never admit that to his parents.

  A flashing sign in a shop window informs me that there are just eighteen days until Christmas. That gives me little over two weeks to get myself sorted. My stomach does a little flip as I draw up a mental to do list. With Lianna’s 30th birthday being just days away and Oliver’s parents arriving from Texas next Wednesday, I have more than enough on my plate. I still have to purchase a bunch of gifts and I have absolutely no idea when my own parents are arrivi
ng.

  Trying not to panic at the dawning realisation of just how much I have got to do, I take a deep breath and wait for the green man before crossing the street. Whoever said that moving house, getting married and having a baby are the three most stressful things that you will ever do, obviously never hosted Christmas for their in-laws.

  * * *

  ‘What a day!’ I exclaim, clinking my glass against Lianna’s. ‘Who knew that child minding was so stressful?’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Li replies, taking a big slug of Rioja. ‘That child should come with a warning.’

  ‘Oh, come off it! You know that I got the short straw. Try pushing MJ around town for two hours in the freezing cold whilst he screams like a broken blender.’ My head begins to throb at the recollection of his ear piercing squeals.

  Lianna laughs and shakes her head before diving into her handbag and producing her beloved Chanel lipstick. ‘This was the best part of thirty quid.’

  Passing me the offending article, she stretches her legs out on the couch and waits for my reaction. The glossy black container is sticky and covered in grubby little fingerprints. I brace myself before pulling off the lid. Uh, oh. The tip has been ground down to a blunt stub and it has been dipped in what looks suspiciously like chocolate.

  ‘What the hell happened to it?’ I drop the lipstick onto the coffee table and wipe my hands on my jeans.

  ‘Madison. Madison happened to it.’ Li screws up her nose and kicks off her shoes. ‘I swear, I am never having kids. Ever.’

  ‘I don’t think that all children will destroy your high end beauty products.’ I reach down for the wine bottle and refill our glasses.

  ‘Either way, I don’t fancy going through hours of agony only to be rewarded with something that screams all day and pukes all night.’ Shuddering at the thought, she dives into the bowl of nachos and turns up the television.