by Jenny Colgan
“I’m not sure she isn’t too big to be in a party mood,” said Polly.
“Well tough,” said Reuben, jutting out his bottom lip and looking about six years old. “She used to be fun and also not a whale.”
“Reuben, she’s about a million months pregnant. Nobody’s expected to be fun at this stage.”
“I thought she’d be one of those really cute bouncy pregnant women,” said Reuben mournfully, as someone carted what appeared to be blocks for an igloo across the garden. “Not one of the gigantic elephant ones.”
“I don’t think anyone chooses how they get to be when they’re pregnant,” said Polly. “I think it just happens and then you hope for the best.”
“I’ve been hoping for the best for months,” said Reuben.
Another person walked past with an ice sculpture of a bear. Polly glanced at it, then looked back to Reuben, slightly horrified.
“How big is this party?”
“Who knows? Who cares? I’ve got a planner. Listen. I wanted to talk to Huckle, but he’s gone AWOL too. It’s not like Huckle to actually do some work.”
“Excuse me,” said Polly crossly. “He works a lot actually.”
“Yeah yeah, here are some bees, look at the bees, buzz buzz buzz. That’s not work, is it.”
“He’s actually doing a lot of sales . . .”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. But you know my wife, Polly. Tell me, is this normal? Huh? Is it normal for a pregnant woman to go batshit bananas and all weird and bizarre all the time?”
“Some women eat coal,” pointed out Polly.
“Yeah, but my wife isn’t some women,” said Reuben, still pouting. “I mean, my wife is totally the greatest, right? So. What’s going on here? What’s up? I think I have the best wife, but she’s schlubbing around like Schlubby McSchlubberson. On holiday.”
“Listen, Kanye West,” said Polly, angry suddenly, even though she knew Reuben had a point. Actually, this made her angrier. “It’s her body. It’s her pregnancy. It’s not all about you.”
“Yeah it is!” said Reuben. “This is my son! It is totally so about me!”
“It’s about both of you.”
“Well, yeah, I realize that. But at the moment I’m not even in this picture. And man, normally I’m all over like everything.”
A bunch of surfy-looking guys, all ripped and handsome, wandered over and high-fived Reuben. As usual Reuben looked like he didn’t have the faintest idea who any of them were, and tiredly returned the high-fives whilst totally ignoring the surfers’ effusive greetings.
“It should be about me a little bit, right? Not just somebody mumbling past me and being tired all the time and ignoring me and disappearing on secret missi—”
Reuben closed his mouth as if he’d said something he shouldn’t.
“What secret missions?” said Polly.
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” said Reuben crossly. “If I did, they wouldn’t be secret. It’s ridiculous, she’s never here.”
He sighed, and looked as deflated as Polly had ever seen him, all the bounce draining out of him even as the enormous DJ rig started sound-checking right behind him, the colored lights bouncing off the fake snow.
“All right?” said Father Christmas—the most Father Christmassy Father Christmas Polly had ever seen, with a full white beard, a proper fat belly, kind creased eyes, the works. He was leading a real—no, surely not. But yes, it certainly smelled real—reindeer.
“Yeah, whatever, Santa,” said Reuben, and the round man wandered off.
“Look,” said Polly. “Honestly. When the baby comes, everything will be different. I’m sure it will. It’s just hard, pregnancy.”
“Good different?” said Reuben. “What if it gets worse?”
“I don’t know,” said Polly. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t in the least bit sure. But Reuben seemed a little cheered.
“Okay,” he said.
“Just the blues of being, like, fifteen stone,” said Polly.
“Yeah,” said Reuben. “I can relate. Totally. I’m sure that’s what it is too. Yeah. Thanks, Polly. You’re a real pal.”
Polly felt awful.
Reuben turned round, his freckled face brightening up.
“Okay, everyone! Who’s ready to PARRRRTAAAAAYYYYYY?!”
“Yeah!” came back a plethora of voices from the people setting up. Everything was in position now, and guests were starting to arrive; they were nearly ready to begin.
“Not you, Polly,” reminded Reuben. “You’re working.”
“I KNOW, you putz,” groaned Polly, and she headed back into the kitchen with some relief, as the speakers cranked up, and “It’s CHRRRIIIIIISSSSTTTTMAAAS” came rolling over the incredibly expensive stereo, and the doors were opened and the guests started to pour in and the party began.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Polly rushed around with the other caterers, who were making great vats of mulled wine, even though the vodka luge was clearly much more popular, and huge winter stews that scented the air with cranberries and what Polly suspected was reindeer, though that hardly mattered, since none of the skinny-looking model girls—how did Reuben even know these people?—would eat a morsel. They were all too busy downing drinks and smoking on the pristine fake snow that now carpeted the stunning lawns at the back of the house, which was completely festooned with fairy lights of all colors.
It was beautiful, incredibly beautiful, and she felt a great sadness suddenly. Reuben threw wonderful parties. She shouldn’t be here, slaving away over pastry, while Huckle and Kerensa were God knows where (Reuben himself was in the middle of a great crowd of people taking selfies, then studying them thoughtfully, deleting the pics they didn’t like. This appeared to be what constituted socializing now). If it had been the four of them together, she thought wistfully, they’d have been having so much fun.
There was a cotton candy stand, with snow-white candyfloss being twirled. The models seemed to quite like that; it weighed even less than they did. And there was a big queue to sit on Santa’s lap in his grotto, which was manned by rather foxy-looking elves. The DJ had stopped so that an incredibly cool retro swing band could play; they were doing ironic Christmas hits, with three girls in big circle skirts and bright red lipstick singing backing vocals, and people had started dancing. Huckle was a terrible dancer. It was strange; in bed, or on a surfboard, or in a beehive, he was completely graceful and natural and totally at ease, but ask him to move to a beat and he couldn’t do it at all. By contrast, Reuben had taken classes and she always found it a true pleasure to dance with him, as he pushed and pulled her around on the dance floor whilst Kerensa watched and laughed at her technique. But that wouldn’t be happening either.
Polly sighed, handing round more exquisite canapés filled with hot spiced-wine-flavored pâté. She had somehow managed, she noticed, to overcome the food aversion of Reuben’s guests; they were scarfing them down. Well, at least one thing was going right. She refilled her tray in the kitchen as staff bustled about trying to keep up with the demand for champagne and mince-pie martinis. The hubbub of the room, the high-pitched squeals and laughter, was growing louder; the party was in absolutely full swing and going with a bang.
Suddenly the mike cut out and the band clattered to a halt. Polly thought Reuben was getting up to make a speech, which was just like him, but she didn’t hear people applauding. She glanced around. Where the hell was Kerensa? This entire party was going on without her. Reuben must be fuming.
She moved forward to get a closer look and saw, to her horror, that it was Jayden who had climbed onto the stage. He looked fatter than ever in a shirt that was clearly too small for him, and his face was red and sweaty with nerves. He’d even shaved off his cute moustache, which made him look slightly featureless and awkward. The crowd of incredibly trendy London fashion and art types looked at him coolly. The room had gone very quiet, and Polly was suddenly intensely nervous for him.
&nbs
p; He took the mike from the rather displeased-looking singer, and it immediately howled with feedback.
“Um, hello?” he boomed into it, far too loudly, holding it close to his mouth. The audience recoiled a little, and it was clear that his hand was trembling.
With a shock, Polly realized what he was about to do. Oh no. This was not the time or the place for a big proposal. This wasn’t the crowd. She could see that Jayden would think that this incredibly posh do, awash with champagne, was quite the spectacular opportunity, but she couldn’t imagine how quiet, shy Flora would react. She hadn’t even known Flora was coming. If she had, she’d have gotten her to help.
“Um, Flora? I just want to . . . Flora, are you there?” Jayden obviously couldn’t see a thing and was blinking carefully.
“Who are you?” said one wag cheekily, and the crowd laughed.
Polly glanced about. She spotted Flora, pale and rigid, cringing against the wall of the huge room. She wanted to go to her, but there was a thicket of people between them, all of them staring at Jayden, who looked incredibly uncomfortable and awkward now, up there in front of everyone, like a dream gone horribly wrong.
“Flora! Could you come up here, please?”
Flora was frantically shaking her head, but when it became apparent who she was, the crowd, hungry for what was going on, parted to make way for her. She slunk through, head down, her long carpet of hair covering her face.
Polly could not think of a worse place to get a proposal. She thought back, her heart aching, to Huckle asking, so quietly and gently that she hadn’t quite understood to begin with what he meant, and then the gradual dawning realization that he meant everything, and she wanted to cry. She fingered the seaweed ring; twisted it round and round on her hand, vowing to do whatever it took to get them back together.
Flora also looked like she was about to cry. She was helped awkwardly onto the stage, where she stood with her head bowed. Jayden, who was perspiring freely now, turned to face her and, with great clumsiness, got down on one knee.
“Rip!” shouted someone in the crowd, and Polly suddenly wanted to machine-gun them all. She was cross with Jayden, too; she’d told him not to do this, that it was too soon and Flora wouldn’t like it, and here he was now, making an idiot out of himself. Some horribly scrawny model girl let out a high-pitched fake laugh of disbelief, and Polly only stopped herself sticking her with a fork by thinking about how many times the model girl would probably get divorced in the future. She sighed bad-temperedly.
“Flora, would you make me the happiest man in the world . . . ?”
There was silence in the room—an unpleasant silence, Polly could sense, as the huge gang of cool kids waited to laugh at the awkward chubby fellow with the shaking hands. She wondered if she’d lose Jayden, if the humiliation might make him give up or leave town altogether. And losing Flora for the holiday season would be a huge blow. The girl was a little divvy and distracted, but she had a natural gift for baking that Polly could only dream of. Ugh. This was going so wrong.
But to Polly’s amazement, Flora simply shrugged her shoulders.
“Yeah, whatevs,” she said, in a voice so low it was practically a whisper.
Polly blinked. What? The crowd stared too.
“YES!” shouted Jayden, raising both hands in the air, revealing very damp patches under his arms. “Yes!”
He turned round to kiss Flora, but she’d already bolted from the stage. Jayden air-punched one more time, then jumped down after her.
“Hang on!” he shouted. “I’ve got a ring!”
The band tittered politely.
“How charming,” said the singer into the mike, and Polly wanted to slap him. Then they struck up with “I’m in the Mood for Love.”
As Polly went to find the happy couple to congratulate them—nobody else seemed to be—she walked slap-bang into Reuben.
“Your friends are all horrible,” she blurted.
“Yeah?” said Reuben, who was brandishing a gigantic cigar without actually smoking it. “Well at least they’re here.”
He had, Polly thought, a point.
She found Flora—looking furiously embarrassed—and a beaming Jayden by the downstairs cloakroom. Flora was putting on her coat.
“Um, congratulations, you two!” said Polly. Jayden gave her a not entirely friendly look.
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who told me not to.”
“Well, obviously I was wrong,” said Polly, trying to be breezy.
“You weren’t wrong,” growled Flora. “I was black affronted up there.”
“Oh, my sweet pea,” sighed Jayden. “I love you so much.”
“I’m going home,” said Flora.
“I’ll come with you to talk you around,” said Jayden eagerly, and looked at Polly.
“Sure, you can go,” she said wearily. She’d stay and clear up. It was fine. She had nothing more pressing to do.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Polly went outside. The sky was low and it was utterly freezing. She walked forward a little, just pleased to be out of the crush and the pressure and the noise inside, even though the party was starting to wind down. Even models and actresses had mums somewhere who needed them home for Christmas morning, she reflected. Sleek black cars were pulling up to the doorway; people were clutching the goody bags Santa had given everyone. Thankfully, there were other people to help clean up, and she might leave a lot of it to them; Polly felt utterly exhausted.
She wandered across the busy driveway and around to the side of the house, with its path down to the private beach. It was so beautiful there, so calm and peaceful as the noise from the house receded and she could hear the heavy black waves pounding on the beach. She sighed. Christmas Eve. And this year had started out so promisingly . . .
“Hey.”
She turned around. Kerensa was walking along wrapped in a huge blanket, wearing a shapeless pair of black pregnancy trousers and a huge oversized hoody that did nothing to minimize her enormous bump.
“There you are!” said Polly. “Everyone’s been worried sick! Reuben didn’t even do one of his speeches!”
“Well, thank heavens for small mercies,” said Kerensa. Polly went closer. Kerensa was shivering with the cold.
“Come inside,” said Polly. “You’ll freeze. It’s not good for you to be out here like this.”
“Are all those people gone?” said Kerensa. “I just feel like I can’t face it. That they’ll all stare and judge me and . . . Oh God, I don’t know what’s happened to me. I don’t know.”
Polly grabbed her friend’s arm.
“You’re punishing yourself,” she said. “And you don’t even know if you have to.”
“Oh, I have to,” said Kerensa.
Polly took her hand. It was icy cold.
“Come on,” she said firmly. “Inside. We’ll go through the tradesmen’s entrance. None of that lot will think to look there.”
“Thanks for opening up,” said the tall blond man, sitting in the chilly puffin café.
“It’s all right,” said Bernard. “I didn’t know where else to go either.”
They glanced around.
“You know, if your girlfriend can help,” said Bernard, “it will make all the difference to us. All of it.”
Huckle nodded. He stared out of the window; there was a hint of snow in the heavy clouds above. It looked like it might unleash itself at any moment.
“I mean, she’ll be a total hero,” said Bernard.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. She’s a total hero. She helps everyone. Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”
“Are things all right between you two?”
Huckle picked up his beer and put it down again.
“Ah, well. You know. Life gets complicated.”
“You don’t need to tell me,” said Bernard. “I’ve got two million puffins to rehouse.”
They clinked glasses miserably.
“Happy Christmas,” said Bernard. “Who knows where we’ll
be next year?”
“Surely it can’t be worse than this,” said Huckle. Outside the puffins flew and danced in the sky. They all seemed to be having a great time.
“I’ve got some frozen chips in the freezer,” said Bernard. “Want me to stick some on?”
“Sure,” said Huckle, sighing. He glanced at his phone. No messages.
But he didn’t need to speak to her; he knew exactly what she’d be doing: bustling through the kitchen, her cheeks pink from the heat of the stove, a tendril of that lovely pale hair cascading down her face, sleeves rolled up, checking that everything was coming out on time, arranging delicious morsels on plates, yelling at Jayden, ticking over, completely immersed, completely sure of herself. But never, ever too tired or busy not to look up at him in total delight every time he walked through the door.
He missed it so much it felt like a physical pain.
He thought back over the last evening. It had been strange and awful all at once. He drank some more beer. Even his parents had been out of reach, which wasn’t like them. He sighed again.
“Something up?” said Bernard, coming back with the chips. Huckle wasn’t hungry, but he took one listlessly. It was soggy. Bernard really, really needed someone to help with his catering.
“Nothing.”
“Seriously? Because, you know. It’s late. And you’re here.”
“Yeah,” said Huckle.
“You know,” said Bernard, “anyone who wants to save a puffin sanctuary . . . I think they’re a pretty good bet.”
Huckle smiled ruefully.
“She just . . . I mean, she just doesn’t want to get married, I don’t think.”
“Hmmm,” said Bernard. “Maybe she’s more like that fox Selina. Cunning. Treating you mean and reeling you in like a swordfish.”
“A swordfish?” said Huckle. “Anyway, she’s not like that.”
“Hmmm,” said Bernard again.
There was a pause.
“Bernard, could I ask you something?”
And he never told Polly afterward that it had been Bernard, of all people, the puffin man, who’d confirmed what she’d been telling him all along: that it was absolutely none of his fucking business.
