Mistletoe and Mayhem

by Catherine Ferguson

  ‘Because … well, because I just can’t. That’s not how jobs work. I’ll be sacked if I just up and leave.’

  He’s obviously a bauble short of a Christmas tree if he thinks I’m going to take his advice and lose my job on only the second day.

  ‘You won’t be sacked. It’ll be fine. Trust me. Now, get your things and go. I’ll call round later to make sure you’re all right.’

  Part of me is sorely tempted to do as he says and go home to lick my wounds. But there’s still that prim, bossy part of my brain telling me not to be so ridiculous. The stand-in store Santa is definitely not responsible for the comings and goings of staff.

  The door opens.

  ‘Ah, Sally,’ Seb says. ‘Lola’s not feeling well so I’ve told her she can go home. Can you manage without her?’

  ‘Yes, no problem, boss.’ Sally tuts sympathetically at me. ‘I hope you’re feeling better soon, love.’

  I stare at them.

  Hang on.

  Boss?

  Light begins to dawn.

  ‘Yes, I do own the Sunflower Garden Centre.’ Santa Seb smiles, obviously seeing my confusion. ‘And Mum here is my manager.’

  I gape at Sally. ‘I’d no idea.’

  ‘Why would you?’ She smiles. ‘I certainly don’t get any special favours. In fact, I work longer hours than anyone else here. Don’t I, Santa?’

  She doesn’t look as if she minds in the slightest.

  Seb grins at me. ‘To hear her talk, you’d think she never gets any time off. She’s off skiing in the Alps at Christmas.’

  ‘Yes and you’re coming, too, so get your flight booked!’ she orders him, jokingly. Then she turns to me. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to get home yourself?’

  ‘Er, yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks, Sally. I’ll see you next week.’

  Giving Seb a look of sheer incomprehension, I grab my bag and retreat to the ladies’.

  My head is whirling.

  Seb actually owns the Sunflower Garden Centre? And Sally is his mum?

  That’s probably the reason I walked straight into the job, then. I thought it was odd I wasn’t given a formal interview.

  But why didn’t he tell me?

  I suppose he thought I’d be too proud to take the job if I felt he was doing me a favour. Come to think of it, he’d probably have been right.

  I remember the sour-faced elf’s comment. Oh, so you’re the favoured one.

  Does everyone think I only got the job because I know Seb?

  A mix of feelings courses through me.

  I’m grateful to Seb. But I really don’t need his pity.

  I take out my frustration on the cycle home, pumping the pedals until I’m pouring with sweat and there’s an excruciating Jane Fonda burn in my thighs.

  The good news is I’m home in no time.

  When I arrive, Barb is there, fiddling about with shiny paper in golds, greens and reds, making decorations of some sort.

  One look at my face and she sweeps the decorations off the kitchen table and replaces them with a lemon drizzle cake she’s made. I tell her the whole story as she makes me a restorative cup of chamomile tea. (Some of Nathan’s health tips really do work.)

  We pause for a moment’s reverential silence as she cuts into the cake. And then I get to the bit where Seb revealed himself as Santa.

  Barb slaps the table and barks out a laugh. ‘He said he was getting his red suit out of mothballs, but I thought he was just having me on. Now it makes sense. Santa Seb, eh?’

  I attempt a smile. ‘I feel a bit stupid, to be honest. I hate that he feels sorry for me. I really don’t want charity.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she mocks. ‘He was short of staff at the busiest time of the year. You needed a job. I think it’s called serendipity. It’s definitely not called charity.’

  She points at my wedge of lemon drizzle. ‘Now, for God’s sake stop worrying about it and get your laughing gear round that.’

  We tackle the cake for a while. Then Barb murmurs, ‘Seb’s great, though, isn’t he? He’s a real man’s man, if you know what I mean. But he can chat to women just like he’s one of them.’

  I shoot her a glance.

  Is there something going on here?

  Barb is smiling into the distance, presumably recalling some past exchange with the great man himself.

  Oh God, what if they fancy each other?

  The idea is strangely unsettling and makes my face twist into a series of weird shapes as I consider how I feel about it.

  ‘What’s the matter, Lol?’ demands Barb. ‘Is the cake horrible?’

  I smooth out my features. ‘No, no, it’s delicious.’

  Barb nods, relieved.

  But I am not relieved in any way, shape or form.

  What if they get together and Seb spends all his time here, lolling around with Barb? Murmuring à deux in the kitchen. Entwined on the sofa. Laughing at private jokes during Coronation Street?

  Taking showers together.

  My stomach shifts uneasily.

  I really don’t want to think about that.

  Later, there’s a knock on the door.

  Barb’s in the bathroom and I’m really not in the mood to answer it.

  But whoever it is knocks again, more urgently this time.

  Sighing, I drag myself up.

  It might be Jasper. I’ve been finalising the choir schedule for next week and he said he’d pop in for an update on my progress. Although strangely, not even the thought of a chat with Jas is enough to lift me out of my current gloom.

  It’s not Jasper.

  It’s Seb.

  He’s wearing dark jeans and a pale green jumper that brings out the ferny green of his eyes. I suddenly remember him saying he’d call round and see me later.

  ‘Just wondered if my favourite customer of the day was feeling a bit better.’ He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘The elves send their love.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I look down and blink rapidly to vanquish a rogue tear. ‘It’s nice of them to think of me. Especially when they’re so busy.’

  Seb nods gravely. ‘Working their butts off. Loads of overtime and no union.’

  I smile, feeling oddly shy and wishing I’d changed out of the raggy old sweatpants I cycled home in. Worse, I ditched the sweatshirt so all I have on is an old pink vest top that shrinks every time I wash it.

  I clasp my hands at my throat to cover my modesty.

  Luckily, Seb doesn’t seem to have noticed.

  He leans against the doorjamb and something delicious and manly – shampoo or aftershave? – wafts up my nose. ‘So how are you really?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Actually, it’s true. Except that my legs are a bit trembly, like they used to feel after I’d run miles with Nathan. (I expect that’s the cycling having an effect.) ‘I’m just so sorry for blubbering all over you like that. Especially with those little kids outside, waiting in line. It was just…’ I tail off.

  ‘A terrible day,’ he finishes for me. ‘I know. Hey, you don’t need to apologise. I’m only glad you felt you could get it all off your – er – chest.’

  We both glance at my chest.

  Bugger, he did notice.

  I laugh to breach the awkwardness. ‘Well, if you can’t trust Santa …’

  ‘Exactly.’ He grins. ‘And you can trust me, okay?’

  I nod, swallowing hard. His concern is having a very weird effect on my emotions.

  ‘Look, you’ve had a shit day,’ he says. ‘You need to relax. What do you say to a cosy pub, crackling log fire and a drink?’

  He smiles broadly and my stomach flips over.

  Suddenly, I can’t think of anything nicer …

  ‘Jas was wanting to talk to you about the choir. So how about I tell him you’d like to chat in the pub later?’

  ‘Oh.’ I stare at him, completely flummoxed.

  ‘I thought that might cheer you up. What time is good for you?’ He peers at me. ‘Lola?’r />
  ‘Yes. Wow. That would be … marvellous!’

  Seb winks. ‘Happy to help. Right, I’ll tell Jas you’ll be ready in half an hour?’

  ‘Great!’ I stick up both thumbs.

  After he’s gone, I wander into the living room and sit down very carefully on the sofa. What the hell is wrong with me?

  There’s a weird sort of empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I like Jasper. A lot.

  I’m having a drink with him in half an hour, at the end of a really ghastly day.

  So why am I feeling so deflated?

  In the end, I decide not to go to the pub with Jasper.

  To be honest, I’m too knackered to even think about getting in the shower and finding something nice to wear. I just want to sleep.

  And as it turns out, Jasper’s short of time anyway. He’s got to prepare for a meeting tomorrow with that music producer guy I phoned for him.

  ‘Bloody Last-Minute Larry, that’s me,’ he says, all tousled dark hair and big grin when he turns up at my door to explain. ‘Sorry, Lola.’

  ‘Do you want me to phone you in the morning to make sure you’re up?’ I ask, suddenly thinking how awful it would be if he slept in and was late for the meeting.

  ‘Don’t worry. Seb’s good at keeping me in line. But thanks. Let’s grab a drink on Tuesday night after choir practice?’

  ‘That’s the last practice before you start singing for real,’ I point out.

  ‘Yep. First performance, Women’s Institute, Thursday night.’ He winks. ‘See, I remember everything you tell me.’

  I smile. ‘Every genius needs an admin person to do the boring work.’

  Jasper sighs. ‘Yes, but who’d put up with me, Lola? Who?’

  Barb appears behind me. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says.

  Jas doesn’t look in the least offended. ‘Bet you say that to all the boys.’

  Barb snorts. ‘Only the ones who don’t know their arse from their elbow.’

  I turn and glare at her. That was entirely uncalled for.

  But Jas just bellows with laughter.

  ‘Great judge of character, that friend of yours, Lola!’ he calls, as he springs back up the stairs.

  I like that he couldn’t give two hoots what Barb thinks of him. And actually, in that mini clash of personalities I just witnessed, the score is definitely Jasper one, Barb nil.

  ‘I hope you’re ashamed of yourself,’ I say when he’s gone. ‘Jasper didn’t deserve that.’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m entitled to my opinion.’

  ‘Maybe. But you’re not entitled to be rude.’

  ‘He’s so disorganised.’

  I shrug. ‘He’s a creative genius. They’re useless at the practical stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it drive you nuts, though? Living with someone like that?’ Barb double-taps her forehead. ‘Frontal lobes, Lola. Frontal lobes.’

  Suddenly, I’m wondering if all this anti-Jas stuff is meant to be putting me off him. I suppose she’s right that Jasper and I aren’t hugely compatible. I mean, I’ve never been into music in a serious way – and it’s clearly Jasper’s entire world.

  But does that mean if we embarked on a relationship, it would be doomed to fail? Surely Jasper’s love of music would rub off on me and I’d end up becoming an expert on Beethoven’s waltzes. Or something.

  Then I think of Nathan and how hard I tried to immerse myself in his overwhelming passion for fitness. In the end, it just didn’t work.

  Of course, all this is purely hypothetical anyway, because Jasper and I are friends. Nothing more. And apart from an almost-kiss, he’s given me no reason to think otherwise.

  ‘Right,’ says Barb. ‘I’ve got some work for you to do.’

  ‘Work? What sort of work?’

  She disappears into her room and emerges with a brown cardboard box, which she dumps on the kitchen worktop along with some scissors and a plastic stencil sheet containing three different sizes of Christmas tree.

  The box, when I open it, is full to the brim of used Christmas wrap. Barb always tears the wrapper off presents really carefully then folds it up for recycling. (The last gift she gave me was trussed up in paper I’d bought the year before to wrap hers.)

  ‘Won’t take you long,’ she says. ‘I need about thirty trees in a variety of sizes.’

  ‘What are they for?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘None of your business.’

  I turn and stare at her. ‘What’s the matter with you tonight?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she snaps with a face like thunder. ‘Now get working.’

  I shrug and start looking through the box, eventually settling on a lovely glossy berry-red paper, one in a deep glossy green and another with a jolly gingham pattern in golds, reds and greens.

  Barb nods approvingly and disappears back to her own room.

  She’s been spending a lot of time in there lately and has forbidden me from entering under pain of death, saying it’s all in aid of Operation Lola’s Christmas.

  I set to work on Barb’s mystery project. My cutting out skills have apparently not improved much from when I was eight. But nonetheless, the result after half an hour is a slightly aching hand, some crumpled up mistakes and a pile of very respectable paper Christmas trees.

  Barb approves my handiwork and I retire thankfully to bed.

  But sleep is elusive and I find my mind wandering to Seb.

  Every time I remember his thoughtfulness, I’m amazed all over again.

  There’s more to Seb than solid muscle, a sexy smile and those compelling green eyes of his.

  A great deal more …

  Chapter Fifteen

  It’s Tuesday and I’m at choir practice, chatting to Trudy in the tiny kitchen.

  We’re squeezing past each other to produce a tray of refreshments, and the talk turns to what we’re doing later.

  Trudy is going round to her boyfriend’s.

  When I mention that Jasper and I will be discussing the choir schedule over a drink, she darts a look at me and says in her lovely Yorkshire accent, ‘And were that Jasper’s idea?’

  I eye her innocently. ‘What, carol singing outside the town hall on Christmas Eve?’

  ‘No, going to the pub after practice.’

  I pretend to think. ‘Ee, I think it were.’

  She smiles at me copying her accent.

  I shrug. ‘It’s just a drink.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes.’ I laugh to suggest she’s out of her mind to think anything else.

  ‘Right.’ She nods. ‘So you won’t mind if I join you both for a quick one?’

  ‘Er … no, of course not.’

  The landscape of my evening dulls slightly.

  I was looking forward to my drink with Jasper and having a cosy chat. Among other things, I was hoping he might tell me a bit more about Seb because I can’t help being curious. (Well, he is my boss and it’s good to know what you’re dealing with, isn’t it?)

  But I suppose that’s out of the window if eagle-eyed Trude is there observing all the tiny nuances of our conversation.

  I like Trudy a lot. But she does make me nervous the way she analyses everything I say and do. I always worry she’s putting two and two together and coming up with five.

  Much is made clear later, in the pub, when it’s Trudy’s turn to get the drinks in. She delves in her bag for her purse and out falls a substantial tome entitled, Body Language for Beginners: What’s Going on Between the Lines?

  She sees me looking.

  ‘It’s a fascination of mine.’ She taps the side of her nose. ‘It’s not about what people are saying. It’s about what they’re not saying.’

  She gives me a knowing look and heads off to the bar.

  Jasper and I exchange an amused look and start going through the dates lined up for next week. I love his idea of the choir singing outside the town hall on Christmas Eve, as a sort of finale. I’ve already added it to my list of ‘things to do�
�� with the family. We’ll get well wrapped up and walk into the village to support the carol singers, rattle some buckets, then return home to mugs of Irish hot chocolate (heavy on the Irish). That should get us all in a lovely, Christmassy mood, if we’re not there already. (Must remember to tick off ‘Get Family in Festive Mood on Christmas Eve’.)

  ‘Where’s Seb tonight?’ Trudy asks when she returns with the drinks.

  Jasper frowns. ‘He did tell me. Can’t remember.’

  Trudy nods slowly, obviously trying to work out what Jasper’s not saying. Then she studies me interestedly for my reaction.

  I’d like to save her from brain overload by pointing out that Jasper’s not saying where Seb is for a very good reason. It’s because he doesn’t actually know. But maybe this is too simplistic an idea for Trudy.

  I spend the rest of the time feeling like Jasper and I are exhibits in a scientific experiment, Trudy in white lab coat making copious mental notes.

  Exhibit A tells rude joke and makes slightly lingering eye contact with Exhibit B.

  Exhibit B laughs for three point five seconds longer than joke actually merits.

  Exhibit A turns at slight angle to get better view of Exhibit B.

  Exhibit B gives him coy look under her lashes.

  Honestly, I’ve gone off Trudy …

  Talking of body language, I can’t help noticing that Barb and Seb are getting on like a house on fire.

  One night last week, I came back from an unsuccessful forage at the supermarket’s ‘marked down’ section – where I’d been hoping to bag some Christmassy food bargains for the freezer – and Barb had company.

  I recognised Seb’s deep tones the instant I walked in the door.

  When I followed the voices into the kitchen, I found Seb lounging back on a chair laughing at Barb, who was standing by the sink looking a bit pink and pleased with herself.

  They turned, looked surprised and stopped talking instantly.

  ‘Hi,’ said Barb brightly, crossing her arms. ‘That was quick. Didn’t you get anything?’

  ‘The marshmallows were marked right down. So I bought three bags.’

  ‘Nice. Anything else?’

  I shook my head. ‘Wasted trip, really.’

  Seb looked mystified.

  ‘Marked down section,’ explained Barb.

  ‘Ah.’ Seb gave me a lazy smile. ‘Of course. Christmas on a shoestring. Well, don’t lose heart, Lola. I know you’ll get there.’