Mistletoe and Mayhem

by Catherine Ferguson

  ‘What?’ She looks at me, puzzled. ‘Oh, you mean am I pregnant?’ She snorts. ‘Well, if I am, it happened without my knowledge. Look, you’d better get a move on if you don’t want to keep Jasper waiting for your big date.’

  ‘True. Will you help me choose what to wear?’

  ‘Haven’t you already decided?’

  I shrug, like it’s no big deal. Which it isn’t. Not really. I mean, I’m looking forward to seeing him but I don’t even know if it’s meant to be a proper date.

  She peers at me. ‘Lola, do you like Jasper? I mean, really like him?’

  ‘Er, yes, of course I do.’

  ‘No, but I are you serious about him?’

  I grin at her. ‘Christ, Barb, we’re nipping out for a bite to eat and a chat, not opening a wedding gift account at Selfridges. Now, put the lights out then we can do the big Christmas tree switch-on.’

  To be honest, I’m confused about my feelings for Jasper.

  I like him.

  I like him a lot.

  But is there a spark between us? I really don’t know. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

  My insides flutter nervously.

  When I flick the fairy light switch, the effect is spectacular. The tree shimmers and glows, the coloured lights reflecting off the walls and our faces.

  Simultaneously, we both go, ‘Oooh!’

  My dinner with Jasper turns out to be great fun.

  He takes me to this cute Italian restaurant in Pottersdale, where all the staff greet him like a long-lost brother, and I sit there, enjoying the novelty of being wined and dined, basking happily in the warmth of their affection for him.

  Everyone likes Jasper. He’s such a lovely, honest, down-to-earth guy.

  But do I fancy him?

  We chat non-stop through the pasta carbonara and the tiramisu, and Jasper has me in fits of laughter, talking about his college days. And all the time, I’m sort of checking him out close up, trying to imagine what kissing him would be like and how we’d fit together.

  And wondering how he’s viewing this night out.

  Is he thinking of tonight as a date?

  Or just a nice, friendly meal with a friend from the choir?

  We arrive back around eleven and he keeps the engine on because it’s a freezing cold night, and we chat a little about the choir.

  I’m trying to stay cool but That Moment is approaching and my heart is beating faster.

  Will he kiss me?

  Do I want him to kiss me?

  I decide I do. But I’m not sure if it’s because I’m attracted to him or whether I just want to know what it would be like.

  And then he does kiss me.

  We’re laughing about something Trudy said and he suddenly looks at me and his eyes soften. ‘I’ve had a great night, Lola,’ he murmurs. ‘You’re good company. You make me laugh.’

  I smile shyly and we lean a fraction towards each other and then we’re kissing. And it’s really nice. His lips are soft and not overly wet, which for me can be a real turn-off. I’m not feeling any great passion, but then, the car isn’t exactly the most comfortable place for a first kiss, is it?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of movement. Jasper and I turn together and look through the windscreen.

  Seb has got out of his car and is walking towards us, his face veiled in darkness. My heart gives a giant jolt and I pull away from Jasper. It shouldn’t matter that Seb has seen us kissing, but for some reason, it very much does.

  As he gets closer, I can see he’s smiling at us. But there’s a weariness in his expression. He must have had a challenging day.

  Jasper raises his hand and Seb does the same, before turning into our gate and walking slowly up the path.

  I stare after him as my heart pounds with an undeniable and very uncomfortable truth.

  I force myself to ‘act normally’.

  Jasper makes a joke about Seb having spoiled the moment, and we laugh and head indoors. We stand chatting at my door for a minute, then we agree how busy we’ll both be in the run-up to Christmas and Jasper kisses my cheek and mounts the stairs with a cheery wave.

  Just for a second, before I go in to Barb, I stand there in the gloom as a feeling that’s impossible to ignore pulsing through every vein in my body.

  It should have been Seb I was kissing …

  There’s no sound from Barb’s room when I get in.

  She must be asleep, which is quite surprising. I thought she’d be doing her mother hen thing, waiting up to find out how it went.

  To be honest, I’m relieved.

  My head is whirling with so many weird thoughts that all I really want to do is go to bed and lie in the dark, trying to make sense of them.

  I keep picturing the scene in Jasper’s car – how we must have looked, springing apart, when Seb came into view. Did we spring apart? Or was it just me who pulled away?

  I can’t understand it because being with Jasper was really nice.

  But every time I try to concentrate on what I felt while Jas was kissing me, an odd things happens.

  Seb keeps appearing in his place.

  And the kiss I have with Seb in my imagination is as far from ‘nice’ as it could possibly be. We’re talking scorching hot, hands everywhere and the burning need to find somewhere to go. Somewhere far more private …

  By two in the morning, I’m finally facing up to the truth.

  I like Jasper but I don’t fancy him. The spark just isn’t there.

  But I can no longer deny the powerful attraction I feel towards Seb. I suppose I’ve been ignoring it because the last thing I need right now is to leave myself vulnerable to more emotional complications.

  I wrestle with my feelings and, by the time I sink into an exhausted sleep around three, I’ve got everything into perspective.

  I fancy Seb.

  There, I’ve admitted it.

  I really fancy him.

  I don’t know if this attraction thing is mutual, but, frankly, I’d probably be quite glad if it wasn’t. Because I absolutely don’t want another relationship.

  Not so soon after Nathan.

  And not with someone who has the power to splinter my heart into a million tiny pieces if the relationship didn’t work out …

  One week until Christmas

  ROCKY ROAD

  Rocky Road is easy to make and completely delicious. You don’t even have to bake it – simply chill it in the fridge. Wrapped in pretty cellophane paper, Rocky Road would make a lovely Christmas gift.

  You will need:

  125g butter

  3 tablespoons golden syrup

  300g dark chocolate, broken into pieces

  200g ginger nut or rich tea biscuits

  100g mini marshmallows

  Icing sugar

  •Melt the butter and the golden syrup together in a saucepan, then add the chocolate to the butter/syrup mixture and melt slowly. Scoop out 125ml of the chocolate mixture and set to one side.

  •Crush the biscuits (into crumbs and pieces of biscuit) by placing them in a freezer bag and bashing with a rolling pin.

  •Stir the biscuits into the chocolate mixture in the pan and add the marshmallows.

  •Tip into a tray (24cm square), flatten out and then pour the reserved chocolate mixture over, smoothing the top.

  •Refrigerate for two hours or overnight.

  •Cut into 24 fingers and dust with icing sugar.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I haven’t told Barb about my crush on Seb.

  Mainly because she’s been really hard to pin down lately, which I’ve put down to pressure at work.

  It’s the Friday before my guests are due to arrive the following Monday – and I’ve been asked to do an extra day on the tills at the garden centre. But, before I leave, I’m determined to get Barb to agree a time to help me find a dining table. She offered several weeks ago, and the fact is, I’m running dangerously close to the wire with this.


  She’s rushing around getting ready for work and I can tell she doesn’t really want to talk about it. But finally, as she’s on her way out, I manage to extract a promise that when I get home from the garden centre around four, we’ll go out and do a trawl of the second-hand furniture shops.

  ‘I might even be able to get away early and pick you up from the garden centre,’ she says, fumbling in her bag for her car keys. ‘Or is Jasper collecting you?’

  I stare at her. ‘No. Why would he?’

  She shrugs and hurries out of the door.

  At the garden centre, I’m on the tills for the whole day and there’s a steady stream of customers, all spending wildly on Christmas decorations, so the day passes in a flash.

  On my way out, I bump into Sally and instantly blush bright red.

  It’s ridiculous to feel awkward, I know, but she’s Seb’s mum and if she knew exactly what I was imagining doing with her son the other night, she’d probably sack me on the spot!

  ‘Lola.’ She smiles. ‘So glad I caught you. I know Sunday will be your last shift here but I was wanting to ask you if you’d like to stay on with us after Christmas? Do the occasional shift during our busy times?’

  ‘That would be great,’ I tell her, delighted to be asked.

  ‘Smashing.’ She gives me a thumbs-up. ‘Well, see you Sunday, Lola.’

  I get on my bike to cycle home, my mind immediately switching into Christmas worry mode. I just hope Barb’s going to keep her promise and help me find a table. Hopefully by tonight, I’ll be able to cross it off my list.

  Barb’s car is there when I arrive back. Brilliant, I think, as I wheel my bike into the entrance hall and park it against the wall. We’ll be able to head straight into town.

  But, as I put my key in the lock and walk in, I hear voices.

  It’s Seb.

  My heart sinks and I pause in the little hallway. Even Rudolph, mounted on the wall – all spruced-up and jolly after his terrible skip trauma – fails to cheer me up as he usually does.

  I catch Barb going ‘Shhh!’, and then the rumble of Seb’s reply.

  What the hell’s he doing here this time?

  It makes me feel weird. As if I’m walking in on something.

  Just like that last time, when they both stopped talking the instant I entered the kitchen.

  Suddenly, it strikes me that maybe Seb is the reason Barb has seemed a bit preoccupied lately. Perhaps there really is something going on there.

  A lead weight lands in my stomach.

  Bloody hell! Why should I feel like a gooseberry in my own frigging flat?

  And I suppose getting a table is out of the question now. By the time Seb’s gone, the shops will probably be closed …

  Suddenly, the pressure of everything is almost too much.

  Hot tears prick at my eyes and I brush them away angrily.

  Taking a shaky breath, I tramp in, deliberately making lots of noise to let them know they have to break apart. Or stop snogging or doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing. They’re in the kitchen so I make straight for my bedroom, shouting ‘Hi!’ and closing the door behind me.

  If they want private time together, I won’t ruin it for them.

  I’m looking around, feeling at an oddly emotional loose end, when Barb knocks on the door and shouts, ‘Can I come in? Or are you up to something secretive in there?’

  I frown at the door. It’s not me being secretive. But I call for her to come in.

  She’s beaming all over her chops and quite pink about the gills with excitement, like she’s won the lottery. Or shagged Seb or something.

  I plaster on a smile.

  She frowns at me. ‘You okay? You look white as a sheet. I thought going out with Jasper would put some colour in those cheeks.’

  ‘Barb. I’m not going out with Jasper.’

  ‘Fine. Whatever.’

  I stare at her. Why won’t she believe that me and Jas aren’t together?

  ‘Anyway, can you come through to the kitchen?’ She holds the door wide. ‘We’ve got a surprise for you.’

  We’ve got a surprise for you.

  God, I feel like throwing up. She’s only just got to know Seb and already she’s doing the ‘we did this’ and ‘we did that’ and ‘we like semi-skimmed on our cornflakes’. Bleurghhhh!

  Slowly, I get to my feet and follow her through. She’s all twinkly-eyed and giggly, beckoning me to hurry up, so I’m guessing it’s definitely something to do with Seb and her. No doubt frontal lobes have played a major part …

  At the door to the kitchen, she orders me to close my eyes. So I do, but not before I notice that the lights are off in there.

  Weird.

  So she steers me in and I’m taking tiny baby steps, terrified I’m going to trip over and top off a brilliant festive season with a broken head or something.

  She manoeuvres me into a particular spot and murmurs, ‘There. Don’t open yet.’

  So I stand there like a lemon in the darkness, wondering where Seb is in the room, and figuring that I must be facing the Crap Closet, with my back to the window.

  ‘Is that the big surprise, then?’ I enquire. ‘You’ve tidied up the Crap Closet?’

  ‘Close.’ Seb chuckles and I jump. He’s standing right next to me and, instantly, my legs turn to jelly.

  ‘Right,’ announces Barb, excitedly. ‘Now. Open.’

  So I do.

  And I cannot believe what I am seeing.

  The deep dark of the kitchen is the most brilliant backdrop for the shimmering oasis of colour and light before us.

  The Crap Closet has vanished without a trace.

  In its place, softly lit by hundreds of twinkling fairy lights, is a magical Christmas scene that takes my breath away.

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ I move slowly towards it, spellbound. ‘Are those fairy lights the ones I rescued from the skip?’

  ‘Yeah. There were five sets in that bundle you found,’ says Seb. ‘I managed to get three sets working, once I’d untangled them.’

  The double doors have been removed, effectively turning the horrible, messy cupboard into an elegant alcove. Framing the entrance is a wealth of Christmas greenery, the branches woven with ribbons and baubles in reds and golds, and filling our nostrils with the most glorious scent of pine trees.

  Peering beyond the lush greenery, I can see that the scratched and discoloured walls of the cupboard interior have been smoothed and brightened with a coat of white paint, the fumes still slightly tainting the air. A huge Christmas wreath hangs on the back wall and from the ceiling are suspended dozens of white ‘snowflakes’, hanging from silvery threads.

  The space is filled with a Christmas table that could grace the festive cover of any interior design magazine. It’s covered in a rich red cloth that I picked up in a charity shop and the glow from four fat church candles casts the softest of lights on our basic glassware and crockery, kindly concealing the odd chip or mark. And when I see the table decoration in the centre, I laugh with delight.

  ‘My tree from the skip!’

  It looks just the way I hoped it would. My simple but stylish wooden tree on a plinth, adorned with Barb’s home-made baubles in red and gold, hung on red ribbons from the branches.

  ‘Like it?’ asks Barb.

  I smile at her, my eyes blurry with tears. ‘Like it? I love it. Thanks so much. I’d no idea …’

  I lift the red cloth curiously and whoop in amazement.

  ‘Recognise it?’ Seb grins.

  ‘It’s one of your garden centre picnic benches.’ I shake my head in wonder. ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘It’ll be a bit of a squash fitting seven of you round it,’ he says. ‘You’ll need a chair at one end. But it should work.’

  ‘Let’s try it.’ Barb lifts her leg over the bench and Seb follows.

  I squeeze in beside him. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this for me. It must have taken you ages.’

  ‘Nah! Work of a few minutes,’ laughs Seb, nudgi
ng me gently and giving me a crinkle-eyed smile that makes my stomach turn somersaults.

  ‘What do you think of the chandelier?’ Barb flicks her eyes to the ceiling.

  I look up and gasp once more. This feast-for-the-eyes is so overwhelming, I hadn’t got round to noticing it. But the ‘chandelier’ is breathtaking.

  All those hours Barb has spent in her room lately have paid off in spades.

  She’s created a much bigger, more glamorous version of the string-and-glue baubles we made. Sprayed with gold paint, the delicate webbing of the big globe has been entwined, to stunning effect, with soft white fairy lights.

  ‘You should go into business,’ I laugh. ‘Set up an online Christmas shop.’

  She shrugs modestly. ‘It was fairly easy to do.’

  I smile at her. ‘Well, in the immortal words of “The Christmas Song”, “kids from one to ninety-two” would definitely be impressed.’

  ‘Who first sang “The Christmas Song”?’ asks Seb. ‘Frank Sinatra?’

  Barb stares up at the chandelier for inspiration. ‘Bing Crosby.’

  I shake my head. ‘You’re both wrong. It was Nat King Cole.’

  Barb frowns. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Bing Crosby was “White Christmas”.’

  ‘Really? I thought that was Bob Hope.’

  ‘Right, I think that’s my cue to leave,’ says Seb, laying his hand on my shoulder as he levers himself out of the bench. ‘I’ve got some calls to make and musicals definitely aren’t my thing.’ He gives me a mischievous grin. ‘Although I am partial to a bit of piano music, especially from the great Ashkenazy.’

  I flush, recalling the time in Jasper’s car when I was trying to impress him with my knowledge of ‘Mr Kenazy’ and Seb found me out.

  ‘Give me Elton John any time,’ I laugh.

  ‘Sorry?’ demands Barb. ‘Have I missed something here?’

  Seb catches my eye and winks, and a warm feeling envelops me.

  I’m feeling quite emotional anyway after everything that’s happened tonight.

  So I suppose it’s not surprising that sudden tears should spring up from nowhere.

  The next few days pass in a mad whirl of Christmas preparations.

  I finalise all the meals I’m making over the five-day period and draw up a list of ingredients. Then Barb runs me to the supermarket and helps with the big food shop. Our cranky fridge-freezer hums extra loudly in protest when I try to stuff everything in. I pray that it doesn’t decide to go on strike, like its old pal the washing machine, just in time for the festive season.