Mistletoe and Mayhem

by Catherine Ferguson

  I’ll have to take her back on the train. Unless Rob and Justine run her home before heading back to Scotland.

  If there is a ‘Rob and Justine’ by then. Because the way things are looking between them, that’s definitely not a certainty.

  I’m so deep in thought, smiling to myself over the rubbish Trudy was spouting about me and Seb, that I almost don’t notice the couple coming out of the Red Lion pub up ahead. But the woman’s laugh is familiar and pulls me into reality.

  It’s Barb.

  She knows nothing at all about my far-from-merry-Christmas. Suddenly, I can’t wait to talk to her.

  I’m quickening my step, about to wave madly to attract her attention, when I see Seb emerge from the pub.

  Barb points at him and laughs, and he catches her around the waist, leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek.

  I stop dead in my tracks and watch them, walking away along the street, chatting companionably. I can’t go up to Barb now. I’d feel like a gooseberry.

  And, as I stand there, blocking the pavement, with busy shoppers having to step around me, I can’t help wondering what Trudy would make of their body language.

  I have to wait ages for a bus and, when it finally arrives, there are so many Christmas shoppers in the queue, it fills up before I can board it. So I have to wait for the next one.

  Then the bus takes an age to wend its way along the car-clogged route.

  It’s almost three o’clock by the time I finally arrive home. The last thing I feel like doing is preparing our Christmas Eve feast of roast lamb and the sherry trifle that Mum loves. But it has to be done.

  At least the oven appears to be working again. Rob reckons it’s a dodgy connection because when he slammed the oven door shut, the light came on again.

  I smile grimly.

  Dodgy connections appear to be a theme of this year’s festive season.

  I let myself into the main building and run up the stairs to Jasper’s flat to borrow some baking trays. (His kitchen equipment is so much better than ours and he said I could use whatever I needed.)

  I scrabble for the key, let myself in and head for the kitchen.

  There’s obviously no one in because it was double-locked. Then I stop dead. There are noises coming from the living room.

  I shuffle closer to the door, which is slightly ajar.

  Someone gasps loudly and seems to be having trouble getting their breath.

  Worried, I lean nearer.

  Oh God, it sounds like someone’s having an asthma attack. What with all those gasps and groans …

  I burst into the room, all ready to put my St John’s Ambulance training into practise.

  Jasper’s leather sofa squeaks and Barb’s head pops over the back of it. She’s all dishevelled and seems to have lost her top.

  Barb’s having sex? In Jasper’s living room?

  With Seb?

  My heart starts hammering like crazy.

  I think I’m about to be sick.

  And then a tousled dark head pops up on the sofa beside Barb.

  Jasper?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me you fancied Jasper?’ I demand.

  We’re downstairs, on my bed. I’m sitting with my back to the wall, arms folded, and Barb’s lounging, almost flat-out, with her head propped in her hand.

  She grins rather sheepishly. ‘I didn’t know myself until you went out for dinner with him that night and I found myself feeling really jealous. Then Jasper came down one time when you weren’t there and confessed he liked me but that Seb had warned him not to ask me out.’

  ‘Seb stopped the two of you getting together?’ I stare at her in astonishment. ‘Why would he do that?’

  She smiles. ‘To protect you. He thinks you’ve got the hots for Jas.’

  ‘Well, I hope you put him right.’ A light goes on above my head. ‘Hang on. That’s why you were quizzing me that night about whether I really liked Jasper and whether I wanted to go out with him! You were checking I didn’t have designs on him so you could have him yourself!’

  She grins. ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘But you kept saying you thought he was an idiot.’

  She frowns. ‘Not an idiot. He’s far from being that.’

  ‘Okay. A “bumbling fool”, then. They were your exact words, so don’t try to deny it.’

  She shrugs. ‘What can I say? He’s the most disorganised man – person – I’ve ever met. But you can’t choose who you fall in love with.’

  I whoop with laughter. ‘So much for your Frontal Lobe Theory.’

  She sticks out her tongue.

  ‘Seb thinks you’re mad about Jasper, too,’ she says after a while. ‘So it wasn’t just me getting the wrong end of the stick.’

  The mention of Seb sets my cheeks alight. To change the subject, I ask her about Jasper and Mike Newsham.

  Her face lights up. ‘He’s got a meeting with Mike at the Pear Tree Hotel in Pottersdale later this afternoon. I think Mike’s interested in signing them up.’

  ‘Wow, that’s fab. I’m so pleased for him.’ I leap off the bed. ‘Fancy a brew?’

  In the kitchen, Barb wanders through to our Christmas nook and switches on the fairy lights. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she says in wonder, touching the dangling snowflakes and making them swirl about.

  I bring our mugs through. ‘I know. It’s brilliant. However did you come up with the idea?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she says. ‘It was all the product of Seb’s imagination.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. He’d obviously been thinking about the hole you were in because he came to me with his brilliant plan to turn the Crap Closet into a dining room. He’d worked it all out. Putting the crap into the garden shed, painting it white, bringing the picnic bench from the garden centre.’

  I stare at her.

  He did all that for me?

  She smiles mischievously. ‘I think he has a bit of a crush on you, to be honest.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘He fancies you.’

  I flush to the roots of my hair.

  ‘Ooh.’ She points. ‘And something tells me you wouldn’t exactly be averse to the idea of snogging Seb either.’

  I laugh scornfully, to imply as if!

  But our steamy encounter in Jasper’s kitchen is suddenly looming large and disturbingly erotic in my head …

  She sighs. ‘Shame, really. Seb’s so lovely. But now that he’s decided to move lock, stock and barrel to the Scottish Borders, I guess there’s no point me trying to match-make now.’

  ‘Scottish Borders?’

  My heart gives an uncomfortable thud.

  ‘Yeah, I bumped into him in town. He was heading off to the garden centre to fill in for Santa but we had time for a quick drink. You know he’s buying another garden centre up in the Borders, so he’s going to be house-hunting there. He’s really enjoyed sharing a flat with Jasper but I think he’s looking forward to having his own space again and …’

  Barb talks on about Seb and his plans but I’m finding it impossible to concentrate.

  I’ve got this panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach and a fluttery sensation in my windpipe. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Is this what Mum feels like when a panic attack comes on?

  ‘Are you okay? You’re white as a sheet,’ says Barb.

  I stand up and my head swims, and I have to steady myself on the table.

  ‘I’m fine. I think I just need some fresh air.’

  ‘If you’re sure. I’m just popping back to see Jasper.’

  I smile. Of course. She’s desperate to get back to him.

  My legs feel like cotton wool but I make it out into the back garden and take some huge gulps of air.

  I sink down onto the old bench with the paint peeling off it and stare at the frost-encrusted hedge, Barb’s words going round and round in my head.

  Seb’s leaving. Moving to the Scottish Borders. Why
do I feel as if it’s the end of the world?

  So many awful things have happened over the past few days. But none of them – not even Dad wrecking the Christmas tree – have left me feeling quite so wretched and empty.

  I keep staring at the hedge. At the glossy green sprigs of holly with their jewel-red berries. The colours are so beautifully vibrant against the snow …

  Hang on.

  Holly? Berries?

  I continue staring for a while.

  Then slowly, my face breaks into a smile.

  I’ve trudged along so many lanes this Christmas searching for holly. I’ve even considered going out at the dead of night and nicking some from the hedge over the road.

  And all the time, it was right here.

  In my back garden.

  A warm feeling starts to spread through me.

  I suppose I’ve known for a while that Seb liked me. But I was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it. Because I was afraid of what it might mean.

  I draw in a big breath of clear, frosty air.

  The emotions within me are slowly disentangling, forming into a single, coherent thought.

  I need to get to the garden centre.

  I have to tell Seb how I feel.

  Everyone knows it’s impossible to get a taxi on Christmas Eve.

  The buses are so packed, they simply sail right past the stop without even slowing down. And a lift from Barb is out of the question. She and Jasper have waited long enough to get to grips with each other. I’m not going to tear them apart now.

  Right.

  My bike?

  I dive round the side of the building to check the state of the roads.

  Treacherous. My destination is the garden centre. Not the hospital emergency department.

  There’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to walk.

  At least it’s a lovely, crisp, blue-skied day.

  I dive into my room and grab my trainers and the first woolly jumper that comes to hand. The pavements are clear of snow, so I decide on a slow jog.

  By the time I’ve reached the pub on the edge of the village, I’m warm enough to ditch the jumper and tie it around my waist. It’s one Barb knitted and it’s all colours of the rainbow, but none of that matters. I just need to get to Seb.

  The snow is fairly thick on the ground out here, beyond the well-trodden shopping part, but it’s at that freshly-lain, crunchy stage that’s not very slippery at all. So I jog on.

  People are staring at me from passing cars – possibly admiring my jumper – but I don’t care.

  I’m on a mission.

  And nothing is going to stop me.

  Oh, God.

  Except perhaps Nathan.

  Spotting him up ahead, I slow to a stop, bending over at the waist and gulping in air.

  I glance behind. No sign of the statuesque blonde of earlier. Her blisters must have defeated her and Nathan has run on without her.

  I don’t want him seeing me.

  But as long as he doesn’t turn around, he won’t know I’m there.

  I set off, jogging at my usual pace, and since he’s running faster than me, the distance between us increases so I can breathe more easily.

  Until an old, souped-up Subaru races past full of teenage boys, hollering and whistling at me.

  Bugger!

  Nathan turns round to see what the commotion is.

  Oh hell, he’s seen me. He’s stopping.

  In a panic, I glance to my left.

  I could dive over the hedge and plunge into the field beyond it. But I’d be waist deep in snow, by the looks of things, so probably not my best idea.

  I press doggedly on, resigned to my fate.

  ‘That’s it. Keep going. You’re nearly there,’ he shouts encouragingly, like I’m one of his personal trainer clients.

  Stupid prat.

  I draw level with him and keep on going, much to his obvious surprise.

  ‘Hey, Lola, changed days,’ he laughs, running to catch me up. ‘There was a time you’d use any excuse available to take a breather.’

  Not if I’m running away from you, you moron!

  He jogs alongside me, checking me out. ‘You’ve lost weight,’ he says admiringly. ‘I bet you could fit into that dress I bought you now.’

  I bark out a laugh. ‘I might be a little slimmer, Nathan, but forcing myself into that skinny black tube and holding my breath for hours on end is not my idea of a good time.’

  He puts a hand round my (slimmer) waist. ‘Talking of a good time,’ he murmurs, ‘it’s still hanging up in the wardrobe if you want to try it on. We could go out for dinner after. What do you think?’

  I stare at him in amazement.

  Nothing changes. He’s as arrogant as he ever was, assuming I’ll drop everything (quite literally) to spend the night with him, regardless of how many other stupid women are queuing up for his favours!

  What the hell did I ever see in him?

  ‘You know what, Nathan? I’d love to go back with you and try that dress on.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘But I’m busy.’

  ‘Oh?’ He looks puzzled.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got to count the bristles in my toothbrush.’

  I’d love to flounce off on that high note and leave him standing there, like in the movies, but sadly, it’s not possible. To my intense irritation, Nathan keeps pace with me, presumably thinking if he hangs on in there, I might still weaken and take him up on his delightful offer.

  A car draws up and Barb’s voice yells, ‘Lola! Get in. We’re giving you a lift.’

  At the sight of Jasper’s car, my heart lifts.

  ‘Gotta go.’ I wink cheerfully at Nathan and hop aboard.

  Jasper turns and grins from the driver’s seat. ‘Destination garden centre?’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  Five minutes later, they drop me off and zoom away.

  The queue for Santa is long and noisy. It snakes along the Christmas card aisle and round into the festive jumpers section.

  I join the line, my heart banging like a frenzied, out-of-control drummer.

  I haven’t planned what I’ll say to Seb. I’m just going to wing it.

  The stern-faced elf is on duty, moving down the line with the felt-letter board that says, Sorry, Santa has to go and get his reindeer ready for the Big Night. Merry Christmas!

  She plonks it down right in front of me.

  I stare at her in alarm and blurt out, ‘But I’ve walked all the way from Scarsby. I’ve got to see Santa.’

  There’s a few sniggers behind me and I blush like a beetroot.

  The elf looks at me like I’m one window short of an advent calendar and snarls, ‘There’s always next year.’

  She folds her arms and stares at me, clearly waiting for me to leave.

  Shit, bugger, bollocks!

  I wander away, feeling sick with disappointment. Talk about an anti-climax.

  What do I do now?

  I lurk behind a big display of Christmas cards for a while, then I sidle back up to the end of the queue and stand nearby, trying to look nonchalant and fade into the background.

  I’m waiting for my moment.

  When the elf turns her back, I grab the board and race off to the ladies’. It’s empty, thankfully. So I rest the board on the washbasins and start playing with the felt letters, trying to think of a message for Seb. It needs to be light and playful. Nothing too heavy or I might scare the poor man off.

  I know!

  Fancy putting your shanks into my free-standing Montpelier?

  I’m chortling away, feeling incredibly pleased with myself. Seb will crack up at this! Then I think of the line of kids and their mums, patiently waiting to see Santa. Getting done for lewd behaviour in a grotto would not look good on my CV.

  Eventually, after a few false starts, I settle on: Have yourself a merry little Christmas – with me?

  I need to sneak into the grotto and hold up the board. But the elf is dangerously n
ear, chatting to a customer by the snow globe section.

  How the hell am I going to get past her?

  Ah! I know.

  I sidle over to the display of festive honkers the kids were experimenting with when they were told off for ‘playing with the merchandise’. I used to love these when I was a kid. You just turn them upside down and they emit this noise that’s a bit like a donkey braying. I grab two in each hand and turn them all upside down at once. And I keep doing it.

  Sure enough, old Elephant Ears turns furiously in my direction and starts marching over to find the honking culprit.

  I nip round the other way, neatly avoiding her, and hurry with my board into the grotto, just as Seb, in flowing red robes, is saying goodbye to a small visitor.

  I hold up the board and he stops in mid-sentence and stares at me. Then at the message.

  I wait with racing heart for his reaction.

  When I imagined confessing my feelings to Seb, I’d envisaged him staring at me tenderly and clasping me to his broad chest, eyes misting over with happiness.

  Instead, he’s looking at the message with a slight frown on his face, as if he can’t quite believe what a ridiculous numpty I am.

  My heart is hammering miserably.

  Can I really have got this so wrong? I would just like the grotto’s forest floor to swallow me up.

  ‘Can you read that, Ryan?’ asks Seb.

  Ryan shakes his head.

  ‘Lola?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You might want to turn it the right way up?’

  I glance down in horror. Trust me to ruin the big moment. Flustered, I turn it around.

  He stares at it for a second, then his gaze moves to my face. There’s an oddly wistful look in his eyes that makes me feel suddenly uncertain.

  ‘Have a happy Christmas, Ryan,’ he murmurs, and the boy goes out, clutching his gift.

  ‘That’s a lovely invitation,’ he says softly, his eyes still fixed on mine. ‘The loveliest I’ve ever received, in fact.’

  ‘It is?’ My heart starts bumping even more wildly against my ribcage.

  He nods and maybe it’s my ever-hopeful imagination, but I could swear those ferny green eyes are a little bit misty.