by Rosie Green
I ask him about my role as prompt and how it will work during the actual performances and he starts telling me – although half of what he’s saying I miss because I’m too busy drinking in the gorgeous lines of his mouth as he talks.
Then I ask him how he got started in acting.
He smiles and runs a hand through his thick dark hair. ‘Well, it was all a bit accidental really. And fairly recent. I certainly didn’t grow up with dreams of going on stage.’
‘Really?’ I glance up at him in surprise. Silly, I suppose, but I always thought acting would be in a person’s blood – especially if you had a real talent for it, like Ethan - and that right from an early age, you’d know you wanted to be a performer more than anything else.
He shrugs. ‘It all started three years ago when I got a job in Nottingham and I had to move up there. I didn’t know a single soul.’ He gives a rueful smile. ‘Between you and me, I’m a bit awkward when it comes to socialising with people I don’t know that well.’
‘You? Awkward? Really?’
‘I tend to talk too loudly, saying all the wrong things and putting my foot in it, then I go home feeling really embarrassed.’
I nod in sympathy. ‘I know exactly what you mean. You always think of what you should have said once you’ve left and it’s too late!’
‘Precisely.’
He smiles into my eyes and a funny little shiver runs up my spine.
‘So anyway, my new next door neighbour in Nottingham, a lovely woman called Elsie, suggested I join her amateur dramatics group because it would be a good way to socialise and meet people. She said she thought I might even be good at acting.’ He grins. ‘I don’t know why she thought that, but it turned out she was right. I found I wasn’t too bad at all at treading the boards – and I loved it, which always helps.’
I smile, picturing Elsie taking Ethan under her wing and leading him to something he ended up loving. I like the image it conjures up. It feels like that’s what Ethan is doing for me.
‘Are you still in touch with Elsie?’
He shakes his head sadly. ‘Just a card at Christmas.’
‘So why did you leave the job in Nottingham?’ I ask, curiously.
An odd expression crosses his face and he glances at his feet for a second. Then he looks up and smiles. ‘Good question, Fen. I . . . well . . . I found I missed everyone too much. Family and friends.’ He shrugs. ‘I grew up here in Surrey, you see, and I found it tough being so far away from all the people I knew and loved.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t think I could ever move away. It would be so hard making new friends.’
He doesn’t reply immediately – just smiles wistfully, his eyes locked onto mine, and my stomach flips over. ‘It’s funny but I feel I can talk to you, Fen. Not just superficial chit-chat. I mean about the things that really matter.’
I smile back, warmth creeping into my cheeks and suffusing my whole body. Right at that moment, with Ethan’s dark chocolate eyes locked onto mine, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say,’ I tell him shyly.
‘It’s true,’ he murmurs. ‘I’m not great at opening up to people. But I feel totally relaxed with you. As if I could tell you anything and you’d understand and not judge me.’
There’s a beat of silence as my heart flutters madly against my ribcage.
‘Well, that’s . . . great,’ I croak.
Then Ethan murmurs, ‘I’d like to take you out so we can talk some more. What do you think?’
My heart starts hammering so loudly, I’m grateful there’s music playing in the background to drown it out.
‘I think . . . yes, please.’
‘Good. Let’s get something organised . . .’
‘Ethan?’ It’s Cressida and we both turn. She’s staring over at us, an unreadable expression in her beautiful feline eyes. ‘Can I have a word with you about the finale?’
Ethan jumps off the windowsill. ‘Yep. I’ll be right there.’ He smiles meaningfully into my eyes, and my insides perform several somersaults. Then he goes off to talk to Cressida.
I never get a chance to chat to Ethan again that afternoon as whenever I spot him on his own, Cressida always seems to get there with a query ahead of me. It surprises me that he doesn’t flirt back with her because she really is incredibly stunning. But if anything, he seems a little cool towards her, as if he’s trying to discourage her.
As I’m leaving, Ethan calls after me. ‘We’ll all be at the pub this Friday night, Fen. You should come along.’
I turn and he’s saying something to Cressida, pointing over at me.
She nods and sashays over to me, wiggling her tiny bottom, no doubt for Ethan’s benefit.
‘Ethan’s got to dash,’ she tells me smoothly, ‘but he said to give you the details. Eight o’clock Friday night in the bar of The Swan Hotel.’
I nod enthusiastically, colour whooshing into my cheeks. ‘Is it a Christmas night out?’
Her eyes narrow slightly. Then she nods. ‘Yes, it’s always a laugh. And we do fancy dress.’
‘Oh, gosh. Right, well, I’ll have to get my thinking cap on.’
She’s studying me with a faint smile on her face, as if she finds my awkwardness amusing.
‘We’re all getting dressed up as the thing we like most about Christmas. We did that at last year’s Christmas night out, too. There were lots of Christmas trees and a few snowmen and turkeys, and Ethan arrived as a giant mug of hot chocolate.’
‘Oh, right.’ I laugh at the idea. He’s clearly a man after my own heart! ‘That does sound like fun. I’ll have to come up with something good.’
She nods. ‘The more outlandish the better. That’s what Ethan always says.’
My heart feels light as I walk out to the car. It’s been another great afternoon, and I’ve even managed to have a pleasant conversation with Cressida! Maybe I’ve misjudged her. She could be one of those people who are wary of you until they get to know you.
It’s dark by the time I get home but as I drive through the main gates, I notice there’s a light on in the barn. Rob must still be working on the chairs.
I park outside and go in.
‘You put me to shame, working away,’ I point out.
He rests the lathe he was using on a nearby table. ‘When it’s your own business, the work never ends. I was hoping to get this chair finished tonight.’
‘It looks finished already.’ I gaze admiringly at it. ‘Can I sit on it?’
‘Be my guest.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’ Perching on the edge, I turn and smooth my hand over the stylish back, which has the look of a slender ladder. ‘You’re very talented, Rob.’
‘Aw, shucks.’ He grins and shrugs it off but I can tell he’s pleased.
‘What’s your favourite thing about Christmas?’ I ask him.
He takes a swig of coffee from a nearby mug as he ponders my question. ‘Sleeping. I never get a chance the rest of the year.’
‘Hmm. I suppose I could go in my pyjamas, carrying a hot water bottle.’ I frown, thinking. ‘Then again, maybe not.’
He laughs. ‘What’s this, then?’
‘Oh, just the am dram group’s Christmas night out. It’s on Friday. They’re all going dressed as their favourite thing about the festive season.’
‘Interesting. Who’s idea was that?’
I feel my cheeks growing warm. ‘Ethan’s, I think. He’s the director. You met him that time.’
Rob nods but says nothing.
‘I think my favourite thing is Christmas pudding.’
‘Made by you, I hope?’ He smiles. ‘Mrs Baker Extraordinaire.’
I smile pertly. ‘Well, of course.’ Then I sigh. ‘I love the whole Christmas pudding tradition, starting with “stir-up Sunday”.’
He looks at me quizzically. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘It’s usually the last Sunday in October. You’re supposed to make the pudd
ing then and keep feeding it with brandy until the big day.’
He nods slowly, pondering this. ‘Lucky pudding. So will you go to this night out covered in dried fruit with a topping of brandy sauce?’
‘Nice idea.’ I grin. ‘But I think a less messy option would be to hire a Christmas pudding costume?’
‘Might be a bit hot.’ He throws me a sideways look. ‘Temperature-wise, I mean.’
‘Well, yes, I guessed that’s what you meant. I’d hardly be hot in a sexy way dressed as a big ball of carbs.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He twinkles his slate grey eyes at me and I flush to the roots of my hair.
I really like Rob. Most of the time we chat away quite naturally but then he’ll say something provocative with that twinkle in his eye, making me go all self-conscious. Sometimes I think he does it deliberately to see me blush.
‘Anyway, it’s on Friday,’ I mumble.
He grins. ‘So you said.’
‘Which means I need to get something organised pronto.’ I dig out my phone and start to Google local fancy dress shops. This will be my first social outing with the group and I want to do it properly; really enter into the spirit of it. I’d like to show them I feel part of the group already, thanks to the way they’ve made me feel so welcome.
I also want to make Ethan smile.
A lovely warmth – like the glow of a festive log fire – spreads through me, thinking about Ethan.
I’m already picturing his appreciative grin when I turn up dressed as a festive dessert . . .
*****
It’s the day after the am dram meeting and Jaz and I are sitting huddled in our coats and scarves on the bench by the duck pond, eating lunch and marvelling at some hardy ducks swimming in the icy water.
She phoned me at eleven, just as my shift was ending, and suggested we have lunch in the café. But then we decided that since Ellie still looks as if she’s not sleeping properly, we’d rather not add to her workload, so we ended up buying sandwiches and braving the early December chill outside instead.
‘I don’t think Harry loves me any more,’ Jaz blurts out, half way through her cheese and pickle.
‘What do you mean? Of course he does.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not the same any more, Fen. He hates my Frank Sinatra CDs.’
I laugh. ‘Well, not liking someone’s taste in music is hardly a deal breaker.’
‘No. I know that,’ she says sadly. ‘But the thing is, at first, he just used to make fun of them. Now, he won’t even listen to them. He’s such a music snob, he actually leaves the room if I put one on to make a point. And he’s so untidy, sometimes I think he deliberately messes up my place just to annoy me.’
‘No, he wouldn’t do that, would he?’ I stare at her doubtfully.
‘And we’re always at my place. He invariably has an excuse why we can’t spend the night at his. Honestly, I’ve been in his house just twice in the entire three months we’ve been together. And I didn’t get further than the ground floor. Both times, we ended up sleeping over at mine.’
‘That’s a bit weird,’ I admit.
‘It makes me think he’s got something to hide.’
I shrug. ‘Maybe he just likes your place best.’
‘Could be, I suppose. His living room and kitchen are a bit dingy.’
‘A typical bachelor pad? Just a place to eat and sleep?’
She nods gloomily. ‘I’ve no idea what the upstairs is like because I haven’t even seen it! My place is a lot nicer.’
‘Well, there you go, then. Don’t complain.’
She sighs. ‘I sound as if I do nothing but complain about Harry these days. But I can’t help it. Our relationship started out so gloriously. We were madly in love and spending every single spare minute together. I really thought he was The One.’
‘I remember.’ I grin at her. ‘Ellie and I almost forgot what you looked like, you went to ground with Harry for so long.’
She laughs, remembering. ‘Those were the days. But then after that blissful “honeymoon period”, he started spending far more time with his mates than with me. Then yesterday, he booked a week away with them to Ibiza without even telling me first.’
‘Ouch.’
‘I know. I mean, there’s never any talk of us going on holiday together. I’ve dropped hints on a few occasions but they seem to fall on deaf ears every time. He’d clearly much rather spend his precious holiday with the real loves of his life. Greg and bloody Luke!’
I gaze at her anxiously. ‘But you love Harry, don’t you?’
She nods. ‘I’m crazy about him. But I’m just not sure he feels the same way. Not like he did when we first met, anyway.’
She looks so sad, my heart goes out to her. ‘Harry loves you, I’m sure of it. Perhaps he just needs some time adjusting to being in a relationship.’
Even to me, the words seem a little hollow.
Tears glint in her eyes. Jaz hardly ever cries. ‘I don’t know, Fen. I hate saying this but I’m starting to wonder if it’s a classic case of the sly man plan.’
‘The sly man plan? What on earth’s that?’
She shrugs miserably. ‘I’m going to make you dump me so that I don’t have to be the bad guy and chuck you . . .’
I stare at her, thinking about this. Then I shake my head. ‘Harry’s lovely. He wouldn’t do something like that. Why don’t you talk to him about how you feel?’
She grins ruefully. ‘Maybe I will. If I can pin him down.’
To cheer her up, I ask her if she and Harry are looking forward to the Snow Ball at Brambleberry Manor, which is less than a fortnight away.
Mum and Dad always hold a big Christmas bash at the manor on their wedding anniversary, the 14th December. They invite friends, family and business acquaintances alike to the ‘Snow Ball’ (there’s very rarely snow but Mum likes the name) and it’s always a fairly lavish do. When Mum organises an event, she likes to do it properly.
I’ve offered to take charge of decorating the entrance this year. Guests will be parking at the back of the manor and walking round to the main entrance, and Mum likes it to be really Christmassy and welcoming.
One year we had hundreds of candles marking out a meandering path to the front door. And another time, she had a Christmas tree erected near the entrance, and poor Dad spent the entire day in the cradle of a cherry picker decorating the grand Norwegian Spruce and remarking from time to time that it was an awful lot of bloody effort for one solitary evening. I knew he didn’t really mind, though. Mum can twist him round her little finger if she wants to.
Jaz nods. ‘Yes, we’ll be there. It’ll be a chance for me to spend a whole evening with Harry for once.’
‘Great. I’ve still got to find a date for it.’ I usually go alone but I’m thinking I might ask Rob if he wants to accompany me. His dad, Mick, will be there with Sylvia so it’ll be like a family get-together, not a date.
Before that, of course, I’ve got Friday’s festive night out to go to – and I tell Jaz about needing a Christmas pudding outfit pronto.
‘Oh, there’s a fancy dress shop in Palmerston and they definitely do Christmas puddings,’ she tells me. ‘I’m there tomorrow, taking Summer to her riding lesson. I could pick one up for you.’
‘Ooh, would you? That would be perfect.’
Jaz used to live in Palmerston with Summer’s dad, Grant. But the relationship went sour and Jaz fled to Sunnybrook to start a new life. But she did everything she could to stay in ten-year-old Summer’s life – and so far, it’s working out well. Summer now lives with her grandmother in Palmerston and often comes to stay with Jaz during the school holidays.
‘One Christmas pudding outfit?’ says Jaz. ‘Consider it done.’ She peers at me speculatively. ‘And is Ethan going to this night out?’
‘Everyone is, I think.’
She nods meaningfully and winks, and we burst out laughing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Bloody hell, Jaz. I
can’t wear that!’
I’m over at Jaz’s flat and I’m staring at the Christmas pudding outfit she’s hired for me, wondering if she’s gone completely mad. (She’s grinning from ear to ear like a total fruit loop, so maybe she has.) I shake my head at her, panicking that there’s no time now to change it for a more modest version.
This is not the suet pudding, roly-poly, fun costume I imagined it would be.
This is the sort of red hot, steam-from-your-ears, over-flowingly boob-licious outfit that I’d never dare to wear in public, even if I was paid to do it. It belongs in one of those pole-dancing clubs. Not the bar of The Swan Hotel where members of the local WI sometimes gather for a small sherry.
What on earth was Jaz thinking?
Surely she knows me well enough by now to realise that overtly sexy is just not my style.
‘You can easily carry it off,’ she says earnestly, seeing my face. ‘You’ve definitely got the figure for it. And there’s a chance you’ll carry off Ethan Fox as well, wearing this!’
I blush scarlet. ‘Jaz, I only joined the am dram group last month. I want to make friends with everyone. Not seduce the director!’
She grins wickedly. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes!’
I’ve half a mind to bundle the thing up and stuff it back in its bag without another look. But Jaz insists I at least try it on.
I figure there’d be no harm putting it on and seeing what I looked like. If nothing else, it will stop Jaz nagging me. So I disappear off into Jaz’s bedroom. Carefully, I slide on the cream fishnet stockings followed by the little strapless dress with its puff ball mini skirt below a satin-look bodice.
To my surprise, it fits like a glove.
I stand in front of the mirror on my tip-toes, trying to imagine the outfit with heels, turning this way and that. The little puffy skirt is really quite cute. It’s the colour of glossy dark chocolate and there’s a little sprig of holly decorating the fitted cream bodice.
‘Are you decent?’ shouts Jaz. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Okay,’ I call back doubtfully.
‘Wow!’ breathes Jaz, eyes open wide. ‘I never realised you had legs, Fen.’
