Last Christmas

by Lily Greene

  Last Christmas

  Lily Greene

  Copyright © Lily Greene 2015

  The right of Lily Greene to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  First published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  As Ella slipped past an old man, crawling forward at a tortoise-like pace, she eyed up the last basket that had longed to feel the embrace of a frenzied Christmas shopper. She picked up the basket stacked patiently next to the trolleys, slung it over her arm and marched through the parting doors in one graceful swoop. The force of the heating inside the door made her coat billow around her and she revelled in the new warmth.

  Ella Moore always looked glamorous. Her cheek bones were set high upon her face and her lips were rosy and plump. She had the air of a movie star about her as she sauntered through the supermarket in a sleek midnight blue coat. Her body was voluptuous, in a way that wasn’t in fashion anymore, and she knew how to use her curves to devastating effect. Ella was an artist, and despite the odd flick of paint on her sophisticated clothes, she always looked chic. She had no interest in high fashion brands but she had style.

  Now in the shelter of the supermarket, Ella tried to dry her curly hair with her hands. It had been raining in London since breakfast and Ella had forgotten her umbrella and been caught unprepared. Her rich brown locks spilled over the white fur headband she wore to keep her ears warm. Normally Ella straightened her curls but if there was a slight chance of rain there was no point. She blew a strand of hair away from her chesnut coloured eyes and focused on her shopping.

  Ella rubbed her frozen cheeks, as she steamed past the groceries and into the second aisle. She was on a mission. Her best friend Libby and her family, the Crosleys, were hosting a party that evening in the countryside. She only had a few hours to shop, get ready and drive out to the depths of Kent before the party started and she had been given strict instructions from Libby not to be late. If there was one thing Ella knew, nay feared, about her best friend, it was not to disregard Libby’s military-like precision and regard for punctuality.

  Ella pulled out a list from her coat pocket detailing the items she needed to buy; Christmas cards, hairspray, champagne, and icing sugar to finish off the mince pies she had prepared for the party. She found the stationery section first and decided to tease Libby by picking out a card that she knew she would hate. Libby would be stressed about the party and Ella thought that a dose of humour would do her the world of good. They had always teased each other like this in a sisterly way and it helped that Ella knew Libby’s specific dislikes. She selected a card which showed dreary looking angels with large pancake-shaped heads peering out from behind a tinsel-studded tree. Libby hated tinsel. Perfect. A smirk spread across Ella’s face as she imagined the distasteful look and then laughter that would follow the opening of the garish card. She picked up another more traditional and classier card; a water-colour of families ice-skating around a big frozen pond. The children dressed in Victorian smocks and scarves looked serene in the snow and Ella thought it would do nicely for Elisabeth and William, Libby’s parents.

  Ella turned the corner of the aisle to find her next item when she was struck by a luminescent display of Christmas lights and decorations all propped up on a tier of tables. The sight was magical; there were wreaths of intricately intertwined fairy lights, twigs of mistletoe, handmade Christmas crackers covered in glitter, and angel figurines with long flowing locks and glowing halos. In the middle of the display, some small stuffed Father Christmas dolls sat cheerily. The portly Santas were surrounded by straw and lodged in what looked like a crib. They looked bizarre next to the elegant wreaths, especially as they were taking up the place usually reserved for baby Jesus, but the overall look was sweetly festive and brought a smile to Ella’s now slightly less frozen face.

  Ella owed her love of Christmas to her parents who had been mad about the holiday. Swinging the basket on her arm and staring at the display, she remembered fondly that her father used to play Christmas songs all year round. It was normal to catch him singing ‘Deck the Halls’ while mowing the lawn in April and her mother would often start making Christmas crackers as early as August. This was one of the many things that Ella missed about her parents. They had died tragically in a car crash five years ago and although it pained her to be without them at Christmas, she counted herself lucky to have such treasured memories of them.

  Ella managed to tear her eyes away from the spectacular display and headed to the cosmetic aisle to pick up her second item; hairspray. She plopped an industrial sized can of L’Oreal Elnett into her basket and soldiered on through the supermarket.

  Walking down the length of the shop where all the aisles met the delicatessen counter, Ella could see a chirpy saleswoman at the far end, giving away free samples. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see what it was this rather pretty and very busty blonde woman was offering. As she advanced on the stall, the promotional sign became clearer. “Sleep like a log, after a glass of Eggnog”. Ella sniggered at the cheesy marketing.

  “Free taste?” asked the doe-eyed sales assistant, whose lip-gloss was almost as shiny as the Christmas lights hanging above her head.

  What is eggnog? Isn’t it some sort of bizarre concoction of egg and porridge? Probably incredibly sweet, Ella deduced, remembering its American origins. She made a mental note to ask Annie, her friend from Chicago, what eggnog was made of, when suddenly, Robbie’s face popped into her head.

  He is probably drinking a glass of eggnog right now with his new woman in some fashionable apartment in downtown Chicago … The thought soured Ella’s taste buds. She tried to drive the image from her mind and prevent resentment dampening her Christmas spirit.

  “No, thank you,” replied Ella. “I’m in a bit of a rush but it looks delicious!”

  She forced a smile as she walked away from the tasting stand and tried to think of something other than Robbie. But it was no use. For the first time, she thought about what it would feel like to be single at Christmas this year. To be without Robbie. She had spent the last five Christmases with him and his family. Since her parents had passed away, she and Robbie had created extravagant, fun and silly holiday traditions and this year, without even her brother who was away on business, she would be alone. Bitterly alone.

  Ella headed to the dried goods aisle to find icing sugar.

  Perhaps instead of shopping for sugar, I should be shopping for a man … No Ella!

  She was determined not to become Bridget Jones; she knew she must avoid wholesale-sized tubs of ice cream and karaoke nights with aging work colleagues. No good could come from attempting to drunkenly sing both parts of a duet. She should also steer clear of beige pants that were big enough to use as a sail. Or perhaps she should buy a pair and use them to float down the river Thames on a one-way trip to spinsterhood.

  No, Ella was determined not to take on the crazy cat lady identity just yet. She was only twenty-nine years old after all. So what if she was single? She had her health, youth, and talent. She had a good job at the prestigious Triangle Gallery, she was exhibiting her paintings at the trendy new Beat Gallery in a weeks’ time – her first ever exhibition! And she had recently bought a flat in North London. She had every reason to be happy.

  Ella awoke from her
pathetic pep talk to see a tall, broad shouldered man standing a few paces in front of her. He was staring at the coffee and although he had his back to her, she could see from his profile that he had a strong jaw-line, a chiselled roman nose and thick dark blonde hair. He was gorgeous. Ella pretended to be interested in the ingredients of a pot of cocoa powder as the Blonde Haired man turned to face her. When he swivelled around he revealed a bright festive jumper; a gleeful reindeer expanded the width of his torso and it stared at Ella with its two googly eyes, placed inappropriately over his nipples. The unfortunate placing of the eyes was accompanied by a flashing red nose plonked straight where Ella imagined his belly button must be.

  Ella could not help but giggle. The man looked ridiculous.

  What is this, wearable technology?

  She tried to stifle her laugh to stop this man from suffering any further embarrassment and attempted to turn her throaty cackle into a cough. Just as she started to feign a coughing fit, a lithe red-headed woman came out from behind her, linked arms with the now red-in-the-face Blonde Haired man, and stalked off down the aisle, dragging him with her.

  Ella felt a little mean for laughing at the poor man’s attire, which his wife had made him wear no doubt, but she detested Christmas jumpers. She adored Christmas and all festive decorations, but there was something about a Christmas jumper that made her skin crawl; they were ugly and cheap and were only worn by people desperate to prove how easy-going and funny they were. Ella’s pitiful ex-boss, Tim used to wear them at work Christmas parties; he wore them to show he was a ‘fun time guy’ who was mates with his employees. But really he was a balding middle-aged man, whose eagerness to laugh at his own jokes and relentless attempts to seduce much younger co-workers made him unbearable to work alongside. He was who Ricky Gervais’ fictional character David Brent must have been based on. In Ella’s eyes, Christmas jumpers were almost certainly the most deplorable aspect of Christmas.

  Ella picked up a small packet of icing sugar next to the cocoa she’d been fondling and made her way towards the alcohol aisle. She passed the wines and stopped at the Champagne. Did Libby prefer Moët or Veuve Clicquot? She couldn’t remember and she couldn’t afford to buy either until more of her paintings sold. But Ella, spurred on by Christmas spirit, placed a bottle of Moët in her basket and decided to use her credit card.

  Just as she was thinking about the evening ahead, a mother holding hands with a small waddling child walked past her. The boy was carrying a toy train and was producing enthusiastic sound effects to match the rolling motions he was using it to make. The little boy, who was about five years old, steamed towards Ella when he saw her. Using the train as a prop and crying “Choo chooooo”, the boy reached out his arm and ran the toy train around the hem of Ella’s coat. Ella smiled at the little boy, whose podgy face looked positively angelic.

  “Hello!” Ella said looking down at the boy.

  The mother sighed and rushed forward.

  “I am so sorry. He’s a little obsessed with trains right now as you can see! Danny, remember not to run into people please,” the lady said looking at her son.

  Ella reassured the mother that the child was adorable.

  Ella turned to the young boy and crouched down so that she was the same height as him. “I like your train. It’s very beautiful. Are you excited about Christmas?” she asked. The little boy said nothing, but nodded his head, his big watery eyes staring up at her.

  “And what would you like for Christmas?”

  “Trrrains,” he replied.

  “See, trains trains trains!” the mother chortled. “Say goodbye to the lovely lady Danny and wish the man a Merry Christmas.” The man? The chubby cheeked boy mumbled “Godbye and Mewwy Christmas,” not taking his eyes off Ella’s face. He almost stumbled into a display of Christmas chocolates as he tottered away from Ella, but his mother guided him in the right direction just in time to prevent a calamity.

  Ella stood up and waved the train enthusiast goodbye. She smiled down at her basket, checking she had all that she needed, and on realising she had finished her shop she turned back towards the checkouts.

  But instead of seeing a spotty uniformed shop assistant sunk in a distant checkout chair, Ella saw a beautiful man whose face was less than half a metre away from hers. There was only his basket between them and it touched her knees, blocking her way. Ella was so shocked at seeing this man so close to her that she let out a small high-pitched squeak. His still and calm stature gave no signs of having recently moved and he had clearly been just behind her throughout her encounter with the mother and child.

  A small embarrassed smile spread across the stranger’s handsome face and he looked shy. The stranger looked like he was in his late thirties. He had chocolate brown hair and his thick, masculine stubble was silvery in the places it was not auburn.

  She felt weak at the slightest hint of his smile and her whole body tingled as she stood facing the Brown Haired stranger. He looked like someone she knew, but who?

  Ella started to smile but just as the gorgeous Brown Haired man began to speak, a mobile ringing pierced the air. Ella realised that the furious sound was coming from her handbag; she put her basket down and rummaged through her suede bag, hoping to retrieve the phone and stifle its noise. She was irritated that it had distracted her from talking to this gorgeous stranger, but when she retrieved her phone and looked up, the Brown Haired man was gone.

  Ella answered her iPhone with a curt “Hello?”

  “Darling, hi!” Libby screeched down to phone. “Major disaster, you must help me! I need you!”

  “Oh Libby, it’s you. How are you? How’s everything going with the party?” Ella asked as she scanned the alcohol area, trying to spot the Brown Haired man.

  “Awful! Didn’t I just say? I’m stressing out because Marcus is coming.”

  “Marcus is coming? Why on earth is Marcus coming?” Ella asked surprised but distracted.

  “Because I’m a bloody idiot and when I bumped into him the other day I panicked and I invited him, that’s why.”

  “Oh gosh. Well, don’t panic. You’ve seen him many times since you broke up. It won’t be as bad as you’re imagining it to be.” Ella walked back through the supermarket but there was no trace of the Brown Haired man.

  She gave up her search and wondered to the bakery section. If Marcus was going to be at the party tonight then Libby would need cheering up and Ella, being Libby’s best friend, was well aware of her two great loves; cake and fashion.

  “But that’s not the only thing Ell,” Libby croaked nervously. “I invited his new girlfriend too.”

  “WHAT!” Ella cried. “Libby Catherine Crosley you don’t help yourself do you?”

  “I know, I know,” Libby giggled. “I’m an idiot. I’m so nervous. I just had to make this party harder for myself. Honestly Ella, I’m a wreck. I don’t want to see him and least of all her, and even least of all at my own party!”

  Ella sighed. Libby was indeed her own worst enemy; ever since they were little, Libby had always been getting herself, and Ella, into trouble.

  “Oh Libs. Okay, you need to go and have a bath to relax. You have a few hours before the party and your mum is there to help too. I can come early if you like?”

  “Hmm, don’t worry about coming early but –”

  “But the most important thing to do is to find a cracking outfit.” There it was. Fashion. The key to Libby’s heart. Libby worked as a stylist to the stars and her life was steeped in all things fashion. If Ella could distract Libby with clothes, accessories and make-up, then she might calm down.

  “Oooh you’re right Ell! Okay, what should I wear? I don’t have that many dresses at my parents’ house. But I’ve got a new Valentino number I haven’t shown you yet – it’s red, very Christmassy! Actually it might be a little over the top. I don’t want to look desperate or have my dad’s friends staring at my cleavage for a creepy amount of time; I don’t want them dribbling as I pass around the appetiz
ers!”

  Ella grinned. “Libs, do you know you’re wicked? What are your other options?” she asked as she looked at the Christmas roulades. She asked the lady behind the bakery counter how much the one with the white snowflake icing was, while Libby rummaged through her wardrobe on the other end of the phone.

  Ella could hear the metallic screeching of the hangers as Libby rifled through mountains of clothes.

  “Aha!” she squealed. “I’ve got that gorgeous black Versace dress?”

  “Hmm, which one is that Libs?” Ella asked, confused by her friend’s endless collection of couture.

  “It’s the velvety one. It’s a bit old but it still fits.”

  “Oh that one! Definitely wear that!”

  “Are you sure?” Libby asked hesitantly. Ella could tell she needed some more coaxing. She picked up the roulade from the counter and said “Definitely! I remember your arse looking particularly insane in that. Wear the Versace, you’ll look fit to fuck.”

  Just as the reassuring words slipped out of her mouth, Ella turned around to see the Brown Haired man standing right in front of her. She almost dropped the roulade on the floor.

  Shit, shit, shit! Her cheeks coloured from icy white to fiery red in seconds. How embarrassing! He stared at her with an unreadable expression. This second unexpected run in was not nearly as nice as the first one.

  Ella could hear Libby’s chuckle echoing menacingly through her phone speaker.

  “Oh darling, thank you. You’ve cheered me up! I’m going to go and get ready now, got a million and one things to do before the party. I’ll see you at eight, on the dot! Love you.”

  “See you tonight,” Ella murmured quietly. She hung up her phone shyly and put it in her pocket. To her disappointment, the Brown Haired man recoiled from her with a faint attempt at a smile. Taking a few steps backwards, he turned and disappeared along with his basket. Ella was so angry at herself.