I take the present Seb has already attempted wrapping, and loosen the edges with my finger before refolding them and sticking them down in place, much neater than it was done before.
‘Wow,’ he replies. ‘Did you just re-do that?’
‘It’s just…present wrapping is an art form,’ I tell him. ‘And people donate good money to get their gifts beautifully wrapped.’
‘OK, so show me,’ he insists.
‘Erm, OK,’ I reply self-consciously.
I cut a piece of wrapping paper to size before placing a box of chocolates down in the centre. I borrow Seb’s finger, as I fold each piece with delicacy, before sticking it in place.
‘This is called a four corner tie,’ I tell him, wrapping red ribbon around the gold paper, forming a diamond shape on each side. ‘Then, you can tie a bow with the ribbon, trim it to shape, and you don’t even need a stick-on bow.’
‘You’re really good at this stuff,’ he tells me.
I smile.
‘I imagine Christmas has always been a really big part of your life?’
‘It has,’ I reply.
‘I can probably handle the wrapping, if you want to be on decorating duty?’ he suggests.
‘Sure,’ I say.
We only get through one present before Seb speaks again.
‘Was it you? Who did those things?’
‘It wasn’t,’ I answer. ‘It could possibly have been someone who thought they were acting in my best interest, who is very sorry about what they did…’
‘I see,’ he replies with a smile. ‘That’s nice, that you have someone willing to do that for you.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘You have a lot of good people around you – like your sister.’
‘She’s pregnant again,’ I blurt, unsure why I’m telling him.
‘Yeah? That’s great news,’ he replies. He wraps an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. ‘Congratulations, Auntie.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, feeling my cheeks flush as he hugs me. Real physical contact is not something we’ve had since our peck on the day we met.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s great news. And Chloe and Harry are amazing – I can’t wait to meet their brother or sister.’
It suddenly occurs to me that Seb and I just had a normal conversation, like normal people, and it was kind of nice.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ I ask curiously.
‘Only child,’ he replies.
‘Ahh, that explains so much,’ I reply.
‘Does it?’ He laughs.
‘Aren’t only children spoilt and bad at sharing?’
‘Hey,’ he says defensively. ‘I don’t exactly come from a well-off family, so I absolutely wasn’t spoilt growing up – except with affection, maybe.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, totally. Everything I’ve got, I built up myself, which I think is why I can be a little new money sometimes.’
‘I wouldn’t say you were new money…’
‘Not even with my sparkly Porsche?’ He grins, passing me another present to wrap ribbon around.
‘I am so sorry about that, really.’
‘It’s OK,’ he replies. ‘I’m guessing it was Gaz and I’m pretty sure he’s got your best interests at heart. That and that he maybe wants to sleep with you.’
‘Yeah, but he wants to sleep with everyone.’ I laugh. ‘What makes you so sure it was him?’
‘Because it turns out a witness saw the guy who did it – he was dressed as Santa Claus. So, that wasn’t a date you guys were on the other night?’
‘No, no,’ I say. ‘Sorry if we ruined your date with Charlie.’
‘That wasn’t a date either,’ he tells me. ‘She kept insisting she take me for a drink and tell me all about the town. She said she’d fill me in on everyone, so I didn’t see the harm. Plus, it was nice, bumping into you outside work.’
‘I bet you hardly recognised me, not surrounded by Christmas lights.’
‘Yeah, you definitely looked different. Good though.’
‘As did you,’ I reply. ‘I think that’s the only time I’ve seen you in something other than a suit.’
He laughs. ‘I’m pretty much constantly in meetings here – with council officials, contractors, et cetera – or on Skype business calls, so I dress smart. Plus, I just kind of like wearing them. I feel like a nice sharp suit gives me a nice sharp mind.’
‘Hmm, maybe I need to try that,’ I reply.
‘But you work so well in your pyjamas.’
I can’t help but admire the pile of perfectly wrapped presents we’ve amassed already. We actually make a pretty good team.
‘I don’t know if Charlie maybe assumed – or hoped at least – that the other night was a date,’ he says. ‘I never said it was or anything but…’
‘Yeah, I think she might’ve thought that but don’t worry too much. She bounces back easily.’
‘That’s all right then,’ he says.
‘Must be par for the course,’ I reply.
Seb just laughs.
It feels good, to be getting on so well, but I can’t push out of my mind that he’s going to knock my shop and my home down, and even if it was just in retaliation, he knows how hard I’ve been trying with the business so his stunt with the garden centre Santa Claus was especially cruel.
‘Wow, what a great job the two of you are doing,’ Prue says, admiring our handiwork. ‘You make a great team.’
‘Ivy is a great teacher,’ Seb tells her. ‘I was hopeless at wrapping, until today.’
‘Do you two want to be on a team for the tasting competition later?’
‘Yes,’ we both reply at the same time, glancing at one another in surprise.
‘Tasting competition?’ Seb enquires.
‘Every year locals can enter whatever festive food is selected into a competition,’ I say.
‘It’s all for charity,’ Prue explains. ‘Entrants pay a fee to enter, and the winner gets Marram Bay’s prestigious “Festive Favourite” award.’
‘Wow,’ Seb say. ‘Lots of responsibility then.’
‘It is,’ I agree. ‘It’s also one of my favourite festive traditions, because I get to enjoy a little bit of everyone’s variation on festive favourites. It’s loads of fun.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Seb replies.
‘I’ll see you two tonight then,’ she says. ‘And the auction tomorrow, will you be there too?’
‘Yes,’ we both say.
‘Marvellous,’ she replies. ‘Did I mention what a great team you make?’
As Prue walks off, I feel my cheeks blushing.
‘Oh no,’ Seb jokes. ‘Two days, spent with me. Do you think you can handle it?’
‘I’m sure I’ll find a way,’ I say.
Chapter 21
The tasting competition has long been one of my favourite festive traditions…until this year, because this year, the food in question is Christmas cake. I hate Christmas cake.
Seb and I are sitting at our table, waiting for plate after plate of Christmas cake to be placed in front of us. If it were a Yule log, or stuffing – I’d even take Brussels sprouts – just anything but Christmas cake.
Two identical plates are placed down in front of us, with neat little squares of Christmas cake topped with white icing.
I can’t help but eyeball it with disgust.
‘You OK?’ Seb asks with a laugh, obviously clocking the look on my face.
‘I hate Christmas cake,’ I tell him.
‘Uh-oh.’ Seb chuckles. ‘But you love all things Christmas – how can you hate Christmas cake?’
We’re interrupted by a little old lady, standing in front of us.
‘Hello,’ she says. ‘I’m Clara, from Clara’s Café, and this is my entry.’
‘Marvellous,’ Seb replies.
‘I made it back in August, using my mum’s recipe. I’ve been feeding it brandy every two weeks. Enjoy,’ she say
s with a smile, wandering over to the next table, to tell them all about her old cake.
‘See what I mean, that’s so gross,’ I tell him quietly. ‘People make it months in advance, it never goes off – even the cake needs getting drunk.’
Seb laughs. ‘I take your point,’ he says. ‘Maybe try a little?’
I raise the cake to my mouth but the smell – month-old, booze-soaked fruitcake (with way too much fruit and not enough cake) turns my stomach.
‘I can’t,’ I tell him.
‘It’s OK,’ he assures me.
‘It isn’t, look at that sweet old lady,’ I say, pointing over at Clara who is bursting with pride, telling everyone about her cake. ‘I feel so guilty.’
Seb pops his cake into his mouth. ‘I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas cake, but it’s all right,’ he says. ‘Tell you what…’
Seb stealthily switches our plates around, then proceeds to eat my piece too.
‘You can’t do that.’ I laugh. ‘You’ll be sick.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘They’re only small pieces.’
‘They’re only small, but they’re many,’ I tell him.
He glances around the town hall, noticing all the entrants standing by tables covered in samples of their cake.
‘Oh boy.’ He laughs.
‘Hello,’ a tall, thirty-something man says as he approaches our table. He places another two pieces of Christmas cake down in front of us, except his are round and simply dusted in icing sugar, instead of a piece of icing, which if anything must make it go down easier – like a spoonful of sugar.
‘Hey,’ Seb replies. ‘So, when did you start making your cake?’
‘I actually start mine on Boxing Day,’ he says.
I am almost sick in my mouth. This cake is nearly a year old and I know that I of all people should be fine with this, but it just makes me feel squeamish.
Seb raises the cake to his nose. ‘And the alcohol?’ Seb asks.
‘Red vermouth,’ the man replies. ‘Enjoy.’
One again, Seb eats his piece before swapping our plates, taking mine down too.
After the fourth round, Seb starts looking a little worse for wear.
‘You can’t do any more,’ I insist with a laugh. ‘You’ll be sick.’
‘I’m good,’ he says, not sounding good at all. ‘How many more?’
‘Four, I believe.’
‘Oh, God, no, I can’t eat eight more. We could just say we’re full?’
‘Everyone has worked so hard though,’ I say. ‘I’d feel so guilty – I feel so guilty already.’
‘Any ideas?’ he asks.
I glance around where we’re sitting, to see if there’s anywhere we can subtly dispose of the next eight pieces of cake, but there’s nowhere. Apart from…
I grab my handbag from the floor and glance inside – luckily there’s a plastic, 10p shopping bag in there, which should be more than enough to contain the next four rounds.
I open the bag up wide inside my handbag, leaving the bag open on the floor between us.
‘Just drop them in there,’ I tell him quietly.
‘OK.’ Seb laughs. ‘Good idea.’
Two at a time, cake samples are brought to us, and with an impressive subtlety, we swipe them into my handbag. It’s like a military operation, Seb watching my back, me watching his.
It pains me that I haven’t maintained the integrity of the competition, but of the entries Seb tried, he tells me which is best and we both cast our vote for that one. It’s another entry that wins – one that Seb didn’t taste.
‘Maybe I’ll fish it out of your bag and eat it later,’ he jokes.
The event comes to an end. After we’re all dismissed, we head out to our cars.
‘I feel sick,’ Seb tells me, as we hover by my car. ‘But that was a lot of fun.’
‘It was,’ I reply, all smiles. ‘But it would’ve been more fun if I’d got to eat some chocolate or something.’
‘Excuse me, everyone,’ Prue calls out, grabbing the attention of everyone in the car park. ‘I forgot to say that we thought it might be nice if tomorrow we all dress in black tie and ball gowns. I’m sure you’ve all got something hanging in your wardrobes.’
‘Well, my tux is in storage still,’ he says.
‘I don’t think I have a ball gown at all.’ I laugh awkwardly.
‘Excuse me, please,’ I hear a man’s voice say behind me. ‘Are you about to drive that car?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, turning around to see a policeman standing in front of me.
‘Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to take a sobriety test,’ he says.
‘Why?’ I ask, absolutely baffled.
‘There’s a bracelet on the ground. I assumed you’d dropped it, bent over to pick it up and noticed how strongly of alcohol you smell,’ he explains.
‘Everything OK, Ivy?’ Prue calls over.
‘Everything is fine,’ I call back, trying to sound like everything is fine, but I can’t help noticing I have most of the car park’s attention.
‘I haven’t had a drink,’ I say under my breath.
‘Well, you won’t mind taking a sobriety test, will you?’ he replies.
I’m not worried about taking the test, because I know that I’m sober, but this is a small town, and this is how rumours start. If people see me taking a sobriety test, no one will be talking about whether I pass or not, they’ll only mention the fact that I had to take one.
‘Oh, Ivy, it’s probably all the cake in your bag,’ Seb says.
‘Oh, my gosh, yes,’ I reply. ‘Officer, I have a bag full of Christmas cake, it’s probably that you can smell.’
The policeman gives me a suspicious stare.
‘No, really,’ I insist.
‘What’s going on?’ Prue asks.
‘I’m going to need you to show me inside the bag,’ the policeman says, ignoring her interference.
Now I’m in a pickle. I can show the officer inside my bag – my handbag full of Christmas cake – and put an end to this drunk driving nonsense, but now that Prue is watching, it’s going to make me look bad…although perhaps looking like I’m driving under the influence will look worse.
‘Fine,’ I say, holding my bag open in front of me.
During the walk from the town hall to the car park, the pieces have all kind of bashed together and either crumbled off or merged with a different one. It looks horrific, but it’s obviously the source of the boozy smell.
The officer takes a chunk out of the bag and sniffs it.
‘Pooh,’ he exclaims. ‘Yep, that’s what I could smell. Sorry for the accusation, miss.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say, hurriedly closing my bag, but it’s too late.
‘Ivy,’ Prue starts. ‘What was that?’
‘Er…’
‘It was just our leftover cake,’ Seb says, stepping in. ‘We tasted them all but, rather than eat every last bit, we just wanted to take them home and enjoy them. They were all so great.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Prue says. ‘You should’ve said so. I have all the untouched leftovers in my car. Come with me, I’ll give you both some to take home.’
‘Oh, yay, thank you,’ I say as convincingly as possible.
We follow Prue over to her car, giggling together like naughty little kids, to collect more Christmas cake which neither of us will be able to eat. I’m hoping that Gaz likes it, because I know that Holly doesn’t.
Seb gives me that cheeky smile of his as Prue hands us sandwich boxes filled with a variety of festive fruitcakes. I smile back because I’m having such a great time with him, and it’s nice to forget about my problems for a little while. Of course, thinking about how I’ve forgotten about my problems only reminds me of my problems, and that Seb is the root of them. I might be having fun with him, but I need to keep reminding myself who he is. He’s the man who is ruining my life, and while he might eat a few pieces of cake for me, he’s still more than happy to take my home
and my business. I just need to keep telling myself that.
Chapter 22
‘Santa’s been,’ Gaz announces.
Now that I’m able to rely on Gaz to open up of a morning, I don’t need to rush down first thing, which is great – not because I get to lie in, but because I have an eBay business to run now too.
‘Oh?’ I reply. ‘We’re not expecting anything.’
‘Postman Pete dropped it off this morning,’ he says. ‘He told me to tell you that he misses your chats now that I’m here opening up. I told him I didn’t take any offence.’
Gaz places the large cardboard box, addressed to me personally and not the business, on the counter and hands me a pair of scissors to open it.
‘It’s probably a symbol of Postman Pete’s love for you,’ Gaz suggests. ‘A sculpture of you made out of the hair that gathers in his bath drain.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t take offence.’ I laugh. God, I really hope that’s not what it is.
After carefully cutting the tape, I lift out three identical garment bags from the box. Inside each garment bag is a ball gown – all three gowns are identical, and absolutely stunning.
Each gown is made of silky rose-gold material, with cold shoulders, a V-neck at the front and a cowl back. The skirt part of the dress is pleated and, upon closer examination, has a split at the front on one side, which goes up to the thigh.
‘Oh my God! This…is…maybe the nicest dress I’ve ever seen,’ I blurt. ‘But I didn’t order them.’
‘There’s a card,’ Gaz says, peering into the box. He takes it out and reads it out loud. ‘“Ivy, I was buying a tux for tonight and saw this. Thought you might like it but didn’t know your size – hope one of the three fits. Seb.” Ergh, the smarmy git is trying to buy you.’
‘These are from Seb?’ I ask in amazement.
‘Yup, like, he gets you a dress, and you’ll just let him do whatever he wants, right?’ Gaz says sarcastically.
Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop Page 15
