Sequins and Snowflakes

by Jane Linfoot

  He gives a smirk. ‘I’d have thought that was obvious, even to a sheltered Cornwall girl like you.’

  ‘It’s a box of twelve.’ I’m almost wailing.

  ‘Un-started,’ he says. ‘That should count for something.’

  Somehow, it makes it worse rather than better that he’s even thinking along those lines.

  ‘But we hardly know each other…’

  ‘As if that matters.’ His sniff suggests I’m stupid. What’s more, he’s entirely unembarrassed. ‘I’m laid back about many things, but in my book it’s very bad manners to leave a woman hanging for want of a condom. You may well be thanking me for my vigilance at some point down the line.’

  Now I’ve heard it all. ‘Sometimes you are so full of shit, Quinn.’ Even as I’m spitting it out, I’m aware I’m stealing Alice’s line here. And I’m also aware that something about the combination of his straight-up delivery and his enthusiasm makes him damned hard to stay annoyed with for long.

  ‘Not at all.’ Now it’s his turn to protest. ‘Sex just happens to be what I’m good at. Along with making deals and being persuasive. I promise, you would – you could – have the time of your life with me.’

  ‘Per-lease… that’s enough.’ I’m noting that persuasion seems to be a common factor here. This time when I clamp my eyes closed and shake my head, I don’t get any couple pictures at the beach. There is a tiny thought about once, a very long time ago, when I did have the time of my life. I push that to the back of my mind. I haven’t found it since, and between us, it’s a search I gave up on years ago. And I’m not about to re-start now.

  ‘No, really, think Michael Hutchence, or Prince.’ Quinn’s eyes are wide with truth. What’s even more unbelievable, he’s being serious. ‘Both renowned for being phenomenal in bed – and out. That’s the standard you’ll be looking at with me. When you get to know me better, if that’s how you’re comfortable.’

  He’s making it sound more like he’s delivering a service. I mean, who bigs themselves up like this, in the cold light of day? What’s more, he seems to have missed that the guys he’s comparing himself to are dead. Which is hardly sexy, is it?

  He’s still being as matter of fact as if he were talking about an app. ‘Let’s hope there’s a time when you decide I’m irresistible.’ He’s laughing now and when he laughs it’s very tempting to believe the publicity.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, ironically, meaning exactly the opposite. Somehow I think I’ll fight and resist, however husky his laugh is. ‘So what do you do when you aren’t using up your condom supplies?’ This seems like a good way to move the conversation on.

  He flops down next to me on the floor and props his chin on his hand, being careful not to take the heat from the fire. ‘Work, play. Lots of play.’ He laughs again. ‘I take the company team to Escape Rooms.’

  ‘Keep going…’ I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

  ‘They’re video-game adventures, recreated in real life. You get locked in a room and you have to solve puzzles to get out. We’ve done them worldwide.’

  ‘Wild,’ I say, meaning anything but. It sounds like a typical geek-guy thing.

  ‘Talking about escaping…’ The way he pauses adds to the dramatic effect. ‘With your talent, you really shouldn’t be stuck in this backwater.’

  ‘No?’ Only Quinn could have got from games to this veiled insult in one over-exuberant leap.

  ‘You should come to stay with me in London for a while. You’re wasted here – on every level. With my contacts, your career could be stratospheric.’

  Only Quinn would use that word. When Johnny warned me about him, I assumed he was talking about him playing the field, not rolling through my life with the force of a seismic wave.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m happy here.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great place for holidays. But unless you’re a surfer or a seal, it’s a dead loss full time. The only reason you’re living here is because you gave up on yourself. So how long ago did you get hurt?’

  I drive the surprise out of my eyes and flatten my voice. ‘W-why would you think that?’ How on earth can he work out what no one else has, in all the time I’ve been here? Not even my gran knew I was running away. That selfishly, me staying to look after her was as much for my benefit as for hers.

  ‘Easy.’ Shifting his legs, he pulls down the corners of his mouth. ‘It’s the only possible reason a woman like you would be living here, behaving like a monk.’

  ‘Monks are men,’ I point out. If he makes a mistake that basic, he can be wrong about the rest too. ‘How would you have the first clue, anyway?’

  His eyes narrow. ‘Instinct. I can sense it a mile off. You haven’t had decent sex in years.’

  So sure of himself and he’s back to that again? ‘You’re so wrong.’ It’s my word against his. And luckily there isn’t a lie detector in the room.

  ‘I’d bet my life on it, but I’m not going to argue. The important part is, you need to move on. And I can help you do that.’

  ‘A fling with Mr Shag-around? That’s going to be really helpful. Not.’

  He sighs and his foot moves very slowly, and comes to rest on my ankle. ‘I’ve been wild, pretty much forever, for a lot of reasons. But there comes a time when even the crazy guys get to settling down – we’re hard-wired that way.’

  Deep down I know I should readjust my legs to push him off. But I don’t. Simply because it feels comfy. And because somehow he sounds so sincere.

  ‘Have you got any Christmas songs on your phone?’ I ask. Getting stuck on the island was bad enough, without throwing in the analysis too. At least a sing-along might stop him dissecting my life. Given there’s zero signal, it’s not as if his phone’s useful for anything else.

  I laugh at his very guilty nod. Between us I doubt he’d admit this to his bestie music-producer mate. But a second later ‘The Power of Love’ is echoing off the walls so loud it’s making the glass on the oil lamp vibrate.

  After a few glasses of Buck’s Fizz, I do a pretty good job on the chorus to this one, but on balance, given the loaded lyrics, I decide to leave singing along until the next track.

  ‘Shall we light those candles?’ Quinn’s eyes are shining.

  All I have to do is watch his broad thumbs as he lights the candles and drips the hot wax to stand them up. And every time there’s a match to blow out, he offers it to me. As he lines up the jars of flaming candles in front of the wood burner, the first notes of ‘A Winter’s Tale’ tinkle around the room.

  Where are all the up-tempo tracks? This one is way too dreamy to be listening to in a wood cabin that could have come off a poster from the Lapland Tourist Board. It’s the kind of emotionally loaded track they play on Pirate FM, when couples phone in to say what was playing the night they got together. I must have drunk way too much champagne, because the melody is almost making me tear up. The fire light is flickering on Quinn’s face, illuminating the shadows on his light brown stubble. I’ve heard of beer goggles, maybe I’m suffering from champagne shades here.

  ‘I’m truly sorry about the “Surprise and Delight”, Sera.’ He rubs his chin. ‘Bad call on my part.’

  ‘No problem.’ I give a sigh. Apologies aren’t what I’d expect from Quinn. ‘“Surprise and Delight” sounds more like the name of a pudding.’ The box is still on the floor at my feet. If it’s anything like my toes, it’ll be getting scorched by the heat of the fire. I’m silently daring him to make a tacky quip about using the contents for dessert, but it doesn’t come.

  ‘Hey, our rips match.’ He hooks his finger through the ragged hem of my shorts.

  ‘So they do.’ However inviting the ripped denim on his thigh looks, I’m not going to reciprocate.

  Then next thing I know, he’s sliding his finger through my belt loop and giving a gentle tug. And you know what? I haven’t even protested. If I lean in, I know what’s going to happen next. The rub of his stubble on my fac
e, the tingle, the taste. Exactly what Alice banned. It’s not that I often agree with her. But even through my wine haze, I can spot a bad idea when it’s this wrong. If my legs didn’t feel so damned relaxed, I’d get up and walk away. Pretend to do the washing up. Instead I clamp my eyes closed and try for a mindfulness view of the beach to calm me down. But the image that flashes into my head is an open glovebox full of parking tickets. Parking tickets? I’m trying to work that one out when a sharp rap on the summer-house door makes me jump so hard I kick the champagne bottle over.

  ‘What the eff…?’ Quinn jerks his hand back, makes a dive to save the last inch of fizz, then squints over his shoulder. ‘Johnny? How the hell did he get here?’

  One more knock and the door swings open. The gust of wind that bursts in with Johnny is so strong it blows out all the candles.

  ‘Sorry to break up the party… but I found your boat.’

  21

  Wednesday, 21st December

  By the coach house at Rose Hill Manor: Not quite perfect

  ‘You were stranded? On the island? But how? Why? When?’

  If I’d forgotten how thorough Alice could be when she turns her mind to interrogation, I’m remembering now. It’s embarrassing enough already, being careless enough to not only lose a boat, but also get found half sozzled with Quinn. Having a welcoming committee waiting when we get back to The Manor makes it ten times worse. While I’m thanking my lucky stars Johnny came across the drifting boat while he was test-driving Cinderella’s carriage, it’s a shame that Alice didn’t arrive for her personal carriage inspection a teensy bit later. That way she need never have known. She’s also brought Poppy and Immie along with her too, as a ‘thank you’ for decorating the holiday cottages, so there’s no chance I’ll ever live this down.

  ‘It wasn’t a big deal, it was over before it began…’ I say, ignoring three puzzled frowns. Quinn definitely had the right idea. He disappeared into the house faster than you could say ‘desert island’, muttering something about wine deliveries. ‘And anyway it’s great we’re all here to see the carriage.’ I’m putting a positive spin on this. Given how picky Alice is, it might have been better if she had her first view of the carriage without Poppy and Immie as an audience. If she dishes out her usual criticism she’ll look like an even bigger bitch queen than she does already. As we stand in our huddle in front of the coach house waiting for Johnny and the coach to arrive, Alice is already tapping her toe impatiently and looking at her watch. Poppy snuggles further inside her parka hood and sends me a sympathetic grin.

  As we hear the rumble of cart wheels on gravel coming closer, we turn. I’m not sure what I was expecting. But the sight of the sturdy white horse tossing its head and slowing to a walk in front of the small open carriage is so beautiful, it takes my breath away.

  ‘Wow,’ Poppy and Immie chorus.

  And then there’s Johnny, sitting up in front, holding the reins, grinning down at us.

  ‘Isn’t the horse lovely?’ I say, trying to hide that I’m doing a total double-take at this particular incarnation of Johnny. I’m also trying to make sure I head off Alice’s criticisms. Whereas Immie, Poppy and I are so impressed we’re almost speechless; if I know Alice-the-Bride, any minute now she’ll break her silence with a crushing comment. I’m so used to her barbs, I shake them off. Part of me suspects she doesn’t actually realise she’s doing them. I know Johnny is nothing more than someone I once knew and he’s also a hundred per cent able to stand up for himself. But knowing how hard he’s worked to make the carriage run makes me want to leap in and save him from Alice.

  ‘This is Snowball.’ Johnny secures the reins, jumps down and pats the horse’s neck as he passes.

  ‘Aren’t white horses supposed to be lucky?’ I ask.

  ‘You can make a wish when you see one,’ he laughs. ‘Although the catch is there’s no such thing as a white horse, they’re called greys. If you look closely, this guy’s got some dappling on his bum too.’ Johnny gives him an affectionate rub on the rump. Anyone coming for a ride?’ Opening the side door of the carriage, he pulls down a step and holds out his hand to Alice.

  I’m praying to the god of pumpkins that she’s not building up to some withering dismissal. When Alice doesn’t step forward we all turn to look at her. She’s standing, her face all bunched up, scraping her nail under her eye.

  ‘Alice?’ As I step towards her she gives a loud sniff. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ She pulls a hanky out of the pocket of her trench coat and blows her nose. ‘When we talked about the carriage, I had no idea it would be so perfect, that’s all.’ Her voice has gone small and croaky, and she sniffs again.

  ‘Babe,’ I say, because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her cry before. She’s tough as nails. Tougher even. Crying isn’t her bag at all. It’s amazing how the emotional charge of weddings can crack the hardest people. As I put my arm around her, and squeeze, my own eyes are bleary with tears. I’m so happy that something has finally met her expectations. This is obviously important to her.

  Johnny swallows. ‘It’s buffed up well.’ Serious understatement alert there, considering the dusty wreck he had in a hundred pieces only a couple of days ago.

  ‘You’ve done so much work, I can’t begin to thank you.’ Alice reaches up to give Johnny a peck on the cheek. ‘Really, arriving in this is going to make my wedding day. I mean, imagine the pictures.’ Her voice is high and dreamy. It’s a minor detail, but we’re staying at the Manor the night before the wedding, then Johnny’s going to draw up outside in the carriage, so it looks as if she’s just arrived.

  ‘It’s open, so it’s pretty cold when you’re moving,’ Johnny says, as he helps her in. ‘We’ll go up the drive and back now, that’s far enough to give you a feel for it.’

  Immie and Poppy get in after her and I’m about to follow, when Johnny puts his hand out and stops me.

  ‘Probably more room if you sit up on front with me, Fi.’ Johnny jumps up front and pulls me up after him. Being ever so slightly alcohol impaired and reacting slowly, I wobble horribly when he shakes the reins and we set off with a lurch.

  When he said more room, he must have been joking. It’s like the front of the hire van re-visited. Except this time I’m on a slippery wooden seat with nothing to hold on to. Think of riding a roller coaster without a safety bar and you’ll be close. The only way to anchor myself is by putting my arm around Johnny’s back and clinging onto him. I hesitate at first, but it’s either that or end up being pitched into the road. As we lurch around the first corner I steel myself, and grasp a handful of his North Face jacket. Then I turn and grin at the girls huddled together in the open carriage behind me, as we speed towards the drive.

  ‘Fucking freezing, but bloody brilliant,’ Immie yells. ‘Even better than arriving at a wedding in a fire engine.’ Immie’s been going out with a fireman called Chas since last summer, in case you missed that. Although she’s not technically engaged yet, that’s obviously not stopped her planning ahead.

  ‘Are you having a jacket?’ I yell back to Alice, remembering my bridesmaid’s one.

  She shouts back at me. ‘A floor-length fur cape.’

  ‘Of course.’ It would be. Thinking of the Queen of Narnia. Why hasn’t she gone for broke and done this in a sleigh, in Norway?

  ‘So how come you got stuck on the island?’

  Bugger. That’s Alice, back on my case, and I’m wishing she’d stayed teary for longer. I know Johnny is hanging on every word. And judging. It was not the best moment of my life when he accidentally kicked the Surprise and Delight box. Awkward.

  ‘The boat blew away because the quick-release knot came undone in the wind,’ I yell, hoping if I blind her with technicalities, she’ll back off. ‘We made a fire to keep warm, then Johnny rowed out to pick us up. That’s it.’

  ‘That bloody Quinn doesn’t change.’ Immie lets out a chuckle. ‘He used to pull that “lost boat” stunt once a week back in the day. Caught out
more hapless holiday-making females than I’ve had hot potatoes. Quinn and his damned highwayman’s knot.’ From the loud guffaws and kicking, it sounds like she’s rolling around the carriage floor. ‘Good on you for not falling for it, Sera.’

  Even if Immie’s having a ROFL moment, I want to curl up and die. She may have nailed the highwayman bit, but maybe she’s wrong about Quinn this time. The wind was really strong. Although I’m looking forwards, I can feel Alice’s appalled stare boring into my back. Johnny, to his credit, doesn’t look at me, and he doesn’t add anything to blow my cover any more than it has been. I think Immie did that job, single-handed.

  ‘Good thing you were here, then, Johnny,’ Alice shouts.

  Judging by the ironic twang in her voice, she knows that’s not the whole story. And Johnny is definitely her new favourite person. What she’s totally overlooking is that Quinn and I were getting twigs for her damned ceiling when the excursion went belly-up.

  ‘Lucky coincidence I was around.’ The pointed sideways glance Johnny shoots me makes me suddenly less certain that it was pure chance on his part. ‘Although rescuing bridesmaids is only what a best man should do.’

  When the other best man has screwed up. Thanks a bunch for highlighting this, Johnny. He couldn’t have done a better job if he’d gone up to that little top-floor bedroom here, where I’ve found out he’s staying, and shouted it from the attic window. I know it’s what they’re all thinking. Which is probably why there’s a hole in the conversation the size of Greater London, all the way back up the drive.

  ‘Bells…’

  When Alice breaks the silence with her cry, at first I think it’s a substitute swear word, given she’s trained herself not to curse in front of clients. But then she says it again.

  ‘Bells… We’re supposed to be having bells on Snowball’s harness… so they’ll jingle all the way down the drive and the guests will hear me coming.’ She’s being more specific now. And wagging her finger at the coachman. ‘I knew there was something we’d forgotten. It’s definitely in the manual. We need to sort this, Johnny.’