by Liz Eeles
Dick sounds like a braying horse when he puffs air through his lips. ‘Quite honestly, there’s a limit to what I can do, love.’
‘I must say, Becca,’ interrupts Millicent, ‘you appear to be achieving your goal of becoming more assertive. Your telling-off of Stanley was most impressive.’
‘I wasn’t really telling him off,’ I say, sinking onto a spare chair. ‘I’m cold and I’m not really feeling myself today. Sorry, Stanley, if I was rude or—’
‘And usual Becca is back,’ sighs Millicent. ‘He deserved a telling-off after behaving so crassly in front of your young man.’
‘He’s not my young man,’ I say, wearily, but no one’s listening. Their attention has turned to a piece of paper that Stanley has placed on the table.
‘We had an inaugural meeting a few days ago, as you know, about getting your transformation rolling,’ he says, cheerfully, as though our altercation never happened. ‘We’re here today to give you an update and, as luck would have it, we’ve been able to spend the last ten mins working through your actual bona fide wish list, which is totally rad ’cos now we’ve got a proper plan to help make your wishes come true.’
‘How did you remember the whole list, which was totally private and not for sharing, Stanley?’
‘I took a photo of it,’ he says, waving his mobile in my face. ‘So let’s see who’s been allocated what.’ He clears his throat. ‘I’m all over the date with Logan and Millie can help with pointers on increasing your assertiveness. She seemed the obvious choice, seeing as she’s the most arsey amongst us.’
He grins and rolls his eyes as Millicent harrumphs quietly beside him. ‘Next, Phyllis has volunteered to provide moral support and counselling as required when it comes to impressing Flora and your parents. Phyllis is the woman for that job because she knows more than most how important family is, don’t you, Phyllis?’
When Phyllis nods, tears fill her eyes and I gently squeeze her shoulder. Poor Phyllis. She misses her family in Australia so much.
‘I’m happy to help,’ she gulps, ‘though I’m sure your parents are very proud of you already. You’re a very kind girl.’
Stanley runs his finger down the sheet of paper. ‘One question – who’s Jasmine?’
‘She’s my sister.’
‘Really? Well, we think you’re fine as you are but, if you’re after changing how you look, Mary can help you with that. She’s already offered and she’s a youngster who knows all about fashion and contouring and stuff.’
‘Contouring?’ asks Dick. ‘I thought that was something to do with outdoor activity centres.’
‘You’re thinking of orienteering,’ says Millicent, with a sniff.
‘Contouring is using make-up to highlight, shadow and show off the best bits of the face. It can enhance a delicate bone structure like Becca’s,’ says Stanley. He holds out his hands when we all stare at him. ‘What? Don’t forget I live with my granddaughter, who’s got a make-up bag the size of a small golf trolley even though she hardly wears any.’
‘And don’t forget that I’m also in charge of hair,’ says Millicent, picking up a strand of my bright blue hair before dropping it as though it’s red hot. ‘I’ll see if my hairdresser can rescue your hairstyle in time for the Christmas party. She owes me a favour so I’m sure she’ll fit you in somewhere.’
‘So how does that sound?’ asks Dick. ‘None of us knows much about public speaking, so you’re on your own with that one.’
How does that sound? I look at the four people in front of me who are so keen to help make my wishes come true. Their involvement is rather terrifying – heaven knows what Stanley has in mind to top ‘Thor’ – but it’s also sweet and kind. Not to mention a little ironic, seeing as they’ve already pretty much accepted me as I am right now.
I take a deep breath as they wait for my reply. ‘Thank you, everyone. It turns out that changing yourself is quite hard so I can do with all the help I can get. Though I’d rather deal with Logan on my own, Stanley, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Ooh, here’s your other young man.’ Phyllis gestures over my shoulder to where Zac is silhouetted in the café doorway. He waves and my stomach does a weird little flip because I’m so pleased to see him: a nice, normal bloke who doesn’t behave inappropriately or make me nervous.
‘You’re wearing a dress!’ says Zac, when I wander over.
He couldn’t sound more surprised if I was in full Star Trek costume. Actually, he’d probably like that because he’s a sci-fi nerd. We first bonded over our shared love of the Starship Enterprise.
‘So what if I am in a dress today? I’ve got a bit fed up with people commenting on my clothes. It’s not like I usually wear rags.’
‘They’re just surprised that you’ve got legs!’ laughs Zac, walking round and round me.
‘OK. Pack it in. I decided to wear a dress, in the spirit of looking more like Jasmine, and I don’t need you taking the mick. It’s been a trying morning.’
‘Why?’
‘Stanley tried to pimp me out.’
Zac’s jaw almost hits the floor. ‘Stanley did what?’
‘He tried to pimp me out to Logan.’
‘Ah. I just bumped into Logan outside the bookshop.’ Zac’s face clouds over. ‘Did Stanley succeed?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘So why was he trying to pair you off with him, anyway?’
‘I dropped my wish list and Stanley found it and read it, including wish number five which is—’
‘Secure a date with Logan. Yeah, I know.’
‘And now the whole book club knows too. I’ve told Stanley to back off but I expect it’ll still be pimp central in The Cosy Kettle from now on. It’s not funny,’ I wail, as Zac starts sniggering. He’s not being at all supportive.
‘You never know, it might help you to get off with Logan. If that’s what you still want.’ Zac stops laughing and looks around the café. ‘You’ve been busy in here. This place looks different. It’s less—’
‘Cosy?’ interjects Phyllis, coming over with the rest of the book club, who seem to be going home, at last. ‘What have you done to the place, Becca?’
‘She’s making it more upmarket, for the party.’ Stanley sniffs. ‘Less tinsel. More classy stuff. What do you think, Zac?’
Zac sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘I think it’ll look more sophisticated, which is the vibe Becca’s going for. I agree that it doesn’t seem as cosy.’
‘Don’t you approve?’ I ask. ‘I’ve still got to put up the new decorations.’
He shrugs. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t approve. I just said it looked different. Was Logan happy with the changes?’
‘Yeah, he told me the café was looking less blingy and more in keeping with his party plans. Did he say anything to you?’
‘Not much ’cos he was in a hurry. He asked me if I’d ever met someone called… Thane, Theo?’
‘Thor.’
‘Thor?’ Zac starts laughing again. ‘Who the hell is Thor?’
‘My boyfriend, apparently. One in a long line of boyfriends queuing up to take me out.’
‘Stanley?’ gasps Zac, laughing quite hard now.
‘Yep, it was a Stanley Special.’
‘Nice one, mate.’ Zac grasps Stanley’s hand and gives it a shake. And he’s still laughing when he heads off with his takeaway macchiato.
Fourteen
Seven hours later, and I’m glad to be home. I spent half the afternoon un-decorating the Cosy Kettle Christmas tree, so it’s ready for the new decorations I’ve ordered, and the rest running around making coffees and selling cake. We had so many customers at one point, a couple of the hardier ones braved the freezing garden. They said they didn’t mind, and at least it gave me a chance to test out the hired patio heaters which arrived just after lunch.
‘What do you reckon, then?’ asks Zac, stepping into the kitchen where I’m refilling our tiny dishwasher after his earlier efforts. He’s prett
y good at vacuuming and cleaning the bath, but his dishwasher-filling technique leaves a lot to be desired.
I look up from a muddle of crockery and gasp. I can’t help it. Zac looks… amazing!
I’ve never seen Zac in a dinner suit before. He’s got a cheap suit that he drags out of the wardrobe for interviews and meetings with new clients – it’s slightly too big and hangs on his frame. But the rented black dinner suit he’s currently wearing fits him like a glove. He looks like James Bond… with curling hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
He runs his finger under the collar of his snow-white shirt and stretches his neck from side to side. ‘Tell me the truth, Becca. Do I look like a total muppet?’
‘No, that really suits you. You still look like a muppet, obviously, but not a total muppet.’
I duck as Zac picks up a handful of potato peelings that are sitting on the counter and chucks them in my direction.
‘Missed! What time will Jasmine be here?’
Zac shoots his cuffs and glances at his watch. ‘In about ten minutes.’ He breathes out in a loud oof! ‘I’m not sure about this evening, Beccs. It feels strange going to some posh do with your sister. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
He twists his mouth and chews the inside of his cheek, suddenly resembling a child playing dress-up in his dad’s clothes.
‘Of course not. Why would I mind?’ I swallow hard and slot a greasy knife into the cutlery tray.
‘I just thought that maybe…’ Zac studies his polished black shoes. ‘… maybe you…’
‘Good grief!’ The spoon I’m holding falls onto a plate with a clatter as the doorbell rings. ‘That bell is stupidly loud! You’d better let Jasmine in and I hope the two of you have a lovely evening. I’m so happy you’re going out together.’
Why did I say that last bit? In reality, the whole thing feels a bit wrong. Zac catches my eye and holds my gaze until the doorbell rings again and I look away. ‘Yeah, thanks. I’m not sure posh dos are my thing but it’ll be different. Suppose I better had let her in ’cos it’s freezing out there.’
I hear him opening the front door and a murmur of conversation as I close the dishwasher and wipe my hands down my dress. Catching sight of myself in the shiny chrome of the kettle, I realise that I look flushed and untidy, but it can’t be helped. And Jazz has seen me looking worse.
When I walk into the front room, I stop dead. Jasmine and Zac are standing close together by the open front door. A cold draught is snaking across the layer of snow outside and through the room, but Jasmine has taken off her coat and is standing with her hands on her hips.
‘Hey, Becca. I was just showing Zac my new dress and admiring him in his fabulous suit. What do you reckon?’
Jasmine does a twirl for me and I catch my breath. She looks amazing in a shimmering bronze dress that’s clinging to her slim body in all the right places. Fat flakes of snow are caught in her golden hair, which is tied up in a messy bun, with tendrils framing her face. She’s gone overboard on the highlighter and her whole face is glowing – not like mine glows when I’m feeling insecure and blushing, but glowing with confidence, vitality and beauty.
‘You look wonderful, Jazz,’ I say, wondering again how twins can be so different. What a cosmic cock-up!
‘Cheers, Beccs. What do you think, Zac?’ She gives him her prettiest pout and he smiles down at her.
‘You look absolutely wonderful.’
He’s only telling the truth, but his words hit me like a blow. This is stupid. I’m feeling out of sorts because my sister is going out for the evening with my best friend. But I love them and want the best for them, so what’s my problem? I shake my head to get rid of the thoughts and Zac frowns. ‘Is everything all right? Have you got a headache?’
‘Nope,’ I say brightly, my brain buzzing. ‘I’m just dazzled by how fabulous the two of you look together – a proper golden couple.’
Adorable dimples appear in Jasmine’s cheeks when she smiles. ‘We are, aren’t we? Hey, Beccs! I’ve just clocked that you’re wearing a dress!’
‘Yep, I thought I’d get my legs out for a change.’
‘All for Logan’s benefit,’ says Zac, sounding faintly annoyed, as though I’ve let the side down by being interested in a man he doesn’t approve of.
‘Logan? Oh, that man who was in the café when I came in? I could tell you liked him.’
‘I didn’t wear the dress solely for Logan’s benefit,’ I insist. She doesn’t believe me, but what else can I say? An integral part of achieving my Christmas wish involves looking more like you, Jasmine, because I’m not good enough the way I am. Gosh, that’s depressing.
Jasmine sniffs. ‘Whatever. It’s good to see you out of your jeans and Doc Martens, anyway.’
‘Thank you.’ I take a deep breath and let the air out slowly. ‘Hadn’t you two better be getting off or you’ll miss the champagne?’
‘Hell, yeah, we don’t want to miss that,’ says Jasmine, slipping her arms into her coat that Zac is holding up for her. ‘I’ll leave my car there and we can get a taxi back. Is that OK with you, Zac?’
‘That sounds fine. So we’ll see you later then, Becca.’
‘Yeah, have a brilliant time and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’
I wink. I actually wink. It’s like my whole body has been taken over by an alien.
‘OK, if you’re sure you’re all right.’ Zac smiles, looking extra handsome in his amazing suit. He puts out his arm and Jasmine slips her arm through his. ‘Let’s go.’
The cottage seems quiet and full of shadows when I close the front door behind them. What on earth is the matter with me? My brain is in meltdown. I slide down the door and sit on the cold flagstones, with my legs splayed out. It’s not that I feel left out and want to tag along to Jasmine’s work do. My idea of hell is making small talk with people I’ve only just met. But thinking of Jasmine and Zac, arm in arm, at their posh event makes my head hurt. No, not my head… my heart. Of course it does, you idiot, says the little voice in my head, the one that’s always telling me terrible things are about to happen. Your heart hurts because you’re in love with Zac.
I take in short, shallow gasps of air. That can’t be right. Obviously, I love spending time with Zac. Who wouldn’t? He’s a fabulous human being. He’s kind and caring, and the only person I feel truly comfortable with. We’ve always been able to talk frankly about everything, and he’s the sole person on the planet who thinks I’m totally fine as I am and don’t need to change. After work, I can’t wait to get home to see his wonderful smile, and the thought of him not being here with me, and putting his arms around someone who isn’t me, makes me feel… like I can’t breathe.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ I say out loud to the empty room, putting my head in my hands. Everything is suddenly crystal clear. I am in love with Zac. But when did that happen? When did loving Zac turn into really loving Zac, and what the hell do I do now? We’re nothing more than platonic best friends in his eyes – he once described me as ‘the sister he never had’ – and he’s out right now on a date with my perfect sister, after I told him that was fine.
My words in the kitchen, just after Jasmine rang the doorbell, sound in my head. I’m so happy you’re going out together. Why did I say that? I close my eyes as hot tears roll down my cheeks and plop onto the neckline of my dress. This is the mother of all screw-ups, and a perfect storm of impossibility, because telling Zac how I feel risks ruining our precious friendship. We’d never recover from the embarrassment of him giving me the brush-off. Just imagine how horribly sad and heart-breaking that brush-off would be! Our comfortable, easy friendship could never survive it.
I sit on the floor for ages, listening to the house creak and groan around me, as I remember the first time Zac and I met, how he gives me hugs and makes me laugh, and the way he came to my rescue when the world went black a year ago. He is the very best of men and I can’t imagine my life without him in it.
Brushing away tears, I st
agger to my feet and pull down the dress which has ridden up my thighs. There’s only one way to get through this and still have Zac in my life. I have to keep my mouth shut because I’m the one who’s moved the goalposts and made our friendship so complicated.
I wander into the kitchen, grab a glass and the bottle of Chardonnay I forgot to take to Sunday lunch at my parents’. Then I throw myself onto the sofa, switch on the TV to drown out my thoughts, and prepare to drink my inner voice into submission.
Two glasses of wine later, the little voice in my head is still shouting at me – you’re in love with Zac – and I’m feeling sad and confused. Another four glasses later, and my inner voice has collapsed in a heap and I’m googling Logan Fairweather on my computer to distract myself. There are loads of photos of him on his Instagram feed and I’m struck again by how gorgeous he is – stocky, blond hair, twinkling eyes. And I do think he likes me, just a little bit.
I squint at a summer picture of Logan, all tanned in swim shorts, and wonder if having him as my boyfriend would help me to get over being in love with my best friend. Very possibly. I take another swig of wine, which is damping down my feelings nicely, and click ‘like’ on several of Logan’s selfies. I do like. Very much indeed.
Five minutes later, I’m half-slumped on the sofa when my phone rings, almost giving me a heart attack. Who’s ringing at…? I try hard to focus on my watch but the stupid numbers keep moving around.
‘Yeah. Hello. What d’you want?’ I mumble into the phone.
‘Becca, is that you?’
I recognise the voice immediately and sit up straight on the sofa, blinking rapidly.
‘Yep, it’s me. Most definitely me. My phone. I answered it. It’s me.’ I take in a deep whoosh of air, feeling sick.
‘That’s great,’ says Logan. ‘I saw on Insta that you were still up so I thought I’d call. Hope that’s OK.’
‘Of course,’ I croak, trying to stop swaying back and forth because it’s making my nausea worse. ‘Did you want to talk about work, Logan? The party you’re having? It’s going to be so posh. Full of posh decorations, posh food, posh music and posh people. The Cosy Kettle is going to be so… posh.’
