by Liz Eeles
‘She’s the fairy on top of the tree.’
‘Right.’ Logan opens his eyes wide and takes a gulp of his beer. ‘Well, the café’s looking rather lovely after all your hard work – and so are you, Becca. There’s something different about you recently. I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
His unblinking gaze is rather disconcerting – thrilling and slightly uncomfortable.
‘Thank you,’ I squeak, rather nonplussed by all this attention. For a non-date, especially one with his grumpy friend in tow, this is getting pretty intense.
Logan starts running his index finger around the rim of his pint glass in a frankly erotic manner and raises an eyebrow. ‘So how are things going with your liberal boyfriend… Thor, was it?’
‘Thor?’ snorts Stu, beside me.
‘His name’s not really Thor. That’s just a nickname. His real name is…’ Great; my mind’s gone completely blank. There must be hundreds of boys’ names out there. Thousands. And I can’t think of a single one. I glance around the pub. ‘Jeremy,’ I blurt out, after spotting a Cosy Kettle customer propping up the bar who always reminds me of Jeremy Clarkson.
‘Jeremy?’ Logan frowns. ‘I guess people call him Thor because of his muscles?’
‘That’s right. He’s got loads of very big muscles ’cos he spends so much of his time at the gym.’
‘The same gym that Zac and I go to?’
‘Nope, definitely not that gym. It’s another one, nearer Oxford. A new one that not a lot of people have heard of, actually.’ I trail off.
‘Does he live in Oxford?’
‘Mmm,’ I say, taking such a huge swig of mulled wine, I almost choke.
‘So how long have you two been going out then?’
‘Not long. We’re not really going out. We’re more friends, really.’
‘Friends with benefits?’ The corner of Logan’s full mouth flickers upwards.
‘Just friends,’ I murmur, shifting uncomfortably on my chair.
‘Good to know,’ says Logan, hugging his pint to his chest. ‘I don’t mind not being exclusive when it comes to first dates but in the future…’ He leaves that thought floating in the ether and sucks his bottom lip between his perfect pearly teeth. ‘So what makes you tick, Becca?’
‘Um, The Cosy Kettle, I guess.’ I launch into explaining all about the café and how involved I was in setting it up, ignoring a stab of guilt at the changes I’m making. Stu eye-rolls beside me to signal his boredom, which makes me nervous and my mouth goes dry. My lips start sticking to my teeth which is so uncool. Jasmine would be keeping everyone’s attention by throwing her head back and laughing in a tinkly, sexy way.
I give it a try – a quick flick of the head and my best sexy laugh. Oops, that sounded more like a bark. Logan frowns slightly and Stu gives me a sideways glance before downing half his pint in one.
‘What’s happening with your family?’ asks Logan. ‘How’s your sister doing?’
Ah, I wondered how long it would take for Jasmine to come into the conversation.
‘She’s fine and working hard. I saw her yesterday actually just before she went out with’ – I swallow hard – ‘her new boyfriend.’
‘Nice,’ is Logan’s only comment on Jasmine’s love life before Stu starts talking about impressing his boss with his latest ideas for a new order retrieval system. I get a bit lost after a while because I’m still cringing inside at my lies about ‘Thor’. And then my phone beeps with a text message while Logan is telling Stu about a new approach to fixing corporate printers, and it throws my concentration completely.
When I glance at the screen I see that the message is from Zac:
Are you in this evening? There’s a lager here with your name on it and Stranger Things lined up and ready to go. You still at work?
‘Important message?’ asks Logan.
‘Just Zac wondering where I am.’
‘You live with Zac, don’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So what’s the deal with you and Zac? Is there anything going on between you two?’ Blimey. Thor and Zac? Sadly, Logan has seriously over-estimated the extent of my love life. ‘Any benefits involved, at all?’ asks Logan, staring into his almost empty pint glass.
None, unless you count living with a great housemate, a fabulous hugger when I’m upset, and a marvellous mickey-taker.
‘No, we’re just good friends. No benefits involved – not now, not ever.’ My lower lip trembles and I wave my phone at Logan so he won’t notice. ‘I’d better send him a quick reply, if you don’t mind.’
‘Fill your boots.’ Logan and Stu chat as I text back:
Finishing up in café. Not sure when I’ll be home. See you later.
I press ‘send’ and immediately feel guilty, even though Jasmine is probably at our cottage right now, keeping Zac company. Why did I bother lying? Zac doesn’t approve of my taste in men but he knows Logan has asked me out on a date, and he’ll be too busy with my sister to give it much thought.
Sighing quietly, I put my phone away and try to concentrate on Logan and Stu’s conversation. I’m laughing in all the right places and everything’s going OK until Logan asks what I did after university and I get totally tongue-tied. All I can think about is how everything went horribly wrong in Birmingham and how awkward I feel right now.
Logan grins and puts his hand on top of mine. ‘You’re miles away, Becca. Come back to me.’ He leans forward and, with his other hand, hooks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. ‘I do appreciate all the work you’re doing to make my party a success,’ he says softly. Suddenly, he drops his hand from my face and nods over my shoulder. ‘Isn’t that Zac?’
Twisting in my chair, I spot Zac at the bar, staring at us. He takes his change from the barman and wanders over.
‘Hey, Logan and Becca. Fancy seeing the two of you in here.’
‘Hey, Zac,’ says Logan, folding his arms. ‘This is my mate, Stu. I haven’t bumped into you at the gym recently.’
‘I’ve been really busy with a work project. Still, it’s good to see you in here, with Becca.’
‘Logan and I are having a kind of work meeting to talk about the party,’ I gabble, feeling horribly caught out for lying.
‘Yeah, Becca is doing a fabulous job. I’m so glad I chose her to organise the party. So how come you’re in the pub? I thought you were at home.’
‘I just nipped out to buy something,’ says Zac. He shoves his purchase into his pocket but not before I’ve spotted that it’s a packet of roasted cashew nuts. He nipped out specially to buy me a treat because he believed my lie and thought I was working late in The Cosy Kettle. I truly am the world’s worst best friend without benefits.
‘How’s Jasmine?’ I force myself to ask as a penance for lying.
‘Good, when I last saw her. She said she’d see you soon.’
‘Not this evening?’
Zac frowns. ‘No, she said she’s got some Christmas drinks thing with friends. Anyway, I’d better leave you and Logan to talk business. Bye, Logan. I’ll see you in the gym this week, maybe?’
‘It’s mad busy at work with the Christmas break coming up but I’ll try to get there.’
‘And I’ll be home soon,’ I add.
‘No worries,’ he calls over his shoulder as he wanders off. ‘Be as long as you like and have a good evening.’
‘That felt a little awkward,’ says Logan with a frown as Zac ducks under the low beam of the pub doorway and disappears into the darkness outside. ‘I got the feeling Zac didn’t approve of you being here in the pub with me.’
‘No, he’s fine. He’s probably just miffed because he’s cooked me something and it’s getting cold.’
‘You make him sound terribly domesticated.’ When Logan laughs, I get a fleeting urge to push his gorgeous, handsome face into his pint and hurry home to Zac.
‘We share the cooking which is only fair when we share the house.’
Logan shrugs. ‘I gues
s so. Anyway, enough about Zac, what about—?’
‘Hadn’t we better be making a move, mate?’ interrupts Stu, tapping his watch. ‘The roads to Oxford won’t be great in this weather so you won’t want to drive fast.’
‘He’s worse than my mother.’ Logan grins. ‘OK, I guess we’d better get going so Stu can try out his chat-up lines on the women of Oxford. And you’d better get back to your cold tea before Zac throws a hissy fit.’
I give a weak smile and start slipping my arms into my jacket. Logan gets wrapped up too and he and Stu follow me out of the pub into the cold night air. The temperature has dropped while we’ve been inside and frost is sparkling on patches of dark, damp pavement that are no longer covered in snow.
‘Thank you, both, for letting me join you for a drink.’
Stu grunts but Logan smiles. ‘You’re welcome. We’ll do it again soon, on Friday.’
He bends his head to kiss me on the cheek, but does a mini-swerve at the last moment and his warm lips press briefly against mine. It’s only a peck but I can taste the beer he was drinking and feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. He moves back and stares at me, under the pub’s flashing fairy lights, with an amused look on his face. ‘I’ll be seeing you around, lovely Becca.’
Stu drags him off and I watch them disappear into the darkness. Not only did Logan Fairweather describe me as both ‘adorable’ and ‘lovely’ within the last half hour, he also kissed me on the lips. That’s amazing, and a few days ago I’d have been over the moon. It’s funny how things change.
I let myself in quietly to the cottage, hang up my jacket and wander into the kitchen. Zac has left me some shepherd’s pie in the oven and I spoon it onto a plate while I heat some peas in the microwave. What a day! While I wait for the oven to ping, I run my finger along my lips and try to make sense of everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours.
What should have been a mega-high was Logan going out of his way to invite me to the pub and kissing me goodbye. He’s off to Oxford now, probably to try out his chat-up lines alongside Stu, but he’ll be all mine after the party. I mentally give Christmas wish number five another enormous tick, without much enthusiasm.
The transformation of The Cosy Kettle is really coming on, but I can’t help feeling sad about my spat with the book club. Their favoured corner of the café seemed empty without them this afternoon and I’m not convinced they’ll come back after the party. Stanley was very upset.
And then there was the bombshell discovery that my best friend and my sister had spent the night together. That was the lowest point of the past turbulent twelve hours. Jasmine’s no longer here but I can still feel her presence and picture her standing next to Zac, wearing only his shirt. It should have been me, echoes in the back of my mind, but I wrench open the microwave door and try to ignore it.
I pile my food onto a plate, grab a knife and fork and head into the sitting room. A sudden snore from the sofa makes me jump. Zac is lying there, in jogging bottoms and a T-shirt. He hasn’t got round to shaving today – there’s a shadow of stubble across his chin – and his dark hair is tousled. I fight an urge to brush a stray curl from his forehead and stand staring down at him.
‘Hey, Becca,’ says Zac, opening his eyes and holding out his arm to focus on his watch. ‘I must have nodded off. I’m knackered today.’
‘I expect you’re tired, after last night.’
I mentally kick myself for mentioning last night right off the bat. No build up, no gradually getting around to the subject, just wham! And after the day I’ve had, I really don’t feel like discussing his night of passion, let alone my feelings that could kill our friendship stone dead.
I needn’t have worried. All Zac says is, ‘Yeah,’ as he sits up and slips his feet into the plaid ‘old man’ slippers I bought him last Christmas. They were a joke present and he laughed when he saw them, but he’s been wearing them ever since. I wonder if he’ll still wear them when Jasmine is around.
Normally I’d tell Zac to budge up and go and sit on the sofa next to him but I remain standing, the food congealing on my plate.
‘You came back then.’ When Zac stands up and stretches, his T-shirt rides up, revealing his tight, flat abdomen. He really has been working out. I sit down heavily on the chair behind me and balance my plate on my knees.
‘Of course I came back. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘It all seemed a bit hush-hush and I thought you might go home with Logan to do some rather more intense party-planning.’
‘It wasn’t a date, Zac. That’s on Friday, when his miserable mate, Stu, won’t be around. I’m sorry I didn’t mention I was in the pub with him but he saw me locking up at work and suggested it. I didn’t say anything because I know you’re not that keen on him.’
‘He’s all right and I get why you like him. He’s your usual type.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Zac sighs. ‘Nothing. Forget I said anything.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘All right. What I mean is that he reminds me of Charlie, who was an ultra-confident man oozing with charm who didn’t treat you brilliantly. I sometimes think you’re trying to get from them what you feel you’re missing in yourself.’
‘Logan is nothing like Charlie. And all I’m trying to be is a better person. That’s what my Christmas wish is all about,’ I retort, stung by his criticism.
‘I approve of you trying to be a happier person. Anyway, it’s none of my concern who you do or don’t go out with.’
‘Just like it’s none of my business who you go out with. Anyway’ – I take a deep breath – ‘Logan is OK, honestly.’
Zac stares at me for a moment and then his shoulders drop. ‘Yeah, he’s fine, and I know you really like him.’ He smiles but the skin around his eyes doesn’t crinkle like it usually does. He looks exhausted.
‘Thank you very much for making my tea,’ I say, stiffly.
‘You’re welcome, though it’s probably dry because it’s been in the oven for ages.’
‘No, it’s great,’ I assure him, gulping down a mouthful of dehydrated mince and mash.
‘How was your day at work? You didn’t look too well this morning.’
‘I had the hangover from hell, but it’s eased off now.’
‘That’s good.’
There’s a strained silence as I take another mouthful of food. Usually I’d tell Zac about how I upset the book club and he’d make me laugh and we’d sort everything out. He’s always been the one person I can confide in, but our relationship has shifted. Jasmine and Logan are standing between us, along with the secret I can never share – I’m in love with you.
‘It was stupid of me to drink so much.’
‘You were celebrating securing a date with Logan and crossing another wish off your list. You’ll have the full set before you know it.’
‘Yeah, my Christmas wish will come true and I’ll live happily ever after.’
‘Which is all I ever want for you. You know that, don’t you, Beccs?’
‘Yeah. You too.’ Tears suddenly prickle the corners of my eyes and I bend my head over my food to hide my face.
‘Right then, I’d better go and have a shave. Some friends from work texted a little while ago and invited me out for a drink. Will you be all right here on your own?’
‘Of course. I’ll watch a bit of telly and I could do with a long hot bath.’
‘Sounds good.’
Oh, this is awful. I could do with a long hot bath would usually elicit some sarcastic comment about me sparking a water shortage or a joke about my personal hygiene. But there’s nothing. Just a polite ‘Sounds good,’ as though we’re nothing but passing acquaintances. Sleeping with your best friend’s twin sister is bound to make the friendship a bit awkward but I didn’t think it would have such a corrosive effect so quickly.
I prod at the shepherd’s pie on my plate as Zac pads upstairs. It’s lukewarm when I take a mouthful but I plough on, shovelling i
n food without tasting it.
Seventeen
My makeover day is still on! Mary texted me late last night to confirm our arrangement which means that today is the day I’m hoping to put at least a half-tick against wish number six: Make myself look more like Jasmine.
At eleven o’clock on the dot, I knock on the front door of Mary’s small modern semi. It’s on the outskirts of Honeyford and down a nondescript side road, hidden away from tourists. All they see are winding streets and butter-yellow buildings mellowed by centuries of sunshine and rain.
A few moments after knocking, the door is flung open and there’s Mary, with a screaming Callum on her hip.
‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she says, pushing back her long dark hair and ignoring Callum’s blood-curdling shrieks. ‘Kevin!’ she yells. ‘Becca’s here!’ She lowers her voice. ‘If I don’t get out soon, I’m going to go totally nuts.’
A harassed-looking man in blue jeans and a burgundy sweatshirt comes to the door. He’s barefoot and has huge bags under his eyes. He’s probably good-looking but it’s hard to tell because he looks so haggard.
‘How long are you going to be, Mary? You’ll be back soon, won’t you?’
‘I won’t be too long,’ she tells him, handing over Callum, who starts screaming even more loudly. ‘See you later.’
She grabs her coat, steps outside and slams the front door behind her. Callum’s screams follow us as we walk along the path and climb into Mary’s small car.
‘I don’t intend to go back for hours and hours,’ says Mary, looking over her shoulder as she reverses out of her parking space. ‘I might never go back at all.’
She drives us out of Honeyford and over the hills towards Oxford. The sky is overcast with a blanket of white-grey cloud, and the colours around us are muted. Mary doesn’t say anything about the bust-up in The Cosy Kettle so I bring it up as we drive past banks of trees, dripping with melted snow.
‘Was Stanley all right after you left the café yesterday? I was a bit worried about him.’
