by Liz Eeles
‘Sorry, Mary. Do you mind? I’ve kept a lot of the make-up on. I just toned it down a little.’
I’ve kept the eyeliner but wiped off the sparkly eyeshadow and some of the blusher and I’ve swapped my pretty pink lipstick for my usual dark red lipgloss. I’ve also taken off the pearls that I inherited from my gran and I’m wearing a chunky silver necklace instead that cost me five pounds in Honeyford market.
Mary puts her arm through mine. ‘I don’t mind at all and I think you look even better – much more relaxed, and you were walking like Bambi on ice in those stilettos.’
‘I know. I’d have broken my neck before the evening was out. I feel better like this. I feel more like me. And you all look fabulous yourselves. Where are Zac and Jasmine?’
‘In the garden,’ says Phyllis, ‘sorting out Father Christmas and his elf.’
‘How do they look?’
‘Ridiculous,’ says Millicent, but she smiles so I’m not sure she means it. ‘Why don’t you stomp out there in your silly boots and have a look for yourself.’
The garden has been transformed into a fairy grotto. Twinkling fairy lights are pinned to the old walls that edge the garden and are reflecting in the light dusting of snow that tops the Cotswold stone. The heaters are casting an amber glow across the patio and there, in the corner, is Father Christmas, AKA Dick in his red robes with the wide black belt around his middle. His snow-white beard has been specially combed for the occasion and his bald head is covered in a red hat with a white fur trim. Next to him is Stanley, and I have to laugh. I always knew Dick would make a great Santa but Stanley is a magnificent elf. His green tunic swamps his skinny chest, his bright red tights are clinging to his thin legs, and his feet look enormous in his curly shoes.
He grins when he sees me and waves. ‘Cool, Beccs. You look pretty damn fly. What d’ya think of me and my festive bro here?’
‘You both look brilliant. Thank you so much for doing this for The Cosy Kettle and Logan.’
‘We’re doing this for you,’ says Dick, placing his hands on his padded belly as though he’s about to shout ho ho ho. ‘Plus, it’s good fun. Don’t you think, Zac?’ He steps aside and there, behind him, plugging in more fairy lights, is my housemate.
He straightens up as he sees me, looking rather debonair in his dark cord trousers, crisp white shirt that’s open at the neck, and dark jacket. The tie he was wearing when he left the house has been ditched. He’s never been much of a tie man.
‘And my Becca is back.’ He grins. ‘You had me a bit worried there for a minute. I love the boots. I hear they’re very on trend with sequinned evening dresses this season. All the best fashion houses are recommending them.’
‘I do like to keep up with what the supermodels are wearing.’ I hold my palms up to the sky and do a twirl. ‘So what do you think? Better than before?’
‘Much better. Though I’m not sure Jasmine will agree. And she’s right behind you.’
When I turn round, Jasmine’s face crumples in horror. ‘Oh. My. God. What have you done, Becca? You looked fabulous back at your house and now you still look a bit fabulous but mostly like… you.’
‘I am me, Jazz. And I like it. I felt a prat all glammed up, to be honest. It suits you but it doesn’t really suit me.’
‘Come on, you lot,’ calls Millicent from the back door. ‘Logan will be arriving with his fancy French guests very soon and we need to make sure we’re all ready.’
When we all troop indoors, I spot Mum and Dad in the corner. Mum has her hand on Dad’s arm, which puts hope in my heart, though she lets go to point at me. His jaw drops as I walk towards them.
‘Bloody hell, Becca. Is that you, all glammed up like a film star?’
‘You look amazing, love,’ says Mum, coming forward and planting a kiss on my forehead. ‘And The Cosy Kettle looks wonderful. Is this all your work?’
I’m about to say no and point to my book club team when Phyllis zooms up in her wheelchair and puts her arm around my waist. ‘It was all Becca,’ she tells my parents. ‘You’re very fortunate to have such a wonderful, talented daughter. You must be very proud of her.’
Mum beams. ‘We are, aren’t we, Peter?’
‘Of course.’ Dad nods, and adjusts the collar of his shirt, looking uncomfortable. Not one for parties, he’s way out of his comfort zone.
‘Wish number three,’ murmurs Phyllis, drawing an imaginary tick in the air.
Mum frowns. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Hey, Dad, why don’t you go and taste test a couple of the cakes for me?’
‘If that would be helpful.’
‘It really would.’
Dad doesn’t need asking twice. He’s off, like a whippet, to check out the mounds of miniature cakes on the long trestle table that’s covered with a red cloth – cubes of iced Christmas cake, bite-size pink and yellow Battenberg, crumbly little mince pies, tiny cranberry cupcakes and chocolate-covered Swiss rolls.
‘You really do look wonderful,’ says Mum, smoothing down the black dress she only brings out on special occasions. ‘And Zac looks very handsome tonight, don’t you think?’ She nods at Zac, who’s standing chatting to Jasmine. They look brilliant together, I realise, as my stomach sinks into my comfy Doc Martens. Mum gives him a little wave – she’ll be delighted when she finds out they’re an item. Finding a ‘nice young man’ will push Jasmine’s street cred with my family even higher.
‘How are things going at home?’ I whisper.
‘Quite well. I think me leaving home brought your father up short and he’s trying hard not to be so bossy.’ We both glance at Dad, who’s shoving a mince pie, dusted with icing sugar, into his mouth. ‘I’ve accepted my place at university and I start the course in the spring.’
‘Wow, Mum. That’s brilliant. I’m really proud of you.’
Mum’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. ‘You inspired me, Beccs, because you’re really turning your life around. You do know that Dad and I really are very proud of you, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say, though I didn’t properly know it until this moment.
‘You’ve sorted yourself out and made a life for yourself in Honeyford, surrounded by all these wonderful people. And you’ve made such a success of this café. You’ve done well, love.’
‘I thought I’d disappointed you,’ I say and then bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from crying.
‘You’ve worried us a good few times. And we wish you found life easier. But disappointed us? Never. You’re our Beccs, you’re a warrior, and we both love you, though your dad doesn’t always show it. He loves me too, though he often has a funny way of showing that. Daft old bugger.’
We both smile at the daft old bugger, who pauses, Christmas cake mid-way to his mouth, and gives us a frown. He’ll be wondering what we’re saying about him.
‘Here comes your sister, and she’s drinking already.’ Mum’s eyebrows meet in the middle as Jasmine hurries up with a glass in her hand.
‘It’s only fruit punch, Mum, and he’s here, Beccs.’ I do a swift sidestep in case her drink slops over my dress. ‘I can’t believe you’re going on a date with him. He’s smokin’ hot.’
Logan is standing in the doorway to the café, looking fabulously handsome in dark trousers and a light blue shirt. His square jaw drops as he looks around at my beautiful cosy café and then he spots me and his face breaks into a huge smile.
Rushing over, he grabs my hands in his. ‘Becca, you’re a miracle worker. This place looks amazing – really cosy and authentic.’ He nods at Father Christmas and his elf, who are working their way through a couple of mini cupcakes. ‘Santa and his sidekick look adorable and totally traditional. My guests will love them. And as for you…’ He steps back so I’m at arm’s length and whistles softly. ‘I’m loving the punky elegant look. When did you blossom into such a beautiful swan?’
Does that imply I was an ugly duckling before? Over his shoulder, I spot Zac looking at Jasmine and rolli
ng his eyes. OK, Logan is being a bit cheesy but, when they grin conspiratorially, anger sparks through me.
Without thinking, I step forward and plant a kiss on Logan’s full mouth, and I feel his hand on the back of my head as he returns my kiss before we break apart. Zac and Jasmine aren’t laughing now. Jasmine has walked off and Zac is staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
‘I’m very pleased to see you too, Becca.’ Logan winks, and grabs my arm. ‘Come and meet my VIP guests. They’re going to love you.’
The party’s in full swing and going amazingly well. Carols have been sung, cakes have been eaten, and Dick and Stanley are doing a roaring trade with the lucky dip. Flora keeps telling me I’ve done a fabulous job, and Callie, who set up The Cosy Kettle almost a year ago, has called in to join the celebrations. It’s everything I could have wished for.
‘Have you seen Jasmine?’
Millicent breaks off her conversation with a small man wearing round glasses and shakes her head. ‘Not for a while. The last I saw of her she was heading into the bookshop. Have you met Monsieur Fournier, Becca? He runs an IT business near Saumur and is quite delightful company.’
‘I haven’t. It’s lovely to meet you.’
Monsieur Fournier bows slightly and shakes my hand. ‘I understand you organised this party for me and my colleagues. You have my sincere thanks. It has been wonderful to see a slice of authentic Cotswolds life at Christmas time.’
‘Thank you. I had a lot of help from some very good friends.’
Millicent beams at me before I head into the bookshop for a breather. I find parties overwhelming – I’ve never been a party person – and although this one is going well, I need five minutes on my own. I could also do with adjusting my uncomfortable underwear.
The shop is in darkness and I stand at the back, between the shelves, and breathe in the smell. In and out, in and out, until I feel calmer.
I’m about to return to the party when I spot a glowing ember near the shop window. It’s Jasmine, sitting in the window sill, smoking. She jumps as I get closer. ‘Hell’s bells, Beccs. Don’t loom out of the darkness at me like that. I already reckon this shop’s haunted. It must have been a house for hundreds of years and heaven knows how many people have died here.’
‘I was looking for you. I didn’t know where you were. And I’m not sure you should be smoking amongst all these books.’
‘I’m only having a break from the parents for a few minutes. Don’t tell them I was smoking or they’ll throw a wobbly.’
‘They can be a bit overwhelming, can’t they?’
‘Totally. Especially now Mum’s located her inner creativity, and Dad’s trying so hard not to be bossy. He keeps asking Mum if she minds if he has another cake. He’s gone soft.’
‘I think it’s quite sweet. And Dad hasn’t gone soft,’ I say, sitting beside her on the window sill. ‘It was about time he joined the twenty-first century and realised that Mum needs to do stuff for herself.’
‘She was inspired by you, apparently,’ says Jasmine, leaning down to stub out her cigarette on the flagstone floor. She brushes the ash into her hands and places it in a little pile on the window sill. ‘I’ll clear that up in a minute. Get rid of the evidence, and all that.’
‘Yeah, we can’t have Mum and Dad seeing their precious golden girl smoking.’
Jasmine frowns and I feel awful. That came out more sarcastically than I meant it to.
‘You can be a right cow sometimes, Becca.’ She shifts along the sill and is silhouetted in the glow from a street lamp outside.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just hard sometimes when you’re always the golden girl in Mum and Dad’s eyes and I’m not, though Mum did say she and Dad were proud of me tonight.’
‘Of course they are. You know that.’
‘No, I don’t. You’re pretty and clever and you’ve got a brilliant job. I’m average in the looks department, I have mental health issues and I run a café.’
‘A successful café, and it’s not a piece of cake being the golden girl, you know.’
‘Yeah, I bet it’s really hard coping with a constant barrage of adulation and praise. Not to mention all those handsome men who insist on throwing themselves at your feet. It must be absolute hell.’
That was intentionally sarcastic and Jasmine stares at me for a few seconds in silence. But then she throws back her head and laughs.
‘At least I can always count on you to bring me back down to earth, Beccs.’
‘What else are twin sisters for?’
‘Indeed. Actually, it’s not easy having the weight of expectation on your shoulders all the time. And my life isn’t so great. We need to tell each other the truth or who else will?’
She stares out of the window as tiny flakes of snow start falling from a leaden sky and fluttering down onto the frozen pavement.
‘So, here goes,’ she says in a rush. ‘This party is really good and it was pulled out of the bag at the last minute. You’ve got a real talent for bringing people together and turning a potentially bad situation into a good one. I admire you for that. Any corporation would value that talent.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you admired me for anything to do with work. Not with me working in a rural Cotswolds café while you’re striking mega-deals with major players.’
‘Not so much.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jasmine takes a deep breath and twists round until she’s facing me. ‘Looks like I’m about to start the new year by being made redundant. I knew there were some redundancies in the offing but I didn’t think they’d affect me. However, it seems I’m not as indispensable as I thought I was.’ She laughs softly and shakes her head. ‘I’ll find out for sure after Christmas but I’ve been warned.’
‘That’s rotten. I’m so sorry, Jazz. Have you told Mum and Dad?’
‘No, of course not. They’re always telling people about my fabulous job and my amazing career. That’s my whole point. I’m the one who’s mega successful and sorted in their eyes. The one who can cope with anything. I couldn’t bear to see their disappointment if…’
‘If you became a little more like me?’ I gently rub my hand along her arm. ‘You’ll survive and you’ll go on to even bigger and better things, I’m sure of it. Just remember that redundancy happens to lots of people through no fault of their own. You’re not being fired for fiddling the books or… or taking pics of your arse on the photocopier.’
‘Though I might do that before I leave,’ mutters Jasmine, wrapping her arms around her waist. ‘Mum and Dad will still be disappointed and it’ll take off some of my golden girl sheen. They’ll think I’ve failed.’
‘Ha. Welcome to my world.’ I shuffle along until my arm is tight against Jasmine’s. ‘How long have you known about the redundancies?’
‘A couple of weeks.’
‘So before you went to your company’s Christmas do?’
‘Yeah. Daft, isn’t it, having a celebration when some of us face losing our jobs.’
‘Does Zac know?’
‘No, and no one mentioned it at the event. We all think if we ignore it, it might go away. But it won’t.’
‘So what will you do if you lose your job?’
Jasmine flicks back her long blonde hair. ‘I dare say it’ll be fine. I’ll get another job and I’ve already started looking around. But my point is, Mum and Dad are softer with you than with me.’
‘Softer? They’re always on my case.’
‘They’re always on your case because they worry and care about you. They know you find life difficult sometimes and they just want you to be happy. I do too.’
‘I am happy.’
‘Are you? I can see you’re happy at work and you do a good job. The Cosy Kettle is at the heart of Honeyford and you’re an excellent manager.’
‘O-K,’ I say, slowly, waiting for Jasmine’s snarky follow-up comment, but it doesn’t come.
‘And I can see that you’re ma
king efforts to improve yourself, which is great.’ Efforts to improve myself? While I’m trying to work out whether that counts as snarky or not, Jasmine continues. ‘Plus, you’ve got a date with Logan which is wonderful, and I know it’s what you really want, but…’ She grabs my hand. ‘Are you sure that Logan is the right person for you?’
Here we go. ‘Do you think I’m overstretching myself? Is Logan out of my league?’
‘Hardly! You look a knockout in that dress and you’re a lovely person. He’d be fortunate to have you as a girlfriend, but…’
I swallow hard, not used to my sister being so nice to me. ‘But what?’
‘I’m concerned that he isn’t kind enough for you. I know super-confident blokes like Logan and they’re often only really interested in themselves. You’re a sensitive person, Becca, and that’s not always a bad thing. Oh, I know it makes you worry too much sometimes but you’re empathetic and easy to talk to.’ She shrugs. ‘Mum went straight to you when she left Dad, didn’t she? And you need someone who’s kind and who cares and who’ll always be there for you.’
‘Someone like Zac?’
‘Yeah.’ Jazz smiles, her eyes lighting up. ‘Exactly like Zac. He’s a really lovely bloke. He’s kind and funny and pretty fit with that thick curly hair and he’s got abs to die for. I thought he was a bit of a nerd but he’s pretty sexy, actually.’
OK, Jasmine, there’s no need to rub it in. He’s a lovely boyfriend and you’re very fortunate. He’ll be good for you, actually.
Jasmine nudges me. ‘Don’t you think he’s a brilliant bloke, Beccs?’
‘Of course,’ I say, sucking in my lower lip which has started wobbling. ‘He’s my best friend. Are you and Zac definitely…?’ I trail off as Phyllis propels her wheelchair into the middle of the bookshop.
‘There you are, Becca. And Jasmine too. Everyone’s asking where you are. I think Logan and his boss are about to make a speech and I’m sure they want to thank you publicly for doing such a brilliant job.’
