by Emma Baird
“Me too. I’ve spent twenty-six Christmases with my family,” Katya said. “I wanted to find out if other people always fight on Christmas Day.”
“Same,” he said. “Last Christmas, my ex and I screamed at each other all day. Anyway, can I get you breakfast?”
Oh, those twinkly blue eyes... Inside, he’d made an effort to make the place Christmassy—more so than Katya and Mhari had at their flat. An arty silver tree stood in the corner and cards lined the shelf over the fireplace. Freshly baked bread smells drifted from the kitchen and the coffee machine gurgled. Katya felt as if she’d wandered onto the pages of a lifestyle magazine or website.
“Just a cup of coffee,” she said, taking off her shoes and sinking into the armchair. She curled her feet under her legs and imagined the caption for the picture.
Katya and Zac, whose luxury home makes the most of its lochside setting, spend their Sundays drinking proper coffee, eating home-baked bread and congratulating each other on their smugness.
Cheery, Katya! Kindness and good wishes to your fellow man instead of cynicism and catty thoughts. Say something nice to make up for your inner meanness.
“This time next year, though, you’ll be running a new, successful business,” she volunteered.
Suddenly, he was in front of her. “With a hot, sexy girlfriend who never shouts at me by my side.”
He bent and took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips, letting his lips linger there a while. “I fantasise about the last time I kissed you all the time. Except in my head it goes a lot further.”
The blood in her veins fizzed in response. Zac, the man who’d promised good things came to those who waited. Why not give herself a much-anticipated Christmas present, rather than wait for the New Year? That top bedroom in the house offered glorious views of the loch. The idea of doing it in front of such a view, curtains left open, thrilled her.
The Thoroughly Modern Millie always scratched the itch. Sometimes it was a mistake. Sometimes it wasn’t. Mr NSFW had his astrological reputation to live up to, the Psychic Josie promise sparks would fly. No regrets—well, one. Enisa’s full body waxing and beautifying services were booked for six days’ time. Nature had taken its course since the last waxing and hair sprouted everywhere. Would he notice?
“I mean it, Katya,” he said, coffee breath warming her cheeks. “I’m serious about you. I know you think I’m a joke or untrustworthy but I’m not, I’m...”
The Thoroughly Modern Millie also acted responsibly. Katya hadn’t left her flat that morning expecting encounters with men she fancied. When she asked Zac if he had condoms, he gave her one of those half-smiles he did so well.
“No. I don’t carry them around ‘just in case’.”
That, more than anything, convinced Katya. Zac took her seriously. Ironically, she had a packet at home gathering dust, as they hadn’t been used in some time. But it was now noon, and she was due at Gaby’s in an hour’s time, complete with the vegan dish she’d promised to bring.
“Later, then,” she said, getting to her feet and throwing her arms around him, happier than she’d been in a while—the fresh start ahead of her shiny and dazzling. Zac gave brilliant hugs, their similar heights pushing together all the corresponding bits of their bodies. She nestled her chin on his shoulder, resting it against soft blonde hair and breathing in warm skin, shampoo and bread. His hand cupped the side of her head. She turned, pressing her lips against his cheek.
“Gaby and Jack won’t mind an extra guest,” she said, apologising to them in her head. “Especially if you bring food and drink.”
He saw her to the door, the half-smile banished and a wide grin in its place. “Ah. Gaby invited me when she bumped into me last night. She forgot to mention you’d be there too.”
“Forgot.”
“Best surprise in the world. Go off and make yourself beautiful.”
CHAPTER 31
As expected, Jamal’s general store was open. Christmas Day, he told Katya when she popped in on her way back to the flat, allowed him to take advantage of supermarkets’ closure when almost everyone realised they’d forgotten a key ingredient for lunch. He didn’t bother to celebrate, but he shut the shop at six instead of eight, figuring that most people would be slumped in front of the TV comatose by that point.
“What d’ye need?” he asked, conjuring up a dusty tin of peeled chestnuts from the depths of one of the over-packed shelves as soon as she asked. “And what about these?” He waved a packet of Rennies at her. “In case o’ the indigestion.”
“I don’t plan on eating or drinking too much,” she told him in her head, “seeing as I’m going to get naked with someone later this evening.” Chestnuts purchased, she had forty minutes to shower, shave her legs, get dressed, apply a ton of make-up AND come up with a main course for herself.
Red dress on, tummy held in with mega-control pants that made breathing tricky and make-up in place, she got to Gaby and Jack’s twenty minutes late and without a main course. Oh well. Christmas dinner always included lots of potatoes and veg. So long as Jack hadn’t cooked them in goose fat she should be okay.
“Oh, you look fabulous! And I’m totally under-dressed!” Gaby opened the door, blasting Katya with the smells of roasting turkey and mulled wine.
Katya’s friend wasn’t underdressed—or not for her, anyway. She’d exchanged the usual track pants and hoodie for a tightly belted woollen dress pulled over leggings. It was a pity they were covered in cat hair, even though poor little Mena was no longer there to shed her hair.
Inside, too many bodies in a confined space made the heat suffocating. The doctor perched on an armchair, lecturing Jolene on what she could and couldn’t eat from today’s menu. Jolene shot Gaby a ‘rescue me’ look, the latter saying Jack had made a pregnancy-friendly menu, so she did not need to worry. Jolene gulped down a small glass of fizz in record time, telling the doctor women in France drank through their pregnancies and wasn’t the French population happy and well-adjusted? Next to them, the mysterious Ranald McLatchie sipped mulled wine, his cheeks blowing out air every so often. He was someone who spoke as if words were taxed; this full-on Christmas party must be an ordeal.
Gaby’s mum Mandy pushed her way through the crowd and hugged Katya, telling her daughter at least one of them had made an effort to dress up. Gaby’s older brother Dylan was engrossed in conversation with Stewart. Gaby caught Katya’s stare. Yes, Stewart had finally found someone—apart from Jolene—who didn’t mind the ear bashing. Snatches of their chat drifted over. Coding. Dylan shared Stewart’s fascination for all things HTML, SQL, Binary and jQuery.
The doorbell sounded again. All the guests looked at each other as if to say, “Where on earth is someone else going to fit in here?” Ranald backed himself up against the wall, gulping the rest of his wine.
“I’ll get it,” Katya said, the nearest person to the front door.
“Please do!” Gaby piped up. This was the bit where she was supposed to be surprised. Katya decided to play along.
“OMG!” she burst out as she opened the door, and Zac, his face already prepared for politeness, broke into a much broader smile when he saw her. His eyes ran up and down her body, lingering on her chest, the red dress moulded tightly to it.
“Wow. You look incredible.”
He wasn’t so bad himself, dressed in black straight-legged Levi’s, a lumberjack shirt over a black tee shirt and floppy blonde hair touching his shoulders. “I made you something,” he said, holding out a foil-covered dish. “I didn’t think you’d have time.”
She could kiss him. Gorgeous, devoted, responsible, thoughtful...
Not Dexter.
No, not Dexter but better. Better, better. Say it enough and her subconscious should get the message.
“Thank you!” She took the dish from him and kissed his cheek. “It’s hot as Hades in here. Expect to get much closer to people than you’ve ever been in your life.”
Following her, he pinche
d her bottom. “Good.”
Inside, the guests greeted him, with cheers doubling them when he held up a plastic bag of rattling bottles.
“We made canapés!” Gaby exclaimed, coming out of the kitchen bearing two trays. There was a cough behind her. “Well, Jack did. But I plated them up because I’m the designer and I know how to make things pretty.”
Everyone cooed appreciatively, and the food was passed around—Brie and cranberry pastry twists, potato cakes with smoked salmon and cream cheese, and hummus-loaded celery sticks. Zac helped himself to a handful of everything and held one of the celery sticks in front of Katya’s mouth.
“Go on,” he said.
“I am not a performing seal.”
But the run and the skipped breakfast persuaded her hunger was more important than dignity. She opened her mouth, and he popped it in. The doctor gave her a discreet wink, a reference to the NSFW reputation. Anyway, none of that mattered now. Katya had just tasted the best hummus she’d ever had. She’d eaten plenty of the stuff over the years. Nothing matched this one—the sharpness of the lemon, the velvety-smoothness, the nutty sesame seed tahini, garlic and chickpeas.
Jack made his way into the living room, regarding the invading hordes to his living space and hanging back so Mandy didn’t pounce on him.
“Jack, this hummus...” Katya said when he made it to their side.
He shook his head. “Zac brought it round earlier. Awfy keen on supplying the vegan options.”
She nudged the man next to her. He nudged her back.
“I hope the turkey replacement is out of this world,” she said, and he promised it would be.
“A blistering review, remember?” she added.
He grinned. “Do your worst.”
No one sat down to dinner until an hour later. The booze had flown, but the canapés kept coming too. Hummus-topped celery sticks weren’t the only option, unfortunately for Katya’s belly. Tiny flat-breads topped with baba ganoush followed and homemade potato crisps with an aioli drip made from silken tofu instead of eggs. A clumsy attempt was made to clear the living room so the extendable dining table fitted the space, and the guests gathered around. Katya landed on her seat with a thump, bread, crisps and too many rich sauces and dips plummeting her onto the chair.
Zac, naturally enough, sat down beside her. “I’m too full,” she moaned, rubbing her stomach and regretting the control pants that dug in mercilessly. “It’s your fault. I’ll never manage the main course. Or the pudding.”
His thigh pressed against hers. “Bet you will.”
Gaby insisted on a group photo for Instagram, checking with Jack who thought social media the devil’s tool. He gave in gracefully and everyone leant in closer for Gaby’s pic. Katya sneaked her arm around Zac and seconds later, the photo was online. Multiple beeps sounded as the Lochalshie WhatsApp group cottoned on.
One member of that group, anyway.
“Happy, I mean... Merry Christmas. Soz, 2 much vodka-irn-brew, I mean, bru! Katya, are ye an item with Pac, no Zac?”
Everyone in the room bar Mandy, Dylan and Zac were the lucky recipients of Mhari’s message. Nine pairs of eyes moved from phone screen to Katya and she put on her best neutral face. Honestly. Once upon a time, she’d done a job for Norfolk CID where she had to write a guide for trainee detectives about how to spot liars in interview-type situations. She’d picked up lots of useful tips.
Hands and feet. Stillness was unnatural. Move them slightly. Do not rush to say anything. Dead giveaway.
“Yes,” Zac said, kissing her. Oh well. Most people thought they were together already.
Jack and Gaby brought out the main courses, the obligatory turkey, gravy, roast potatoes, stuffing, Brussels sprouts and parsnips done in parmesan. Jack went back to the kitchen and emerged seconds later, presenting a dish to Katya with a flourish. Everyone else ‘oohed!’ in appreciation. In front of her, pastry puffed itself up, supporting a topping of caramelised red onion and beetroot studded with thyme leaves and surrounded by rocket dressed with balsamic vinegar, olive oil and wholegrain mustard.
“Can I have that instead of turkey?” Mandy said and immediately looked contrite. “Sorry, Jack, love. But I’ve never liked turkey that much.”
Three others made the same plea. Zac did his best not to look smug.
The Lochalshie WhatsApp group beeped once more. “Your dinner looks nice! Can I come round for seconds?”
The chorus of nos equalled the ones of yes.
“Mhari,” Katya explained to Mandy and Dylan, “resident of Lochalshie, my flatmate. Nosiness personified and suffers from FOMO all the time.”
She was on her way round anyway, Katya was willing to bet, well before anyone said “invite her over”. The doorbell sounded five minutes later, proving her right, and that familiar ‘I dinnae want to intrude’ speech started.
The doctor asked after her mum, dad and older brother, and Mhari dismissed them. They were about to curl up and watch the Coronation Street special on the TV. Mhari fancied she might find excitement elsewhere. Which elicited a warning about too much excitement at Christmastime and the number of festive-invoked heart attacks the good doctor had dealt with in her years as a GP. Mhari muttered that it was just as well her ma and pa did not believe in excitement and looked around her for a space to sit down.
Why was Katya surprised when she sat herself opposite her, prime viewing for anyone who wanted to eyeball the couple in front of them? Mandy shouted across the table. “Mhari? You’re a local here? Will my daughter be dismembered for being a dirty Sassenach?”
Gaby jumped, dismay clear in her eyes. If you wanted to make a good impression on the locals and, more importantly, your boyfriend’s family, fingers crossed that ill-advised remarks about England-Scotland did not surface.
Zac stretched across the table, expensive wine bottle at the ready, and topped up Mandy’s glass. “Mandy,” he said, “and I can’t believe you’re old enough to be Gaby’s mum. I thought you were her sister.” She fell for it too, tilting her glass and letting her fringe fall forward in front of her eyes. Jeez. “Your daughter is in good hands. Everyone here adores her.”
Jack brought in yet more plates of delicious food and leaned in to kiss the back of Gaby’s neck so everyone aww-ed in admiration. Mhari said she’d eaten too much but then took a plate. Forks and knives were picked up and silence descended.
Katya took a mouthful of what was the best vegan main course she’d ever had. From the expression on Mandy’s face, she agreed. Katya decided a second helping was do-able if she went to the loo and removed the control pants. Mission accomplished, she returned to her seat only to discover all that remained of the tart were a few pastry crumbs.
“What happened to the pie?” Mandy, Gaby, Jack and Jolene looked sheepish.
“Sorry, Katya,” Gaby piped up, “it was just so delicious.”
None of them were vegan. They could have tucked into extra stuffing or bacon-wrapped chipolatas. But no. They nicked the dish Katya had just removed her knickers for.
“A blistering review of my dish, yet?” Zac asked as she sat down. “I can take it.”
The others rushed in to tell him how wonderful it was, and amazing that a recipe without meat, fish, cheese, cream, eggs, butter etc., tasted so fab.
“My complaint is the same as what I said last time. You didn’t make enough.”
No one wanted pudding—a chocolate bombe stuffed with ice-cream that had small chunks of Jack’s homemade millionaire’s shortbread running through it. He pulled a ‘suit yourself’ face and said he, Gaby, Mandy and Dylan would eat it for breakfast the next day. The crazy things people did at Christmas.
Zac’s leg moved closer to Katya’s. She returned the pressure. As others cleared the table, he used the distraction to whisper in her ear. “Promise you’ll come back with me later?”
Hardly a surprise that he asked. And she’d spent the afternoon admiring how he looked in that cute waistcoat and the way the shirt sleeves
moulded to his arms. He’d taken the time and effort to make her the best food she’d ever eaten and if she stood up now and announced they were going back to his place for some serious shagging, everyone would probably cheer.
It was enough to banish all thoughts of workaholic, too-quick-to-move-on Americans from her mind.
Almost.
In the here and now, she whispered back a ‘yes’ and placed her hand where it was impossible to mistake the intent. His head was still close enough for her to be the only one who heard the groan. Not safe for work indeed. That thing was rock hard.
“Shall we go to the pub?” Gaby announced. “Jack says Ashley has a Christmas karaoke, which should be fun.”
Below the table where only Zac could see it, Katya waved her hand from side to side. Yes, they’d be cat-called when they announced going back to his house or her flat, but a few hours’ quiet beckoned. Why not take advantage?
Zac grabbed her hand, crushing her fingers tightly. Agreement, then. Coats on and the table and kitchen a bomb site, everyone moved out. The cold air was welcome after the heat of the house and Katya held back, determined she and Zac would peel off as soon as they got to his house as discreetly as possible so no one noticed they weren’t there until they were in the pub.
Outside his house, he paused, jangling his keys, and they slipped in the front door, unnoticed by the group who’d gone into the Lochside Welcome arguing about what the best Christmas song was. The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl—Fairytale of New York. No question, surely?
Zac’s house was cold, and he apologised, turning the thermostat up to its maximum.
“Um... want to get under the duvet?” he suggested. “Fully clothed until we warm up?”
“Yes. Let’s.”
Funny how confident she sounded when her mind told her she was eighty percent sure and twenty percent racked with doubt. Another thing struck her—she and Dexter got together for the first time at the Lochside Welcome right next to Zac’s house. And it felt like betrayal to do this so close by.
