Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas!

Why am I getting emotional about a strange woman’s ramblings? Carol and our friendship are history. There is no going back, not after the way she’s treated me.

‘Three – um – ghosts will come to your rescue.’

‘What?’

Mrs C looks up worriedly then gives her head a little shake. ‘No, that can’t be right. Does that sound right to you?’

I shrug expansively, completely lost for words.

She means well, I’m sure. But the last thing I need is my past raked over and a farcical tale about ghouls coming to sort it all out.

She smiles. ‘Silly me. They’re not ghosts at all. They’re messengers! Three messengers.’

Oh, that’s all right, then.

I have to hand it to her. She’s very entertaining. Either she’s a really good actor or she genuinely believes that the guff she’s spouting is actually going to happen.

‘Heed the messengers’ advice and both your lives will be … er … ’ – she leafs urgently through her notebook, finally finding the right page – ‘enriched beyond measure!’

Homework complete, she sits back and beams at me, as if she deserves a gold star and a lollipop.

‘Well, thank you for that.’ Now is definitely the time to make my exit. ‘I’m – er – not a huge believer in this kind of thing.’

Mrs Cadwalader gives an understanding nod. ‘Neither was I, dear. But since I left Brian, I’ve been opening my mind to a whole host of different things.’

‘Brian?’

‘My ex.’

‘Oh.’ I glance at her vacant ring finger. ‘Didn’t you love him?’

‘No, I did not.’ She grows even more Welsh in her indignation. ‘Well, he never appreciated me, did he? Never really talked to me.’ She purses her lips. ‘He had to have his meal on the table at six on the dot otherwise he would sulk for days.’

‘How awful.’

‘It was, it was.’ She stares bleakly into the distance for a moment.

Then she snaps to, with a smile. ‘So anyway, I put up with it for all those years and then one night, I said, “You know what? You can bugger off, Brian.” I mean, getting the veg to the precise level of tenderness at the same time as the meat is practically impossible. It was doing my head in keeping to his tight schedule and trying to make him happy. So I threw down the tea towel and I said, “Brian, you’ll have beans on toast tonight or lump it!”’

I nod admiringly, remembering Bob the Knob’s delightful little ‘quirks’.

‘Well, of course he went off it, didn’t he? Threw me out of the house. So I went to a really posh hotel with his credit card and called my friend, Doris. Then you know what we did?’

‘What?’ In spite of myself, I’m intrigued.

‘We went to the bar and drank our weight in brandy.’

She sits back with a little smile and her eyes go all dewy. ‘Great friend, Doris. So supportive. Kept knocking them back even though she’s actually a port-and-lemon-once-a-month kind of girl.’

‘Just the sort of friend you need in a crisis,’ I say, suddenly thinking that’s exactly what Carol would have done for me. Once upon a time.

Mrs Cadwalader nods. ‘How true. Doris, bless her. Couldn’t get back on the stool that second time, she was laughing so hard.’

‘Sounds like a great night.’

‘Oh, yes. We did the can-can in the restaurant and the waiter refused to join in. It’s all a bit of a blur after that.’

‘And Brian?’

‘Well, he’s moved his secretary in!’ Her eyes are wide with disbelief. ‘So I said to him, “Brian, you’re a walking cliché and by the way, I’ve never had an orgasm in my life, but watch this space.”’

‘But you’re okay now?’ I picture her hot on the trail in her quest for the big ‘O’.

She leans forward and lays her hand on my wrist. ‘Oh, I’m more than okay, girl. I’m fabulous! I’ve always been a bit psychic so I decided I’d try to make a career of it. Use my natural, God-given talents, so to speak. The sky’s the limit, really. If you’ve got a dream, go for it, that’s what I say!’

I nod, slightly cowed by her exuberance. When was the last time I felt that excited about life? Too long ago to remember.

‘Anyway, I gotta go now, bach.’ She gathers up her things and peers anxiously outside. ‘I’ll have to make a dash for it. Meeting Doris. We’re going on the prowl. Panthers, we are!’

‘Don’t you mean ‘cougars’?’ I chuckle, as she stands up and shrugs on her strawberry mac.

She spins round and points at me. ‘That’s it! I knew panthers didn’t sound right. By the way, bach, I forgot to say. The first messenger will arrive tonight.’

I nod sagely. ‘I’ll get the kettle on, then.’

She winks at me, slings her bag over her shoulder – almost swiping the vase of fake sweet peas from the next table – and bustles off. Colliding with an elderly couple coming in, she steps back and waves them in with an extravagant flourish.

I sit for a minute, slightly dazed. It’s a bit of an anti-climax now that she’s gone. I imagine she has that effect on everyone she meets.

A genuinely lovely woman.

But Carol and I friends again?

And a ‘lovely man’ on the horizon?

I really don’t think so.

She got the turkey spot on. But that’s hardly genius. It’s Christmas in less than two months’ time.

I peer into the darkness to check if the rain has stopped. It has, so I go over to the counter and pay for my tea. As I’m leaving, I happen to glance over at my table in the corner.

On the wall behind my chair is a poster advertising the local amateur dramatics’ production of A Christmas Carol. There sits Scrooge, looking spooked in nightcap and gown, a motley crew of phantoms at his back.

I leave the café, chuckling to myself.

Chapter Four (#u16e9e831-8ede-5e25-991e-076d7f7214fc)

On the way home, I pick up a message from Mum saying she and Tim will be calling round later.