Four Christmases and a Secret

‘Oh my God, I need to do something, I can’t go on like this for the rest of my life, can I Stan?’ I pass Stanley the sausage out of the mini toad-in-the-hole and pop the rest in my mouth. He takes it off me delicately, puts it on the floor than examines it for signs of poison. ‘I mean look at me, and you!’ He looks straight at me, munching his treat, a sadness in his brown eyes. ‘Sorry, I love you, you know that, but you weren’t supposed to be my plus one.’ I sigh. ‘You’re not even mine, you’re on loan.’

I am over thirty, and I’ve brought a dog to Uncle Terence’s Christmas Eve party. And he’s not even my dog. I’m fostering him until a suitable home can be found.

It isn’t the fact that my boyfriend ducked out of Christmas, and my life, at the very last minute. He was just the straw that broke the camel’s back so to speak. It is everything.

My mother will, of course, be disappointed that Simon isn’t with me. And that I still show no signs of getting engaged, let alone married or with-child, and she won’t waste any time in telling me and everybody else in hearing range. But it’s not like a man is the missing piece in the jigsaw of my life. The whole bloody jigsaw is a mess, it’s a mishmash of several different puzzles at the moment. Or at least that’s how it feels. And I need to work out what the finished picture is supposed to look like.

‘Oh God, Mum is heading this way again!’ I adjust my antlers, straighten my rather fine Rudolf jumper and take a swig of mulled wine. ‘Brace yourself, Stanley, this is my “must try harder” moment!’ Stanley stares at me, his lovely brown eyes look worried. ‘Me, not you, there’s nothing at all wrong with you.’ I reassure him. ‘Well, there is, but we can talk about that later. Minor point!’ He doesn’t look convinced.

Stanley and I are huddled together in the corner of the rather lovely bookshop. It’s cram packed with old furniture, books and antiques that have seen far better days. The air is heavy with the smell of leather, of new and old books, of dust, and potpourri. And mulled wine and sausage rolls.

On any other day it would be heaven, but I know that all my shortcomings are just about to be broadcast. One of them being Stanley.

‘Long time no see, Daisy!’ I am so focused on watching my mother approaching that I haven’t noticed Ollie sneak up on the other side. ‘On your own?’

‘No, I’ve got Stanley!’ I wave my glass a little too enthusiastically and splatter my reindeer.

He glances around, looking puzzled.

‘Stanley!’ I point at Stanley, who wags his tail rather too enthusiastically for my liking. I was sure I’d explained to him that Ollie was the enemy. A huge part of my ‘must try harder’ problem.

Ollie glances down. ‘Ah, a dog.’ He raises an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitches. If he laughs I might have to throw my wine at him, which would be a shame as I have already wasted quite a bit of it and it is rather fine wine. ‘Lots to be said for sticking with a dog.’ He tickles Stanley behind his ear, and the traitor wiggles his body in ecstasy.

‘So good of you to make it this year! No lives that need saving in the Third World?’

‘I’m sure there are, but I’m based back here now and I’m not on call.’

‘Oh.’ There’s an awkward silence.

‘Room for me?’ He nods his head at the space on the seat next to me, and I’m suddenly feeling all hot and bothered. I’ve just realised that I am sitting in the very spot where we had our drunken snog all those years ago. Where he plonked himself down without asking. Oh Lord-y. I shift up a bit, and before I can object, he’s plopped himself in the gap, his warm thigh pressed against mine. ‘Bit of a squeeze these days.’ He grins.

‘We’ve grown.’ I swallow. Not quite sure where to look, but unable to not look if you know what I mean. My thighs have spread, his have kind of muscled up and gone all firm and take up more space. His chest is also broader, his jawline squarer, his lips still …

‘No mistletoe, then?’ He glances up and grins, hopefully he’s not cottoned onto my under-the-eyelashes sideways staring.

‘Oh no, ha-ha, Uncle T must be slipping, thank heavens for that, eh!’

He raises an eyebrow.

‘Seeing as you’re practically married and everything.’

‘And everything?’ The eyebrow quirks higher and his dimples deepen. I’d forgotten about his dimples, right next to his full lips, nestled there in a very tempting, kiss-me kind of way.

Oh bugger. Pull yourself together Daisy. ‘Babies, weddings, saving lives and all that! You’re a responsible adult now, aren’t you?’ I try to shift up a bit, but there is absolutely nowhere to go. The seat has shrunk, it has to have done. I was never that skinny. Although he was, with lanky long legs.

Shit, he’s thrown one arm along the back of the sofa. I really do feel hot now. He is quite sexy, and he seems to be sending waves of testosterone or some other kind of hormone out in my direction. Along with fingers, which seem to have accidentally brushed against my shoulder. I blame my oversized jumper, which keeps slipping.

It must be something they teach them in medical school. I mean, I know I did snog him last time we were sat here, but we were hormone-ridden teens with alcohol-laced blood. This is different.

Flaming heck, I need a fan, or something.

I hike the jumper back onto my shoulder.

‘And what about you?’ His voice is deeper than it was. Unnerving.

‘Me? Me?’ I fan myself with my hand, trying to just make it look like a casual wave and not a life-saving manoeuvre. ‘Oh me, I’m the same, you know, no babies, no saving lives, unless you call a ‘would like to meet’ ad a public service, ha-ha.’

‘No boyfriend with you tonight?’ He chuckles. ‘What was his name? Josh, Josh the slosh, that was it!’

It’s like somebody has grabbed me around the chest and is trying to squeeze the life out of me. The gasp escapes before I can stop it.

‘Daisy?’ Ollie is giving me an odd look. ‘Are you okay?’

I am not okay. I am so not okay. My forehead is clammy and I feel sick. I stare at him and try to hold it all in.

Luckily, I do not feel at all like snogging Ollie now. Kissing is the last thing on my mind. I want to thump him. Or scream and run away.

Josh is history, Josh is a name I never want to hear again. My lust has flown, now all I feel is mild panic.

‘Daisy?’ He prods me, so I swallow down the horrible taste in my mouth and try to think of a witty retort.

‘Oh, there you are, darling! I wondered where you were hiding!’ Whilst I have been distracted, my mother has sneaked up.

‘I’m not hiding, Mum.’ This has to be the first time in my entire life that I have been pleased my mother has barged into a conversation.

‘You’re never going to find another man if you’re hiding next to,’ she squints so she can read the books on the nearest shelf, ‘Ancient Relics and Wonders of the World!’

‘I’m not going to find another man at Uncle T’s party, anyway, am I?’

She ignores me. ‘Look who I’ve found!’ She hustles Vera into our little group. ‘And you’ve already seen lovely Ollie of course!’ She beams at Ollie in a proud mother kind of way and pats his shoulder. She should adopt him. ‘Vera was just telling me all about your new girlfriend!’

‘You have got a new girlfriend?’ I have to ask him.

He shifts uncomfortably. Probably because of the way he’s sandwiched into the seat with me, and that fact that when I turned slightly to face him, I nearly elbowed him in the nose.

How the hell do I get out of this seat without being too obvious? I feel like the last sardine in the tin, the one that has been squashed into the remaining tiny space that is too small for it. I need prising out with a fork.

‘Daisy is on her own again, aren’t you dear?’ Mum has carried on oblivious. ‘Single and independent, she might be gay you know!’

‘Mother I didn’t say …’ I glare at Ollie, daring him to snigger. He doesn’t. He’s not really a sniggering type these days it would appear.

‘Might be? You don’t know?’ A tall, slim blonde girl is peering at me as though I’m a particularly fascinating first edition. ‘How interesting! Are you bi?’ Then she glares at Ollie, who has his elbows squashed against his sides, after trying to remove his arm discretely from the back of the chair.

‘Oh, have you met Juliet, dear? Ollie’s girlfriend!’ Vera announces this as though he’s just won the sack race at school (strangely appropriate, but I beat him hands down at the egg and spoon) and he’s now showing off his trophy. ‘This is Daisy,’ she drops her voice to a confidential level, ‘she’s young, free and single again! Aren’t you, dear? Or are you having a thing with that girl?’

‘No, I’m not, she’s my flatmate. I am lovely and single, free to do what I want, shag who I want, get drunk and …’ They are all staring at me. Bloody hell, it gets hot when you’re wrapped in a jumper and squeezed between a man and the arm of a leather chair. ‘Well, obviously, I don’t shag around, but I am free to kiss anybody I want under the mistletoe this year!’

‘Terence?’ Questions Ollie, drily. Did I mention that he appears to have turned into a very ‘dry’ type? I’m not quite sure if he’s still got a proper sense of humour, it seems to have evaporated as he’s got older, I suppose it isn’t allowed now he’s a consultant. And it is not hip.