скачать книгу бесплатно
‘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.
‘Definitely!’ I don’t actually mean this, but there really aren’t many people at all at his Christmas parties that you would want to snog, or touch, or even air kiss.
Juliet smiles, and looks down her long nose at me. She has perfect long, blonde, sleek hair and a long, slim, sleek body. Long has never been my thing.
She leans forward, well down, as though she’s greeting a child, and air-kisses.
‘Lovely to meet you, Daisy! How cute!’ Mwah-mwah. ‘Well done! I work in medicine, what do you do?’ It’s not just the words she uses, it’s the way she says them – in a very posh and very serious tone, that makes me feel like a child.
‘Oh, how lovely.’ I have a bad habit of imitating people’s accents when I’m in awe. ‘Medicine, fancy that!’
‘She works in communications,’ chimes in Vera.
‘And you’re a doctor?’ My mother frowns.
‘PR!’ Adds Juliet. ‘In medicine!’
‘Smashing, ha-ha, how clever!’ I say.
‘Christ, so you’re the one they wheel out to apologise when there’s a cock-up? Unexpected deaths and all that.’ Frankie has arrived and is now perched on the arm of the chair next to me. She drapes her arm round my shoulders, though she only has eyes for Ollie. She’s like a cheetah, waiting for her moment. I’m not sure if it’s the moment to leap on Ollie, or the moment to slay Juliet.
My nervous laugh is met with stony silence. Juliet is twitching, Frankie is positively purring.
‘We issue statements to the press, if that’s what you mean.’ Her tone has cooled.
‘Ah that’s what they call them!’ Frankie grins, then glances at her mobile phone, which has launched into a rendition of ‘Stop The Cavalry’. ‘Duty calls!’
‘Splendid.’ I say, to fill the gap as we all watch her sink into a leather armchair, her phone to her ear.
Juliet is not mollified. ‘I spearhead the PR campaigns.’
‘A bit like your job, Daisy, but people adore you, you’re not trying to wriggle your way out of being sued for incompetence!’ Chimes in my mother, who is using a plate of mini burgers as her way into the conversation. Sometimes I could hug her. ‘Daisy’s a journalist now! Canapé?’
‘Ah! Super, thanks.’ I grab a handful and try to move the conversation on from my sadly lacking career. ‘You’re in medicine as well, aren’t you Ollie?’ He raises an eyebrow, which is fair enough. He knows I know what he does, my annual date at Uncle T’s makes it impossible to avoid his accomplishments. But I was just trying to shut my mother up before she started to expand upon my not-so-wonderful career.
‘I thought you were in law?’ A faint frown lines his brow. How is it fair that frowning can be attractive on a man, but a disaster on a woman? ‘A barrister?’
‘Oh no, no, you must have misheard.’
‘Maybe father was confused. I swear he said …’
‘Oliver’s on the specialist register now, so clever, aren’t you, darling?’ Juliet buts in, which is rather fortunate. ‘That’s how we met, at work.’ She giggles and tries to link an arm through his, which is tricky. ‘And what did you say you did, Maisie?’
‘Daisy, it’s Daisy.’ I might have to thump her. ‘Oh, nothing so highbrow!’
‘I wouldn’t say it’s highbrow, just making a living like everybody else.’ Says Ollie. He shifts self-consciously and manages to extricate himself from Juliet’s grasp. ‘Just part of a team. Not exactly rocket science.’ He gives a self-depreciating laugh and Juliet nudges him.
‘More like brain surgery, ha-ha!’
‘Not exactly.’ He looks uncomfortable, and finally manages to lever himself up off the chair. Released, I nearly slither off onto the floor but manage to grab Frankie on the way and scramble to my feet.
‘Nonsense, darling! It practically is!’ She sounds a bit like Vera, I can see what drew him to her.
He has gone highbrow though, all home counties.
‘That’s enough about us though Maisie, what about you?’ She is not to be distracted, even though I swear she’s not listening to a word I say.
‘Daisy works for the Hunslip and Over Widgley Local Guardian.’ Uncle Terence has crept up unnoticed and pats my arm protectively. It’s getting pretty packed in my little corner now, soon our elbows will be squished against our sides and we won’t be able to drink out of our glasses. ‘For now! She’s quietly planning world domination though.’
‘What a mouthful!’ Juliet’s eyes are wide open.
‘Known as HOWL for short.’ Ollie looks amused, and I’m not sure if I should punch him or smile. I smile, then Juliet guffaws. Well, it’s more like a neigh.
What on earth were they thinking when they named the paper that? Why not Over Widgley and Hunslip? Or ditch the Local bit?
‘Oh, my goodness, how hilarious!’ Juliet is gasping for breath, wiping tears from her eyes.
I want to tell her it’s not that funny, but that would be rude.
‘Oh, I’m going to have to tweet that! I really am! Are they on twitter? I’ll tag them!’
‘Still dogging?’ Ollie raises an eyebrow, and glances down at Stanley who is now lying on his back, legs akimbo. The HOWL thing was his fault, so I can’t exactly forgive him for deflecting the conversation.
‘Dogging! They do that here?’ Juliet pauses, mid tweet. ‘Oh my God, I need to tweet that as well! Do they like, advertise in your paper? Or is it really hush-hush?’
‘Ha-ha!’ I can feel myself going red, but I am not going to be belittled. I also would quite like to punch her on the nose or point out to everybody her unusual level of interest in potential dogging sites. Instead I decide to take a mature attitude and ignore her. ‘I help out with animal welfare.’ I tell Juliet, who I don’t think is actually that interested. She’s too busy brushing imaginary fluff off her boyfriend’s shirt. It’s like watching a monkey groom its mate. But at least it is stopping her tapping on her mobile.
‘Oh, you rescue rhino’s, do you? That’s so brave, so, so visionary!’
‘Dogs.’
‘Dogs?’
‘I foster rescued dogs, street dogs, well I don’t actually go and rescue them myself, I help rehabilitate them and foster. I do have an actual job as well you know, I can’t just go racing off round the world.’ Although right now, that might be an idea. In fact it could be quite a good idea. I must make a mental note to think about this one later.
‘Oh. Like woof-woof dogs?’ She looks at me blankly, as though a rhino is every day, but a dog is harder to comprehend.
‘Like Stanley!’ I point to Stanley, whose sleeping on his back routine was a ruse so that I wouldn’t notice him sneak off. He is now skulking under a table with what looks like a turkey leg in his mouth.
‘What is it?’
‘Erm, a dog.’ Surely, she’s not so fixated on safari animals that she can’t recognise a dog?
‘What type?’
‘Stanley is a street dog.’ I say proudly. ‘From Spain. I think. He had fleas, ticks, mange and worms!’
‘Oh.’ She stares, then wrinkles her nose. ‘Have you thought about having him groomed? My mother takes her dog every week.’ She looks at me, horror dawning and takes a step back. ‘You don’t have fleas, do you? I’m allergic.’
‘No! He was sorted when I met him. But I have helped rehabilitate him!’
