on my left knee. It’s Stanley, with a slice of ham.
I stroke his ears and stare at Ollie. ‘It definitely says there are jobs?’
He nods. ‘Definitely.’ Our gazes lock and his is so intent I’m spun back to that Christmas all those years ago. When it was just him and me, and nothing and nobody else mattered. When all I could see were his eyes, when he tasted of whisky and mince pies, when the scent of cloves and cinnamon mingled with the citrus of his aftershave. And now I’m not sure what is past and what is present. I just know I’m glad he’d here.
‘Mince pies, anybody?’ I blink my way back to the present feeling a bit unnerved, just as Mum waves a tray under Stanley’s nose, so I cover his eyes.
‘He’s not allowed dried fruit, it’s poisonous!’ She waves one tantalising close and his nose twitches. ‘Don’t you dare, Mum!’ I kiss Uncle Terence on the cheek and down the rest of the brandy in one gulp. Which could be a mistake. The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat and insides and brings tears to my eyes and makes me cough and splutter alarmingly. ‘Thank you.’ I blink like an owl in sunlight.
‘You’re welcome, my darling. You’re okay?’
‘Definitely.’ I nod vigorously to prove the point. ‘Sorry, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m fine. All ready to party!’
Uncle T smiles. ‘That’s my girl. Oh look – mistletoe!’
Ollie blushes, and just like that he’s the teenager I used to know. Except the grown-up Ollie is even more gorgeous.
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the hint of a smile. A shared secret, and my stomach does a little flip of anticipation.
I want to touch him, kiss him, see if he still tastes the same.
I mustn’t!
I scoop up my dog and take a hasty step away from Uncle T. ‘Come on, Stanley, let’s mingle.’ Then I flee.
10.30 p.m., 24 December
‘Sorry, Dais, I’m going to have to whizz.’ Frankie is hugging me as she speaks, she’s all flushed and smiley. Or maybe it’s me that’s flushed and her that’s just smiley. ‘Thanks so much for letting me come, not had so much fun in years, but Tarquin just called.’
‘He did?’ Frankie and Tarquin have quite an explosive relationship. She’s always so controlled and restrained, right up until the moment she screams at him or throws something heavy. I think he winds her up on purpose, their relationship seems to thrive on the emotional highs and lows.
‘He’s sent a car, and roses! He’s booked a hotel for the night to apologise.’ She winks. Break-up make-up is the way they roll.
‘That’s nice.’
She glances across the room at Ollie. ‘Shame he’s got that cow in tow, he seems nice.’ She sighs. ‘Well he’s dishy so who cares if he is or not? You’ll have to give me his deets!’
‘Frankie! You’re just about to make up with Tarquin!’
She grins. ‘He’s an orphan, he’ll have nobody to eat Christmas dinner with if he doesn’t make up with me!’
‘Really? That’s so sad.’
‘Sad? Cheeky cow, what’s sad about having to spend Christmas day with me!’
‘I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t.’ I glare at her. ‘The orphan stuff, not having anybody. That’s horrible.’
‘He’s not an orphan, you dork.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘He just chooses not to see his fam. So don’t go all drippy and nice to him when you see him. I know you, you’ll be helping him move in!’
‘Oh.’
‘Have a great Christmas if I don’t see you.’ She winks. ‘I’m hoping to be tied up on a four-poster bed! I might text your Ollie and see if he wants to make a foursome!’
‘Frankie!’
‘Oooo! You want him for yourself, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t! You’re worse than my mother, anyway he’s almost family.’
‘Too sexy for family.’ Her voice has got that dreamy edge to it again. ‘Admit it, he’s a hunk.’
‘He’s a hunk, and he’s got a girlfriend! A nearly fiancée. And it’s not all about looks you know.’ She’s being ridiculous. Totally. I do not fancy Oliver Cartwright.
‘Ha-ha. Says who?’ Frankie smoothes her hair down, the heavy jet-black fringe would make anybody else look like a vampire having a bad day, on her it’s cool. ‘Me thinks you doth protest too much.’
She doesn’t give me time to correct her quote, or protest that I’m not protesting too much. I just don’t want to shag Ollie. End of.
Well, okay, there might be a tiny bit of me that wonders what it would be like. Just a tiny bit. Just out of curiosity, because after all he was a bloody good kisser. And now he’s cuter than ever. And kind, and I was so tempted to go in for some lip action a few minutes ago.
Frankie strides out of the shop, letting a waft of cold air in, then I hear her whoop and there’s a clatter of high heels on the paving stones as she spots the posh car and Tarquin.
The rest of the party passes in a bit of a blur. At one stage, I lose Stanley and rediscover him sharing a chaise longue with Mabel. They look rather sweet, and they’re both snoring.
I think I have had a vat of mulled wine, enough mini food to make up a banquet sized portion of full-size offerings and several unscheduled stops under the mistletoe.
Ollie goes back to being boring, stiff Ollie with Juliet – who keeps giving me patronising sorry looks, until Uncle T tempts her to try the mulled wine, and she falls into a pile of Great Expectations.
Which makes me snigger, and when Ollie catches me at it the corner of his mouth twitches with what could be a smile. Or wind. Either way, it cheers me up.
Then he and Terence prop her back up and she tries to kiss his face off and plucks at his shirt like a hungry kitten as he steers her out. Probably for a night of passion, if she stays awake.
I bet he’s good at that as well. Bugger. Where did that thought come from? I do not want to think about Oliver and his sexual prowess. Not at all. I do not want to even consider the possibility that I have missed out on some brilliant bonking. Not that he would have been that good when we were eighteen. Or even wanted to. It was just a kiss.
She’s too tall for him though. I mean, look, she’s had to wear ballet pumps and I’m sure she’s a high heels girl at heart. Not that he’s short, he’s just normal height. But she’s definitely too tall. It will never last.
Half an hour later, everybody has gone so I prod Stanley awake and let him hoover up crumbs while I’m waiting for my taxi to arrive.
‘Don’t worry about the job dear girl, that can wait. No checking emails tonight, it’s Christmas.’ Uncle Terence kisses me on each cheek, continental style.
‘Of course, I won’t!’
I will.
‘Next year will be better, my dear!’
‘Of course, it will.’ It has to be. If Ollie can do it, then I bloody well can, too.
I hug Stanley close. Ollie has everything, Ollie has the type of life I had assumed I would have. Seeing him tonight has been a bit of a kick in the gut if I’m honest, it’s hit me just how much I’ve been avoiding facing up to all the things that are wrong with my life.
All