Chapter 3
THREE
There are Christmas carols playing on Alexa as I fold and beat the cake, the tempting chocolate aroma filling my nostrils.
Later having decorated it with a rich cream cheese frosting, I am tempted to cut into it and enjoy a huge slice, but of course I don’t. This one is a trial run for the pensioners’ party, which will be offered along with the usual mince pies that will take me no time to rustle up. The staff at work can enjoy this one.
I sing along to the Christmas songs, my voice filling the air, when I hear a tap on the front door. It’s Eileen, my neighbour.
‘Was that you singing?’ she asks as I invite her inside.
‘What? No, the radio I think, although I was singing along to it.’
I’d been singing along to ‘By the Rivers of Babylon’ by Boney M., one of my favourite songs.
‘I think it was definitely you I heard; you have a lovely voice,’ she says kindly.
‘Thanks. I do enjoy singing, but usually when I think no one is listening,’ I tell her.
‘I’d be singing everywhere if I had a good voice, there would be no stopping me.’ She grins. ‘You shouldn’t hide your light under a bushel. Anyway, I only popped in to ask if you fancy coming for tea tomorrow? I’ve made a beef casserole that will be even nicer by tomorrow, and there is far too much for me. I’ll pop some dumplings on before I serve it up.’
Eileen, pretty and with clear grey eyes, waits patiently for an answer as I mentally go through all the things I have planned for tomorrow. I’ve volunteered to work an extra hour to revamp a Christmas display at work, before visiting one of the older ladies from the centre who has recently had a fall, and taking her some flowers. Later, I will be heading into Grizedale Forest for a moon bathing experience with a group of women.
‘Oh, Eileen, that does sound tempting, and it’s years since I’ve eaten dumplings, but I have a lot on tomorrow evening, and won’t be home until after nine, I’m afraid.’
Eileen’s face falls for a second, before she musters a smile.
‘Oh, don’t worry, love, I just thought I would offer. I can freeze the casserole. Unless I give half to you, and you can have it another time?’ she offers.
‘Thanks, Eileen, I really appreciate it. Would you like a cup of tea?’ I suggest, feeling bad about not taking her up on her invite.
‘I won’t actually, love, there’s a crime drama about to start that I’ve been following. Right, I’ll be off then.’
‘Okay, see you soon. Enjoy your programme.’
A couple of hours later, I consider knocking with a slice of cake or a mince pie for Eileen, but think it may be a little late, so I will offer her something tomorrow.
I settle down with a glass of wine and think about Gemma’s date. I hope her evening is going well, and that the newly separated guy from the shop is the real deal. She deserves to be treated well and have a bit of a good time, as she’s had a tough time of it lately, after losing her dad, who she was really close to. It made me think of my own dad, and having to face the fact that our parents won’t be around forever, which is a harsh reality to face.
Glancing out of the window, the lamp from the lounge is illuminating the front lawn, and I gasp when Tony leaps onto the window ledge and stares in. The frosty air bites as I open the patio door and let him inside.
‘Not staying out tonight then?’ I ask and he mews as he heads straight for the log burner, his basket lined with a thick tartan blanket.
‘Although I can’t say I blame you,’ I say and he responds with purrs, before he curls up in front of the fire.
Sitting here alone, I briefly think of something that has been bothering me, before taking a sip of my wine and pushing it to the back of my mind. Besides, I only noticed it last week, or was it the week before? It’s hard to keep track at this time of year as the days seem to merge into one. Anyway, it’s Christmas Day in just over a week, so I will get things checked out in January with the doctor. Right now, there are far too many things that need doing. First on the list is booking in an appointment to have my curtains steam cleaned before Christmas.
In the kitchen, I reach for a tall latte glass and notice a nearby champagne flute that looks as though it could do with another polish. I add the task to my list, as I want all the glasses sparkling before the party season arrives.
‘So how was your date?’
We’re sipping coffee on a break at work, in the staffroom, a beige rectangle of a room that has none of the opulence of the rest of the store.
‘Okay,’ says Gemma, not giving much away.
‘Only okay?’
‘Yeah. It’s strange that Joe, that’s his name, is always nice in the shop, funny too.’ She cups her drink and stares ahead.
‘And?’
‘So I thought he would be like that on the date, but he hardly said two words.’ She takes a sip of her coffee and tells me off for bringing the red velvet cake in to work, asking me how on earth she is supposed to resist. ‘In fact,’ she continues, giving in and cutting herself a small slice, ‘he seemed more interested in going back to my place than having any sort of a conversation.’ She sighs. ‘Which was a complete turn-off.’
‘Oh, Gem, I’m sorry it wasn’t the evening you expected it to be.’
I’m fuming with the selfish sod, who clearly had nothing more on his mind than a one-night stand.
‘And I think you’re right about him not being as separated as he claimed he was,’ she continues. ‘In fact, I know you are right.’
She takes a bite of the cake and makes an appreciative noise.
‘And you know that for a fact?’ I ask her, dreading what is coming next.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ she says, licking cream cheese frosting from her fingers.
‘So, what happened?’ I ask.
‘Well, we drove to this country pub, in the middle of nowhere,’ she says, wiping her fingers with a napkin. ‘And there we were sat in front of a gorgeous roaring fire enjoying a drink, him taking quite an interest in my flat, and suggesting we go there.’
‘The cheek.’
‘I know. I thought we would at least chat about something, his job, plans for Christmas, the cost of living, anything, but no. I was going to bail out and send you a text asking you to call me.’
‘Go on.’ I can’t believe the nerve of the man.
‘Well, we were just chatting when all of a sudden he looked like he’d seen a ghost.’ She reins herself in from having another slice of cake. ‘He literally covered his face with a menu, as he swiftly made his way outside.’ She shakes her head.
‘You’re joking, what was that all about?’ I ask, shocked.
‘I stormed outside and asked him what the hell was going on, and he told me his wife’s friend had just walked into the pub.’ She sighs. ‘I asked him why that was a problem if he was separated? He stammered a bit when he finally replied. I think his exact words were, “Well, we’re not officially, but there’s nothing between us anymore.” Even then, he only owned up after I threatened to go inside and ask his wife’s friend.’
‘So, what did you do?’ I ask, still mad on my friend’s behalf.
‘I told him to get stuffed, went back inside, and ordered myself another drink before ordering a taxi home.’
‘Oh, Gemma, I’m so sorry. It was good that you found out early on though,’ I try to reassure her.
‘Yep, I agree. It’s a shame but as you said, there’s no way I’m going to be the other woman in a marriage break-up.’ She wipes crumbs from her mouth. ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine.’
She reminds me then about the gingerbread house decorating competition the day after tomorrow, and how she is looking forward to it.
‘Oh, me too, I can’t wait.’
Every year, in the Fellview Community Centre across town, a competition takes place that involves decorating gingerbread houses, having a chat and drinking mulled wine to the strains of Christmas songs in the background.
It started off with half a dozen of us, hosted by a lady from the local bakery, and is now a bookable event, with over fifty people attending last year. We meet people from the village and beyond and have a brilliant evening, filled with fun and laughter, especially at the sight of some of the gingerbread houses, but it is all in good spirit. There is an overall winner who wins a baking masterclass and lots of smaller raffle prizes up for grabs.
‘I wouldn’t miss it. It always puts me in the mood for Christmas.’ I smile even thinking about it, the Christmas carols in the background, the sound of laughter ringing around the room, the fizz of bubbles hitting my tongue.
‘It’s a shame it’s mainly women though,’ moans Gemma. ‘Apart from that old guy at the next table last year.’
‘Which one? I think there were at least two blokes.’
‘The one with the very red face and the white beard, who looked a bit like Santa,’ Gemma reminds me.
‘Oh yes, I remember him.’ I smile. ‘Well you never know who will turn up this year, the event gets bigger every Christmas. And maybe it was the real Santa.’ I wink.
Gemma has never been good with her own company and hates not having a boyfriend, but it’s not so easy to meet someone in a small village, which is why she often meets blokes in the pubs in our closest town, or in work. She was with someone from high school but when he headed off for university in Newcastle, they went their separate ways. I’ve told her multiple times that it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person, but I guess we are all different. I’m quite happy with Tony the Tiger in my life. For now, at least. Life is so much simpler this way.