Chapter 9
NINE
The room is decked out with every Christmas decoration you can think of, including a huge tree at the entrance of the hall, hung with striped candy canes and gingerbread men. Tables are set out with slabs of gingerbread for the houses, alongside an assortment of decoration pens and sweets. At the far end of the hall a table is laden with mince pies and nibbles, along with mini bottles of Prosecco and non-alcohol versions.
Audrey, Gemma, and I take a seat at a long table, and say hi to the other people, all women. We seem to be the last to arrive, and a second later Jo makes the introductions with a microphone.
‘Good evening, everyone, and thank you all for coming. I hope you have brought your purses, oh and wallets’ – she smiles towards a table with two older guys sitting with ladies of a similar age –‘as I will be walking around with raffle tickets shortly,’ she announces, waving a book of pink tickets.
She gestures to several hampers on the wooden stage behind her that include a toy hamper as well as smaller prizes of chocolates and toiletries. ‘So have fun and I will be announcing the winner in a couple of hours’ time.’
I glance around the room, and on a table a few yards away I notice a familiar face, but not before Gemma does.
‘Oh my goodness, it’s the guy from the shop,’ she says, nudging me. ‘Three o’clock from us, don’t look now.’
‘I’ve already noticed,’ I tell her as I snap off the tip of a green icing pen, ready to channel my inner van Gogh.
It’s hard not to notice him really, over six feet tall, that dark slightly curly hair, dark-green eyes, and effortlessly sexy style. Dammit, do I really think that?
‘I wonder who he’s with?’ Gemma says, scanning the table that has an empty seat next to him. Suddenly, a little girl appears from under the table waving an icing pen triumphantly, as her father smiles.
‘Ah, he’s brought his daughter here, how sweet,’ Gemma says. ‘I wonder if one of those women is his wife?’ she asks, looking over.
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ I tell her, but can’t help wondering if he has brought his daughter along for the evening alone. Not that that means anything. He might have brought his daughter out so her mum can wrap some presents. In fact, why do I even care?
Eyeing the selection of sweet accessories in front of us, I soon set to work creating my storybook house, in between taking slurps of drinks and chatting to the other women. Christmas songs are playing making me feel so Christmassy as I deftly create some green windows with an icing pen, before moving on to the roof, carefully using a red pen to give it a brick effect. Adorning it with jellies and mini candy canes, I’m rather proud of my effort so far, although it seems I am surrounded by a lot of very talented ladies, as compared to their efforts my house looks pretty basic. I don’t mind though, this evening is all about getting in the festive spirit and I am happily singing along to the festive tunes and really enjoying myself.
‘I’m going to grab a snack,’ I say, getting to my feet and heading for the buffet table.
‘I’ll join you,’ says Audrey, who has already begun creating the neatest, most beautiful roof of her house.
‘I just wanted to thank you for asking me to join you,’ she says as she piles some pretzels, and a slice of Christmas cake onto her plate. ‘I’m really enjoying it here, everyone is so friendly, and the lady sat next to me actually lives in the next street. I’d never even noticed her before.’
‘Really? Well there you go, you have made a new friend already.’ I smile.
I grab a non-alcohol glass of Freixenet, and as I turn around, not looking where I am going, I literally bump into the hot shop guy, and my full glass of Prosecco lands all over his trousers.
‘Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry.’ I cover my hand with my mouth as I hear a giggle from his daughter.
I quickly grab some napkins from the buffet table and hand them to him.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, in a delicious Irish lilt. ‘Although it’s a good job it didn’t go over my jumper or I might have been electrocuted.’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Electrocuted?’ I ask, puzzled, as he dabs at his trousers.
‘Daddy’s jumper lights up. Look.’
The cute little girl wearing a white fluffy jumper, black leggings, and shiny black boots, presses the button on his jumper, and an array of coloured fairy lights flash across a Christmas tree.
‘That’s quite something,’ I say, listening to the little girl’s adorable laughter. ‘And I really am sorry. I must get back,’ I say, before returning to my table feeling completely mortified.
‘Did I see you chatting to hot shop guy?’ asks Gemma open-mouthed when I return, plonking the plate of snacks down.
‘Assaulting him more like.’ I tell her about dousing him in Prosecco and she bursts out laughing.
‘And of all the places. He looked like he had wet himself.’ I cover my face with my hands.
‘Oh, Lauren, it was an accident. I’m sure he isn’t bothered,’ says Gemma, giggling.
‘I’m not so sure, he never exactly laughed about it,’ I say, recalling his serious expression, despite him telling me not to worry about it. Then again, he was happy to show me the flashing lights on his jumper, I guess, so he can’t have been too mad after all.
I glance over at a lady chatting to him at the buffet table and handing him another napkin, and I wonder if it’s his wife?
I put all thoughts of him away as I get on with the task of finishing my gingerbread house. I don’t mind that mine isn’t really in the same league as one or two others, especially Audrey’s, if I’m honest. I wonder if they have all been practising.
‘The lady at the buffet table isn’t sitting on the same table as hot shop guy,’ Gemma tells me as we put the finishing touches to our houses. ‘She must have just been a Good Samaritan, passing him some more napkins. Oh, and he’s been looking over, you know.’
‘Gemma, I’m sure he hasn’t,’ I tell her, appraising my handiwork I’m not sure green was the right colour for the window frames after all, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. ‘And I don’t really care if he has,’ I add.
‘Sure, you don’t.’ She smirks, adding a final jellybean to her impressive looking roof.
‘Has he really been looking over?’ I ask, despite myself.
‘Ha. And you tell me you don’t care. Yes, he has, at least twice. I can’t help noticing him as he is straight in my line of vision.’
‘Well, whatever. He’s probably just looking over and silently cursing me for soaking him,’ I say, although I wonder whether he has really been checking me out? Or perhaps it’s someone else at the table.
‘That must be it then,’ she says. ‘He’s plotting ways to get his own back. I wouldn’t walk past his table if I were you, he might throw something on the floor for you to slip on.’ She grins.
A few minutes later, I can’t resist glancing over and he and his daughter are concentrating on putting their finishing touches to their house. I can’t deny it’s an adorable scene watching them both.
Soon enough, the decorated houses are standing proudly on tables as Jo prepares to judge them, clipboard and pen ready in her hand.
The evening has been interspersed with the raffle, and the little girl with the guy from the shop – I wonder what his real name is? – squealed with delight when she waved her pink ticket and received the toy hamper, filled with colouring books, a cuddly toy, and a chocolate Santa.
A lady from our table won a foot spa and an older bloke, who was accompanying his wife, was delighted to win a bottle of whisky.
‘And now,’ says Jo, clapping her hands together. ‘The main prize of a cookery lesson at the bakery in January. Along with the trophy, of course.’ She lifts a golden gingerbread man trophy. ‘I’ve been really bowled over by the talent in the room this year,’ she says kindly. ‘But having had a good look around at some of your very impressive houses, I am thrilled to say I have selected a winner,’ she announces as murmurs can be heard around the room.
She strides towards our table, and people glance at each other in anticipation. I know the winner won’t be me, but there is already one clear winner in my mind. And it seems that Jo agrees.
‘This is the most beautifully decorated gingerbread house I have seen in a long time,’ says Jo, pointing at the masterpiece in front of her. ‘It’s immaculate and pretty, and looks just like the house from “Hansel and Gretel”, even prettier if that is possible. So huge congratulations go to…?’
‘It’s Audrey,’ says our winner, blushing slightly and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Well done, Audrey. An outright winner if ever I saw one,’ says Jo as the crowd bursts into thunderous applause.
She hands Audrey the golden trophy. ‘I’ll get your details to book you in for the bakery lesson,’ she tells a delighted Audrey. ‘Well done.’
‘Wow, I can’t believe it,’ Audrey says, placing her hand on her chest. ‘I’m in complete shock. I never win anything.’ She is genuinely thrilled.
‘You deserve it, love,’ says a woman at the end of the table. ‘Mine looks like it’s been in an explosion.’ She roars with laughter as she points at the house, its roof dripping with icing, and the left wall threatening to cave in. ‘I’ve had a blast though. And the house looks like it has too.’ She giggles, and we all laugh along with her.
Audrey asks if I mind her going home with the lady from her street, who has driven here, and I tell her of course I don’t, thrilled that she has made a new friend.
‘So do you fancy the pub then? Finish the evening off with a nightcap?’ asks Gemma as she links arms with me and we step outside into the crisp night air.
‘Nice idea, but I must get home and take a wash out of the machine and into my tumble dryer, or the clothes will smell if I leave them overnight.’
‘Surely not? Leaving them for a day or more I can understand, but not what, eight hours?’
‘Um, well maybe not, but I can’t take the chance. I swear my bedding smelt weird last time I left it until the next morning, so I had to wash it all again. And I don’t want to leave the tumble dryer on when I go to work as it’s a fire hazard.’
‘If you say so.’ Gemma rolls her eyes at me, but she’s laughing. ‘I should probably get back too, come to think of it. I’m pretty sure my skirting boards need cleaning.’ She frowns.
‘Are you taking the mickey?’ I pull a face.
‘Me, really?’ She looks up and whistles. ‘You know I’m only teasing. And maybe it is best if we call it a night as we have work in the morning.’
‘I think so. No doubt there will some overindulgences in the days to come anyway.’
‘Probably.’ She grins. ‘You know, I really enjoyed this evening, Lauren, and I’m thrilled for Audrey. It was a nice thing you did going into the shop and inviting her along.’
‘As I recall, it was your idea,’ I remind her.
‘It was, wasn’t it? Well, I’m glad she came, she seems really lovely,’ says Gemma.
‘She does, doesn’t she? And she deserved to win, she has real talent. Jump in then, I’ll give you a lift. I’ve been on the non-alcohol stuff.’
The community centre is on a country road slightly out of town, so I drop Gemma off outside her flat.
‘See you in the morning for another busy day. Some of those pre-Christmas promotions start tomorrow,’ I remind her.
‘I know. See you tomorrow then.’ She blows me a kiss as I drive off.
When I eventually arrive home, Tony is waiting at the front door, miaowing loudly.
‘Hi there, buddy. Have you been waiting for me?’ I ask as he threads himself through my legs miaowing even more loudly, and I wonder what’s up with him as he is never normally so vocal, especially outside. He normally just waits on the step, or lets himself in via the cat flap in the kitchen door. In fact, he seems a little bit agitated.
‘Too lazy to go around and use the cat flap at the back door, are you?’ I ask him as I press my key into the front door while he continues making loud noises.
My senses are heightened, as something immediately feels off. I walk towards the kitchen with trepidation, having pulled my phone from my bag, fingers poised.
Feeling a chilly blast as I edge the kitchen door open, I hope I had just opened a kitchen window to let some air in, although I never normally do that in December.
My heart beating loudly, I push the door open further and gasp as I notice the shards of glass on the kitchen work surface beneath the broken window above.
I take in the scene and my heart sinks. My flat screen TV has gone from the wall, and more frustratingly, my laptop from the kitchen counter. It has my diary and planning notes for the party on it, not to mention all of my photographs organised in folders. I breathe deeply, while trying not to panic. Why on earth did I leave my laptop out in full view? I usually hide it away somewhere, just in case, but this morning I was in a hurry.
This cannot be happening. I choke back a tear as I must face the awful truth that I have been burgled.