Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
After my meeting with the doctor, I grab a coffee from the café, realising I have hardly had a drink all day, apart from a few sips from a bottle of water. My mouth feels dry and I am a little nauseous, but I guess that was just down to nerves earlier. The news was positive I think, so I feel I can breathe again, but the earlier adrenalin is causing a headache to build.
I’m just walking out of the Blue Teapot with my takeaway decaff drink, and not looking where I am going when I bump into someone. The lid from my coffee comes loose, and a little bit of my drink splashes onto the pavement.
‘Not again? This is beginning to become a little bit of a habit,’ says Kian, standing in front of me. ‘I’m thinking of walking around in a waterproof jacket at all times now,’ he teases. ‘Although this time, I managed to avoid being drenched.’
‘I am so sorry,’ I gasp, gazing into Kian’s gorgeous eyes. He’s dressed smartly and smells good too. I wonder if he is off on a date?
‘At least you wouldn’t have been scalded. It’s more cream than coffee,’ I tell him.
I’d absent-mindedly nodded when the girl behind the counter asked me if I wanted cream and sprinkles on my latte.
‘Well, that’s alright then. Can I buy you another?’ he offers, but I just want to head home and take something for this headache, even though he is the most attractive guy I have seen around here in a long time. I hesitate for a moment, but he looks like he might be off somewhere important.
‘Thanks, but really I must get home. And aren’t you going somewhere yourself?’ I can’t help asking, given his smart attire.
‘I do have a meeting with a client, but not for another half an hour,’ he says, glancing at his watch.
‘A client?’
‘Yes. I’m a psychologist, but I also work as a hypnotherapist. I have an office near the library,’ he tells me.
‘How interesting,’ I remark.
‘It is. Well, most of the time. Some days it’s just helping people to feel calm before they get on a plane, that sort of thing.’
Maybe I ought to have been to see him before I went to the doctor this evening.
‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. Maybe we can grab that coffee another time though?’ he suggests.
‘I’d like that,’ I say, thinking I really would.
‘Great,’ he says, before standing in front of me for a few seconds and I wonder whether he is about to say something else.
‘See you later then, and merry Christmas,’ I say, turning on my heels.
As I walk away, he calls my name and I turn around.
‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ he says as he lifts a hand and waves.
If I was braver, maybe I would have caught up with him and asked him what his plans were over Christmas, but I’ve never asked a guy out in my life. Not that I think there is anything wrong with that, but I don’t want to look foolish, especially as I don’t really know his situation. One thing is for sure though, I hope it isn’t too long before we run into each other again.
‘Do you have a minute? I know you are busy though, so I won’t keep you long.’
I call Gemma, who told me she will be spending the evening wrapping Christmas presents for tomorrow.
‘Sure I do, but I’m going to have to run down to the late shop before it closes. Would you believe I have run out of wrapping paper? I hope they have some left.’
‘What are you like? I’d have a nervous breakdown if I hadn’t wrapped my presents weeks ago. Oh, and I have some Christmas gift bags here, if you can’t get your hands on any wrapping paper.’
‘I knew you would.’ She chuckles. ‘Anyway, what’s on your mind?’
‘Well, I took your advice and booked a private doctor’s appointment. I decided I didn’t want to wait until after Christmas, it would have spoilt everything and been on my mind the whole time.’
‘You did? And what happened?’
‘Well, I think I can breathe again,’ I tell her. ‘The doctor had a look at the lump, and said it didn’t feel like a cancer. They have a particular shape apparently; he thinks it might be basal cell carcinoma.’
‘Cancer?’ she says in a quiet voice, the word always instilling fear in people.
‘A non-cancerous one. They are contained in the cell, hence the name, but can spread across the face if not removed.’
‘Oh, Lauren.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m trying not to. Obviously further tests need to confirm the diagnosis, but it will need to be removed. I felt quite reassured by the doctor, who told me he had years of experience. And he did say it was probably down to my love of sunbeds, which is a salutary lesson if ever there was one.’
‘You never think when you’re young though, do you?’
‘Definitely not. Anyway, now that I have been checked over I can start to feel a little excited about the Christmas party,’ I tell her.
‘Well, I’m sure everything will be fine. As you say, maybe you can relax a little now. And I’m sure the party will be a wonderful day, with all your careful planning.’
‘Thanks, although it isn’t just me, it’s a team of us. I’m so glad Sue cooks the meats, I think I would be panicking about the turkey being too dry.’ I laugh. ‘And before I go, I just wanted to say, I’m glad you urged me to get the lump checked out sooner rather than later.’
‘That’s what friends are for. And thank you so much for my gorgeous bracelet. I was going to call you tomorrow,’ says Gemma.
‘Wait, you have opened your present?’ I ask, shocked. My gift from her is under the tree where it will stay until Christmas morning.
‘You know what I’m like.’ She giggles. ‘There was no way I could see it there under the tree without ripping the paper open. I’ll call you tomorrow night to see how it’s all gone at the community centre.’
‘I’ll let you off. And I’m glad you love your present, even though it isn’t officially yet Christmas. Thanks, Gem.’
‘I hope you like yours too. Now, I must go or I’ll end up wrapping presents in the pages of the local gazette.’ She laughs.
‘Okay. Speak soon.’
Eileen from next door has knocked to show me the dress she will wear tomorrow for the Christmas lunch.
‘Oh, Eileen, it’s beautiful, it really brings out the colour of your eyes,’ I comment on the floaty grey dress that has a little bit of sparkle around the neckline.
‘Thank you.’ She does a little twirl. ‘I was worried I might be a little overdressed, but it is Christmas after all.’
‘Absolutely! I think it’s just perfect.’
‘Thank you. And it smells wonderful in here. What are you making?’ she asks.
‘A couple of date and walnut loaves. They contain no sugar, but taste absolutely delicious. I thought I would make it for Mum as she likes things organic and natural, although there’s enough for everyone, of course. Maybe even healthy enough for Dad to have a slice.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asks Eileen.
‘No, I think I’ve got everything covered, but thank you.’
‘Oh right, okay,’ she says, looking a little disappointed.
I recall Eileen’s comments the other day saying she missed her working life and how she would make some biscuits for the café she once owned with her husband.
‘Although actually, Eileen. Do you think you could whip up some of those lemon biscuits you told me about the other day?’
She told me of the melt in the mouth lemon shortbreads she used to make that sounded delicious.
‘Oh, I’d love to, of course. I think I have most of the ingredients already.’ With that she waves goodbye and heads back to her house.
I check my list for the millionth time, ticking things off. I have all the vegetables and Mum commented on the size of the sack of potatoes I bought, but I know how the old people like their roast potatoes. Mum is a dab hand at peeling vegetables so I will be grateful for the help tomorrow in the kitchen, along with Sue, Barry and a couple of other volunteers who live near the centre.
I feel lighter having seen the doctor as I check the gift bags for the pensioners, all of the gifts donated by local businesses. They include things like toiletries, notebooks and pens and, of course, some additional freebies from the make-up counter at Bentham’s. They also have a Christmas cookie in a box baked by yours truly and a miniature bottle of Baileys.
The phone rings and it is Audrey, telling me she has persuaded her mum to come for lunch tomorrow, if that’s still okay.
‘It’s more than okay. We have twenty-five people and probably enough food for twice that number,’ I tell her.
‘And I would love to come along and help, if I wouldn’t get in the way,’ she offers.
‘Of course you wouldn’t! The more hands on deck the better, really,’ I assure her.
‘Okay, see you tomorrow. I will look forward to it.’
I give the house a final scrub, so that on Christmas Day I can sit and relax with Mum and have a chilled day.
I give Dad a ring to ask if he has spoken to Mum yet. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I realise that Mum hasn’t actually got back to me about Dad and Rose joining us on Christmas Day.
‘Hello, love, how’s things? All ready for the pensioners’ lunch?’ asks Dad, who despite being invited has never taken me up on the offer of joining us, saying it’s for people on their own and he prefers Christmas at home. Even though Rose’s home isn’t really his home. He has lived with her for three years though, and he has definitely put his stamp on the place with his favourite armchair, bookcase full of his books and a greenhouse that keeps him busy pottering when he isn’t working on someone else’s garden.
‘Just about ready, yes, thanks. Are you sure you and Rose won’t come? I always make far too much,’ I offer once more. ‘Although, you know you are welcome at my place Christmas Day too.’ I throw that in, wondering whether Mum has manged to say anything.
There’s a silence for a second before Dad speaks.
‘Aye, love, your mother did mention that. It was very thoughtful of you,’ he says. ‘But I’m not sure Rose would be too comfortable with that, which is a shame really as you know I would like to spend Christmas Day with you.’ He sighs, and I wonder why people can’t just act like adults and dine together if they are invited to, regardless of their history. Maybe we all ought to practise peace and goodwill unto all men at this time of year. But maybe that is easier said than done.
‘It is, but never mind. You know you are welcome anytime.’ I make sure he knows that.
‘I do know that, thank you, love.’
I don’t add that I hope he doesn’t eat too much of the wrong type of food. I worry about him, of course, being his daughter but I can’t police his life twenty-four hours a day. It would be far too exhausting.