The Twelve Dates of Christmas Page 7

  “I think so too,” said Kate.

  Kate held out her hand for him to shake. Instead, Anthony slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him.

  “With your permission,” he said. “I’d like to leave with a taste of what could have been if things were different.”

  “Permission granted,” said Kate.

  It was a good kiss. The kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes and back up again. But still, as he walked away from her, she knew she’d made the right decision.

  She was still thinking about the kiss when she pulled back into the Blexford village square. As she swung in, her headlamps illuminated the Pear Tree Café and Matt, swinging precariously off a ladder as he stapled a string of icicle fairy lights to the fascias.

  Kate pulled over and got out.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” she asked.

  “What does it look like I’m doing, Kate?” said Matt, his voice strained as he stretched and stapled in another length of wire.

  “Yes, but why are you doing it now, at eleven thirty at night?”

  “Because I don’t have time during the day,” said Matt. “And if I did, every bugger in the village would have a helpful suggestion as to how I could do it better.”

  “You missed a bit,” said Kate.

  Matt looked down and grimaced at her.

  “Smart-arse,” he said. “You gonna help or make wisecracks?”

  “Make wisecracks,” Kate decided.

  At that moment Matt leaned too far and the ladder tipped up onto one foot. Kate grabbed it and steadied it.

  “And help,” she added.

  Together and without incident they managed to run the icicle lights underneath the roof of the café and attach a jolly Santa and sleigh to the roof itself. By the time they’d finished, Kate’s fingers were numb with cold.

  “Just stand out here for one more minute while I go in and turn them on,” said Matt. “And then I’ll make us a hot chocolate.”

  Kate waited, blowing into her hands while Matt disappeared into the blacked-out café. A moment later the outside was illuminated by hundreds of glittering icicle threads, swaying gracefully like jellyfish tentacles. Above them, the jolly Santa’s cheeks glowed poppy red; Kate expected him to take off from the roof at any moment with a whoosh and a Ho Ho Ho!

  Matt came out to join Kate, and they both stood admiring their handiwork in the silent village square.

  “Come on,” said Matt, after a minute. “I’ve got the milk on the stove.”

  Kate followed Matt through the unlit café and into the kitchen. There was something hopeful, expectant almost, about the café at night, empty and dark as it was, as though it were only sleeping, waiting for the morning to bring it to life again.

  The only lights on in the kitchen were the ones above the hob, where Matt stood, heaping cocoa and sugar into the saucepan of milk, stirring it furiously with a small balloon whisk.

  Matt turned to the kitchen island and poured the cocoa into the waiting mugs. He handed one of them to Kate.

  “Sex Kitten special?” he asked, motioning to her jumper.

  “How did you guess?” said Kate. “One of Petula’s beauties. I think this was two Christmases ago.”

  “What’s this year’s like?” asked Matt.

  “I don’t know,” said Kate. “She’s being cagey about it.”

  Kate blew on her drink and took a sip.

  “Ooh, that’s good,” she said. “Touch of cinnamon?”

  Matt nodded, pleased.

  “Cinnamon stick,” he said. “Added to the pan while the milk’s still cold.”

  Kate mmmm’d appreciatively.

  “So how did the date go?” asked Matt.

  “It was perfect,” said Kate.

  “Perfect?” said Matt. “That’s a strong word.”

  “He would have been a strong contender,” said Kate.

  “But?”

  “But I won’t be seeing him again.”

  “Don’t want to talk about it?” asked Matt.

  “Not really,” said Kate.

  They sat quietly for a little while, thawing out over cocoa.

  “Remember when we used to sneak in here after Mum had shut the shop and make ice cream sundaes?” said Matt.

  “And when we used to steal the pain au chocolats from the cooling racks,” said Kate.

  Matt laughed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sneaking in through the back door on our hands and knees and swiping them when Mum’s back was turned.”

  “You could hear her bellowing all the way down the end of the garden.” Kate laughed.

  “Those bloody kids!” mimicked Matt, shaking his fist.

  “With hindsight, we were little shits,” said Kate.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Matt. “We had fun, though.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Kate.

  “We should try to synchronize our child rearing,” said Matt. “I’d love it if my kids and your kids could grow up together like we did.”

  “You might have a long wait if you want to synchronize with me,” said Kate.

  “That’s okay,” said Matt. “I’m in no hurry.”

  They finished their drinks and Matt put the empty cups in the sink.

  “I’d better get back,” he said. “Sarah’s at my place, she had a load of paperwork to get done. She’ll be wondering what happened to me.”

  “Yep,” said Kate. “I’ve got to get some work done first thing in the morning, I need my bed.” She could feel her leg muscles beginning to ache already from the ice skating.

  Matt waved her off as she pulled away. He was standing there still as she turned the corner.

  THE FOURTH DATE OF CHRISTMAS

  • • • • •

  Cocktails and Kisses

  “Does it have to be the Pear Tree?” asked Kate. “Can’t we go into town? There’s a new place opened up near Fitzwilliam Park.”

  “I’ve been up all night,” said Laura from the other end of the phone. Her voice was forced calm. “Charley’s teething. And when Charley wakes up, Mina wakes up. The only person who doesn’t wake up is Ben. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wrestle two cranky children into car seats, and then have to listen to nursery rhymes while they scream all the way to town?”

  Kate was about to speak, but Laura continued.

  “Don’t make me stay indoors. I need coffee. I need to be in a place with other grown-ups. With coffee. Coffee is vital.”

  “You can’t have caffeine, you’re still breastfeeding,” said Kate.

  “I like to have decaf and pretend,” said Laura. “For the love of God, help me, Kate!”

  “What about the tearooms at Blexford Manor?” Kate asked. “Don’t you get free drinks if you’re a staff member?”

  “My kids don’t conform to tearoom etiquette,” said Laura. “The Pear Tree has toys, it’s child friendly, and Matt can’t throw me out because he’s the kids’ godfather. Don’t let me down, Kate,” she warned. She was a woman on the edge today. “I need a safe environment where I can drink decaffeinated coffee and my children can’t shame me.”

  An hour later they had penned themselves into the sofa area in the far corner of the Pear Tree Café. Mina had created a sort of toy village on the large two-seater armchair, and Charley watched her progress eagerly from his pushchair. Delighted to have a captive audience, Mina gave Charley a running commentary on what each toy was doing, in the style of a children’s TV presenter.

  Laura pushed her empty cappuccino cup across the low coffee table and pulled the next one toward her. Kate had just finished filling her in on her ill-fated fireman date.

  “You didn’t even give him your number?” said Laura.

  “What would be the point?” asked Kate.

 
“Booty calls?” suggested Laura.

  “If I only wanted sex, I wouldn’t have paid out all this money to Lightning Strikes!”

  “How much is high-class man-hooker?” Laura asked.

  Kate ignored her.

  “So who’s next?” Laura asked.

  “Next is Sam,” said Kate. “Sam is thirty-eight and a motorcycle enthusiast.”

  Laura pulled a face.

  “Please tell me you won’t get on the back of his motorbike,” she said. “You can barely control a bicycle. At no point should you ever try to ride a bike with an engine.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kate laughed. “I know my limitations.”

  The sound of smashing crockery from behind the counter caused the entire café to raise their arms in unison and cheer. Matt took a bow and the regulars went back to their noisy conversations.

  “What else?” asked Laura. Mina was still cheering, and Charley copied.

  “He’s a graphic designer,” said Kate.

  “Tick!” said Laura, making the gesture in the air.

  “He says in his profile he’d like children.”

  “Tick!” said Laura again.

  “And he’s passionate about conservation,” said Kate.

  Laura clutched at her heart.

  “Oh, perfect! Perfect!” exclaimed Laura. “Picture, please.”

  Kate flicked to the photograph of Sam and handed the phone to Laura. His hair was closely shaved, mostly blond with a spattering of white at the sides. His clean-shaven, angular face came to a chiseled chin and his eyes crinkled at the edges where he was smiling.

  “Oh, ding-dong,” said Laura. “Surely this is game over. He is beautiful.”

  “Isn’t he?” agreed Kate.

  Charley’s eyes were beginning a slow droop that even Mina’s lively commentary couldn’t remedy. Sensing that she’d lost her audience, she squeezed past the pushchair and toddled off up the café in her tutu and wellies.

  She walked over to Matt, who had just set down a tray of cakes for a table of six eagle-eyed customers, and put her arms out to him. Matt picked her up and began to make a fuss over her. Mina squeezed his cheeks and made him laugh.

  “Looks like Matt’s found his intellectual equal,” said Kate.

  “Don’t be so rude,” said Laura. “Mina is way more intelligent than Matt.”

  Matt strode over to the sofa. Mina sat contentedly on his hip licking the icing off a cupcake.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” Laura said with daggers in her eyes. “You gave my overactive daughter more sugar. You must have known how little I like sleep.”

  Matt smiled.

  “It’s in the Good Godparents Handbook,” he said. “Besides,” he went on, “it’s all nonsense, isn’t it? It never did me any harm.”

  He crossed his eyes and smiled goofily at Kate and Laura, letting his tongue loll out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I will set birds on you,” said Laura. “I will find some and I will set them upon you.”

  Matt didn’t like birds. Even sparrows. Robins on Christmas cards made him shudder.

  “Don’t you like birds, Uncle Matt?” asked Mina.

  “Not the feathered kind,” said Kate.

  He looked at Kate and poked his tongue out.

  “Is it hard being the second-favorite godparent?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Kate. “Is it?”

  “Don’t start!” said Laura. “Two children is quite enough.”

  “So,” says Matt. “What’s the next date of Sha—”

  Laura cut him off.

  “Don’t you dare!” she said. “She repeats everything she hears at the moment, and if she gets kicked out of nursery for using bad language, I’ll be delivering her here for daycare instead!”

  Matt looked at Mina.

  “Uncle Matt’s been told off by Mummy,” he said.

  Mina giggled and kissed his nose, leaving a blob of pink buttercream behind. The doorbell jingled and Sarah walked in looking rosy-cheeked and fresh from the cold, her dark hair bouncing against the shoulders of her green tweed jacket.

  Kate saw her first and waved.

  “Hi, Sarah!” she called.

  Sarah waved and came over.

  “Hi,” said Sarah cheerfully.

  Sarah always had that delicately windswept English rose look about her, like she’d just finished making daisy chains beside a babbling brook. Which was odd because by her own admission, she hated the countryside.

  “Hey, babe,” said Matt.

  Matt went to kiss Sarah. She backed away.

  “Got a little something on your nose there, honey,” she said, and wiped it off with a napkin. Then she kissed him on the lips. Mina puckered up and Sarah gave her a kiss too.

  “Sarah,” said Laura. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, when do I need to apply for Mina’s school place?”

  Sarah was the headmistress at Great Blexley Primary School down the hill in Great Blexley, commonly referred to by Blexford locals as “the Big Town.”

  “You came to the open day, didn’t you?” asked Sarah.

  Laura nodded. “And we put Mina’s name down on a list.”

  “Well, in that case you’re already on our mailing list,” said Sarah. “You’ll get a letter after Christmas telling you what you need to do.”

  Laura and Kate had gone to the church school in the village, but regular church attendance was required for a place, and Ben point-blank refused to go to church for anything other than baptisms, weddings, and burials.

  Laura had initially felt a bit sad that her children wouldn’t attend the same school she had, but Sarah’s reputation as an outstanding head teacher took precedence over her budding relationship with Matt. She had joined the school a couple of years back with excellent credentials, and word quickly spread around toddler groups and nurseries that Great Blexley Primary was the school to go to.

  “So which date is next?” asked Sarah. Kate and Laura scrunched up on the sofa and Sarah nestled in beside Kate.

  “This is date number four: cocktail making,” replied Kate.

  “Sounds dangerous,” said Sarah.

  Kate laughed.

  “I wouldn’t rule out extreme drunkenness,” said Kate.

  “I remember drunkenness,” said Laura with a faraway look in her eye.

  * * *

  • • • • •

  Kate’s dad pulled up outside the cocktail bar at seven thirty p.m.

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Kate. “I feel like I’m sixteen again, getting you to drop you me off.”

  “Well, just because you’re all grown up doesn’t mean you stop being my little girl,” said Mac. “Now are you sure you don’t want a lift home? It’s no bother.”

  “No thanks, Dad, I’ll get a taxi,” said Kate. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Evelyn gave me a fruitcake for you, when I went in earlier for some milk. She said it was in exchange for the veg you gave her.”

  Mac smacked his lips.

  “Ooh, one of Evelyn’s fruitcakes!” he said. “She’s a smashing cook, is Evelyn.”

  Evelyn had been widowed in her early fifties and had run the shop by herself ever since. It was more of an emporium than a shop, really; Evelyn liked to keep enough stock to cater for an apocalypse or a month of snow, whichever came first. The usual tinned and packet goods were provided, along with chest freezers full of home-cooked ready meals—courtesy of Carla and her mother’s cottage-industry catering company—local farm fruit and veg, and an impressive wine selection. She was also a newsagent, pharmacy, and purveyor of eccentric chunky knit socks and jumpers created by Blexford’s own Knitting Sex Kittens. If you were cold or hungry, Evelyn was your woman.

  Kate waved good-bye to her dad and followed a flashing sign down the stairs to a vast basement cocktail bar.
Inside, the bar had a nineteenth-century French feel; Toulouse-Lautrec prints lined the walls, and wingback chairs of tan leather and round mahogany tables with ornately carved legs dotted the opulent bar. One whole wall was taken up with gray-painted bookcases that reached as high as the great glass chandeliers, whose crystal petals twinkled as they swayed.

  There were two long bars, each backed with mirrors that gave the impression of an even bigger space beyond and were more than a little disconcerting after a few glasses of wine.

  Cocktail shakers, glasses, and an unholy number of ornate bottles containing brightly colored spirits ran along each bar, and slowly the fourth-daters found their partners and took their places beside them.

  Kate spotted Sam—her date for the evening—deeply engrossed in conversation with a woman wearing a very small red leather skirt. Kate pulled at her leaf-patterned corduroy tunic-dress and wondered if she’d judged her outfit wrong. Standing on the other side of Red Leather and clearly being ignored was a good-looking Indian chap with a lumberjack beard and an awkward look on his face. Kate guessed he must be Red Leather’s date.

  Kate moved closer to Sam and tried to get into his line of vision by craning her head in a sort of meerkat fashion. Sam didn’t seem to notice her, but Lumberjack Beard smiled knowingly, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed in Kate’s direction.

  Her date excused himself from Red Leather and came over, holding his hand out and smiling warmly.

  “Hi!” he said. “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I was just talking off-roading with Clarissa . . . but you don’t want to hear about that. I’m Sam and you must be Kate.”

  Kate shook his hand and accepted his apology. As they made their way across to their allotted bar space, she noticed that Sam looked back at Clarissa and her red leather miniskirt three times. They hopped up on to their bar stools and checked out the cocktail ingredients and laminated recipe cards, which read like a hooker’s sales pitch: Sex on the Beach, Screaming Orgasm, Slow Comfortable Screw, and Slippery Nipple.

  Kate tried not to look prudish in front of the handsome man she had only just met, but her burning cheeks were letting her down and her corduroy dress didn’t exactly scream sexy. They giggled about the silliness of the cocktail names and made small getting-to-know-you talk, while Sam kept one eye firmly across the room.