Juliet is gasping for breath, wiping tears from her eyes.
I want to tell her it’s not that funny, but that would be rude.
‘Oh, I’m going to have to tweet that! I really am! Are they on twitter? I’ll tag them!’
‘Still dogging?’ Ollie raises an eyebrow, and glances down at Stanley who is now lying on his back, legs akimbo. The HOWL thing was his fault, so I can’t exactly forgive him for deflecting the conversation.
‘Dogging! They do that here?’ Juliet pauses, mid tweet. ‘Oh my God, I need to tweet that as well! Do they like, advertise in your paper? Or is it really hush-hush?’
‘Ha-ha!’ I can feel myself going red, but I am not going to be belittled. I also would quite like to punch her on the nose or point out to everybody her unusual level of interest in potential dogging sites. Instead I decide to take a mature attitude and ignore her. ‘I help out with animal welfare.’ I tell Juliet, who I don’t think is actually that interested. She’s too busy brushing imaginary fluff off her boyfriend’s shirt. It’s like watching a monkey groom its mate. But at least it is stopping her tapping on her mobile.
‘Oh, you rescue rhino’s, do you? That’s so brave, so, so visionary!’
‘Dogs.’
‘Dogs?’
‘I foster rescued dogs, street dogs, well I don’t actually go and rescue them myself, I help rehabilitate them and foster. I do have an actual job as well you know, I can’t just go racing off round the world.’ Although right now, that might be an idea. In fact it could be quite a good idea. I must make a mental note to think about this one later.
‘Oh. Like woof-woof dogs?’ She looks at me blankly, as though a rhino is every day, but a dog is harder to comprehend.
‘Like Stanley!’ I point to Stanley, whose sleeping on his back routine was a ruse so that I wouldn’t notice him sneak off. He is now skulking under a table with what looks like a turkey leg in his mouth.
‘What is it?’
‘Erm, a dog.’ Surely, she’s not so fixated on safari animals that she can’t recognise a dog?
‘What type?’
‘Stanley is a street dog.’ I say proudly. ‘From Spain. I think. He had fleas, ticks, mange and worms!’
‘Oh.’ She stares, then wrinkles her nose. ‘Have you thought about having him groomed? My mother takes her dog every week.’ She looks at me, horror dawning and takes a step back. ‘You don’t have fleas, do you? I’m allergic.’
‘No! He was sorted when I met him. But I have helped rehabilitate him!’
‘Maybe not a very good example.’ Says Ollie, with a twitch of smile.
‘Part rehabilitated. He’s a work in progress.’
‘So, no rhino’s then? Tigers?’ Juliet says hopefully.
‘They wouldn’t fit in my flat.’ I point out.
‘No garden I suppose.’ Says Ollie, and I’m not sure if he’s taking the piss out of me, or Juliet, or being serious.
‘Very small balcony. There would be health and safety issues. Ha-ha!’ I wish I could stop laughing nervously but being shoved in front of Ollie seems to have that effect on me. I’m perfectly normal in other company. Just not Christmas party company.
‘So, you still live here?’ Juliet sounds incredulous. She sips her drink delicately and I resist the urge to neck mine. I am well aware that my life is pretty crap at the moment, but ten minutes in the company of this pair and I feel worse than ever.
‘Yep.’
‘Ah,’ she looks as though she’s struggling for something to say, then suddenly smiles triumphantly, ‘so you play polo! Everybody does, don’t they in the countryside! My step-brother lives in Cheshire, plays polo all the time, so exciting!’ As she is excited it seems a shame to disappoint her.
‘Oh yes, polo! Great! All that galloping, hot men, chasing a ball! Yes, of course I play, ha-ha! Definitely.’
Ollie raises an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you have been busy, I thought you hated horses.’
‘Hated horses? Me? Never!’
‘I’ll have to challenge you to a chukka or two next time we’re up this way then.’
‘Splendid.’ What the hell is chucking?
‘My brother plays in Argentina a lot, do you?’
‘Oh no, no, not enough time. Dogs to rescue! Oh sorry, phone buzzing! You know what it’s like, all work no play when you’re a journalist!’ It isn’t, well not here. Unless there’s been a mass food poisoning incident and half the village have been rushed to hospital. But I cannot take this much longer. Just hearing about fabulous Ollie and his fabulous life has been bad enough in previous years, but actually being in the same room as him and his silly girlfriend is making me want to scream. Or run away and hide in a corner. With a book. A book never lets you down, a good book, bad book, any book, I don’t care.
I’m just about to dash off, when there’s a shriek.
‘Oh my God, Maisie!’ For a moment, I think Juliet is about to collapse, her hand is on my arm, she’s grasping, long polished nails sticking in. I stare down, slightly aghast. It’s a bit like being grabbed by a bird of prey wearing nail varnish.
‘Daisy.’ I say it automatically.
‘My God!’ She clasps her throat melodramatically. ‘How absolutely awful.’ She flashes her mobile in front of my face, then waves it in front of Ollie’s.
His reactions are quicker than mine. He grabs her wrist, so that the phone stills and he can read it. ‘That can’t be right. I’m sure it can’t. Never read anything so ridiculous. Don’t worry, Daisy.’
I wasn’t worrying, until he said don’t worry.
‘What?’ I grab the phone from her, but as I’m reading, she’s shouting out.
‘How absolutely awful, to lose your job on Christmas Eve! What on earth will you do, poor Maisie?’
‘Job? You’ve lost your job?’ Mum has heard and scurried back over to my side and is trying to extract the phone from my frozen fingers.
I stare at Ollie, I can’t breathe. There’s a massive lump blocking my throat.
If I’d thought the last couple of days have been rubbish, this is the cherry on top of the bloody cake.
Shit. How low can I go? I’ve cocked up my career plan, been dumped, and now even lost my crap dead-end job. I’m overweight, live in a rabbit hutch, and I’m staring at the man who has it all worked out.
I hate him.
‘Even my hair’s a mess.’ My voice has gone as wobbly as my legs.
‘Hair?’
