where he houses the special editions. ‘You’re in shock. Somebody get a brandy.’
Even feeling like I do I have to take a deep breath and let the smell of old leather and special words (yes, they do have a smell) filter their way into my body. I’m not sure if I want to cry, or curl up with a book and escape, pretend I’m somewhere else.
I also feel a bit heady, which could be dust, words of wisdom, or the goldfish-bowl sized brandy glass he’s pushed into my hand. The fumes alone are making me splutter.
He gently prises the phone from my fingers and hands it over to Ollie wordlessly.
‘You’ve not been sacked, Daisy.’ Ollie crouches down in front of me and looks into my eyes. He’s got the lovely warm brown eyes he had when he was Joseph to my Mary. Before they turned naughty and he kissed me. He was mischievous then, he’s not now, he’s all earnest and caring, but he actually looks a bit like the Ollie I knew. He looks like the eighteen-year-old Ollie with the luscious lips and the nervous smile. Maybe I don’t hate him.
‘But Juliet said …’
‘It says here,’ his tone is firm. It’s quite commanding and authoritative, I can see why he’s so successful. ‘That the three local newspapers are merging. The office is closing, but there will be opportunities for all staff to apply for jobs and no compulsory redundancies are expected. None.’
‘Well, that’s okay then, none!’ My voice sounds pathetic and all wavery to my ears, but it’s the best I can do. I say it again, trying for a stronger tone. ‘None.’
Uncle Terence pats my hand absent-mindedly, but he’s frowning at Ollie. ‘How the hell can they not have announced it in the office, that’s not on is it? Downright underhand if you ask me. No emails, nothing, Daisy, darling?’
‘Erm, maybe I might have missed a meeting while I was writing a missing rabbit ad. It explains why David was avoiding me when I left.’
Something nudges my left leg. Something damp lands on my left knee. It’s Stanley, with a slice of ham.
I stroke his ears and stare at Ollie. ‘It definitely says there are jobs?’
He nods. ‘Definitely.’ Our gazes lock and his is so intent I’m spun back to that Christmas all those years ago. When it was just him and me, and nothing and nobody else mattered. When all I could see were his eyes, when he tasted of whisky and mince pies, when the scent of cloves and cinnamon mingled with the citrus of his aftershave. And now I’m not sure what is past and what is present. I just know I’m glad he’d here.
‘Mince pies, anybody?’ I blink my way back to the present feeling a bit unnerved, just as Mum waves a tray under Stanley’s nose, so I cover his eyes.
‘He’s not allowed dried fruit, it’s poisonous!’ She waves one tantalising close and his nose twitches. ‘Don’t you dare, Mum!’ I kiss Uncle Terence on the cheek and down the rest of the brandy in one gulp. Which could be a mistake. The fiery liquid burns its way down my throat and insides and brings tears to my eyes and makes me cough and splutter alarmingly. ‘Thank you.’ I blink like an owl in sunlight.
‘You’re welcome, my darling. You’re okay?’
‘Definitely.’ I nod vigorously to prove the point. ‘Sorry, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m fine. All ready to party!’
Uncle T smiles. ‘That’s my girl. Oh look – mistletoe!’
Ollie blushes, and just like that he’s the teenager I used to know. Except the grown-up Ollie is even more gorgeous.
He glances at me, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the hint of a smile. A shared secret, and my stomach does a little flip of anticipation.
I want to touch him, kiss him, see if he still tastes the same.
I mustn’t!
I scoop up my dog and take a hasty step away from Uncle T. ‘Come on, Stanley, let’s mingle.’ Then I flee.
10.30 p.m., 24 December
‘Sorry, Dais, I’m going to have to whizz.’ Frankie is hugging me as she speaks, she’s all flushed and smiley. Or maybe it’s me that’s flushed and her that’s just smiley. ‘Thanks so much for letting me come, not had so much fun in years, but Tarquin just called.’
‘He did?’ Frankie and Tarquin have quite an explosive relationship. She’s always so controlled and restrained, right up until the moment she screams at him or throws something heavy. I think he winds her up on purpose, their relationship seems to thrive on the emotional highs and lows.
‘He’s sent a car, and roses! He’s booked a hotel for the night to apologise.’ She winks. Break-up make-up is the way they roll.
‘That’s nice.’
She glances across the room at Ollie. ‘Shame he’s got that cow in tow, he seems nice.’ She sighs. ‘Well he’s dishy so who cares if he is or not? You’ll have to give me his deets!’
‘Frankie! You’re just about to make up with Tarquin!’
She grins. ‘He’s an orphan, he’ll have nobody to eat Christmas dinner with if he doesn’t make up with me!’
‘Really? That’s so sad.’
‘Sad? Cheeky cow, what’s sad about having to spend Christmas day with me!’
‘I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t.’ I glare at her. ‘The orphan stuff, not having anybody. That’s horrible.’
‘He’s not an orphan, you dork.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘He just chooses not to see his fam. So don’t go all drippy and nice to him when you see him. I know you, you’ll be helping him move in!’
‘Oh.’
‘Have a great Christmas if I don’t see you.’ She winks. ‘I’m hoping to be tied up on a four-poster bed! I might text your Ollie and see if he wants to make a foursome!’
‘Frankie!’
‘Oooo! You want him for yourself, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t! You’re worse than my mother, anyway he’s almost family.’
‘Too sexy for family.’ Her voice has got that dreamy edge to it again. ‘Admit it, he’s a hunk.’
‘He’s a hunk, and he’s got a girlfriend! A nearly fiancée. And it’s not all about looks you know.’ She’s being ridiculous. Totally. I do not fancy Oliver Cartwright.
‘Ha-ha. Says who?’ Frankie smoothes her hair down, the heavy jet-black fringe would make anybody else look like a vampire having a bad day, on her it’s cool. ‘Me thinks you doth protest too much.’
She doesn’t give me time to correct her quote, or protest that I’m not protesting
