perfect reason to keep away from fresh mistletoe! I just googled, more out of desperation than real hope, and it is poisonous to dogs, and I have Stanley. We don’t want vomiting, drooling and diarrhoea in the vicinity of Uncle Terence’s first editions, do we? I never thought I would say this, in response to those three words, but … result!
‘What the hell is that, Daisy?’ Frankie is lurking in my doorway, a drink in her hands, pointing at my list which is pinned to the wardrobe. Along with a photo of Simon with a heart shaped hole cut out of his stomach, and a big cross over the ‘sausage rolls’. She is looking very Ab Fab and is struggling to sound indignant, she’s laughing too much. She starts to pull my list off the wardrobe, then pauses and spins back round to stare at me. ‘Fuck me, you really do take this family party thing seriously! Great jumper, not so sure about the twigs growing out of your head though.’
‘Antlers!’
‘I need to come and see this!’
‘No, you don’t. And you haven’t got a Christmas jumper.’
‘And does this,’ she peels Simon off the door, prods her finger through the hole in his chest, then rotates him slowly, ‘mean you haven’t got a date?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Well, nor have I.’ She grins, wickedly. ‘I can be your date!’
‘I’m taking Stanley.’ Stanley dives under the bed.
‘Who the fuck is Stanley? Have you been two-timing Simon?’ She gives a low whistle. ‘Dark horse!’
I sigh. ‘Stanley is the dog I’ve agreed to foster over the holidays.’
‘Oh.’ She looks disappointed, then frowns. ‘How did I not know about this?’
‘I smuggled him in, I knew you’d like him once you got to know him.’ It’s her flat, and I really should have asked her, but I couldn’t risk her saying no. Stanley can’t spend Christmas in a kennel.
‘Whatever.’ Frankie suddenly smiles. ‘Well, you can take me too then! Pleeeeeeease!’
‘Where’s Tarquin?’ I look at her with suspicion. She had a night of lust planned, like you do on Christmas eve if you’re a normal person and have a boyfriend, which is why she’s glammed up.
‘I told him to fuck off.’ She downs her drink. ‘He started a sentence with ‘if you really cared about me’, and it all went downhill from there. He needs to get a life.’
She sounds a bit sulky.
‘He is trying to, Frankie, with you.’
‘I’m not ready, I’d be bored within a week and so would he. Can I come?’
I look at Stanley, who is peeking out from under the bed. He stares back, resignedly.
‘It’s full of old people, and books.’
‘You should get a career in sales, oh hang on, you have! Please, it’ll be fun. I can do old people.’
I’m sure she can. ‘You’ll have to promise to behave and not put a straw in the vat of mulled wine.’
‘Promise. I won’t.’
She probably will.
‘And not propose to Uncle T?’
‘Is he rich?’
‘Very, but he’s probably married at the moment. I can’t remember. You mustn’t try and steal him!’
‘Okay.’ She puts on her sweet and innocent smile. But I know she’s not either.
‘Come on then,’ I sigh, I haven’t got time to argue, ‘I’m taking my car and getting a taxi back.’
‘Cool. Can I wear your antlers?’
7.30 p.m., 24 December
So, I have arrived at the party minus a boyfriend, and plus a dog and a flatmate. And now Ollie frigging Mr Perfect Cartwright is here.
Brilliant.
‘Oh my, how lovely to see you, Daisy, sweetheart!’ Uncle Terence manages to catch the plate (minus most of the sausage rolls), put his foot on Stanley’s lead, flick most of the pastry off my jumper with his silk handkerchief and kiss me on both cheeks without breaking into a sweat. ‘Splendid jumper, by the way!’
Stanley is so shocked he stops licking my toes, sits down and stares.
Uncle Terence is a bit of an enigma. He’s rather debonair, the only man in the village who can pull off a bowtie and is a kind of cross between a cuddly uncle and a London man about town. Yes, I know, it’s hard to imagine until you meet him. I’ve also absolutely no idea how old he is, except he’s older than me and not as old as my mother. I also know he used to run a literary agency which he thought he’d hand over to Ollie (he actually is his uncle) until Ollie’s dad persuaded his son that the medical profession was a much worthier cause.
‘Thank you! Looking forward to the party!’ I flash my new-lipstick smile, and he looks impressed – it looks like the magazine was right, it was well worth spending all that money on. I reckon it cost more than the entire contents of my make-up drawer.
‘Oh, my goodness, they look a bit pasty, don’t they?’ My mother picks up a sausage roll and eyes it suspiciously, before dropping it behind a pile of books and finally forgetting about Simon and my pompous prick comment offers her cheek for a kiss.
At least she’s been distracted from the lack of boyfriend.
‘Oh darling, what happened to your boyfriend? Tell me again!’ Bugger. Spoke too soon. Mum peers around me, as though I might actually have brought him and forgotten.
‘He had to cancel, I told you, things came up!’
‘Oh no. Such a disappointment.’ For a moment her face falls, then she chirps up. ‘Never mind, we’ll find you another nice young man. Sadie at Number 17 has a lovely son, he’s a dentist, always handy to know a good dentist! Don’t you think so, Terence?’
‘Far too boring for a bright young thing like our Daisy.’ Terence winks at me. ‘No hurry is there my dear? Get your career up and running before you go for all that nonsense, eh?’
‘Oh, my goodness, yes, we forgot to tell you.’ He’s now set Mum’s mind off in a new direction, which I’m not sure is a good thing. ‘Daisy has got another job!’ Terence raises an eyebrow. ‘She works for the Hunslip and Over Widgley Local Guardian, she’s in charge of promotions and marketing you know. They headhunted her, a proper job!’
‘Really?’ Uncle T whispers in my ear.
‘Small ads, not exactly proper.’
