Last Christmas Read online

  I nodded, not wanting my voice to emerge like a chipmunk again.

  ‘So I’ll just need to take some personal details . . .’

  Ten minutes later, after I’d given him the relevant information, he leaned back. ‘I think that’s it. We’ll cut you a cheque for fifty percent of the value, and you’re good to go. Interest on the loan will accrue after thirty days, but you can always let us know if you’d like to sell. Patek Philippe watches are in high demand.’

  ‘Perfect. Thank you.’

  ‘Here’s my card. Please feel free to contact me at any time.’ He smiled and met my eyes. Was it just me, or was there a tiny spark of interest on his face?

  ‘Okay,’ I said, feeling a curious stirring in my tummy – and not just the remains of the Full English.

  ‘Wait here for a second and I’ll be back with your cheque.’

  I watched him walk away, my cheeks flushing as I admired how his trousers fell over a very shapely backside. I loved Robert’s body, but – and he used to say this himself – his arse looked like someone had hit it with a cement block: flat and wide. To take my mind off butts, I busied myself programming James’ number and email into my phone in case I lost the card as per usual. Mimi called me the “cardnivore” for my talent to misplace each and every business card that crossed my path.

  ‘Right, here you are, then.’ James re-entered the room and handed me an envelope. I got to my feet, noting how his head was the perfect kissing height. If I tipped my chin up now, I could almost—

  ‘Er, thanks,’ I squeaked again, stopping the thought before I did something to embarrass myself.

  ‘Please don’t hesitate to get in touch,’ James said as he opened the door for me.

  ‘I won’t. Bye.’ He smiled in response, sexy little lines springing from his brown eyes.

  Out on the street, sun streamed between the tall buildings, making the Christmas decorations sparkle. For once, I didn’t want to rip them down and stomp on them. Given last year’s events and what I’d learned yesterday, that was a definite improvement. And although technically I still owned the watch, knowing it was out of my flat made me feel lighter. With a cheque in-hand for London’s biggest Christmas bash, the season could only get better from here.

  One thing was for sure: it couldn’t be worse than last year.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I got the money!’ I waved the envelope in Mimi’s face when I returned to the office later that morning.

  ‘Knew you would.’ She glanced up from the computer. ‘About bloody time you sold that watch, too. Poncy thing. And look!’

  ‘What?’ I plopped into my swivel chair, grabbing the desk to stop from tipping over. God, I really did need to go on a diet.

  ‘I’ve designed a killer invite. Check it out.’ She clicked a link and Deck the Halls blared through the tinny speakers as an e-vite appeared. I watched in horror as elves danced and Christmas trees bounced up and down. “First Annual Christmas on the Thames!!!!” the text read. I cringed at the liberal use of exclamation marks. “Celebrate the day with drinks, food, and friends!!!!”

  ‘First Annual?’ I asked, quirking an eyebrow at Mimi.

  She shrugged. ‘Yeah, well. Why not?’

  I scanned the rest of the words: “Join us anytime from three p.m. to midnight on Christmas Day at Founder’s Arms, South Bank.” All good there – I was actually starting to look forward to it. Forget simply banishing Robert from my mind; this might be fun. Or even: fun!!!!

  ‘And feast your eyes on that.’ She pointed smugly to a list on the screen.

  I squinted at the familiar names. Some were from my Robert days, some from secondary school, a few clients . . . Where the hell had Mimi found these people? ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Your RSVPs. They’ve all said yes, and that’s only in the past half-hour.’

  ‘What?’ My mouth fell open. ‘You sent out the invites already?’

  ‘Yup! Hey, this thing is already last minute. I knew you’d get the cash, the venue is good to go, now we just need people.’

  ‘Where did you find the names?’ I gasped in air as my mind frantically ran through who she might have invited. Oh, God. I crossed my fingers she’d at least had the presence of mind to remove Robert from the list. Not that he’d come, of course – he was otherwise engaged (pun intended) – but I didn’t want him to think I was being spiteful, throwing a party the same day as his nuptials. This bash was about forgetting the wedding, not interfering with it.

  ‘From your email contacts.’ Mimi sat back and put her feet on the desk. ‘I figured we should spread our net far and wide. It’s a big pub with loads of room, and the more the merrier, right?’

  My mouth went dry. My contacts comprised everyone I’d ever met since the beginning of time! For God’s sake, they even included the woman who did my bikini wax.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Mimi said when she caught sight of my face. ‘I did take out Robert, although I think he should see what a fab party you’re throwing while he’s getting hitched to Gretel.’

  ‘Greta,’ I corrected absentmindedly. My eyebrows rose even higher as I realized some of the partiers were those I’d been dead certain would only attend Robert’s wedding. Many I hadn’t spoken to since the break-up, and a little spurt of happiness went through me at the thought of seeing them again.

  The computer pinged and Mimi swung towards it. ‘Ooh, another response! Boo, only a maybe. Some James bloke.’

  ‘James?’ My voice came out as a screech. Not James from the pawnshop, surely? I dug out the card – which miraculously I still had – and looked at the name. ‘James Wilson?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Mimi leaned in. ‘Yup. Why? Who’s he?’

  Oh, God. James would think I was mental. I’d only met the man for less than ten minutes and I invited him to a party half an hour later? How had he got on the invite list, anyway? I bit at my thumb. The mobile must have synced his contact with my Outlook. Bloody Mimi!

  The phone rang, and I picked it up. ‘Lucy Greene Recruitment, how can I help?’

  ‘Lucy!’ My mother’s frantic voice rang through the receiver.

  ‘Oh, hi, Mum. Is everything okay? All set to take off soon?’

  ‘I’m not calling about my vacation,’ Mum huffed. I tilted my head. What had ruffled her feathers? Not that it took much – she had a fit if Asda ran low on mince pies. ‘I just got a call from Robert’s mother wondering what on earth you were playing at.’

  My brow furrowed. Robert’s mother? ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, dear, you know how the poor woman has some sort of Internet addiction.’ Mum lowered her voice to a hush and I couldn’t help smiling. My mother considered updating your Facebook status more than once weekly an Internet addiction. ‘Well, she checked her email this morning and found an invitation from you! To a Christmas party, no less. The same day as, er, another important event.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You mean Robert’s wedding?’

  ‘Well, yes. So you know.’

  ‘I do now! Why didn’t you tell me?’ God, how pathetic, everyone knowing except poor little Lucy.

  ‘You haven’t exactly been yourself this past year,’ Mum said in a delicate tone. ‘To be frank, I wasn’t sure you could handle the news. I thought it best kept under wraps until the event passed.’

  ‘What did you say to Robert’s mother?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, I told her after the way her son treated you, that day should be yours! In fact, I’m going to convince every single one of our mutual friends to boycott the wedding and attend your party. But I can’t believe you didn’t invite your own mother!’

  Oh, Lord. The last thing I wanted was for this to turn into a competition. But seeing as how Mum was so fired up . . . ‘Check your inbox.’

  ‘Check my what? Oh, my inbox. On the email, you mean. Okay, I will. And you know what? This year, I’m not flying to Florida. I’m staying right here and going to this party of yours.’

  Warmth flooded through me, a
nd I smiled. It might have taken a year, but finally my mum was behind me. And if she had her way, the rest of the village would be, too. A twinge of guilt stirred at the thought of Robert losing guests, but it wasn’t like I was deliberately sabotaging his day. He would do his thing, and I would do mine.

  Just the way he’d wanted.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I rushed to the office the next morning, waving at Tony in the kebab shop as I flashed by. For the first time in ages, I’d had a decent sleep. No post-proposal nightmares; no cold sweats as I jerked awake, wondering if I’d ever find another man . . . just a calm and restful night. And without a hangover, I was brimming with energy. I couldn’t wait to look at the RSVPs and see who else had responded. Last I’d checked, the grand total had been up to thirty-seven, from the man who’d fixed my boiler to my best friend from primary school. Funny, I’d have thought everyone would be busy with family, but it seemed people were gagging to leave the house and party.

  I booted up the computer and opened the Internet, clicking on the list of yeses. Mum’s little campaign was obviously underway, because overnight the numbers had swelled to fifty, many of whom were her WI group, neighbours, and women from church. Scanning the names, guilt pinged again at what this might mean for Robert and his wedding. But if people wanted to come to my party, it was their choice. Besides, as Mimi had said, they could do both.

  My mobile bleeped and I fished it from my bag, eyes widening at the name on the screen. James! Probably texting to ask who the hell invited a person they’d just met to a Christmas bash, I thought, shaking my head. I clicked open the message.

  Thanks for inviting me to your party – I’ll try my best to escape the family for a few hours. In the meantime, care to meet for a drink?

  My mouth fell open. Was he actually asking me out? It had been years – decades – since I’d gone out with a man. In fact, the only guy I’d dated was Robert and we’d known each other so well, it didn’t come anywhere close to a first-date scenario. I sighed, remembering my pride he’d be the first and last man I’d sleep with. Now, my lack of experience seemed downright pathetic.

  ‘Hiya!’ Mimi swanned in, unwrapping a scarlet scarf from around her neck.

  ‘Mims!’ I practically fell into her in my eagerness for advice. ‘Hot bloke James from the pawnshop asked me out for a drink! What should I do?’

  Mimi collapsed into her chair. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Say yes! For God’s sake, woman. Wipe the drool from your chin and get a grip.’ She grinned to take the edge off her words. I sat back, swallowing the saliva that had filled my mouth at the thought of James. Christ, even a chocolate brownie didn’t have the same effect, and that was saying something.

  ‘But when? Should I give him my availability for the next few days?’

  ‘Whoa, easy, tiger. Just say you’d like to go out and let him take it from there.’ She wound a curl around her finger. ‘You don’t want to come on too strong.’

  ‘Okay.’ Holding my breath, I typed in “I’d love to!!!!” then erased all four exclamation marks. Mimi’s condition must be contagious.

  A second later, my phone pinged again.

  You free tonight? If so, let’s meet in Kingly Court at seven.

  ‘Tonight!’ I screeched. ‘He wants to go out tonight!’

  ‘Well, normally I’d say you should turn down a last-minute invitation, but since you’ve already broken all the rules by asking him to a party just minutes after you two met . . . go for it.’

  I shook my head. ‘Mimi, have you seen what I’m wearing?’ I glanced down, taking in the full horror of the once-cream (read: grey) jumper from Primark paired with baggy black trousers. After Robert left – and my arse took on a postcode of its own – I hadn’t exactly kept my wardrobe up to date. Right now, Victorian scullery maids wouldn’t be caught dead in my clothing.

  Mimi’s mouth curled as she examined my outfit. ‘Good point. And we’ll need to do something with your hair, too. I can’t believe you’re wearing a bloody banana clip. I didn’t think those things still existed! Next thing we know, you’ll be at the crimping iron.’

  ‘Hey, don’t knock the banana clip.’ I knew the clip was ridiculous, but it made taming my locks so easy. Perhaps it was time to retire my favourite hair accessory, though. I was hardly going to hit a trendy place off Carnaby Street looking like a reject from Bananarama.

  ‘Listen, it’s only ten, and there’s not much work to get through. I’ll take care of it if you want to go shopping and have your hair done.’ Mimi made it sound more of an order than a suggestion.

  ‘But what about the party stuff? I still need to sign the contract for the venue, look at decorations, decide on music . . .’

  Mimi waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry, that won’t take long – you can sort out the venue this afternoon, and I’ll get started on the rest.’

  ‘Thanks, Mims.’ I threw my arms around her. ‘You’re a star. I should only be a couple of hours.’

  ‘Take longer than that, please, I beg you,’ Mimi said. ‘And I don’t want to see that hideous clip ever again.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ I mock-saluted as I shrugged on my coat. ‘Right, I’m off to shop.’ I gave my banana-clipped-hair a shake. ‘And to transform my locks. See you later.’

  Outside, the sky was deep blue and my breath made puffs in the frosty air. Christmas decorations twinkled in the sun and the street was alive with the hustle and bustle of mid-morning traffic. Where should I go to buy tonight’s killer outfit, I wondered as I trotted down the pavement? It’d been ages since I’d purchased something not from Primark or a market.

  The mad push of Oxford Street and its overwhelming plethora of clothing shops was daunting, and with only five days until Christmas, it would be even more packed than usual. Maybe I’d hit the Strand and wander up to Covent Garden. Hopefully a hair salon there could fit me in, too.

  It was such a gorgeous day I decided to walk. Tootling along the river, the happiness on Robert’s face as he stared at Greta flashed into my mind, and anger shot through me. Forget him, I told myself. You have a hot date tonight and an epic party in the works – a party that would show everyone I was moving on. Life was on the up . . . finally.

  An hour or so later, I stood in front of the mirror in Oasis, clad in dark blue skinny jeans and a floaty chiffon top that camouflaged my bottom. Lace-up heeled ankle boots made my legs look marginally less peg-like, and I could just about walk in them.

  ‘What do you think?’ the sales assistant asked as I checked my butt again. Sadly, it hadn’t disappeared.

  ‘It’s great. I’ll take everything.’ Thank goodness she’d helped me assemble this ensemble. Left to my own devices, I’d have chosen the yellow jumper that matched my banana clip.

  Ah yes, the clip. ‘Is there somewhere nearby that could do my hair?’ I asked the woman. ‘A place where you don’t need appointments?’

  ‘Hair by Fairy in Neal’s Yard does walk-ins,’ she said, eyeing my beloved clip with disdain.

  ‘Perfect.’ I paid for my clothing, then trotted up the cobblestoned street and into Neal’s Yard. I’d always loved this secluded little courtyard – an oasis of peace in the centre of London – and while I’d never noticed a hairdresser’s here before, a hair fairy was exactly what I needed.

  Within minutes, I was receiving the rather intense attention of a goth called Rhino, who uttered not a word as he removed the clip and discarded it on the floor. Without speaking, he washed my hair, performed some snips with scissors, then blow-dried my locks.

  ‘There,’ he said, spinning me around to face the mirror.

  My mouth dropped at the reflection. Instead of the punky ‘do I’d feared, my once-mousy, straggly strands now fell in dark glossy locks, making my face seem less round and more . . . alive, somehow. Christ, my hair even bounced!

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ My voice rang out in the tiny space.

  ‘Do you want your clip back?’ Rhino glanced down at the carcass on the floor.

/>   ‘No, that’s all right. You can keep it for posterity.’ I grinned to show I was joking, but he just nodded.

  I grabbed my carrier bags, paid for the cut and pushed through the door, leaving the clip – and the old, dowdy me – behind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I sank onto a metal chair in Kingly Court, glancing at my watch. Seven o’clock – James should be here any second. Nerves circled inside as I smoothed down my jeans and re-tied a shoelace. Why did he want to see me, anyway? Maybe it wasn’t a date. Maybe he just wanted to talk about the watch. Maybe—

  ‘Hello there.’ James’ deep voice cut into my questions, and my head snapped up to meet his friendly smile.

  ‘Hi!’ For God’s sake, why did my pitch magically rise two octaves whenever I talked to him? I cleared my throat. ‘Um, hello. Good to see you again.’

  James sat down beside me, and a lovely whiff of wool and cologne met my nose. ‘It’s nice to see you, too. Thanks for meeting me for a drink.’

  ‘No problem.’

  An awkward silence filled the air, then James laughed, shaking his head. ‘Look, I should warn you – I’m a bit out of practice with this whole dating thing.’

  So this was a date! Happiness flowed through me. It was comforting to know he was as nervous as me, too.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ I put a hand on his arm, admiring how solid it was beneath my fingers. ‘I’m very out of practice, too. In fact’ – I paused, wondering if I should tell him this was my first date in over a decade – ‘it’s been a while since I’ve dated.’ Best to keep the particulars to myself, I thought. Mimi would kill me if I scared him off with info like that.

  ‘Good.’ James flashed me another smile and stood, pulling me up. ‘Let’s go grab a drink and we can practice on each other.’ He led me down a corridor to a nearby bar, ordered a bottle of red, then poured the crimson liquid into a glass. I took a big gulp, the wine sliding down nicely.