Mistletoe and Mayhem: A cosy, chaotic Christmas read!. Catherine Ferguson
ha-flippin’-ha,’ I say grumpily.
‘Or, to use the layman’s term for it: Killer Arse!’
She goes off into hysterics, spilling her tea and wiping her eyes, while I stare at her mutinously. It’s really not very funny.
‘I’ll buy you one of those blow-up rings people sit on when they’ve got painful haemorrhoids,’ she gasps, between snorts. ‘What colour would you like?’
‘Black to match my mood,’ I growl. ‘But I’d rather have a vodka and cranberry to numb the pain.’
Barb obliges and the alcohol definitely helps. Pretty soon, even I’m seeing the funny side of my killer arse.
Next morning, I’m up early, showered and dressed even before Barb leaves for work.
‘I’m going to re-do my CV today,’ I announce. ‘Absolutely no lounging in front of the TV. Those days are over.’
Barb smiles. ‘Good for you. A lot of folk would go to pieces if they’d gone through what you have. It takes determination to get out there again.’
‘Well, you watch, I’ll have landed a job by tea-time,’ I say, sounding a great deal more jovial than I feel inside.
I’d say the main thing that got me out of bed this morning wasn’t determination, as Barb seems to think, but fear.
Stark, stomach-churning terror at the thought of ending up penniless. It’s been rising steadily inside me – like water in a punctured life raft – ever since my world came crashing down. I’ve been doggedly ignoring it. But you can’t bury your head in the sand forever. Eventually, the nasty stuff must be faced.
‘I’m asking around,’ says Barb, on her way out of the door. ‘Seeing if anyone knows of any vacancies.’
After she’s gone, I make myself another coffee and settle down at the kitchen table with my laptop.
A second later, there’s a mammoth crash right outside the flat that makes my heart leap into my mouth. Followed five minutes later by a series of loud scrapes coming from the building’s communal hall.
This is grim.
Someone is clearly trying to drag a dead body wrapped in a blanket up the stairs. (Watching blood-thirsty Scandinavian drama 24/7 will do that to your brain.)
I peer out of the window. There’s a large white van parked right outside with its back doors open. There’s no one about but, clearly, whatever was in the van is currently being manoeuvred up the stairs.
Right on cue there’s another loud grating noise, as if something heavy or awkward is scraping along a wall then being set down on the concrete stairs.
I put my head round the door.
Just in time to see a pair of long male legs in skinny jeans mounting the stairs. The owner of the legs is labouring slightly under the weight of a large black box.
He glances back at the sound of the door opening, gives me a fleeting grin and says, ‘Hi there. Apologies for the commotion. But I think we’re done now.’
I raise my hand, embarrassed at being caught nosing. ‘Hey, don’t worry. Didn’t hear a thing.’
I watch his legs disappear, all prepared to make a hasty retreat if he comes back down.
As I linger, curious, there’s a thud and a foreboding crashing sound followed by a series of passionate expletives. I screw up my face. Whatever was in that box – crockery? – is clearly no longer in one piece.
‘Has someone moved into the flat above?’ I ask Barb on her return that evening.
She disappears into her room. ‘You mean Jasper?’ she calls. ‘Yes, he moved in last month.’
‘Oh? What’s he like?’
‘Bit of a div but harmless enough, I suppose. He’s locked himself out of his car twice since he got here. And he’s always in a tearing hurry, like he’s constantly late for something.’
She pops her head round the door. ‘I did tell you someone had moved in but you must have forgotten. But of course you haven’t been here much recently, what with spending so much time at …’ She tails off, embarrassed at having referred to He-Who-Mustn’t-Be-Mentioned, and retreats back into her room.
My stomach plummets.
Every time I think I’m over Nathan, yet another pesky reminder parachutes in and knocks the breath right out of me.
Mostly, though, I’m doing okay.
It helps to know that the relationship would never have worked.
Nathan needs Iron Woman in his life and I could never be that, however much I trained and sweated. His constant preoccupation with fitness would have driven me barmy within a year. In fact, for the first time ever, I actually find myself feeling sorry for Crystal (on the days I’m not fantasising about tampering with her treadmill so she goes flying off the end). She’ll never be able to keep up with him.
I call out to Barb, ‘Do you know him well, then?’
‘Who? Nathan?’ she asks, coming into the living room.
‘The guy upstairs. Jasper?’
‘Oh.’ Then after a pause: ‘Not really.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Yeah, a couple of times. He’s a bit weird, though.’
‘Weird?’
‘Scatter-brained. He’s always losing his keys and getting me to buzz him into the building. And, last week, he left his violin out in the rain overnight.’
‘Really? Was it ruined?’
‘No, apparently it was in its case so it was fine. But, honestly, what a dipstick.’
I remember Jasper’s warm, friendly smile that extended to his rather nice brown eyes. He’d seemed really nice to me. But then, I’d only had a ten-second conversation, mainly with his back.
Barb disappears and comes back with her bag of knitting. She slumps down on the sofa. ‘Christ. I know I probably shouldn’t complain. Lucky to have a job and all that bollocks. But that place might possibly be the death of me.’
‘Over-worked and under-paid?’ I frown in sympathy.
She nods. ‘We’re short-staffed after all the redundancies. It’s a nightmare. You’re actually lucky to be out of it.’
I smile, although ‘lucky’ is the very last thing I feel.
I applied for two jobs this afternoon and signed up with a temping agency. But people keep saying this is the worst time of year to be job-hunting because everyone’s more interested in sorting out their Christmas plans and office parties than doing actual work.
‘What are you making?’ I nod at the bundle of red wool and needles she’s bringing out of the bag.
‘Christmas tree decorations.’
‘Mm. Lovely.’
Barb frowns. ‘Yes, I know. Hilarious. But they’ll look great, I promise you.’
I nod in reluctant agreement. Barb is heavily into crafting. She says it’s her way of relaxing and I have to admit, most of the stuff she creates is pretty amazing. She started making her Christmas cards last weekend. The design – a single bauble with rows of red and gold sequins – is beautifully simple but effective.
It’s my turn to make dinner so I wander through to the kitchen and start chopping onions and peppers for the chilli. I’m just putting the rice on when I hear the unmistakeable sound of Oklahoma! starting up in the living room on Barb’s iPod. She starts singing along to ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’.
I