Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett
‘Apparently some bloke from his work is moving in. Ryan says he’s about to live the bachelor life he’s always dreamed of. You know, bin overflowing with empty beer cans, take-away pizza boxes piled high and used as foot rests.’ She shrugged. ‘This housesitting job has really got to work for us, Kimmy. We need to stay here long enough to sort something else out. I’ve rung a couple of friends but one’s got her sister staying with her at the moment and the other said her landlord would go mad if she let anyone stay longer than one night.’ Jess plucked some sticky seeds from her sleeve. ‘At least you’re here all day, to keep things running smoothly and work through our lists of jobs. If Mr Murphy has no complaints, we should be here for at least a couple of weeks.’
Ah. That list of jobs. I wasn’t even quite sure where it was.
‘Although Deborah’s message was a bit worrying,’ said Jess and wiped her nose. ‘But then we owe it to her to do our best.’
‘Huh?’
‘You know – I jotted it down for you, on the list. It was on the answerphone this morning; those prospective buyers coming around as soon as tomorrow, after lunch. That’s why I wrote down for you to clean the Games Room and lounge – close up, both are dead dusty. Then the dining room table needed polishing and all of the bathrooms needed a going over. The last housesitter clearly didn’t stay long – parts of this place haven’t been touched for weeks.’
I fixed a smile to my face. Surely she’d understand; I’d been too busy – this was my business at stake. And how long would it take anyway, to do a bit of tidying up?
She got to her feet. ‘Time to keep my end of the bargain now, anyway, and give both the borders a going over, get outside and tidy up the straggly weeds. I hope that shed out the back is unlocked.’ Her eyes scoured my clothes for a second. ‘You’ve been baking? You should have done that tomorrow morning, the smell might have helped sell this place.’ She turned and headed into the kitchen. ‘Good thinking, though. I’m starving. So, what is it today? Chocolate? Nutty? Dolly Mixture?’
She gasped as we entered the kitchen.
‘Um… It won’t take me long to tidy up. You see I was talking to Melissa – she’s got a party tomorrow – needed someone to take over the catering. She tasted my cupcakes and well… how could I say no? It… it was urgent. And we want to get on with the neighbours, don’t we?’
Crimson in the face, Jess glared at me. ‘Are you crazy? Does this mean you’ve done none of the jobs?’ She bobbed forwards and picked something off the ground. It was her list. ‘You haven’t even stocked up properly, I mean just look at all these items – how the hell did you pay for this stuff?’
‘Out of my own pocket. I’ll earn it all back tomorrow and more. She said money was no object.’
‘This do, tomorrow, it’s for charity, then?’ she muttered.
‘Kind of…’ I shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Well, that’s what I’d call it. She’s offering some old biddies free Botox.’
‘You’ve jeopardised our first proper duty in this house, showing people around, so that a bunch of women can inject poison into their wrinkles?’
‘It’s not like that… This was too good an opportunity to miss! You understand don’t you, Jess? Think how impressed Adam will be if I make some real money and contacts and bring in more orders–’
‘How impressed do you think he’ll be if we get thrown out before we’ve started the job?’ She shook her head. ‘So now, after a day on my feet, not only have I got to garden front and back, I’ll have to help you clean all those rooms? It’ll take ages to sort all this out into the relevant recycling bins.’
‘I can manage.’
‘What? In between hobnobbing with the neighbours and making marzipan berries?’ She jerked her head towards the puddle of red colouring. ‘Have you any idea how difficult that is to get off?’ She banged her fist on the breakfast table. ‘Maybe Adam was right! You’re totally irresponsible! If we lose this place we’ll be out on the street. How could you be so selfish?’ she gulped.
‘Jess, calm down,’ I stuttered. I’d never seen her like this before.
‘Calm down?’ She picked up a half-empty bag of flour, plunged in her fingers and lobbed a handful at my head. ‘Hey, this is fun, isn’t it? Let’s make as much mess as we can.’ She brandished the bottle of red food colouring.
‘No… not my… hair,’ I screamed, in between spitting out flour. Too late. And peroxide was so absorbent. Jess picked up one batch of perfect muffins, rushed to the patio doors, slid them open and–
‘No, Jess! You may as well put a gun to my head and shout pull!’
She gazed at me. Her lip quivered. Was that a sob?
‘What’s the matter?’ I hurried over and prised the wire rack from her fingers. I put it on the worktop. We both sat down. A fat tear plopped onto her shirt and I tucked a random strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Is it Ryan? Or work?’ My voice sounded alien due to the flour having dried it out. ‘You can tell me, Jess,’ I said, softly, chest squeezing. I’d never seen my bestie this upset before. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll help you sort it. That’s what best friends are for.’
‘How?’ she sobbed. ‘Can you wind back time?’
‘What do you mean?’
Her shoulders shook. ‘You’ll think me so dumb, Kimmy. I’m pregnant!’
Breathe, Kimmy, breathe. In and out. Inhale, exhale… Look at me, already practising to help Jess with her contractions. I stared at my best mate, a crumpled mess. Jess. Pregnant. As a baker, there had to be some witticism I could make about a bun in the oven. But joking was the last thing on my mind. My heart pounded at the thought of a baby growing inside her stomach. This was serious, grown-up stuff. Life-changing. I opened my mouth to talk but words wouldn’t come out. Instead I reached out and squeezed Jess’s arm.
‘It’ll be okay,’ I said, eventually. ‘We’ll get through this.’
‘How?’ she wailed. ‘I couldn’t afford a week’s nappies, let alone a cot or pram on my current wages.’
My eyes filled at the sight of sensible, level-headed Jess sobbing like I did at the wrong time of the month. I shook myself. Get a grip, for Jess’s sake. I focused, for a second, on the rows of cakes I’d made for Melissa. Like a herbalist or naturopath, I decided which was the best to lift Jess’s spirits.
Which to choose? The Santa Coladas? No, not alcohol, in her condition. And was popping candy even safe, in the early stage of the pregnancy? Maybe Jess would be better off with the plain, un-iced cinnamon spice ones. After all, lots of women got bad indigestion when expecting a baby.
‘Here…’ I guided Jess to one of the stools and put the plate in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak.
‘Shh!’ I said. ‘Don’t talk. Just eat for a moment.’
She sniffed loudly and, like a small child, did as I said. After a few mouthfuls, one solitary tear trickled down her cheek. But cakes were a girl’s best medicine – whether it was to comfort a broken heart or ease nerves before an important appointment. I poured myself a glass of water. I’d never seen Jess so angry, chucking flour into my mouth and colouring into my hair. At least it was red and not some way out colour like green or blue or … Blue? Wait a minute – had she even done a pregnancy test?
There had to be some mistake, I thought, as I watched crumbs tumble down her chin. This was the girl who’d grilled Miss during school sex lessons and asked if two condoms were safer than one (the answer’s “no”, due to more friction). I passed her a square of kitchen roll as she ate