Under The Mistletoe. Kerry Barrett
coming.’ His eyes widened. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to meet the latest girlfriend to join the crowd, Tracy Clifford? Did you see–’
‘Last week’s Infamous?’ I interrupted. ‘I know – that white dust around her nose looked a bit suspicious.’
‘She insisted it was face powder.’ Terry grinned. ‘She won’t last long on that stuffy circuit. Ah well, I still expect all the goss. There might be someone famous there so I want all the details – what they wear, how much they eat.’
‘Melissa showed me this trick,’ I said and started to put the cakes into Tupperware boxes. ‘It involves chewing food for just a few seconds, then spitting it–’
‘Kimmy?’ Jess appeared at the patio doors and frowned at Terry.
‘Nice to meet you, sweetie,’ he said and stretched out a podgy arm. ‘I live next door. The name’s Terry and this is my better half – Frazzle.’
Jess’s tearstained eyes lit up as soon as she spotted the miniature pig sniffing some flour on the kitchen floor.
Terry picked up the animal and handed her to Jess. ‘She gets on well with Groucho and if you tie her to Walter’s weeping willow, she’ll be as happy as a pig in… well…’
Jess tickled behind Frazzle’s ears. ‘I’ll start the borders,’ she called over her shoulder and disappeared outside.
‘Nice girl,’ said Terry and helped me force down a Tupperware lid. He glanced sideways at me. ‘Is she all right? I’m a good listener, you know.’
I shook my head, not daring to open my mouth in case I broke Jess’s confidence and the whole pregnancy thing slipped out.
‘Well, if you change your mind…’
‘Thanks, Terry – I appreciate it,’ I said, managing to leave it at that.
He fiddled with something underneath the base of a cupboard. Suddenly classical music blasted into the room. He re-tuned it to some disco channel.
‘Cool radio,’ I said.
But Terry didn’t hear. Dishcloth at the ready, his ample hips rocked jerkily to some retro soul groove. As he filled the dishwasher and scraped remnants of butter and sprinkles into the bin, his breathing became laboured. I tried to work out his age. Late fifties perhaps? It was difficult to say as there were hardly any wrinkles on his chubby face. Certainly not much older than the oldest of Mum’s boyfriends.
I offered Terry a random chunk of chocolate from the worktop, but he mouthed the words “no” and “cholesterol”. Then he continued to fill the machine, doing the John Travolta point in between each item, stepping side to side and jiggling his bottom.
Glad to see Jess digging outside, with a more cheerful face, I headed upstairs to the bedrooms with a bucket of cleaning products, kitted out to clean my shower, the mint green bathroom and Jess’s ensuite. By the time I’d rinsed out the last sink, my arms ached and I needed a cold drink. It had been quite cathartic and I’d kind of put Jess’s bombshell into perspective. Every day women got pregnant. That was life – messy and unpredictable with shiny jewels of happiness sometimes coming out of the darkest spots. She and me, we’d manage somehow. I’d be the best aunt I could. We’d get as much equipment as we could from charity shops and fingers crossed my baking earnings would help.
As my eye caught sight of the laptop, when I passed the office, I bobbed in to enjoy a quick social media catch-up. Waiting for me on Facebook was one poke, as well as three messages. Someone had also sent me a puffer fish for my virtual aquarium. Adam had always refused point blank to become a member; said it was childish and a waste of time.
My eyes scoured my homepage. Susie had got tickets to see Bruno Mars! Mandy was still recovering from that hen weekend. Callum had lost his wallet, Zoe was eating a sandwich in Oxford Street and Chelsea had changed her profile picture. But best of all… I could hardly believe it… India off Celebrity Chastity Challenge had accepted me as a friend!
As the vacuuming downstairs stopped, I wondered what news to share with my online friends. Normally my Facebook status would include some link to my favourite cute animal YouTube clip, a new cupcake recipe or the latest celebrity goss. However, this time my friends would be well impressed. Quickly I typed: “Am baking for Melissa Winsford!” I snapped shut the laptop and headed towards the top of the stairs. Terry shouted my name and feeling pleased with myself, I breathed in the fresh smells of bleach and ceramic cleaner, wafting out of every room.
I was about to go down when… Oh God… That White Christmas music played again. I shivered and goosebumps broke out on my arms. Although there was no smoke or sound of whooshing gales…
I know someone’s there and I’m not frightened, you know, I said in my head, even though, chest heaving, I was rooted to the spot. Racking my brains for phrases from Most Haunted, I concentrated hard. Knock three times if you mean no harm.
‘Kimmy?’ called up Terry, from the Games of Thrones Room (still think of it as that). I paused, mouth dry, eyes wide open. Then bolted towards the staircase, down to the comfort of human company. The music had stopped now, anyway.
I opened the door and there amidst the racing green walls and mahogany panels sat my new neighbour and Jess. My shoulders relaxed. They were at the bar, drinking… some yucky muddy drink. Terry slid a murky cocktail down to the stool next to Jess.
‘What’s in this?’ I asked, making my way around the billiards table. At least it had one of those brollies in that I’d bought.
‘Half orange juice and half… half…’ Jess sneezed. ‘Cola. We were thirsty and Terry suggested this. It’s called a Muddy Water.’
‘I tried to persuade Jess to let me nip home for some champagne,’ said Terry and took out a handkerchief to wipe his perspiring cheeks. Frazzle was curled up at the foot of the stool. Groucho was standing guard, ready to be the first to claim any fallen crisps. I shoved a Pringle in my mouth. They were Adam’s favourite flavour. We used to challenge each other to eat them sideways.
‘How about you, Kimmy? A spot of champers?’
‘Better not, Terry – I’ve still got to sort out the hallway and downstairs loo and maybe give the windows the once over too.’ I looked out of the front window and right at the bottom of the drive spotted two cute copper-coloured dogs trotted past on leads, long hair shimmying from side to side. ‘Borders look good, Jess.’ The sun was setting. Sunday night. Adam would have just got back from the gym, ready to sit next to me on the sofa and watch his favourite detective series.
‘What time are these buyers arriving tomorrow?’ asked Terry.
‘One o’clock,’ said Jess. ‘Deborah, the estate agent, is coming this time too. Just to see how we’ve settled in. Spying for Mr Murphy, I guess.’
‘Great dress sense, that woman,’ said Terry. ‘I’ve seen her several times. Fabulous shoes.’
‘Did you see much of Mr Murphy, Terry?’ I asked. ‘He must have been close to Walter, to get this place. Is he married?’
Terry sipped his cocktail again. ‘No. Single – Walter mentioned a long-term relationship that broke down. I met him a few times, during those last months. It’s a long way to come from Manchester – his mum, Walter’s sister, moved there when she got married. He seemed a decent sort – took Walter out to country pubs and would shout him a round of golf. Walter and Lily didn’t have any other younger relatives – Mike was their only nephew. Not that there was much of a family resemblance. Mike was a bit flash for the old man’s taste – you know, chunky jewellery, dyed hair. But they discussed politics and world news together.’ Terry grinned. ‘Right until the end, Walter was as sharp as they come, despite his series of strokes.’
‘Strokes?’
Terry ran a hand over his bald head. ‘The effects of them were largely physical. No one ever took Walter for a fool. I remember the week