Gary looked appalled. ‘Good God, no! All those facts, the figures, the stats… Whereas a man who rides sandworms on dunes and gives out golden tickets for a chocolate factory, that’s a different matter.’
‘Does Diego know about this crush?’ She took one of the cocktails and sipped it, keen to change the subject.
‘We allow each other one celebrity crush each,’ he said airily. ‘Diego’s is Gordon Ramsay.’ He looked at Elena and they both chuckled. ‘But I digress. Seriously, you should say something. I reckon he feels the same.’
He doesn’t. Couldn’t.
‘What’s stopping you, hmm?’
She took another sip and looked away. ‘Rory… he’s found out something embarrassing about me. For sure I’ve lost his respect.’
Gary paid the barman. He hesitated. ‘I understand. I tried to hide it, but Diego accidentally overheard me once, on the phone to the bank, after we’d only been on a few dates. I needed to get a large sum of money back. I’d been scammed for a thousand pounds.’
Elena met his gaze. ‘Howmuch?’
Gary sighed. ‘A photographer – or so I thought – had seen my profile on socials and wanted me to, um… model. He said he’d need the money upfront and it would guarantee a great portfolio and secure a spot on an upcoming shoot that would lead to masses of paid work. He kept going on about how hot I was.’ Gary turned bright red. ‘Stupid, I know. People always say I’ve got a great personality…’ He gave Elena a pointed look, and she smiled and side-hugged him. ‘But they don’t say so much about my looks. His offer fed into the securities I used to have that contributed to my old eating disorder problems. His compliments were fabulous, as if I were leaner and taller than any catwalk model. Guess that’s why I’ve been teasing Rory – to try to get the shame and my vanity out of my system, and to not be afraid of talking and joking about modelling. I’ve only recently watchedAmerica’s Next Top Modelagain.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me at the time?’
‘I felt like an idiot. But Diego was great and made me realise it wasn’t my fault. I told Rory once when I drank too much. He was really understanding. Another mate might have laughed.’
The landlord rang the bell at the bar.
Gary looked at Elena. ‘Go for it, gal. Don’t tell him I said so, but Rory’s one of the good guys.’
They sat down and the landlord came out from behind the bar and smiled. ‘It’s a draw, between team Santapolitan’ – Elena and Gary beamed – ‘and team Mistletoehattan.’ Rory and Derek high-fived. ‘Sit tight, here’s the tiebreaker for every team member to win one free drink a week for the whole of 2025: According to myth, why should you avoid your cat as the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Eve?’
Cat…Midnight… The fear came flooding back. Elena sat up with a jolt. No one spoke for a moment and the landlord was about to give the answer when nature expert Caz shot her hand up.
‘My grandma used to tell us this,’ said Caz. ‘Apparentlymidnight on Christmas Eve is the one time cats gain the power of speech, and anyone who hears them talk will die.’
Elena froze, drowning in a wave of painful memories around the childhood fear that Mummy was going to die. She got to her feet and almost tripped outside, escaping into the sobering air. The pub door creaked open behind her. Rory appeared with both their coats.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I need to avoid Gary’s jubilation. You haven’t seen how the renovation work is going on my apartment. No time like the present.’
38
ELENA
Elena sat in Rory’s apartment, shivering. He put on the heating and fetched a blanket. She huddled under it on the floral sofa. Like his dress sense, the apartment’s décor was fluid, with a chintzy sofa and armchair holding their own amongst minimalist wooden side tables and shelves. Curtains hung at the windows instead of blinds, with multi-coloured decorations fixed to the plain magnolia walls, like the hanging alpaca blanket from Peru. However, the kitchen and bathroom renovations had both been practical, with marble fittings in grey, black and white. The apartment smelt of fresh paint and sawdust. Elena inspected his shelves, as she did on every visit. There was always a new souvenir from a sports trip to join the ones he already had, like the Matryoshka nested dolls and the Thai soap carving. He rambled on about the dust, joking that he’d need to get industrial cleaners in when the builders had finished.
She took out her phone and texted Gary, saying the cocktail had gone to her head – that she and Rory were going home. He sent back a row of winking face emojis, followed by the wordsDoit. Perhaps Gary was right. She should tell Rory how she felt. It couldn’t make his opinion of her worse.
‘The renovations are beautiful,’ she said instead of ‘doing it’. ‘Real quality. You must be over the moon.’
He came over from his hot chocolate machine and handed her a steaming mug. He snuggled under the blanket with her. ‘Yep. Good craftsmanship apart from a couple of small issues. Also, the crew is more or less on target, timewise.’
‘About earlier and me leaving the pub,’ she said. ‘The cocktail made me feel a bit woozy and?—’
He looked her dead in the eyes. ‘I didn’t know that fact about cats or midnight either.’
Dear Rory. Always so understanding. ‘I’ve got something I want to talk to you about,’ she said, heart thumping loudly in her ears.
‘Me too,’ he said and took a large mouthful of the creamy, sweet drink, wincing as it was still too hot.
‘You go first,’ she said with relief. She needed a hit of chocolate first.
‘Sure?’
