‘Absolutely not,’ I said through gritted teeth, pressing a hand between his eyes and pushing firmly. He didn’t budge.
Rita laughed as she patted his neck. ‘Oh, he likes you.’
‘He’s likes to vex me,’ I hissed.
Merv began chewing as I fought off the urge to cry. ‘Henry, get your beast off of me.’
‘Merv,’ Henry said, half laughing. ‘Mate, leave her coat alone.’
Merv ignored him.
‘Henry?’ I said through gritted teeth, stuck in place while a donkey attempted to ingest my designer tailoring.
‘I am,’ he said, coming over. ‘I’m negotiating.’
‘Negotiate faster.’
The children shrieked with laughter, their high-pitched noises only seeming to egg the donkey on.
‘Developed a taste for quality, haven’t you, pal?’
‘Henry, please?’ I pleaded, and Henry stood looking down at me, one hand on Merv’s mane, and his eyes darkening at the plea in my voice. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice until it took on a gravelly depth that hit me right between the thighs.
‘Well, since you begged so prettily, Amanda.’
Fuck. Where did that come from? And why did it remind me of the relationships I’d chased in my early twenties? I’d given up when all it brought me were guys who said they could play the games I craved, but actually just wanted a rougher BJ without any of the giving side of things. Just want want want. But surely Henry, the smiley golden retriever, wasn’t into all that. Wishful thinking, perhaps.
With my head in the clouds and my pulse going ten to the dozen, I almost forgot the bloody donkey eating my coat. Henry finally managed to pry it free.
I looked down at the damaged edge, the material frayed and crumpled. Then up at him.
He winced. ‘Could be worse.’
I closed my eyes for a second to recalibrate myself and plastered a professional look back on my face.
I ushered them all inside before someone lost a finger to the sharp clippers. The moment we reached the entrance hall, the children exploded upon it with armfuls of paper chains, oodles of ageing tinsel and decorations that had seen better days. Sticky fingerprints were as much a part of the result as the rest of the chaos. Someone dropped a pom-pom, and it rolled beneath the grand piano.
When they finished, I stared at the tree. My elegant, carefully curated, soft-gold Christmas tree.
A neon-green paper chain sat dead centre, like an alien worm.
‘Oh,’ someone breathed behind me.
I turned to find Rita standing near the stairwell, her hand over her heart and her face beaming.
‘Would you look at that,’ she said, hand drifting to her throat. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen a tree like this.’
I blinked. ‘Like… this?’
‘Chaotic,’ she said warmly. ‘Real. None of that sterile magazine nonsense. This is the Christmas I remember. The Christmas I want my grandchildren to have.’
I tried very, very hard not to look directly at Henry, who was leaning against a bannister looking like the cat who got the fucking cream. Hot or not, I wanted to kick him in the shins.
The children continued adding atrocities. Glitter appeared. Feathers. A bauble that had definitely not existed before today, containing what looked like three sequins and a tooth.
My seasonal palette was designed to evoke winter luxury.Gone.Drowned beneath pom-poms. The adults glanced at me, waiting for approval.
So I lied. With another fake smile.
