‘Don’t be silly. Just taste it.’ He waves his finger in front of my nose, and to stop him from making a fuss, I suck the end of it. A hit of rich, sweet caramel with underlying flavours of rum and spice invades my mouth. It tastes so delicious I can’t help sucking more of his finger to catch the drips.
Bailey watches me, amused. ‘Good, huh?’
Red-faced, I return to my chicken. ‘It’s OK,’ I mumble. ‘Maybe a touch more rum.’
‘On it,’ he says. He bumps his hip gently against mine, and I shift away, confused.
Is he trying to flirt with me? Or is this part of the Holly and Bailey show? I’m the kind of person who doesn’t respond well to ambiguity. It’s too easy for wires to be crossed. I’d prefer to think he doesn’t genuinely like me so I don’t do anything to make a fool of myself. I make a mental note to stay off the alcohol—of any kind.
‘Actually, I wouldn’t add any more rum,’ I tell him quickly. ‘It’s fine as it is.’
In the late afternoon, the festive spirit is taken up a notch with the McAdams family tradition of trimming the tree. A corner of the lounge is readied for a tall fir tree, which has apparently been stationed round the side of the house in a large black plastic pot. It still has snow on its branches and needs five people to lug it in.
‘Dad has been nurturing this one for a few years now. We’ll take it outside afterwards and plant it,’ says Bailey, seeing me staring up at the tip of the eight-foot tree almost touching the ceiling.
‘That’s good. I hate how commercial Christmas trees are just dumped afterwards. I can see them brown and twisted, poking out of the bin from my flat window. It’s depressing.’
‘I know. But you don’t have to worry about that here.’ He opens a big box that contains baubles of different sizes and tinsel in various colours. ‘Want to help me and the kids do the branches on this side?’
‘OK.’ I’ve never actually decorated a Christmas tree, so this is a first for me. It turns out to be more fun than I expected. Bailey and I kneel down to make sure the kids put the tinsel on evenly and don’t crush the baubles in their chubby fists. After a while, my knees get tired, and Charlie insists on sitting on my lap. So I sit cross-legged, and he settles in. We watch Bailey lift kids to attach bright baubles and tinsel higher up the tree. The room smells fresh and woodsy.
Hazel peers round from the other side to see where Charlie is. She smiles when she sees where he’s sitting. ‘Ah, he likes you. He’s usually quite shy with new people.’
Charlie leans back against me and sucks his thumb contentedly. It seems being with Bailey is good enough for him to trust me. It feels alien, yet not entirely unpleasant. I’m not used to being around little kids or having them like me so wholeheartedly.
‘Uncle Bailey, lift me up! I want to do the angel,’ pleads Susie, capering around him when the tree decorations are nearly complete.
Bailey glances down at me. ‘I was thinking Holly could do it since she hasn’t before, and you did it last year.’
‘Awww!’ Susie pouts.
‘It’s OK. Let her do it. I don’t mind,’ I say, not sure what’s involved. But Mirabelle takes Susie aside and talks to her aboutsharing, which I’m not sure Susie appreciates, judging from the grumpy look on her face. Sasha doesn’t seem bothered. She’s decorating herself with bits of stray blue and silver tinsel.
Hazel removes Charlie from my lap, and Bailey grabs my hand and pulls me up.
‘What do I have to do?’ I ask, feeling pressured.
‘It’s easy,’ he says. ‘You just sit on my shoulders and place the angel up on top. We’ll turn the tree lights on after dinner.’
‘Where’s the angel?’
‘Here.’
Bailey carefully unwraps a tissue paper package and hands me a sizeable wooden doll with a finely painted face. The ‘angel’ is dressed in a delicate white skirt with a netting overlay embellished with silver sequins. She has a fluff of silver fur for her top and silver wings. Her blonde hair is in a topknot secured by a string of pearls.
‘She lights up,’ he explains. ‘Under the skirt.’
I tip the doll over and see there’s a battery case. I switch it on, and the skirt glows with tiny fairy lights.
‘Oooh! Aaah!,’ says everyone.
I get the feeling this is the critical moment of the whole proceedings, so I don’t want to stuff it up. Unfortunately, I’m not that athletic nor good with heights.
‘How are we going to do this?’
‘Maybe stand on the arm of the couch, and I’ll crouch in front of you so you can swing your legs over my shoulders.’
‘Isn’t there a ladder?’
