‘I can’t wait for Christmas,’ said Lottie, thinking out loud. Whatever had happened in her life, Christmas was a life raft of happiness she clung to every December.
‘Nor me,’ said Nana, with a yawn.
‘Why don’t you have a lie down, and I’ll finish up here.’
Nana stood up and gave herself a little shake. ‘Actually I’ve got things to do. I need to get my Christmas cards written.’ She took off her flour-smeared apron.
‘That’s a bit early.’
‘No time like the present,’ said Nana. ‘Now, do you think you’ll remember the pudding recipe this time?’
‘I think so,’ said Lottie, although she was hoping Nana wouldn’t test her on it.
‘That’s my girl,’ said Nana, giving her a floury squeeze.
Chapter One
Two weeks until Christmas
Even the sight of Great Uncle Bernard running over a few toes in his mobility scooter didn’t bring a smile to Lottie’s face. She looked about her. People of all shapes and sizes were dressed in black – with the exception of her mother, who was wearing a dress that made it look like a rainbow had dribbled on her and heels most people would need a ladder to get into. The atmosphere seemed quite jolly, for a wake. The small village pub was rammed and, in contrast to the mourners, was decorated for Christmas: fairy lights were twinkling happily overhead and the tinsel shimmied with the heat from the open fire. The noise levels were high, and everyone was in good spirits. But it didn’t seem right to Lottie. She’d just laid her beloved Nana to rest and she wasn’t sure how long it would be before she’d smile again. The landlady added another log to the roaring fire. It spit its displeasure, as if in agreement with Lottie.
‘Darling!’ Lottie’s mother almost danced up to her. She kissed Lottie’s cheek fleetingly, but still managed to almost knock her own large designer sunglasses off her face.
‘Hi, Mum. Are you okay?’
Angie pulled her head back slightly, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘Why? Don’t I look all right?’ She stretched her neck out and looked about, as if searching for a mirror.
‘You look fine, Mum. I wondered if perhaps you had the sunglasses to hide tears …’ Angie was looking confused, ‘because you’ve just buried your mum.’
‘Oh.’ Angie gave a cough. She held a manicured hand to her surgically enhanced chest. ‘I’m hurting inside, but I’m a strong woman, Lottie, and I work hard to keep my emotions under control. And anyway, when I cry my eyes puff up like yours.’ She pointed at both Lottie’s eyes in turn.Thanks for that, thought Lottie.
She stared at her mother. There was something not quite right with her facial expressions; there weren’t any. ‘Have you had Botox again?’ asked Lottie, her voice rising involuntarily.
‘Shhh,’ said her mother, totally expressionless.
‘Really, Mum, I worry about you. I hope you didn’t go to that cowboy outfit again.’ It was always the same with her mother. She focused on how she looked and everything else, including common sense, went by the wayside.
Angie gave a pout, which Lottie was actually pleased to see because it meant one part of her face was, thankfully, free from the muscle-paralysing toxin. ‘They’re not cowboys. They’re lovely at Pins and Needles.’
You’d have thought a name like that would be enough to put people off, thought Lottie. She took a deep breath and let it go; now was not the time to have an argument. ‘Are you staying at the house tonight?’ asked Lottie. Angie wasn’t the most reliable or attentive of mothers, but she was all Lottie had, and she didn’t fancy rattling aroundthe big house all evening on her own once Great Uncle Bernard went to bed (at nine o’clock precisely).
Angie gave a pretend wince. ‘Darling, I would love to, but I have to get back to London for something important.’
‘What’s this one’s name?’
‘Don’t be bitter, it doesn’t suit you,’ she scolded. There was a very brief pause. ‘He’s called Scott, and he has been “this one” for three months now.’ Lottie was tempted to call Guinness World Records as this was most definitely a record for one of her mother’s relationships. ‘I’d love you to meet Scott. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, has an arse like a pair of freshly pumped-up basketballs and worships the ground I walk on. Doesn’t he sound perfect?’
Lottie held on tight to the judgemental sigh desperately trying to escape. She grimaced in a way that probably made it look like she was holding in wind. ‘Just be careful, Mum.’ She had been here many times before. When it came to men, Angie was the living embodiment of hope over experience.
‘Oh, don’t be all doom and gloom.’
‘At a funeral? I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Lottie, with a disbelieving shake of her head.
Her mother gave her a wilting look over the top of her sunglasses. ‘We must catch up in the new year, once the house is sold.’ She leaned in to kiss her cheek and Lottie jerked backwards.
‘Sold?’ Lottie knew the house would have to be put on the market, but she’d figured that wouldn’t be any time soon as she and Great Uncle Bernard were still living in it. After three months, she had just been starting to feel settled.
‘Lottie, please be realistic. The will splits everything between me and Daniel, with a chunk for Bernard, so ithas to be sold. I wish there was another way. I really do.’ Her mother held her hand briefly and Lottie assumed that, despite her absent frown, she was probably trying to look sincere.
