Vicky’s head flopped from side to side in a very teenagery way. ‘I know. But he offered and I don’t have much spare cash and I reallyreallywanted them fixed.’
‘Oh, if you really, really wanted them fixed then it’s okay.’
‘Is it?’
‘No! Obviously not.’ Blythe shook her head and went back to vigorously stapling ivy.
‘I know, you’re right,’ said Vicky in a small voice. ‘It’s also kind of nice having him around.’
Blythe spun around so fast she almost toppled off the stepladder. ‘Hah! I knew it. You still like him. You do. Don’t you?’
‘Wind back the arrows, Cupid. I’m not getting back with Owen. No way. All I meant was it’s not easy being a single parent. Everything ends up on your to-do list. It felt nice to have someone else doing some jobs around the house. That’s all.’
‘Is it though? Is that all it is?’ Blythe waited.
‘Yeah. That’s all.’ But Vicky broke eye contact and that made Blythe doubt her words.
*
After a couple of hours the hall was transformed. Ivy and fairy lights were placed at key points around the room and the tables were decorated. Vicky was bundling up the unused decorations, having sorted out the very tatty and broken ones, when Blythe’s phone pinged and she checked the message. ‘Caterers are all on track,’ she said to Vicky. Everything was going to plan. She had plenty of time to go home, shower and change ready for the event. Technically she was working because she was compere and therefore hosting the event, which was a grand title for someone who was there to make sure it all went to plan, but she was also getting a meal and looking forward to the evening as a whole. She was about to put her phone away when it rang. She didn’t recognise the number, which meant it was probably a work call because she gave her number out to prospective clients all the time.
‘Good afternoon, Blythe Littlewood. How can I help?’
‘Blythe, it’s Steve from the rugby club. I take it you’ve heard?’
She was immediately concerned. ‘Heard what?’
‘It was the rugby club Christmas party last night.’
‘I knew it was yesterday because I paid Sarvan for the beer. Did it go well?’
‘Yeah. Only we all went out for a kebab afterwards and they’ve been dropping like flies all day. Food poisoning has gone through all of them. When I say gone through I mean—’
‘I can imagine,’ said Blythe, cutting him off before it got too graphic. ‘But not all twelve of them surely?’
‘Hang on, let me count up who I’ve heard from.’ There was a long frustrating silence while Steve muttered names as he counted and Blythe sent up a silent prayer to Father Christmas that at least some of them had avoided the dodgy kebabs.
‘Ten definites. As in definitely got the runs.’ Blythe started to feel very uncomfortable. ‘Only Slim and Turtle not accounted for,’ he added.
Why did blokes use such stupid nicknames? ‘And which are those two again?’
‘Oh, right.’ Steve laughed. ‘Seb and Fraser.’
Blythe was trying hard not to panic. ‘Hopefully that’s three then. Let me see who else I can rustle up.’
‘Where’d you get three from?’
‘Seb, Fraser and you makes three.’
‘Oh no, I’m on the loo right now and let me tell you it’s like the Somme down there.’
Time to hang up. ‘Okay, Steve. Hope you’re feeling better soon. Thanks for letting me know.’ She hastily ended the call and oddly felt the need to sanitise her phone.
‘What’s up?’ asked Vicky.
Blythe quickly relayed the issue. And glanced around the hall, which was set up for ninety-six people who would be arriving in less than three hours. ‘Twelve tables and two sexy Santas.’
‘Twounconfirmedsexy Santas,’ pointed out Vicky.
