It’s time to stop burying my head in this festive fairy tale.
I was a fool to think things could ever last between us.
I’m such an embarrassment, I can’t even attend my own brother’s wedding.
A pounding sound echoes from the front door, but I ignore it. Ten seconds later, it starts again.
‘Holly?’ An unfamiliar masculine voice penetrates into the house.
‘Holly Hazelwood?’ It comes again. A pause follows then, ‘Did you seeThe Sunis offering a million euros to whoever delivers the shot?’
‘Fucking right I did. Why else would I be freezing my bollocks off outside here mere days before Christmas?’ the first voice says.
I tiptoe to my front door, barely daring to breathe as I peep through the keyhole. A guy in a brown bomber jacket paces the front of my house, even daring to peep in the window of my living room.
Have these fuckers no shame?
By nine pm, the front of my house is crawling with activity. There’s a full-on news crew outside. Countless paparazzi.
I’m going out of my mind. I need Savannah or Ashley to sneak me out of here, even if it’s in a suitcase or a body bag.
I switch my phone on, and a million notifications light up my screen. The only one that catches my eye is a text from Nate.
I open it with shaky fingers.
All I want for Christmas is you.
Being associated with me is going to make Nate a laughingstock. I won’t let that happen.
Blue flashing lights catch my eye outside the window. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me I’m about to be arrested, too.
Racing up the stairs, I peep out of the upstairs window. My jaw drops as my mother steps out of the back of a police car, wearing a tailored suit and an expression that’s saysdon’t fuck with me.
She marches straight into the middle of the chaos. ‘Move along, or you’ll be arrested for breaching the peace.’
Two uniformed officers exit the vehicle, one of whom is my Uncle Richard, dressed in his full commissioner’s uniform, bar the hat which is tucked under his right arm.
Another two police cars swing into the street, pulling to an abrupt stop behind the first one. A further four officers hop out of the vehicle, leaving the blue lights flashing.
My nosy neighbours scurry off like cockroaches. The paps take a little more persuasion.
‘You can’t stop us from standing on the pavement. We aren’t breaking any laws,’ the guy in the brown bomber jacket complains, lowering the bulky camera on his arm.
‘This isn’t a pavement. It’s a crime scene, and unless you want me to haul your ass down to the station to make a statement, I suggest you move along mighty fucking quickly.’ Uncle Richard’s voice rings with authority.
A crime scene?
My insides churn like a washing machine on a spin cycle.
The young officer who exited the second vehicle cordons off the front of my house and the street, forcing the paps out of their way.
‘What did she do?’ bomber jacket guy says to my mother with a sneer.
‘It’s not what she did.’ My mother’s expression could cut glass. ‘It’s what’s being done to her. This is outright harassment. Have you no shame?’
‘I’m just doing my job,’ Bomber Jacket Creep shrugs.
Uncle Richard steps forwards. ‘And I’m just doing mine. Move along or spend Christmas in prison.’
