‘Keep going. How wild exactly?’ Even if he’s pushing with a kind of horror-movie fascination, he can’t have any idea of quite how much Christmas bling I have.
I get out the box of red, yellow and green baubles and begin handing them to Gracie to hang up. If he’s willing me to shock him, I might as well spill. ‘Trees in every room, every kind of Christmas light from multi-coloured star chasers to light-up reindeers. Swags, scented pot pourri, lanterns, china, tableware, votive displays. Then there were the angels and my cherub collection.’ Due to his jaw already being on his chest, I spare him the bit about the light-up snowmen inflatables tethered on the balcony, and the part where I share that my candle order was big enough for me to keep Yankee Candle in business single handed. ‘And this year it’s all in boxes.’ In an urban locker in Bermondsey. How sad it that? Or should that be, how sad am I?
His frown is horribly sympathetic. ‘That’s so awful, Berry. If I need a tinsel explosion at the brewery and Huntley and Handsome for next year, you’re definitely my woman, then?’ He smiles at me. ‘It’s great you’re still celebrating for Freya.’
Something about the way he called me ‘his’ makes my breath hitch, even though we both know it’s only a figure of speech in the middle of a joke. And I definitely know for me that this wedding-frenzy December is an accidental nightmare and not something I’ll ever repeat. So when that ‘next year’ comes, I’ll be way off any Cornish radar.
I smile back, liking how effortless it is to talk to him about this, because he remembers. ‘Freya and I always loved Christmas. Somehow really going for it is a wonderful way of remembering her. I hand him a box of reindeer. ‘Over the years it just got bigger and bigger.’
Decorating a tree in a cosy cottage in front of a log fire is what other people do, not me. No one’s ever helped me decorate a tree before. Although I suppose technically I’m the one helping Rory, not the other way around. Even the kids aren’t really his. It’s as if we’ve all been accidentally thrown together in the wrong living room, to get a taste of someone else’s life. If it’s way too warm and delicious, there’s no need to worry. It’ll soon be over.
He looks thoughtful. ‘A lot of stuff in your life goes back to that, doesn’t it?’ He takes out a reindeer and dangles it from his finger. ‘I suppose if she’d lived to grow up, you and Freya would have been a lot like Sophie and Saffy?’ The way he always calls her Freya feels totally natural. Somehow it makes things very easy because he knew her too.
I don’t want to be disloyal. ‘That’s just how it tends to go with sisters. One will be dazzling, out there and confident, like Freya and Sophie, while the other ends up paler and wussier, like Saffy and me.’ I don’t want to be unfair. ‘Although Saffy does know what she wants. She’s just more easy going about getting it than Sophie, that’s all.’
His nostrils flare as he draws in a breath. ‘I hear you stopped her running off too.’
My eyes are popping. ‘Who the hell told you that?’ As the penny drops, I’m flaring up. ‘Ken and Gary? Those two aresoout of line.’
He ignores that. ‘Actually they’re very discreet, but they thought I should know. So all I’m pointing out is, you might be quiet, but you’re damned good at this wedding stuff. People obviously feel very comfortable with you taking their pictures, and find you very empathetic to have around.’ He loops his ribbon over a branch. ‘Quieter doesn’t necessarily mean less attractive, either. When you look at the photos, even though Sophie’s the one with most make-up and more of her boobs out, Saffy’s the pretty one.’ Sounds like someone’s been looking through the files we backed up on his laptop. His lips curl into a smile. ‘What’s more, a wuss can’t shift two hundred people from one room to another in five seconds flat like you did the other day. You were the one with the guts to pull their wedding back from the edge, Berry.’
‘I only blew a whistle.’ I don’t want him overstating this.
He’s doing that thing where he twists his lips when he thinks about something hard. ‘You saw what was needed and went in to do it. You’d never have done that at the Lifeboat Station. It’s good you’re improving, because we really need you to be able to kick ass if “the puke” is turning up on Thursday.’
‘Sorry?’ It’s true I’m getting less scared and more confident. It’s as if there’s so much to face with weddings that I’m fast forwarding through years of fears and coming out the other side feeling like I can do things I couldn’t do before. But I’ve got no idea what the hell he’s talking about with the last bit.
Rory’s grinning. ‘Luc “the puke”? As in your ex. You’ll need to be brave with him.’
‘Right.’ Except it’s not. My stomach’s cramping every time I think about it. ‘He probably won’t even turn up.’ It’s what I’m telling myself to make it through the week. As for the rhyming name, I can already hear Immie saying that’s Rory’s way of diminishing Luc. I should count myself lucky he’s stopped short of derogatory penis comments.
Rory puts down the bauble he’s holding and stares at me. ‘Youaregoing to tell mini-dick where to get off?’ Talk about speaking too soon.
I give a private shudder for that bit and hesitate, because I know this needs to sound ballsy. ‘Obviously.’ It’s worth the wait, because when it comes out it’s so deep and husky I sound like someone else entirely. Which is kind of good, because I’m not sure I couldpersonallysay that and actually mean it.
Last night in my dream Luc was walking away and I ran the entire length of St Aidan beach to beg him to take me back. I was within a starfish of catching him when I tripped over a lobster pot. I know it’s only a dream. And it’s completely ridiculous for so many reasons. As if I’d ever run that far. And anyway, lobster pots are big. You wouldn’t fall over them, you’d run around them.
‘Phew, right answer.’ Rory’s shaking his head. ‘For a second there you looked like you were wavering. At least you’ll be warm now.’
I seize the chance to move this on from talking about Luc. ‘Yes, the hats are great. Aren’t they Gracie?’ So good, we’re still wearing them. They’re matching, knitted black wool, with reindeer-coloured fake-fur bobbles instead of pompoms. I’ve got wellies in a bag too. Luckily I persuaded Gracie out of buying the hats with the Happy Dolphin logo. ‘And we need to step up the pace here if we’re going to finish the tree this side of New Year. “Too many Christmas decorations” said no one ever. But I think we might have over-bought.’ I pass another bulging carrier across to Rory.
He puts his hands over his head as he takes it. ‘Jeez, we might need the S Club 7 soundtrack to help us along.’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘Only joking. How about you do the reading thing while I finish here?’
I’d almost forgotten the books in my bag. ‘I thought you were going to do the stories.’
He gives a shamefaced grin. ‘Sorry, HB, I haven’t got as far as story-reading on the blogs. It’s the same principle as nappy changing, though. Once you’ve shown me how to do it, I’ll be good to go.’
‘You’re in luck. Seeing as you gave in and bought my favourite strawberry cheesecake poop scoop Häagen Dazs.’ I dip into my bag and pull out the books, then make my way across to the sofa. ‘So what do you think, Gracie? There’s one here about a jolly Christmas postman who delivers letters to Cinderella and the three bears and people like that. How does that sound?’
There’s a low laugh from behind the branches. ‘Highly entertaining.’
I’m not sure if he’s serious or taking the pee here. ‘Bought with the adult readers in mind, Rory. It’s importanteveryoneenjoys these.’
He’s straight back from the other side of the tree. ‘Hell yes, if Gracie likes them they’re likely to be on repeat. Thinking about it, why don’t I record my own YouTube versions for her to watch?’
Just when I think he’s getting better, he goes right downhill again. I pick Teddie up from where he’s lying kicking on the floor, and wedge him cosily in the corner of the sofa. Ignoring Rory, I pick up the book and settle back against the cushions. A moment later Gracie is beside me, snuggled up against my elbow.
The next hour flies by as we search for lost dogs, select suitable pets at the zoo, have tea with tigers, go on bear hunts, zip around with cats in hats and read a whole load of other people’s letters. By the time my voice is starting to weaken, Rory’s not only put the reindeer on top of the tree – who knew he’d bought an extra one for that job? – but he’s also cooked.
