And then the door opens and he comes in. It takes him a few seconds to take in that we aren’t all watchingA Close Shave, and then his brow creases. ‘What’s happening here …?’ Then, as he spots Miranda shaking her left fist like a super-sparkly maraca he comes again. ‘WhatTHE HELL’S GOING ON? IS THAT A RING???’ When Miranda and Ambie are too busy whispering to reply, he rounds on me. ‘IVY?’
I open and close my mouth a few times before I work out exactly how to put it. ‘Your dad just asked Miranda to marry him, she accepted, and they just got engaged.’ That just about covers it.
‘HE CAN’T HAVE DONE IT, NOT ALREADY!’ It comes out as a roar. ‘I TOTALLY REFUSE TO ALLOW IT!’
Bill’s joining in as he heads towards the door. ‘It’s all done. The best thing you can do now is offer your congratulations.’
Milo’s snorting. ‘OVER MY DEAD BODY!’
I can’t understand how he missed it. ‘But where were you?’
His voice is high in protest. ‘Dad sent me out to the car, I was literally away two minutes.’
I feel awful for him, because it sounds like Ambie planned it, so I throw in a few more details. ‘Oh, and he sang too.’
‘NotLady in Red?’His face crumples in disbelief as he takes in my nod. ‘That was my mum’s favourite, he learned to sing it especially for her, we had it at her funeral.’
Fliss is deflating more with every blow he strikes. ‘I’m so sorry, Milo. But if your dad’s moving on with his life it might be a good thing, he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t feel ready.’
Milo’s groaning. ‘No offence to your mother, but they’re really not right for each other.’
Keef’s putting an arm around Milo. ‘Don’t worry, lad, free birds like Miranda don’t take kindly to the kind of cage your dad wants to keep her in. She’ll be off before you know it.’
Milo’s shaking his head, spitting. ‘Not before she fleeces us.’
‘Two little words, Milo.’ Keef’s tapping his nose. ‘Pre nup.’
Milo sniffs. ‘Technically I think that’s one word not two.’
Keef looks at the ceiling. ‘Who gives a damn, Milo, stop being a pedantic prick, cut the moaning, and get one in place.’
‘I will.’ Milo’s staring across to where Willow has seized an enormous bunch of mistletoe from a jug on the table, and is standing on a chair holding it up as Miranda and Ambie dip their heads together underneath. ‘Excuse me, I need to run …’ One leap, and he’s crossed the room.
He’s too late to stop Ambie swooping in to give Miranda the snog of her life. But as he punches the mistletoe out of Willow’s hand the bunch explodes, flies in every direction through the air, and scatters all over the floor and the sofas. Which was somehow even more powerful and dramatic than the proposal itself.
So if lovers who kiss under the mistletoe are guaranteed lasting happiness, a couple having the mistletoe snatched away just as their lips are going to meet has to mean something huge and significant. I’m just not sure what, other than Willow looking like she’s seriously going to lose it with Milo. It’s going to take more than a moment or two of heavy breathing to realign her serenity there.
Which reminds me … this evening wasn’t meant to be hijacked by a proposal. And I refuse to allow it to turn into the full blown family row that could be brewing here. It’s our Christmas film fest, and from where I’m sitting there’s only one way to get this back on track. And blow all the bossier ladies, I’m going to take charge here. This one’s mine.
Before I know it, I’m up on the coffee table and clapping my hands. ‘Okay, everyone … I’m going to tweak the running order here slightly, simply because there’s one film that encapsulates every bit of the happiness andpositivitywe should all be feeling now …’ I break off to give Willow and Milo my specially significant ‘belt the fuck up and be nice’ smile ‘… so let’s all grab our duvets …’ except that might not be necessary, because it’s actually baking in here ‘… put on our Santa hats, reach for the Christmas popping candy and move on with … ta da …’ I pause to do my jazz hands ‘…FROZEN.’
And for once Libby’s kids don’t groan, and the Twiglets don’t pull faces and start talking Spanish. They all erupt in a cheer and shout ‘Bring it on, Ivy-leaf!’
All Merwyn and I can do is to stand back and take the applause and as I scrape the sweat off my forehead and push back the sticky strands of my hair I realise my scar must be in full view. And just for once I really don’t give a damn, and no one else does either.
