Page 17 of Out of Control

Fiona gave her mum a quick hug. “Of course I won’t. All those bright orange days are still on the calendar.”

“Hmmmm.” Her mother didn’t look convinced, and then her face suddenly came to life. “Take four more scones. That girl . . . Adele, was it? She’ll be eating for two now.”

Chapter 13

The next morning, a voice called to Fiona from the office just to the right of the hotel’s reception desk as she was on her way to catch Meeko at breakfast at the end of her run. She looked round. The receptionist grinned and inclined her head towards the door, which was ajar. The familiar voice called again in a loud whisper, but the voice didn’t match the face which was cautiously peering out. Was her mind too wrapped up in its own mire of problems to process what was in front of her eyes? Or was this a hallucination from a continued lack of sleep in a shared bed?

“Ho ho ho,” the voice repeated, and the grin on the attached face grew broader as each syllable was enunciated. It had become less artificially deep and now included some barely suppressed laughter.

Fiona moved over to the door and was hastily pulled inside. “Hey!” she protested. She touched the figure’s red jacket and then ran her fingers over the white beard, which descended like a foaming waterfall from his chin to his mid-chest. “Meeko?”

“No. Ho ho ho. Santa Claus.”

“What’s going on?”

“Ho ho ho. Isn’t that explanation enough?”

“I get who you’re trying to be, but why?”

Meeko pulled the beard to one side before taking a breath of air. “You wouldn’t believe how hot it is having this on your face for more than a couple of minutes. God knows how I’m going to survive it all day.”

“But why?” She glanced down at the rest of his body. Gone was his usual slim figure, which was made for skinny jeans or yoga leggings. Instead, his stomach had expanded into an unhealthy paunch, soft and cushion-like when she gave it agentle punch. It was encased in velvety scarlet fabric. A wide black belt marked the spot where his waist should be.

“Hey! Stop prodding,” he objected. “You’d be the first to complain on the grounds of an invasion of personal space and fat shaming. I’m expecting it from the kids but not the grown-ups, who should know better.”

She was about to remove her hand from his fake belly when he gently took it in his. For a second before he let it go, a shiver ran through her, followed swiftly by a current of disappointment. Then she pulled herself together and motioned with a finger that he should give her a twirl.

“Not bad. But your bum is no longer in proportion to your belly. Father Christmas doesn’t have a bottom like yours.” It took physical effort to stop herself touching the piece of Meeko’s anatomy that she found particularly attractive. “You need padding in there too if you’re aiming for authenticity.”

“That’s why I’m glad you’re here. I want to be the most believable Father Christmas there’s ever been.”

“Why? This isn’t going to improve your teaching of yoga, unless you’re going to get the class into a deer pose and then choose the best six, or is it eight, to pull your sleigh. Don’t forget to reward the best one with a red nose.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

“So, explain to me, Saint Nicholas, what is going on?”

Her friend took a breath and paused before speaking, as though he was about to admit something that pride meant he would rather keep to himself. “I’ve got a temporary job at the garden centre — as the rotund gentleman himself.” Meeko took a step, flung his arms out wide and pushed his chest and stomach forward. “Ho ho ho!”

“Be serious!” Something wasn’t adding up. “Is this new career supposed to enhance your standing as the best yoga and meditation instructor in town?”

“No.” He sat down heavily on one of the wheeled office chairs. “Call it a safety net in case of a fall from the high trapeze — which is absolutely, bloody certainly on the cards now.”

Fiona pushed away the mess of her own problems. “I thought you had a faithful following and classes that are fully booked?”

“Unfortunately, business isn’t just about satisfied customers. There are bigger factors at play. Things I can’t control.”

“Such as?” Fiona took the chair next to him.

“Management. They want to attract a younger clientele and, apparently, youngsters want to leap about, damaging their joints and building up a sweat. Some of my classes are being cut to make room.” Meeko stood up, puffed his cheeks out, repositioned his beard and gave a huge fake grin. “This is an interim solution — earn money elsewhere. The situation is what it is. Worse things happen at sea and all that. Ho ho ho! Will I pass muster with the kids?”

“Absolutely.”

He looked at his watch. “Got to be off. I’ve a morning’s training session at the garden centre — health and safety, store layout and other boring stuff.”

She left him changing back into his ordinary clothes and, not for the first time, wondered about the real reason he’d suddenly decided that his relationship with Lynn had ‘run its course’, and why he’d said that he didn’t want to meet anyone new. It grieved her. Meeko had such a lot to offer the right person. But on the plus side, it meant that she got to see more of him without worrying that she was stepping on anyone else’s toes.

Meeko made her feel good about herself. But since Lynn had left there’d been something else too — disconcerting but extremely pleasant sparks when they accidentally touched. There’d been no reaction from him to indicate he’d shared thesensation. Perhaps it was just her mind playing tricks. And it was better that way — things got messy when sexual attraction was introduced to a relationship. The risk of losing a good friendship was huge, and being friends with Meeko was different to being friends with a woman. Fiona had never had a lot of close female friends, but those she’d had had made her feel excluded because her life hadn’t followed the same traditional family path as theirs. Meeko’s journey had been anything but traditional, so he and Fiona were well matched. All would be well — as long as she ignored the sparks.

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