Page 107 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Her collection of tree ornaments was as eclectic as it was large. She sourced baubles from anywhere and everywhere: from the places she had traveled like Venice, Greece, and New York, and from anywhere where a Christmas display would catch her eye. And of course there was Liberty: so many, many purchases from Liberty.
Laura came round having left the children with Ben and sat and watched Kate finish the tree; she knew better than to try to help.
“Have you spoken to Matt?” Laura asked.
“Nope,” said Kate.
“It’ll blow over,” said Laura. “He never stays angry for long.”
“I don’t care either way,” said Kate.
“Really?” Laura asked.
“What do you think?” said Kate.
When the tree was finished Kate made them each an Irish coffee and they toasted the light switching on.
“Don’t skimp on the Irish bit,” said Laura. “I’ve given up breastfeeding. Happy Christmas to me!”
“It’s not even lunchtime,” said Kate. “And you haven’t drunk in over a year; are you sure you want that much booze?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s Christmas?” asked Laura. “None of the usual alcohol rules apply. Also, Ben’s home with the children. And also, I just got my boobs back; no more nibbled nipples! Now hit me with booze, baby.”
The tree was lovely. The lights twinkled through the branches and danced off the surfaces of the baubles. It was barely midday, but the sky outside was so dark that the tree didn’t look out of place being lit.
Kate told Laura about Richard.
“I don’t like the sound of it,” said Laura.
“He’s got this work hard, play hard thing going on,” said Kate. “You know, with all the rugby and stuff, I think he thought it was just banter and that Edward wouldn’t take him seriously.”
“I don’t buy that for a second,” said Laura.
Kate put her head in her hands.
“Oh God!” she said, her voice muffled beneath her hands. “You’re completely right. The old me wouldn’t buy it either. But this me is...”
“Desperate?” said Laura. “Pathetic?”
“I was going to sayhopeful,” said Kate. “I really felt like we might have had something, you know? I’m not sure I’m ready to give up on him just because he got a bit overzealous.”
Laura stayed for another hour and another Irish coffee with extra Irish and a bit more Irish, before walking in zigzags home.
“I’ll see you at the manor tomorrow,” she called from the end of the path. “I bloody love you, Kate!”
Kate nodded and waved.
Tomorrow was the Twelve Dates gingerbread house competition. It was being held at Blexford Manor, in one of the dining rooms. After last night’s debacle, Kate had little enthusiasm for meeting any man again. Ever. But the twelve dates were almost at an end and she wanted to see it through, just to be sure she was giving fate a fair chance.
Her date was called Adam; he was forty-five, he had three children, and he was divorced. Adam was an architect and belonged to a rowing club. This all sounded very promising, Kate thought, and it couldn’thurt to have an architect on hand when putting together a gingerbread house.
Kate scrolled through her phone to Adam’s photograph. Adam stood beside his kayak, grinning proudly as he held aloft a trophy. He was wearing a wet suit, and a kayak and two discarded paddles lay at his feet. He had shoulder-length brown hair shot through with streaks of gray and a gingery-colored beard.
Kate wondered why so many of her dates had used sporty photographs of themselves; was it a chance to show off their physiques in their scanty hobby attire? She had submitted a picture of herself in a winter coat, grinning maniacally at last year’s caroling procession, with a glass of mulled wine raised to the camera and a sprig of holly in her hair. Perhaps she should have sent in a photo of herself rock wall climbing in tight leggings and a Lycra vest top.
Her phone blipped. It was Richard. Again.
Kate, I got it wrong. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do. I’d had a few drinks and then I’d seen you and you looked so hot and I couldn’t stand the idea of someone else putting their hands on you. There’s no excuse. I was a jealous idiot. Rxx
