Page 29 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“Sounds dangerous,” said Sarah.
Kate laughed.
“I wouldn’t rule out extreme drunkenness,” said Kate.
“I remember drunkenness,” said Laura with a faraway look in her eye.
•••••
Kate’s dad pulled up outside the cocktail bar at seven thirty p.m.
“Thanks, Dad,” said Kate. “I feel like I’m sixteen again, getting you to drop you me off.”
“Well, just because you’re all grown up doesn’t mean you stop being my little girl,” said Mac. “Now are you sure you don’t want a lift home? It’s no bother.”
“No thanks, Dad, I’ll get a taxi,” said Kate. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Evelyn gave me a fruitcake for you, when I went in earlier for some milk. She said it was in exchange for the veg you gave her.”
Mac smacked his lips.
“Ooh, one of Evelyn’s fruitcakes!” he said. “She’s a smashing cook, is Evelyn.”
Evelyn had been widowed in her early fifties and had run the shop by herself ever since. It was more of an emporium than a shop, really; Evelyn liked to keep enough stock to cater for an apocalypse or a month of snow, whichever came first. The usual tinned and packet goods were provided, along with chest freezers full of home-cooked ready meals—courtesy of Carla and her mother’s cottage-industry catering company—local farm fruit and veg, and an impressive wineselection. She was also a newsagent, pharmacy, and purveyor of eccentric chunky knit socks and jumpers created by Blexford’s own Knitting Sex Kittens. If you were cold or hungry, Evelyn was your woman.
Kate waved good-bye to her dad and followed a flashing sign down the stairs to a vast basement cocktail bar. Inside, the bar had a nineteenth-century French feel; Toulouse-Lautrec prints lined the walls, and wingback chairs of tan leather and round mahogany tables with ornately carved legs dotted the opulent bar. One whole wall was taken up with gray-painted bookcases that reached as high as the great glass chandeliers, whose crystal petals twinkled as they swayed.
There were two long bars, each backed with mirrors that gave the impression of an even bigger space beyond and were more than a little disconcerting after a few glasses of wine.
Cocktail shakers, glasses, and an unholy number of ornate bottles containing brightly colored spirits ran along each bar, and slowly the fourth-daters found their partners and took their places beside them.
Kate spotted Sam—her date for the evening—deeply engrossed in conversation with a woman wearing a very small red leather skirt. Kate pulled at her leaf-patterned corduroy tunic-dress and wondered if she’d judged her outfit wrong. Standing on the other side of Red Leather and clearly being ignored was a good-looking Indian chap with a lumberjack beard and an awkward look on his face. Kate guessed he must be Red Leather’s date.
Kate moved closer to Sam and tried to get into his line of vision by craning her head in a sort of meerkat fashion. Sam didn’t seem to notice her, but Lumberjack Beard smiled knowingly, tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed in Kate’s direction.
Her date excused himself from Red Leather and came over, holding his hand out and smiling warmly.
“Hi!” he said. “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I was just talkingoff-roading with Clarissa... but you don’t want to hear about that. I’m Sam and you must be Kate.”
Kate shook his hand and accepted his apology. As they made their way across to their allotted bar space, she noticed that Sam looked back at Clarissa and her red leather miniskirt three times. They hopped up on to their bar stools and checked out the cocktail ingredients and laminated recipe cards, which read like a hooker’s sales pitch: Sex on the Beach, Screaming Orgasm, Slow Comfortable Screw, and Slippery Nipple.
Kate tried not to look prudish in front of the handsome man she had only just met, but her burning cheeks were letting her down and her corduroy dress didn’t exactly screamsexy. They giggled about the silliness of the cocktail names and made small getting-to-know-you talk, while Sam kept one eye firmly across the room.
After about five minutes Sam stood up.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said. “But I just have to check something.”
And with that he strode across the room to the nearest Lightning Strikes rep and engaged in a clandestine conversation with her. After a couple of minutes—and some expressive protestations from the rep—Sam and the rep walked over to where Lumberjack Beard was talking amiably to a sullen-faced Red Leather. Kate watched the peculiar farce play out with incredulity, and moments later, Lumberjack Beard and the harassed rep arrived at her cocktail station.
“Um, hi there,” said the rep.
She was overly smiling in a way that begged,Please don’t hate me, I just work here.
“This is a bit awkward,” she continued. “But Sam and Clarissa feel they’ve made a connection and they’d like to continue the date with each other.”
She glanced at Lumberjack Beard, who smiled and shrugged.
“So, with that in mind,” said the rep, “I was wondering if you two, as their dates, would mind pairing instead?”
“Fine with me!” said Lumberjack Beard.
