Page 51 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“Andy works with me in...” He stopped. He was staring over the top of Kate’s head. Kate’s heart sank. She turned slowly to follow his gaze. Sure enough, it was fixed on Sarah’s bottom wiggling furiously as she navigated her way through a tight cluster of tables.
“Sarah?” he called above the noise. His deep voice carried across the pub. Sarah stopped, midcrawl. Frozen.
“Sarah!” he called again.
Kate bit her lip.
“Sarah?” said Kate. “Sarah who? I had an aunt Sarah, she was a terrible cook, she kept rats, or was it mice? I forget...”
Oliver wasn’t listening. His eyes remained glued to Sarah’s escaping backside. Kate gave it up. Sarah remained rooted to the spot. People were beginning to notice that there was a woman on the floor near the jukebox. Slowly and as casually as one can get up off all fours in a pub and retain any dignity, Sarah got to her feet. She held up a ten-pence piece.
“Found it!” she declared lamely.
•••••
There followed awkward shrugs, lingering looks, brief but polite conversations that simmered with unspoken truths, and far too many apologies before Kate and Sarah made a rushed and graceless retreat.
They were silent as Kate pulled out of the car park and onto the main road. She drove for about five minutes before turning off the main road and into a small hamlet. She continued down a narrow winding street until she found a quiet spot in front of a pair of thatched cottages and parked underneath a streetlamp.
Kate took off her seat belt and leaned her head back against the headrest. Sarah followed suit. They stayed quiet for a few minutes. Taking stock. Just the sounds of their breathing and the tick of her dashboard clock.
There were a lot of questions whizzing around in Kate’s mind. She had a sick feeling in her stomach. Did Matt know that Sarah still harbored hurt from her breakup with Oliver? And if not, should Kate tell him? Was it her place to meddle? After all, everyone has baggage, especially by the time you’ve reached your midthirties. And Sarah and Matt’s affection for each other was clearly genuine.
And what of Sarah? Kate’s recollection of her night with Oliver was sketchy, but she distinctly remembered him confiding that he regretted letting the love of his life go: the love of his life that, as it turns out, was Sarah. Should she tell Sarah? Should she tell Oliver that Sarah was still nursing a broken heart over him?
And then of course there was the rather awkward situation of Kate having gotten hot and heavy with Sarah’s ex-partner. Kate thought that was definitely something best kept to herself.
Kate puffed out a long breath. Sarah made a squeaking noise and covered her face with her hands and Kate thought she might be crying.But when she turned to look at her in the watery glow of the streetlamp, she saw that Sarah was trying to stifle her laughter.
It was infectious. The pub scene had been so utterly stressful that they hadn’t had time to appreciate the full absurdity of the situation. Sarah’s voice was a high-pitched squeal:
“I could hear you shouting from across the room, ‘I had an aunt Sarah!’”
“I didn’t know what to do!” said Kate. “I turned around to see your bottom wiggling along the floor!”
They were both laughing uncontrollably now, holding their stomachs and covering their mouths. They laughed until their cheeks and sides ached.
“Stop!” squealed Sarah. “I’ve got a stitch.”
“I’m going to wet myself!” Kate exclaimed, far too loudly.
But it only made them worse. Even when the curtains twitched up in one of the cottages. Even when a woman out walking her dog knocked on the window to see if they were all right.
“Oh God,” said Kate as the woman marched back along the path. “She probably thinks we’re drunk.”
“Nope,” said Sarah. “Just high on excruciating embarrassment.”
Eventually the laughter died away and quiet contemplation ruled the car once more.
Kate started the engine and put the blowers on full and they rolled down their windows, despite the cold, to try to de-mist the windows.
“I don’t want you to think my feelings for Matt are any less,” said Sarah.
“I don’t,” said Kate.
“It’s just that...” Sarah went on. “Oliver was my first true love. First man I ever lived with. First and only person I’ve ever been engaged to.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” said Kate. A seed ofunease was sprouting inside Kate’s chest. It took root and she couldn’t fathom its meaning.
