Page 83 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“I was thinking of cooking a pre-Christmas meal for us,” he told her. “With you and Laura and Ben, and Sarah obviously. You could bring one of your Shagmas dates.” He grinned.
Kate felt her chagrin rise, but she let it fall again. She would not give Matt the satisfaction. She wondered if it was too soon to invite Richard.
“I might have someone I could invite,” she said.
“Who? The rugby player?” asked Matt.
“Yeah,” said Kate. “Maybe.”
“Getting along quite well with him, aren’t you,” said Matt. “Do you think it could be something?”
“Oh, it’s definitely something.” Kate smiled as last night’s heavy petting session in the forest swam back into her mind. “I’m just not exactly sure what yet.”
“Bring him along,” said Matt. “And then I can grill him about his intentions.”
“Oh, that’s bound to encourage him to ask me out on further dates,” said Kate.
Matt laughed.
“It’ll be the first time all of us will have had partners at the same time,” he said. “At least when we’re all living in the same place.”
•••••
The train was packed. Kate only just managed to get a seat. She sat next to a man who picked his nose relentlessly and laughed out loud at the cartoons in his newspaper. Opposite were two women, off to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. They steeled themselves for the task by drinking gin and tonic out of plastic tumblers, which one of the women produced from a Harrods tote bag.
Moaning children were subdued with sweets and magazines, and sullen youths looked blankly out of the windows or kept their faces close to their phones; atst-tst-tstsound emanated from their headphones. Most of the adults were no different; finger pads danced lightning fast over phones and tablets and laptops.
Kate watched the snowy landscape whoosh by. White roofs, white fields, white hills, the gray sky threatening more to come. They passed by a cemetery: flashes of red from poinsettias laid for the gone-but-not-forgotten. Lucky children on a snow day sledged down slopes, whilesheep and cows huddled in groups respectively against the cold; a bright green tractor laden with hay bales chugged across the white terrain.
As they came closer to London the scenery changed. Snow-capped billboards enticed consumers with promises of a perfect Christmas. A sea of brick chimney stacks stretched as far as the eye could see, a maze of snowy streets below them, alive and buzzing with activity. Busy high streets with Christmas decorations strung above. Pubs on corners and tented market stalls that ran the length of town centers.
Closer still and the world morphed into a new kind of animal, a bigger, hungrier, more demanding creature. Here was a land of giants: towers that reached for the skies, power and poverty living side by side. Industrial blocks with mirrored windows and revolving restaurants in the clouds. Old stone and glinting steel; history and history in the making. The glorious muddle of a million humans rubbing along together.
Kate loved the city. She loved the grit and the grime and the streets paved with possibilities. If Blexford was her wife, then London was her mistress.
The station was bustling, the tube was rammed, and Carnaby Street was insanity, but it was worth every nudge, squeeze, and jostle to find herself outside her beloved Liberty at Christmas.
It bloomed, mirage-like at the top of Carnaby Street, in a carnival of Tudor resplendence. Christmas trees lined the balconies on the first floor and the leaded windows beckoned people in with glittering ribbons, vibrantly wrapped packages, and delicately constructed sugar plum wishes, plucked from the dreams of Christmas lovers everywhere.
Kate ambled through the festive decked halls and departments and soaked in the Christmas shop wonderland, adorned with more glitter and sparkle per square inch than the whole of Las Vegas put together. She picked out a few new baubles—to add to her already extensivecollection—in anticipation of the tree Evelyn and Patrick would be picking up for her that night and made her way to the art department behind the scenes.
Her spring designs were approved, and she emailed them to the fabric printers. Her boss suggested one or two tweaks to the winter fabric and asked her to make an exact copy of the design on a different-colored background as well.
Kate made the required tweaks. She set up her easel and painted in some corkscrew ferns in frosted olive green between the hellebores and the quince, and dotted about clusters of pale brown honey fungus mushrooms. She scanned the final draft into the computer and made a copy with a duck-egg-blue background, so that she had one taupe and one blue fabric of the same design. Then she sent both to the printers.
It was dark by the time she’d finished, but the store beyond the studio was still frenzied with late-night shoppers. She slipped into the staff restroom and changed into her date clothes. She’d packed a racing-car-green knitted dress that had a pretty V-neck wrap-around top, long sleeves, and a tie belt and fell into soft pleats from the waist down. It was warm and flattering and went well with her practical knee-high tan leather boots. After a quick application of eyeliner and lipstick, she decreed herself date-ready.
Tonight she was meeting Jim. Jim was thirty-seven, divorced, with no children, and worked in the city; according to his profile he was something big in investments. His photograph showed him in a slick tailored suit; his hair was short and dirty-straw blond and he grinned in a way that was both charming and mischievous.
Kate stood almost cheek to cheek with the other commuters on the tube to Leicester Square and considered the phone call she’d had with Richard before she’d descended the stairs to the station and lost signal.
“I can’t stand the idea of you meeting another man,” said Richard.
“I want to get my money’s worth,” said Kate. “I’ve paid for this dinner, so I’m going to eat it. And anyway”—Kate laughed—“you’re meeting other women! That is, after all, the nature of the twelve dates.”
“But I’m thinking of you the whole time,” he said.
“Really?” she said. “The whole time?”
