Page 47 of The Night Before Christmas
‘Um, no, not really,’ said Felicity.Deep breath.‘I need you to look after some cats and dogs and such with Andrea. Can you do it for me? Please? I’ll love you for absolutely ever and ever.’
Another pause.
‘You want me to do what?’
‘I want you to, well, I need you to “be me” and do my job for a week. Sophie, I can’t tell you how much I need this. I absolutely have to get away. I’ve got some… stuff to sort out. And I desperately need someone to cover my shifts because I can’t leave Andrea in the lurch. I know it’s such a lot to ask but please, pretty please, I’ll love you for ever and ever and ever. Please?’
Sophie chuckled. It was a deep, throaty chuckle that didn’t quite fit with the rest of her, that was what made it especially attractive.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, all right. What else have I got to do?’
She was being genuine, too. Sophie had no job and a live-in nanny for the children and a very rich father and even richer husband. Felicity didn’t have a clue how she filled her days to be honest, but she knew it must involve a lot of ‘wafting about’.How the other half live.
Deep breath. Here was the crunch.
‘Great! Thank you! Er… and can you start tomorrow?’
‘So, I mean, that’s quite sudden, isn’t it really?’
There was a pause. Felicity waited anxiously, picking at the scab on her arm and making it bleed again.
Then: ‘But I can confirm I have checked my diary and I have nothing to do at all except for my spin class on Thursday night.’
Felicity let out a squeal. ‘You cherub. I love you. I mean it. Thank you so much.’
They discussed the details quickly and Felicity came off the phone feeling suddenly excited. She hastily threw some things in a bag. If she didn’t go now, she might never do it.
At East Midlands airport the next morning, the queues were pleasingly small.
‘One return to Guernsey, please,’ she said timidly, putting her driving licence down on the counter when it was her turn at the desk.
A tall, red-headed border control officer inspected her licence rather closely and Felicity felt a stab of panic.
‘It’s domestic. I don’t think I need a passport, do I?’
The officer looked up at her with a severe look on her face, and then spotted Felicity’s ginger locks and seemed to soften in the way VW campervan drivers always wave at each other, like they have a special club for vehicles that look cool but are impossible to drive.
She even smiled. Sort of.
‘No, you don’t need a passport. This is fine.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief, thank you,’ said Felicity, scooping up her ticket and licence with trembling hands.That’s a relief because I don’t have one.
‘Enjoy your flight,’ said the lady with another appreciative nod at her hair (if that was possible, was that possible? Maybe it was just her anxiety talking, but it definitely, definitely felt as though the scary and slightly creepy officer lady had been staring at her hair).
‘Thanks!’ said Felicity and hastened through the barrier before the officer could start up a conversation.
It was only when she got on the plane and sat back in her seat that it became clear she had managed to get toothpaste in her hair during her super quick bathroom visit that morning. Quite a lot of it, in fact. It was massed in a clump behind her right ear. So much of it was stuck in her hair that it was almost as if she had squeezed an entire tube of toothpaste behind her ear. When and how had that even happened? And why today of all days had her body decided to forget the subconscious and relatively simple action of squeezing the correct amount out of a tube of toothpaste?
As they were about to take off, she wasn’t allowed to go to the tiny aeroplane toilet, so Felicity did her best to clean it up with the only thing to hand, the sick bag in the seat pocket in front of her. It wasn’t pretty. When the flight attendant came round, there was toothpaste absolutely everywhere. The whole row stank of Sensodyne, original mint flavour, and she could seethe attendant’s nose wrinkle as the smell wafted towards her. Felicity sheepishly handed her the crumpled bag and ordered a gin and tonic only to be told the flight was so short there would be no drinks trolley coming through. Tea, coffee or water was all that was on offer. Felicity gave a deep sigh and put her head back on the hard and rather scratchy headrest, trying to ignore the overpowering wafts of minty freshness.
Not a great start to the day, was it? She tried to relax and channel her inner cat.What would Bobby Charlton do?she thought.He definitely wouldn’t get toothpaste in his fur. Other things, maybe, but not toothpaste. He also wouldn’t feel guilty about this trip. But then, he’s a cat. Do cats ever feel guilty about anything?
Felicity was just about to fall into a shame and guilt cycle for the umpteenth time when her stomach gave a lurch. The plane had jerked into life and her head was pinned to her seat as the pilot put his foot down – metaphorically or actually, she had no clue how this all worked. Do planes have accelerators?All she knew in that moment was she was suddenly having even more regrets about her rather rash decision.
The air hostess smiled reassuringly at her from the little fold-down seat three rows in front. In fact, there were only twenty rows in the whole plane and only about ten people on the flight, so it felt rather like a set-up for an unfunny sitcom. Or maybe a disaster movie, she thought, feeling a bit sick as the plane lifted into the air and gave a shudder.
Please God, don’t let me die. And also, if I do die, please don’t let there be any more toothpaste in my hair when they find me. Although, I suppose I’ll smell minty fresh for the rescue team.
