Page 35 of Christmas Chaos
‘How are they meant to have chestnuts roasting on an open fire when the chestnuts are already cooked, peeled and vacupacked?’ she yelled into the phone as he entered the room.
Rory nodded at Duncan who beat a hasty retreat. On the floor were cardboard boxes filled with provisions they’d ordered for Brad’s friends who were arriving in just over a week.
‘And I ordered mince pies, not mince beef pies,’ she continued. There was a pause. ‘No! Mince pies as in the dried fruity things. You’ve sent sodding Fray Bentos ones with actual mince in them. And a bog-standard fruit cake is not, I repeat, not, an acceptable substitute for Christmas cake!’
She was close to tears. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
‘You don’t seem to understand how important this is,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘How important Christmas is. It’s going to be ruined.’ Her chin started to wobble. ‘I’ll call you back.’
She hung up and sobbed into his chest.
‘It’s a complete disaster,’ she cried. ‘I can’t seem to get anything right.’
‘It’s not your fault. We can order pies and cakes from Margaret at the bakery.’
‘We can’t. They wanted ones that came wrapped in cellophane and had some poncey label on. Honestly, Rory, I can’t please them.’ She raised her head. ‘What are you doing back?’
He took a deep breath. It would be better if she found out in private.
‘It’s not the end of the world, but—’
‘Oh my god, what’s happened?’
‘Shhhh, it’s okay.’ He pulled a folded poster from his jacket pocket. ‘This one’s on me. I’m sorry. The printers well and truly cocked it up.’
Zoe opened it out. He’d spotted it stapled to a telegraph pole – a poster advertising the Christmas ceilidh.
‘A ChristmasKayleigh?’ Zoe screamed.
The location, date and time were all correct, but the poster looked like it was advertising a little girl’s birthday party. The baubles they’d discussed looked like balloons, and the background was more bubble gum pink than Santa red.
‘I’m sorry, Zoe, it’s my fault. They didn’t seem to know what a ceilidh was and I didn’t spell it for them.’
‘Do the tickets say the same thing?’ she asked faintly.
He nodded. ‘I went to the post office. They’ve just been delivered and they all say Christmas Kayleigh.’
She sank her head. ‘The Courieris going to have a fucking field day with this one. They’re going to blame me because I’m English.’
His hands formed into fists. ‘I’ll tell them it was me.’
She sighed. ‘They won’t care. I don’t think there’s any way we can spin this.’
Rory pulled out his phone and rang Clive, the owner of Kinloch’s only pub who was supplying the bar for the ceilidh. He put it on speaker so Zoe could listen in.
‘Clive, it’s Rory and Zoe here. When’s your Kayleigh’s birthday?’
‘Next month. It’s her 21st. Why?’
‘Have you seen the posters for the ceilidh yet?’
‘No.’
‘The printers fucked up big time and it looks like we’re throwing a party for her.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘No.’
