Page 125 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Oh yes.”
Fi sighs. “These arealltrue. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s not how the game works,” George points out.
“Miranda doesn’t play by the rules,” Bri says, fondly.
Amelia raises her glass. “To chaos in human form.”
“Oi,” I protest, laughing. “There’s one lie in there, thank you very much.”
Before anyone can guess, Ben comes in with the bottle of prosecco. “Five minutes, folks!”
Jasper leans in and nudges me gently. “Should we wake SJ?”
I glance over at the sofa, where he’s curled up next to Robbie, Fi’s son, both of them in a tangle of blankets and popcorn debris, mouths slightly open, limbs flopped in the pure drama of deep child-sleep.
“If we don’t,” I murmur, “we’ll never hear the end of it. He’s been banging on about staying up till midnight for weeks. He’d disown me.”
Jasper gives a solemn nod. “Right. Parental survival strategy. Let’s do it.”
Fi and I cross the room, Fi going for Robbie while I crouch beside SJ and gently nudge his shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper. “Come on. Five minutes till midnight.”
He stirs, groggy and confused. “Is it New Year yet?”
“Almost. Come on. Coats on. Fireworks incoming.”
Fi gently wakes Robbie, who responds by sitting bolt upright and declaring he was “just resting his eyes.”
A flurry of jackets and borrowed scarves follows, everyone suddenly piling into the hallway, a gaggle of sleepy children and tipsy adults wrapped in wool and excitement.
Ben opens the back doors with a theatrical flourish. “To the field we go!”
We pour out into the garden, laughter chasing our steps, and trudge through the crisp night. The sky’s clear, a scattering of stars overhead, the kind that only appear when you’re away from the city and close to midnight.
Out past the garden hedge, the field slopes gently down, giving us a perfect view over the villages below. Dotted lights, silhouettes of rooftops, and somewhere, faint music drifting on the air from another party.
Coop hands the boys their sparklers like he’s officiating a sacred ritual. SJ and Robbie don’t even wait for instruction—they’re already racing around the garden, shrieking with laughter, drawing flaming figure eights in the cold air.
“Don’t run with fire!” Amelia calls, half-laughing.
“They’re fine,” Coop says confidently. “I gave them a safety chat.”
“What did that involve?” Bri asks.
“Mostly the advice to have fun.”
The rest of us gather at the edge of the garden. The countdown begins, slightly off-beat and very enthusiastic.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
I feel Jasper shift beside me. His hand slides into mine, warm and steady. I glance up. He’s already looking at me.
“Seven! Six!”
SJ is a blur of sparkler-light and laughter in the background, a comet in mittens.
