Page 46 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘Problem?’ she asked, not sure she wanted to know. She had the mental energy to, maybe, make herself another cup of coffee and nothing more. She was wiped. What had happened to the Sutton who could party until the wee hours of the morning, have a shower and then sit through her classes? She missed her and wanted her back.

‘Dad, do bugs die when you fart?’ Felix asked.

Jesus, what a question for eight on a frosty morning. Sutton met Gus’s eyes and ignored the plea for help in his eyes. She shook her head. His kids, he was in charge in the mornings, so he had to answer the hard questions.

‘I have no damn idea, Felix,’ he muttered. Both kids immediately picked up on the curse and Gus promised to toss some money in the swear jar. She’d checked, there wasn’t more than five pounds in the tin can and she suspected he’d wildly short-changed the process over the years.

‘I just asked a question!’ Felix retorted, annoyed at Gus’s sharp answer.

Sutton took pity on Gus and laid her hand on Felix’s arm. Noticing the twins were done eating, she told them to go brush their teeth. When she heard their footsteps on the stairs, arguing about whose turn it was to use the toothpaste first – dear God! – she leaned back in her chair.

‘I know you’re tired, but what’s upset you?’ she asked.

Gus raked his hand through his hair and then rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved this morning and Sutton didn’t blame him; she didn’t trust herself around sharp instruments either. ‘I just received a voice message from the MD of the biggest supplier to Kate’s Christmas Shop. I’ve been invited to a black-tie Christmas function Thursday night.’

‘Judging by your sour lemon face, I take it you don’t want to go?’

‘I’d rather shove a red-hot poker up my arse,’ he informed her.

Alrighty then.

‘The supplier sponsors the independent retail association’s annual award ceremony and Kate’s Christmas Shop has been nominated as one of the best themed shops in the UK. Ishouldgo.’

‘Being Mr Christmas, you should,’ Sutton agreed, yawning. ‘You can wear a Christmas jersey and an elf hat…’

‘Will you stop taking the piss?’ he growled. ‘I can act like I love Christmas around here, and I do it because people expect me to. But I don’t need to travel to bloody Manchester to do it!’

Sutton shrugged. ‘So don’t.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Being nominated is a big deal. It’s a prestigious award and there will be press coverage. Snubbing the awards would not go down well.’

It looked like he was going off to Manchester to a Christmas party. Man, she would love to see Mr Christmas in a nice suit and showing his rather fine arse off. ‘Do you want me to look after the twins?’

He stared at her, and she saw the indecision on his face. He swallowed, rubbed his jaw and took a sip of his coffee. Sutton knew he was looking for the right words to say no. ‘I’ll ask Moira if they can have a sleepover.’

He wasn’t comfortable leaving the twins with a woman he’d only known for a little over two weeks, and Sutton didn’t blame him. He was a good father, and super-protective over the twins. But it still stung. Okay, she was stranded in another country with no money, but she was, in real life, reliable and responsible.

‘They’ve had sleepovers with Moira before,’ Gus said. Right, he was trying to let her down gently. She heard the silent subtext:I might’ve slept with you but I don’t know you, not really. Not nearly enough to leave my children with you.

Sure. Made sense. She understood…intellectually. Emotionally, it was a knife through her heart. She would never do anything to hurt the twins, she’d be super-vigilant and neurotically attentive. But why should he believe that? She was the woman who rocked up on his doorstep in a snowstorm, drunk, broke and bolshy. She wouldn’t trust her Tamagotchi to someone with that track record.

Gus rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Fuck.The last thing I feel like doing is socialising with strangers, especially since the Christmas market is on Saturday. I have so much to do.’

Yeah, it would be a pain in the balls. For him. But her silver lining would be having the house to herself for the night. She could stretch out on the couch, eat pizza in her yoga pants, drink red wine, scoff a bar of chocolate and binge-watchLove Island. Heaven.

‘One of the best things about twentieth-century life is the ability to be constantly connected. You can work on the train, make calls and send emails,’ Sutton said, trying to sound encouraging. After months of living in dorm rooms in youth hostels, she wasquitekeen to be on her own.

‘If I go, I’ll drive.’

Whatevs. She could order anchovies and pineapple as toppings for her pizza, and no one would give her grief. Bliss. She could sleep in the next morning and wouldn’t need to listen to Felix telling the world about his morning poop – why were boys so fascinated by bodily functions? – and mop up Rosie’s tears because she couldn’t remember her dreams.

A quiet morning in a warm house would beamazing…

‘You should come to the Christmas party with me.’

Say what?

Sutton lifted her thousand-pound head and looked at him through half-closed eyes. Okay, she had a sex hangover and wasn’t fully on fire, but did he say she should go with him to what would be a smart Christmas party?

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