The tables turned when he fell ill. Lost loads of weight. Went bald. He’d jokingly say he’d understand if I fancied other men. I’d give him the biggest hug and kiss him on the lips, my heart tearing apart as his eyes betrayed a frustration and dwindling self-confidence.
I stood outside the grey building in the street behind Alderston’s White Horse pub, taking in the corroded brickwork and steps covered in cigarette butts. Kit lived in a second-floor flat. The design of the building was simple but it offered a shared garden out the back. For work, I’d followed his journey from signing on for benefits to full-time employment. He’d hitchhiked to the nearby town of Chesterwood from London last February and it had taken him a while to find a job. At first he had lived there in a bed and breakfast, in a room next to a desperate family of three and a young couple in addiction. Over the last couple of months our relationship had become more one of friends than journalist and subject.
I was still curious about how a good-natured, intelligent man like him could end up penniless at thirty, abandoned by his family, a burner phone his most expensive possession.
Speeding up, I went inside the building, aware that I only had two hours before Lily would be home. I didn’t want to waste a moment in finding out everything I could about making the advent calendar as successful as possible. Only a couple more residents had signed up. It had to work. Otherwise people in situations like Kit used to be in would suffer.
But Birchwood Estate was pleasant. Reasonably well-off. Safe. Would its residents be able to relate to rough sleepers and those on the poverty line? After all, everyone had their own problems to think about.
I climbed two flights of stairs and noticed the paint peeling off the walls – yet this place was luxury compared to his previous address where there had been fleas in the carpet and no hot water. Kit had managed to turn this place into a home and give it a welcoming feel of sorts – not bad for the man who, when I first met him, kept himself to himself.
In some ways he still did. I knew the basics of his previous life but it wasn’t something he talked about freely. Through him I’d learnt so much about the challenges facing those trying to get back to work. Like benefit payments being delayed and potential employers never ringing back. The sense of shame. It taught me about the landscape of the country’s job market and how that related to my local surburban area. I tracked a small group of people and discovered that every type of jobseeker was struggling, be they a manual worker, a professional, an immigrant, a mental health sufferer…
A loud creak. The door opened. I looked up.
Casual T-shirt. Ruffled shoulder length hair. Laid-back smile to match. Effortlessly, he carried off that whole sexy car mechanic look, just without the grime.
I’d never really thought about it before. And there was no need to now, I told myself. Kit was just a mate.
‘Fern. Come on in. The kettle’s on.’
It wasn’t easy to spontaneously hug. The height made it difficult. His long body enveloped mine and his short beard brushed against my face. I followed him in. Firmly his hand wrapped around my elbow and he steered me around a new tub of plants on the floor.
‘Watch it,’ he said and pulled off my woolly hat before putting it on his head. I grinned and passed him my coat. He pulled the hat back off and draped them both over the back of his sofa, its second-hand status hidden by a cheerful maroon throw. A small television owned the room’s corner by the window. Two doors led off the small living area, on the right – the bedroom and bathroom – and the tiny kitchen stood to the left. It constituted one work unit next to a cooker and fridge and a breakfast bar.
‘You’ve decorated. Love the colour.’
‘Colour? It’s called Mountain Air – a posh description of white. I’m hoping the theory’s right about pale shades making a place look bigger. I feel like a foot-long trout trapped in a goldfish bowl.’
He’d polished the laminate floor as well and expanded his crockery collection to now boast coffee and sugar jars and a biscuit tin. Plus a metallic toaster shone next to the hob. None of this had been there when I’d visited last month.
‘Thanks, Kit, for seeing me at such short notice.’
‘Glad it’s appreciated. You know me – had to strike a few things out of my social calendar.’
He brought biscuits and two coffees over to the armchair where I sat. I put my drink on the floor as he did before settling on the sofa opposite. Easily he filled it, those legs stretched across the cushions. He lay on one side, head propped up by his arm and stared.
‘Let me get out my phone. That would make a great pose for a sexy Christmas calendar,’ I teased.
Except it actually would, said a voice in my head.
My pulse sped up.
Honestly. I was being ridiculous. Kit would laugh if he knew.
I picked up a biscuit and prised it apart, licking off the cream first. I felt like a teenager again. I’d only ever eaten like that in front of one other person – Adam. We’d been in our early twenties when we met on a hot summer afternoon. He was new to the tabloid I was working for. We were both sent out to report on a bank robber who’d fainted in the middle of committing his crime and soon realised we shared the same sense of humour.
It was love at first sight. Or the nearest I’d ever experienced to that. We’d gone for drinks in the evening. I couldn’t stop smiling. We’d kissed at the end of the evening. Just a peck on cheek. Well, until we drew away and caught each other’s eye. Cue the longest snog in history.
That’s why I couldn’t believe these new feelings for Kit were the real thing. Several months we’d been friends. Surely I’d have felt like this from the beginning?
I ignored the voice in my head suggesting that I had, the moment I’d seen him in the food bank, over those tuna tins.
‘So, what’s this all about?’ Kit asked eventually. ‘Are you writing another article? If it’s cookery, I’m your man. As you already know, after the last few months there’s nothing I can’t do with a slice of bread and tin of beans.’
‘Idiot. And don’t undersell yourself. That curry you made me was amazing – despite the, um, antisocial aftereffects. Although Adam would have had no problem. He could eat a vindaloo without needing a single glass of water and was always fine the next day.’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Kit. ‘And talking of wind…’
We both smiled.
‘… How’s that draught in your bedroom? Have you worked out what’s happening? Remember I said I’d drop around if—’
‘Oh right. Yes. Thanks. It’s getting worse now temperatures are falling.’
‘You should have told me.’
‘I didn’t like to bother you. I thought I’d have a go at sealing it myself.’ I picked up another biscuit.
‘But you haven’t?’
‘No, what with Lily and work…’
‘Hey…’ His voice softened. ‘You don’t need to make excuses. I think you’re a real one-woman band. I only have myself to look after and that’s enough of a challenge.’
One-woman band. I guess I was. When Adam died, the idea of that would have seemed the scariest thing in the world. But as that first year passed I realised I could do this. Over time I enjoyed the challenge of accomplishing things Adam had always been in charge of… like making Lily’s favourite chicken soup. A small thing but each achievement boosted my confidence. And last month I’d actually changed a wheel.
Well, with Kit looking on. We’d been bowling and on returning to the car park found the tyre flat.
‘Here, let me show you how to do it,’ he’d said, not trying to take over. As weeks passed, I’d talked to him about losing Adam. He knew how important it was to me to feel independent. That I could look after Lily and myself without relying on anyone else. That had been the scariest thing after losing Adam. Facing life alone. Never again did I want to have the feeling that I might not be able to cope.
‘Just let me know when I can come over to take a look at tha
t draught,’ he said.
I nodded and picked up my mug and took a large mouthful, wincing as I scalded my throat.
‘I don’t know whether you’ve heard but the food bank in Chesterwood is under threat of closure,’ I said and wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.
Kit sat up. ‘No, I hadn’t. Really? That’s not good. Not good at all.’ He rubbed his beard, something he always did when he was worried. ‘It’s been a lifeline. I only stopped using it when I moved into this place and the wages from my job started to come in.’ He shook his head. ‘Are you really sure?’
‘I’m afraid so but I’ve had a fundraising idea. Just to help tide the place over until Ron can get the support of a charity.’
I explained about the living advent calendar.
‘What do you think?’
‘Fern, it’s fantastic that you’re prepared to give up so much of your time for this.’
‘Cara and Davina have insisted they are going to help me.’
‘Even so… And why should I be surprised? You’re always helping others. Like when you got involved with the park’s litter-picking project and didn’t you write the copy for the school’s new website – for nothing?’
I shrugged and shifted in my seat.
‘Fern Fletcher, you are terrible at accepting compliments,’ he said and wagged a finger.
‘Backatcha.’
‘Fair do’s,’ he said and smiled.
‘I’m hoping you might be able to help me with your experience in hospitality. I need some ideas on how to make each night really entertaining – especially the last one.’
He started to confide about his past a couple of months into our friendship. His mum was a cleaner and his dad a handyman. They were thrilled when he’d got into a prestigious university and he made wealthy friends there. The trouble was he could never keep up and ended up gambling online to earn money and developed a taste for the high life. He and three friends eventually dropped out of university to set up a party planning business. Soon they became the toast of London, drinking the best champagne, frequenting nightclub VIP areas and hosting the best parties for the capital’s elite, including sports stars and celebrities.
Then it had all ended badly. I didn’t know any more than that.
I moved onto the sofa and sat next to him. ‘What was your secret for making sure people had fun?’
‘You mean apart from my innate charisma?’
‘Obviously,’ I said, theatrically.
Kit stretched out an arm, along the sofa behind my back. What would it feel like if he let it drop onto my shoulders?
Oh my God. Where were these thoughts coming from?
‘Music, Fern. It’s crucial for creating atmosphere. Just CDs playing outside would do it or someone’s Spotify list connected to a speaker. Christmas songs, perhaps. We hosted a lot of parties every December. The old tunes never go out of fashion. Bing Crosby still creates a magical atmosphere.’
‘That’s a great idea.’
‘And punters love a theme – I suggest that the drinks and snacks fit. People could provide mince pies and gingerbread cookies and maybe mulled wine.’
‘Perhaps I could slice up a chocolate log.’
‘But how will people eat that? Serviettes can do as plates. But would they need forks with all the icing? So does that make it impractical? Small cakes might be easier. Really try to plan everything down to the last detail. What if one of the kids needs the loo and their house is too far away? Perhaps draw up a list of everything each participant should cater for.’ He gave me some more examples. ‘Tell them to expect the unexpected.’
‘You’re good.’
‘No need to sound so surprised.’ He smiled. ‘Mum and Dad were – are—’ his face flushed ‘practical people. I was brought up to simplify the complicated and keep budgets tight.’
‘Are they retired now?’ I asked, tentatively.
He shook his head. Muttered something about them having to keep working. I didn’t like to prod him any further.
‘Back to the calendar – delegation is always the key,’ he continued. ‘Make each participant aware they might need help to hand around the refreshments. There’s nothing worse than being short-staffed. And one person might be needed to keep an eye on roads and make sure everyone is firmly on the pavement if a car comes past. Got to think about health and safety first.’
‘I’m amazed you ever gave up the party planning business, with all your expertise.’
His body stiffened, and then he got up and went to refill the kettle.
I wanted to know more about his past. Not just because I was curious but because his friendship was important to me, and something told me it would do him good to open up.
‘Expertise comes at a price, though,’ Kit said. He flicked on the kettle, turned around and grinned. ‘How about Tuesday night you help me check out the swimming pool in Chesterwood? The refurbishment finished last week. There’s an adult session that starts at six, after children’s lessons. You’ve been saying recently how you want to get fitter – actions speak louder than words. And didn’t you say your babysitter was looking to make more money, to save for a gap year travelling? You pay for her time and the swimming will be on me.’
I shivered. ‘You’re as bad as Lily. It’s the end of October, you know.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Fern. The pool is indoors. No excuses. The water will be tropical. And I believe there’s a Jacuzzi there now.’
‘I do take Lily swimming at the weekends, from time to time.’
‘How many lengths do you do?’
‘Um… does playing mermaids or shipwrecked pirates count?’
‘Nice try,’ he said and turned back as the water boiled. ‘Unless you’d prefer to go jogging…’
‘Swimming it is,’ I shot back with a smile.
Me and Kit stripped off together, wearing nothing but our swimming costumes?
It would be a good test to prove to myself that Kit was firmly in the friend zone.
6
I stood in the cubicle in the mixed changing rooms, still torn between my red bikini or practical black one-piece. I hadn’t been able to decide at home. It was ridiculous. What did it matter? I put on the bikini, grabbed my green sports bag and was about to pull open the door when I changed my mind and slipped into the black one.
This wasn’t a date. It was a sporting activity.
Adam had loved the bikini even though I thought it made my boobs look smaller than small. He said it accentuated my perfect curves and made me look almost as good as I did with nothing on. I’d worn it in bed one night, for a laugh, and he’d proceeded to whistle the theme tune to Baywatch – before taking it off so gently it felt as if it were untying itself.
I pushed my bag into a locker and was just about to lock it when the women next to me turned their heads. One of them looked back and winked at the other. I followed their gaze.
Wow.
A real-life Aquaman.
Long hair. Longer limbs. A toned six-pack. Gym bunnies weren’t my type but his muscles looked kind of natural. My eye flitted to Kit’s swimming trunks’ low-slung waist. I swung around and focused on my locker key, jumping as a large hand curled around my shoulder. I faced him.
His lopsided grin. The crinkled eyes.
‘It’s too late to chicken out now,’ he said. ‘And thanks again for the lift.’
‘There was no need for you to pay for the parking,’ I said, determined to ignore his near-nakedness.
He shrugged. I found that so appealing about him – the self-pride that was slowly starting to creep in. Whilst he’d looked for a job I’d insisted, when we met up, that I would pay for as much as he’d let me – coffees, cinema tickets… He hadn’t been happy and sometimes I’d not won. But then he became employed and I could sense his joy at being able to treat me. That first week in work he’d taken me out for a burger. Then bought me a small bunch of flowers – as a thank you for all your support, he’d said. Now we’
d fallen into an easy habit of taking it in turns to pay or splitting the bill.
He ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare elastic bobble? I forgot mine.’
‘My hair’s not long enough to need one… but wait a minute…’ I opened the locker and rummaged in my bag.
‘Ta da!’ I pulled out one of Lily’s pink unicorn elastic bands. I laughed and was about to put it back.
‘You don’t think I will?’ he said.
I raised an eyebrow and handed it over. With a grin, he scooped back his hair and tied it in a low ponytail with the unicorn. The women behind giggled. I almost did. Kit winked at me and strode towards the pool.
‘He hasn’t got a brother, has he?’ asked one of the women and smiled.
She’d assumed Kit and I were together. And I got it. He didn’t look like a man who’d ever be single.
I got to the poolside just in time to watch him dive in at the deep end. He emerged several metres later and a powerful stroke brought him to the edge.
‘You next,’ he said and looked up at me, water taking its time to trickle down his chest.
‘You don’t look wet enough to me,’ I said and jumped in right by him, causing a big splash. I ducked under the water and when I bobbed up, he shook his fist. I bowed my head and laughed.
‘You’d have fitted right in at the swimming pool parties I used to plan,’ he said.
I held onto the side of the pool. ‘Were they popular?’
‘Sure. We ran lots of water-themed events, all around the world, using outdoor pools with swim up bars and palm trees. Inflatables with drinks holders. Neon strip lighting at night. And then there were the parties on yachts with on-board chefs and ever-changing amazing views. Or by the beach with DJs on the sand, limbo competitions and singing and drinking around fires at night…’
‘It sounds really glamorous.’ He must have dated lots of fashionable women. Thank goodness I hadn’t worn my bikini. I didn’t have a tan. Or a Cartier anklet. Or anything else I imagined those female guests wore.
The Christmas Calendar Girls Page 4