Christmas In Mistletoe

by Clare Lydon

  Fran nodded, then steered the car left.

  They both winced again at the sound it made.

  When they were safely onto the layby, Fran let out a relieved sigh. She flicked on her hazard lights. “Luckily, my parents buy me an AA membership for Christmas every year.” Fran cut the engine and picked up her phone. “Let me see what the issue is, and then call them.” She grabbed her coat and got out of the car, slamming the door. Then she disappeared out of sight.

  Ruby twisted around, then back. She bit her lip. There wasn’t much she could do. It began to snow more steadily, and the traffic started to inch forward again. She was glad they were tucked into an emergency layby and not just on the hard shoulder. She didn’t fancy being there with cars whizzing by. They could be stuck for a while.

  Ruby closed her eyes. She should have got the train. She’d bargained on two to three hours for this trip. However, now it could be double that. Ruby grabbed her phone and texted her mum to let her know what was happening. She got a sad-face emoji back, and a message that Mum would keep dinner for her.

  The driver-side door opened and Fran sat back in her seat, rubbing her hands.

  “It’s bloody Baltic out there. I swear, it’s not normally this cold at the start of December.” She put her key in the ignition and jabbed the heater on, then breathed into her hands in a bid to warm up.

  “What happened? Could you see?”

  Fran nodded, still shivering. Her dirty-blond hair glistened with snow, as did her dark grey coat. “It was the exhaust. It’s hanging off the car. I called the AA, and the bloke reckoned a bracket’s come loose. He might be able to fix it roadside or he might have to tow us, but it’s likely to be at least an hour until they can send someone, so get comfortable.” Fran lifted up a bottle of water. “We have fluid. I also have wine in the boot if things get desperate.”

  “And I have Christmas biscuits. That’s almost a party.” Ruby gave her a grin. “If we have to eat my sister’s present, so be it.”

  “Not Audrey’s?”

  “Are you mad? I value my life.” Ruby tapped her fingers on her knees. Another hour in the car with Fran, maybe longer. This was going to be a challenge.

  “How about we play a game. You ask me a question, then I’ll ask you. It’s how we used to pass the time on long car journeys when I was little.”

  Fran didn’t look convinced. “So long as they’re not too personal.”

  Ruby shook her head. “Not at all.” She tapped her foot. “Let’s see. What’s your favourite colour?”

  Fran threw her a withering look.

  “Would you prefer to sit in silence?” Ruby was trying her best. “Work with me.”

  “Okay.” Fran paused. “Yellow.”

  “Really? But you’re always dressed in dark colours when I see you.” She wiggled her fingers in front of Fran. “Grey shirt, blue jeans today. You were all in black when I saw you at the pub the other day.”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  Ruby blinked. She did. “I look at people’s clothes.”

  Fran shrugged. “Yellow is still my favourite colour, even if I don’t wear it all the time.”

  “Do you have any clothes that are yellow?”

  Fran turned to Ruby. “I had some yellow socks once.”

  Ruby laughed. “Daring. You need to get some colour into your wardrobe. It might cheer you up. Colour has an effect on mood.”

  “Is that right?” Fran tilted her head.

  “Yep. I wrote a song about it. Called ‘Multi-coloured Dreams’.” Ruby paused. “Have you ever written a song, or do you just sell the music?”

  “Isn’t it my turn for a question?”

  Ruby held up her palms. “My mistake. It is.” Fran had flipped from being friendly Fran to spiky Fran. She clearly didn’t deal well with motoring hiccups. Perhaps that’s why her dads looked after her car for her.

  “I got it.” Fran pointed a finger in Ruby’s direction. “Favourite band and album.”

  Ruby blew out a breath. “Impossible to narrow it down to one.”

  “Try.”

  Ruby shook her head. “I can’t. But I can give you my inspirations. Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Beth Orton, Rufus Wainwright. Also, George Michael. He’s my mum’s favourite.”

  “Your mum has taste.”

  “Plus the Indigo Girls, of course.”

  “Rite of passage,” Fran replied. “Or should I say, Rites of Passage.”

  Ruby chuckled. “You know your Indigo Girls album titles.”

  “Don’t sound so amazed.” She paused. “And by the way, I’m a fan of all of those artists you mentioned.”

  A bristle of surprise ran through Ruby. Musical taste was important, and Fran had passed the first round. “Go on then, tell me yours.” Ruby sat back.

  Fran frowned. “It’s a lot harder when it’s me.” She paused. “My taste is across the board. I love country old and new – Dolly Parton to Cam – as well as pop, rock, hip-hop and indie. Janelle Monae is a favourite. My dads are Tina Turner and Celine Dion fans, and the latter is one of the best concerts I ever saw. My parents took me to Vegas for my 30th and we saw Celine there. She was immense.”

  “I have no doubt,” Ruby replied.

  “I’m also a fan of the Wainwrights – Rufus and Martha.”

  Ruby hadn’t expected that, either. “Sounds like you have impeccable music taste.”

  Fran eyed Ruby. “It sounds like we both do.”

  Ruby paused as she registered a slight shift between them. It was her turn for a question. Her mind was blank. “I can’t think of another question.”

  “This was your idea.” Fran glanced Ruby’s way. “I’ve got another one. Signature dish.”

  A creative question. “That’s easy. Chicken and mushroom pasta bake. I know it sounds easy, but trust me, it’s delicious. The secret? A ton of parmesan and cream.”

  “Everything’s better with parmesan and cream.”

  “Exactly.” Ruby’s stomach rumbled. “I could really eat a pasta bake right now. Warming. Tasty.” She shivered. Outside, the snow was still falling.

  Fran turned the heat to full.

  Ruby adjusted her vent, then put her hands up to it like it was a roaring fire.

  Fran laughed, then got on her knees and twisted round. Seconds later, she dropped Ruby’s coat into her lap, before wriggling back into her seat, hugging herself. “You look cold, put it on.”

  Ruby glanced her way, doing what she was told. Gratitude tiptoed up her scalp. “Thank you.” She buttoned up before she asked: “What about yours?”

  “Mine?”

  “Signature dish.”

  “I don’t cook much. Perils of the job. I’m usually out at a gig or working late. Can I say Deliveroo?”

  Ruby grinned. “You cannot. You must cook something.” She twisted to face Fran. “Come on, you’ve got a date with a hot chick. She’s coming around to yours. What do you cook her?”

  “Panic on toast?”

  Ruby smirked Fran’s way.

  “Okay.” Fran paused. “Malaysian curry. My old flatmate taught me how to make that. It’s surprisingly easy and never not impressive.”

  “There you go. Malaysian curry. If you fed me that, we’d definitely be off to a good start.” It was only when the words were out that Ruby realised what she’d said. “Not that I’m coming around to yours for a date.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “I mean, not that you’re not datable, it’s just…”

  Now Fran twisted in her seat, a smile hanging from her lips. “You’re right, this game was a good idea. Watching you squirm while we’re sitting freezing on the side of the motorway has taken my mind off things.”

  Ruby wanted to curl up in the footwell, but one glance at the tiny space and her long legs made her reconsider. “Here to help,” she replied.

  Chapter 7

  Ruby’s face was still a picture as she tried to clamber over her awkwardness.

  However, Ruby’s flushed cheeks and stuttering
had helped to ease Fran’s funk about the car. It wasn’t helping either of them. Plus, as she kept reminding herself, the whole point of this trip was to thaw the relationship with Ruby. Being snarly wasn’t going to win Fran any popularity points. Perhaps sharing something of herself would make Ruby feel more at home. Who knows, they might even become friends.

  “My Malaysian curry was a favourite of my ex.”

  Ruby stretched her legs at that. “You see, I told you it would lead to a sure thing.” She smiled. “My ex was a fan of my pasta bake, too. Although she did constantly tell me I might die an early death if I kept eating it. Either from heart failure or obesity due to the amount of cheese and cream.”

  Fran glanced her way. “Seeing as your stomach is impossibly flat, the obesity dilemma seems sorted.”

  “You never know about heart failure, though, do you? You hear all the time about people who run marathons and drop dead.”

  “Don’t run marathons. They bugger your knees and then you keel over and die.”

  “Good point.” Ruby paused. “Are you cooking your curry for anyone at the moment?”

  Fran shook her head. “I’m not. I broke up with my ex two years ago. I’m done with women.” She snagged Ruby’s gaze with her own. “What about you?”

  “Confirmed singleton, too. Meal deals for one.”

  “Sounds like we both need to start a supper club. Or at least a meal exchange.”

  “Or just get laid.” Ruby blushed again. She was cute when she blushed.

  “Nah, I’m off that, too. After Delilah…” Fran stopped. Shit. She hadn’t meant to blurt that name out. They’d never been out publicly, which was one of the reasons they’d broken up.

  But Ruby was already staring at the mention of the name, her forehead furrowed as she pieced Fran’s history together. “It was Delilah who ate your curry?” Astonishment tinted her words.

  Fran bristled. “Is it that improbable?” She’d always worried she was punching above her weight. She didn’t need it confirmed by Ruby.

  Ruby shook her head. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’m just surprised she’s actually gay. I’d heard rumours she was seeing someone, but we hardly run in the same circles. Now I find out it was you.”

  “It was me.” There had been something there from the first moment they met. “I don’t normally date musicians. Not because it’s unethical — it happens all the time — but rather because I know it’s a difficult road, with touring, fans throwing themselves at you, all of that.”

  “I don’t get nearly as much of it as she would.” Ruby twisted her mouth one way, then the other. “I never saw you with her, though. How long were you together?”

  “Nine months.” They’d been split for a while now, and Fran was over it. But saying Delilah’s name still cloaked her heart in sadness. She’d wanted it to work, but it hadn’t.

  “My dads knew, and my colleague, Damian. But apart from that, I was sworn to secrecy. It couldn’t get out while she was trying to make it big, so we had to be super careful everywhere we went.” Fran shook her head, remembering. “It was more than tiresome. Plus, I’ve been out and proud since I was 17. When you have two gay dads, you don’t have to hide who you are. Going back into the closet was hard. My parents hated it as much as me. Plus, they could see that despite us getting along, it was never going to work. But I had to learn the hard way.”

  “I bet.” Ruby paused. “No wonder you snapped off her music earlier.”

  Fran took a deep breath, then shrugged. “When we broke up, I asked to be taken off her team, and she endorsed it. But she’s off on tour now, and things are really hitting the big time. I’m pleased for her, but she needs to be who she is. Come out as queer.”

  “Why wouldn’t she, though? It’s hardly taboo anymore. Maybe in the film or TV industry. But in music, people have always been able to be way more themselves.”

  “That’s the irony, isn’t it?” Fran was quiet for a moment. “Does whatever I tell you in this car stay right here?”

  Ruby nodded. “Of course. You have my word.”

  Fran hoped she could trust Ruby. She was in the business, too, and she didn’t strike Fran as the gossipy type.

  “For Delilah, it’s her parents. She might be the woman of the moment with chart-topping hits, but her parents are crazy-religious and she’s not out to them. Until she does that, she can’t be who she truly is.” Fran shrugged. “Pop stars have hang-ups, too.”

  “More than most from the ones I’ve met,” Ruby replied. “Wow, I can’t believe you were with Delilah.” She waved her hands at Fran. “Again, not in that way. I just thought she’d want a bit more of a starry girlfriend. Someone she could share the spotlight with.”

  “Nope. Delilah wants someone who she can keep in the closet. I did it for a while because she said she was going to come out eventually. But as time went on, it became apparent she was lying. That’s when I realised it was never going to work. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.” It had hurt plenty. Still did sometimes.

  “Makes my tale of woe about my ex being a different person to me pale into the background.” Ruby paused. “Still, you’ve slept with a chart-topping artist. And she loved your curry.”

  “She did. She just didn’t love me all that much. Or herself.” Fran glanced in her rear-view mirror. No sign of a recovery truck. She wished it’d hurry up. Her stomach gurgled loudly.

  Ruby twisted around, rummaged in one of her bags, then produced a neatly wrapped gift. She tore the paper without hesitation. “My sister won’t miss these, and your stomach needs attending to.” Ruby held up a yellow biscuit tin. “It’s even your colour, so it’s your Christmas present now. Just a month early.” She grinned, giving it to Fran. “Happy Christmas. Have some vanilla and coconut whirls.”

  Fran took the tin. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  They sat munching their whirls for a few moments. Then Fran’s phone flashed. She picked it up.

  “The AA man is 15 minutes away.”

  “It might be a woman,” Ruby countered.

  Fran gave her a pained look. “I don’t know many women called Mike. Whatever, home should be within reach soon.” She glanced out her window. “The traffic’s moving faster now, too.”

  “We’ll be in Mistletoe before you know it.” Ruby grabbed another biscuit. “Are you still in touch with Delilah?”

  “We still talk occasionally, but like I said, she’s touring her new album now. She vowed she would keep in touch more, but she’s busy. I get it. I’ve watched plenty of relationships between music execs and artists explode. I know the drill. You just never think it’s going to happen to you. But musicians are single-minded. They have to be to succeed. They’re all about themselves and their careers.” She glanced at Ruby, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

  Fran sat forward, shaking her head. “Which I totally get, by the way. My job is important to me, too.” She took a breath, trying to reframe her argument. “My point is, you can be career-focused, but also consider other people. Perhaps even have a relationship.” Fran sat back. “I know I’m sworn off women, and that still stands. But in ten years’ time when I’m ready again, maybe I’ll go for a woman who’s not even a music fan.”

  “You wouldn’t last five minutes,” Ruby replied. “You love music. It’s in your bones, just like mine. It must be, or you wouldn’t do the job you do.”

  “True. But right now, after Delilah, I am so done. So long as my next girlfriend eats my curry, I’d be happy if she works in a bank. Or a fishmonger. I’ve never dated a fishmonger.”

  Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Really? A fishmonger?”

  “Think of all the cheap salmon and how healthy my skin would look.” Fran could just imagine the glow. “Have you ever gone out with a musician? Or someone in the industry like me, come to that?” Fran’s eyes widened. Shit. “Not that I’m suggesting…”

  “A musician, yes.” Ruby gave her an amused smirk. “Someone in the industry, no. Not really my scene. No
offence.”

  “You know when someone says ‘no offence’, it means they’re about to offend you, right?”

  “You know what I mean. Music execs in general are just in it for themselves. Out to boost their careers. They’re not interested in artistic integrity or in the artist’s voice.” She glanced at Fran. “In my experience,” Ruby added hastily.

  Wow. Ruby didn’t hold back, did she? “You really don’t have a high opinion of me, do you? At least I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I could have lumped you in with all other musicians, saying you’re all as bad as each other. But I didn’t.” She glanced at Ruby. “Maybe I should have.” She grabbed another biscuit from the tin. “Why are you so down on the music industry?”

  Ruby rolled her shoulders and was silent for a few moments before she spoke. “Because I had a bad experience. I signed to a label when I was 21, and I thought that was it, that I had the dream ticket. But then they wanted to change my sound and make me more pop, more ‘radio-friendly’. I went along with it because I was 21, but it wasn’t me and I think listeners could tell. The music didn’t sell. The label also wanted me to change my look, ‘show more cleavage’ I believe was the term used.”

  Fran winced. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.” She’d heard that story too many times. “It’s one of the things I’m most proud of with our new project, Fast Forward. They’re a girl group, but a new style of girl group. No cleavage required.”

  “That should have been their band name.”

  Fran gave her a wry smile. “I did consider it.”

  Ruby shrugged. “But anyway, I didn’t show more cleavage. It wasn’t me. Then they tried to tour me, but they ended up putting me in the wrong venues and it was a disaster. My worst night was playing a rock club. I was pelted with beer cans and booed off stage. It’s why I don’t like playing venues bigger than around 100 people any more. Crowds behave better when they’re not so anonymous. They’re more my people.”