The Wish List: Escape with the most hilarious and feel-good read of 2020!

by Sophia Money-Coutts

  ‘I’m not saying you should. Just make sure you’re in this for the right reasons. But enough chat, we can’t stand here all night like a pair of pensioners.’

  She pulled me away from the side and, as the opening chords of ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ twanged through the speaker, we skated around the Christmas tree, Jaz screaming Bon Jovi so loudly that parents pulled their children away from us. I fell over, a spectacular collapse to the ice as my legs slipped from underneath me and I found myself flat out, my jumper riding up and exposing my belly to the cold. This sparked a brief flashback to the dance floor of the Tory ball, except here nobody looked down their horsey noses at me. Instead, Jaz squatted to help, although unfortunately this meant she went over too and we lay, screaming with laughter, until one of the supervisors skated over and said we were obstructing the others.

  Then came an announcement on the tannoy that our time slot was over, so we waddled back inside and swapped our boots for shoes.

  ‘Drinks!’ announced Eugene, pointing to a bar sign.

  ‘I’m taking this one home,’ Jaz said, inclining her head at Dunc. ‘Happy birthday again, love,’ she said, reaching her arms around me.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Have fun,’ she said. ‘Get pissed.’

  ‘Will do,’ I replied. And with hindsight, I blame Jaz for what happened next because I took her instructions very literally.

  Upstairs, above the boot area, was a space which had been designed to look like an Alpine chalet: a wooden bar decorated with garlands of fir and fairy lights, long trestle tables and benches on which sat punters drinking glass steins of beer.

  ‘Get a table,’ Zach instructed, ‘I’ll get the drinks.’

  We sat around a trestle table. Hugo said he needed to sit on the end of a bench so he could rub his sore shins. The boots had ‘dug into them’, apparently. Mia rolled her eyes and turned her back to him.

  ‘When’s the wedding?’ Eugene asked.

  ‘Three weeks tomorrow,’ Mia replied in a tone which suggested genuine excitement. I glanced back at Hugo, wincing like a 4-year-old who’d fallen over in the playground and grazed his knee, and marvelled that she could seem so cheerful about it.

  I checked my phone to see a missed call from Rory but ignored it as I spied Zach weaving through the crowd in the bar with a big tray.

  ‘Dive in,’ he said, putting it down. There was a jug of frothy beer, glasses and several packets of crisps. I went straight for the beer. Down one went, then another, then Hugo was sent back to the bar by Mia. Eugene did the next round and returned not only with vodka shots and more beer but also rubbery hot dogs. It was like chewing on salty tyre, but I’d swallowed mine in minutes and was back to the pints again. At some point, it was getting quite blurry by then, Zach appeared over the table, cupping the flame of a single candle in a muffin and there was a round of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear Florence,’ sang our table.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear so and so,’ sang the rest of the bar.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear meeeeeee,’ I slurred.

  ‘Love you guys,’ I told them, grinning around the table afterwards. ‘I love you,’ I said, looking at Mia. ‘And you,’ I said to Ruby. ‘And I have to love you since you’re about to be my brother,’ I told Hugo. ‘I love you a lot,’ I promised Eugene. ‘And I didn’t think I loved you but I do now,’ I said, looking at Zach with droopy, half-lidded eyes.

  ‘Relieved I made the cut,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I replied, before slumping on Eugene’s shoulder.

  ‘I think we might need to get the birthday girl home,’ said Ruby.

  ‘No!’ I sat bolt upright again. ‘Not home! More shots!’ I hiccupped and felt a mouthful of hot dog revisit the back of my throat. I swallowed quickly but it didn’t escape Ruby’s notice.

  ‘Uh-oh, we’re definitely going home,’ she said. ‘Mia, will you call an Uber?’

  And then the weirdest thing happened: I tried to stand up but I couldn’t. It was like my legs had turned to noodles. They couldn’t push me up. I tried. I really tried to raise myself from the table but nothing happened. The next thing I knew, I was flying.

  Sort of.

  Zach had effortlessly swept me into the air, cradling me like a baby. As he walked downstairs, I exhaled over his shoulder so he wasn’t asphyxiated by my breath. All the fairy lights had become one fairy light, other people’s voices sounded as if they’d been put through a distorter to protect their identity and my hiccupping was becoming more violent.

  He lowered me through a passenger door as if he was posting a parcel and I noticed the street lamps outside the car swaying like palm trees.

  This is when I made my third major mistake of the evening. Another hiccup turned into another mouthful of hot dog and I scrabbled for my rucksack as a waterfall of beer and frankfurter poured out of me and into it.

  I heard Mia apologizing to the driver while Ruby rubbed my back. ‘Yup, OK, good, let’s get it all out. Oh no, there’s more. Good. Right, do you want a tissue? Oh no. Not done yet. That’s it. Jesus, that is a lot of beer. We finished? OK, here you go.’

  Ruby handed me a Pret napkin from her bag and I wiped my mouth. Then I wondered why we were in a gale; my hair was blowing around my face with individual strands sticking to my wet lips. Ruby later told me that the smell was so vile the driver insisted on winding down all four windows, even though it was near freezing that night. Also, when we finally got home, apparently Hugo tried to give me a fireman’s lift upstairs but was too weak and had to sit down after one flight. Ruby and Mia took over: one at my feet, the other’s hands under my armpits while I burbled another round of ‘Happy Birthday’ until they swung me into bed. Still, it had been a happy birthday in the end. Much happier than I expected. Less happy for Mia, though, since her Uber rating dropped two stars as a result.

  ‘Bzzzzzzz,’ went the giant bird. ‘Bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz.’ We were in thick green undergrowth and its giant beak was about to snap off my head. ‘Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzzzz.’ I stumbled on a vine and waited to be engulfed. Oh no, this was it. Well, I’d had a good innings. Life hadn’t been bad to me. There’d been friends, family, Marmalade, a job in a bookshop. The image of Dad’s face briefly flashed before me as I felt the beak widen over my head and I felt bad that this would embarrass him in the papers: ‘Ambassador’s daughter eaten by giant bird.’ But there were worse ways to go. ‘Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz.’ I braced for the end and… Ah.

  The buzzing was the doorbell and the pain in my head was an ache so bad I wasn’t sure I could move. Could I move? I flexed my fingers under the duvet, then tried my toes. They were all right. What about my arm? Nope, shifting my arm intensified the pain in my head. It was as if my brain was trying to burst free from my scalp. Water. Painkillers. I flapped at my bedside table and knocked my water glass to the carpet. Fuck.

  Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz. The doorbell went again. Where was Mia? Where was Ruby? They were closer to the front door than me. I needed immediate medical attention. I opened the drawer of my bedside table and found a packet of Nurofen, staggered to the bathroom and lowered my mouth to the cold tap.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I stood up and swallowed the pills, then hit my head on the glass shelf attached to my mirror. Who was being such a dick this early on a Saturday morning? I reached for my dressing gown and knotted it as I went downstairs. If it was someone selling tea towels, fish or God, I would breathe on them as punishment.

  Bzzzzzzzzzz, it went yet again as I reached the hall. Jesus, the hall stank. What was that?

  My eye fell on my rucksack, lying under the coat stand, and I felt confused. I had the vague sensation that something bad had happened to that bag. Why was it down here and not upstairs in my bedroom? Where was my phone, come to think of it? But as I got closer to it, the smell intensified. I leant over it to open it and— oh Jesus no! No, no, no. Back away from the rucksack. Do not disturb the rucksack. The rucksack had turned
evil overnight.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ I said, pulling the chain off the door. ‘Zach!’

  He was standing on the doormat with a cardboard box but threw his head back and barked with laughter when he saw me.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I was looking for Florence Fairfax but I seem to have come to the house of her elderly grandmother. Do you know where I might find her?’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ I said, putting my palms to the side of my head. ‘It hurts. What are you doing?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Er, yeah but I should warn you tha—’

  ‘What is that smell?’ he said, stepping past me into the hall.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said quickly. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said, making for the kitchen. ‘I’ve brought you some croissants.’

  ‘How many croissants do we need?’ I said, glancing back at his box. ‘There must be hundreds in there.’

  ‘This does not contain anything edible,’ he said, placing the box gently down on the kitchen table.

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘Have a look,’ he said with a wide grin.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and reached for the top.

  ‘Careful,’ he said, more seriously.

  I lifted one flap, then the other and my hands flew back to my face. ‘Oh my God, Zach.’

  For in the box, no bigger than a teacup, was a ginger kitten.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I said, looking up at him.

  He shook his head, still grinning. ‘No! Unless you don’t want him?’

  I reached into the box, picked him up and fell instantly in love. It reminded me of meeting Marmalade. Opening a box to find something so tiny peering up at you must be the closest you can come to having a gunky baby slapped on your chest after childbirth. Raising my hands to my face, I looked at him and he blinked back, quite still in my palms. ‘Hi, pal,’ I whispered, before kissing the top of his very small head. He replied with a very small mewl.

  ‘Where did you get him?’

  ‘From a cat lady in Neasden whose house smelt even worse than this one. He’s been microchipped, by the way. I’ve got some paperwork in my bag.’

  I held him to my chest, unable to put him down. There was a new felt bed in the box along with assorted toys: a mouse, a pink ball and a kitten with plastic eyes which was larger than the real one in my hand.

  ‘I thought he might need a friend,’ Zach explained.

  ‘This is amazing. He is amazing. Thank you.’

  ‘Do you want me to make the coffee?’

  ‘Would you?’ The mention of coffee reminded me that I was very ill, possibly close to death. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Zach slung his rucksack on the floor and filled up the kettle. ‘What you going to call him?’

  ‘Coffee in the fridge, mugs in the cupboard next to the fridge, plunger on the side,’ I said, as he opened various doors. ‘And don’t know. What d’you reckon?’

  ‘Nothing too obvious.’

  ‘Like Tigger, or Simba.’

  ‘Or Garfield. Hmm. Harry?’

  I frowned at him, unsure who he meant.

  ‘Prince Harry, he’s a ginger.’

  ‘Harry,’ I repeated. ‘Can you have a cat called Harry? What do we think about animals with human names?’

  ‘I like it. I think it’s funny.’

  ‘Rory’s mother’s cats are called after artists.’

  Zach rolled his eyes. ‘Course they are. Posh sorts always give their animals pretentious names. I heard someone shouting “Tybalt” at their spaniel in the park once.’

  ‘Coming from the man with a Greek god on his arm?’

  ‘I could take Harry back to Neasden?’

  ‘Uh-uh, he’s mine.’ I looked down at him and felt a pang of guilt about Rory, remembering that I’d ignored his calls last night. But there wasn’t much I could do. Presumably my phone was buried in that bag, covered in sick.

  Zach put a mug down in front of me and coffee slopped over the rim. ‘Sorry. Got any kitchen roll?’

  ‘By the sink.’

  ‘Plates?’

  ‘In the cupboard next to the sink.’

  He mopped the coffee puddle and found the plates, then reached into his rucksack and produced a paper bag. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d feel like,’ he said, tearing it open, ‘so there’s croissants, one pain au chocolat, a cinnamon roll and one with raisins in it.’

  I lowered the kitten to my lap – Harry? Did Harry work? – and took a croissant.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Not just for this though,’ I said, waving the croissant at him. ‘For everything. For last night, and coming over now, and for him,’ I said, looking down at the kitten, who’d wedged himself between my thighs.

  ‘Hey, it was your birthday. And you didn’t hate it, right?’

  I shook my head. Thankfully the Nurofen was kicking in. ‘I had a good time.’

  ‘Any word from you-know-who?’

  I grimaced as I ripped my croissant in half. ‘Probably, but my phone is indisposed.’

  He frowned at me.

  ‘I was sick on it.’

  ‘You weren’t?’

  I nodded slowly. ‘In the cab on the way back. I didn’t know where else to throw up so I used my bag.’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘Florence Fairfax, usually so prim, I’m proud of you.’

  ‘I’m not prim!’

  Zach swallowed the last of his croissant.

  ‘I’m not!’ I protested. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Do you remember my first day?’

  ‘When I thought you were a burglar?’

  ‘Exactly, when you thought I was a burglar and you wanted to stab me with the Stanley knife for spilling my coffee?’

  ‘OK, I was a bit prim. But I didn’t know you!’

  ‘And you do now?’

  His frankness made me awkward, so I looked down at my lap and stroked the sleeping kitten. ‘I know you can’t be trusted with a coffee cup.’

  ‘You always do that.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, raising my eyes to his.

  ‘Make a joke when you’re uncomfortable. It’s called deflection.’

  I didn’t have time to make a joke about this because the door buzzer went again, making the kitten spring up on its paws.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  ‘Here you go,’ I said, passing him to Zach.

  As I trudged through the hall, I held my breath while passing my bag, only inhaling again once I’d opened the door.

  It was Rory, also carrying a box. Although his was bright blue and had Smythson written across it.

  ‘You’re alive!’ he replied, throwing a gloved hand in the air. ‘But good lord, are you all right? You look like a ghost. And why aren’t you answering your phone? I thought something terrible had happened.’

  Before I could answer, I heard footsteps in the hall and glanced over my shoulder to see Zach and the kitten.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ added Rory. ‘And what on earth is that smell?’

  I sighed and stepped back to open the door properly. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  He ignored my question and stalked past us both to the kitchen. I followed him, Zach after me.

  ‘I’m jolly confused,’ Rory went on, taking off his gloves and dropping them on his box, before draping his overcoat on the back of a kitchen chair. ‘I’ve been ringing and ringing you all night but no answer. What is that frightful noise?’

  He glanced at the kitchen ceiling as if there was a bat circling it.

  ‘It’s Harry.’

  ‘Another stranger! Who’s Harry?’ Rory demanded.

  ‘My new kitten,’ I said, pointing to Zach, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, cradling the mewling kitten. ‘Zach bought him for me.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’

  ‘I think I’d better get going, l
eave you guys to it,’ said Zach, quickly. He lowered Harry into his box and picked up his rucksack. ‘See you on Monday and, er, Rory, good to see you.’

  Rory didn’t reply. Instead, he looked at Zach in the same way that someone would inspect the contents of their handkerchief. I brushed past him to hug Zach. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, and eat the rest of those,’ he said, nodding at the bag of pastries. ‘You’ll feel better.’

  I waited until the front door had closed and turned back to Rory.

  ‘Florence, what is going on? I race back from Berlin and you don’t answer your phone, and then I arrive this morning to find your house has become a menagerie.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A kitten and a Neanderthal ape in the kitchen!’

  I sighed and sat down. This morning was proving much more eventful than I’d anticipated.

  ‘He’s not an ape. He’s my colleague. Last night he organized an impromptu birthday party for me and this morning he bought me Harry,’ I said, reaching back into the box and picking him up.

  Rory scowled with indignation. ‘Sounds like he’s got a crush on you.’

  ‘He’s just being nice.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, before crouching down in front of me. ‘Because, darling, I realized something last night when I couldn’t get hold of you, when I was having visions of you lying dead in a ditch.’

  ‘Lying in a ditch? Rory, I live in south London. Where are the ditches?’

  ‘Never mind the ditches. Listen. What I want to tell you is that I’m in love with you. I love you. That’s what I realized on the plane last night. That’s why I was so desperate to get home.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rory’s face remained inches from mine. He looked expectant.

  ‘What’s in the box?’ I said, changing the subject. I needed to buy time.

  He stood to slide it off the table and held it out.

  ‘Can you take Harry?’

  Rory frowned down at his navy trousers. ‘What if he has an accident? These are a new pair.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  As if handling a grenade, Rory took him and I pulled the box on to my lap and untied the ribbon. Under the lid, under a layer of tissue paper, was a black, crocodile-embossed handbag.