Following him to the kitchen door, I stand and watch as Jim emerges into the fray and bellows out a hearty, ‘HO-HO-HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!’
He’s really very good. Then I realise I should top up my tray again and make sure that everyone’s drinks are replenished. Having done that I hurry back out. In my haste, I bump straight into a man who’s just turning to walk in my direction. I try to pull up to a sharp halt but it’s too late. My tray collides with his chest and, of course, it’s a glass that’s bearing mulled wine and not champagne that topples over and tips onto his crisp, white shirt.
‘Oh God!’ I say. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’ The dark-red stain is spreading across his stomach, making him look as if he’s been stabbed somewhere vital.
‘No harm done,’ he says magnanimously. ‘Well, just to my shirt.’
We both look down at the mess. ‘Come into the kitchen, quickly,’ I beg. ‘If I don’t sponge that off now, it will stain. You’ll never get it out once it dries.’
‘It really doesn’t matter,’ he says. ‘I was just leaving.’ Perhaps he can see the tears forming in my eyes, as he touches my arm and adds kindly, ‘Really. It’s not a problem. It’s just an old thing that I threw on.’
I know that he’s trying to make light of it, but the very last thing you want is to tip a drink over an important guest. ‘Two seconds,’ I beg. ‘It will take me two seconds to sponge it off. It would make me feel much better.’
He laughs and concedes, ‘Let’s do it, then.’
Together we turn towards the kitchen. I ditch my tray at the first opportunity and, grabbing a clean J-cloth, I run it under the cold tap and get to work, dabbing at the stain while my victim stands patiently and lets me.
After a few seconds, I step back and appraise my efforts. ‘It’s not gone completely,’ I confess, ‘but it’s a lot better. Please let me pay for your shirt to be cleaned.’
‘There’s really no need,’ he says. ‘You’ve been kind enough. Thank you.’
At that, operation clean-up finished, I look up at him properly for the first time. This poor, unfortunate man with wine spilled all down his front is, as it turns out, very handsome. I should think he’s a bit older than me – in his early forties perhaps – but he looks as if he’s had a life of ease. He’s tall, very slim, with an elegant bearing. His hair is brown, glossy, his eyes the same rich shade of brown. Curls that could easily be wayward are groomed within an inch of their lives. His tanned skin suggests a surfeit of sunny holidays. Dashing would be the word I’d use to sum him up. Teamed with the white shirt – albeit now stained – he wears a black linen jacket and jeans. An outfit that looks beautifully tailored and expensive. Now I feel even worse about my clumsiness.
‘Janet said that your company has set up this event,’ he says.
‘Yes. It’s a new venture for me. I’ll organise anything festive. Can I give you a card?’
‘I’m afraid that I’m not much looking forward to Christmas this year,’ he confesses.
‘Perhaps I can change that?’ I suggest, then realise it sounds far too much like flirting and flush.
He laughs. ‘Perhaps you could.’
I fumble for a card and hand it to him. He glances over it. ‘Calling Mrs Christmas!’ A chuckle. ‘Great idea.’
‘That’s me.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Cassie Smith.’
He takes it in fingers that are strong, confident. He’s clearly a man who shakes hands on a regular basis. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Carter Randall.’ I seem to know that name but can’t for the life of me think why. ‘Business good?’ he asks as I’m busy racking my brains.
‘I’m off to a promising start.’
‘You should come along to our Hemel Hempstead Means Business get-togethers. It’s only once a month and it’s very useful networking. They’d be great for contacts.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘What sort of Christmas would you put together for me?’ There’s a smile sparkling in those dark-brown eyes.
‘I can do anything from writing a few Christmas cards to choosing a gift for someone special.’
‘Ah,’ he says, sadly. ‘Probably won’t be needing that particular service this year.’
‘I can also organise your whole Christmas – top to bottom – if that’s what you’d like.’
‘That definitely sounds more appealing.’
‘Call me if you need any advice.’
He smiles at me and then looks at my card again. ‘I might just do that.’
‘If you’d excuse me, I’d better get back to the guests.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He checks his watch. ‘I must go too.’
‘It’s been nice meeting you, Mr Randall. Thank you very much for being so understanding.’
‘Carter, please,’ he says. ‘I hope we meet again.’ Then he looks at me steadily and I go all funny. Hot, cold, shivery and weird. ‘I’ll definitely ring you, Cassie Christmas,’ he says. ‘You can count on it.’
And with that he pockets my card and leaves.
Chapter Fifteen
All the guests have gone. The lights from the Christmas tree are still on and although the room is empty, it still looks very festive. Turning the music down so that it’s soft background noise, I sweep the last of the debris from the floor and lean on my broom. I’m exhausted.
‘Glass of fizz for us all,’ Gaby says and holds up three flutes. ‘I think we’ve earned it.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Jim says and collapses into the nearest chair. Gaby gives him a glass.
I put aside my broom and go to sit on his lap. ‘Thanks,’ I say. I’m handed a glass too and we all clink them together. ‘Couldn’t have done it without either of you.’
‘It was a great success, Cassie,’ my sis says. ‘You should be proud of yourself.’
‘I am,’ I admit.
There’s nothing quite so strengthening for the self-confidence as doing a hard day’s graft and I’m grateful to be back in the world of work again. Even though I’ve been on the go since first thing this morning and my feet are killing me! It’s all for the greater good.
Gaby knocks back her fizz. ‘Better get a wriggle on. Ryan will be wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘You go home,’ I say.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?’
‘We’ll finish up here. Don’t you worry. I’m going to have one of your mince pies before I do anything else. They were a big hit. I hid two in the kitchen before they all went.’
‘I took a few decent-sized orders for office parties.’ Gaby glows. ‘I’ll give you the details tomorrow.’
‘Well done, you.’
I’m so glad that this is working out for Gaby too and that we’re able to do something as sisters. It feels nice.
‘Love you,’ Gaby says as she kisses me and then Jim.
‘Love you too,’ I say. And off she goes.
When we’re alone and all is quiet, Jim lets out a sigh and pulls me close to him. Because we were so busy serving drinks, he didn’t even have time to change back into his waiter’s outfit and he’s still dressed up as Santa. I prod him playfully in his pillowy stomach. He runs his hand up my thigh, under my skirt. His fingers are hot, familiar, and I get a sudden urge to make love to him.
‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘This feels slightly sexy in a pervy way. I’ve never shagged Santa.’
‘Hmm,’ Jim echoes. ‘I’ve never shagged one of my little helpers.’
Buoyed by the gulped champagne, I giggle. ‘Shall I lock the door?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Jim says.
So I jump off his lap and run to the door, making sure it’s securely locked. The last thing I want is Janet from Hemel Hempstead Means Business turning up here again at an inopportune moment. Not after everything has gone so well.
‘Let me take this off.’ Jim tugs at his beard when I get back to him.
‘I think you should leave it on,’ I say.
‘Really? And the pillow?’
; ‘Come to mama, big boy.’
Jim laughs and it’s the first time that I’ve seen his face relax all evening. This is a good idea. I take his beard in my hand and lead him towards the Christmas tree. We lie down together on the carpet beneath it and I wriggle out of my skirt. I tug at Santa’s big belt and put my hand down his trousers, feeling very slutty.
Jim laughs. ‘I can’t take this seriously.’
I giggle as I straddle him and bounce heartily on his pillow, making him double up with laughter. Then I pull off his beard and hat, fumbling with the buttons on his costume as he pulls at the ones on my blouse. We’re not laughing now and are both filled with lust. I don’t know if being unemployed is a passion killer but I haven’t really felt like sex in months. Not properly. I’ve gone through the motions for Jim’s sake, but my heart, my body hasn’t really been in it. But now I’m mad for him. It seems that hard work and the adrenaline buzz of success have got all my juices flowing again.
Soon, our clothing is in total disarray and we’re naked in each other’s arms. With a relieved sigh, Jim eases into my body and we hold each other, not moving. The Christmas lights twinkle.
‘I love you,’ Jim says, above me.
‘I love you too.’
Then we make love, silently, softly with the sounds of Slade and ‘Here it is, Merry Christmas’ filling the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Jim climbed over the pile of presents that occupied most of the living room. You could hardly move for them. Even the sofas were stacked high. Somewhere underneath them were his trainers. But where? Cassie caught his look. ‘It’s not a problem,’ he said, holding up his hands.
‘They’ll be gone by the time you’re home tonight,’ she promised. ‘I have to get them out today.’
‘Really, don’t worry. It’s a minor inconvenience that our home has been turned into Santa’s distribution depot. You’re loving it and it’s certainly bringing in the dosh.’
Since the night at the Hemel Hempstead Means Business party, the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. Cassie had been booked to organise three more Christmas events for small companies and one home party. Plus there were a dozen bookings for tree dressing, present buying and wrapping, and goodness knows what else. Her sister’s oven was probably busier than Mr Kipling’s, given the rate at which she was churning out mince pies.
‘If it carries on like this, we could probably do with an extra pair of hands – or even two. I might have to see if the Job Centre can send me a couple of casual workers to do some gift wrapping.’
She could be right. Even with all hands to the pump, they were struggling to keep up. From the minute he came home from work to the minute he fell into bed, Jim was doing nothing but writing Christmas cards, wrapping presents and scouring the internet for stuff that Cassie needed. Still it was only for a short period of time. Come January, their lives would be back to normal again. Except that they’d have a few very welcome extra pounds in the bank.
Cassie wound her arms round his neck, then got distracted and straightened his collar. ‘You’re going to work early.’
He wasn’t on shift until two o’clock and it wasn’t yet noon. ‘I’ve got something to do.’
‘Anything I should know about?’
‘Two of the lads at the unit are due to leave soon. I’m going to have a word with a charity I know that helps offenders to rehabilitate.’
‘It’s not like you to get so involved.’
‘I know.’ Jim shrugged. ‘I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for these two. They’re not bad lads. Not really. They’ve just been unfortunate.’
‘I’m sure someone must have said that about the Kray twins.’
Jim laughed. ‘You’re probably right. But I feel that if I can do something to smooth their way on release, then I should do it. Some kids you know you’re going to see back in the unit whatever you do or whatever anyone else does for them. I think it might be different with these two. They just need a bit of luck.’
‘Smudge and Rozzer again?’
‘They’re a cut above your average young criminal,’ Jim said with a smile. ‘Smudge’s real name is Kieran Holman – he’s the most vulnerable. He’s actually more scared of getting out than he is of being in the unit. I’m worried about him. When he was first arrested he was living rough in a wheelie bin.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘Yeah,’ Jim agreed. ‘How the other half live. The other’s called Andrew Walton. He’s got it rough in a different way. He’s a copper’s son who’s been disowned by his family.’
‘Tough love?’
‘Something like that. I don’t know the details. But it’s going to be even tougher for him out there alone. He’s from a fairly middle-class background and just got in with the wrong crowd. He won’t know what’s hit him when he gets out.’
‘You don’t think his parents will relent?’
‘Who knows?’ Jim said with a shrug. ‘It’s not looking likely at the moment. They haven’t been to see him once all the time he’s been in the unit.’
‘You don’t normally talk much about your prisoners.’
Cassie was right. It was his policy to keep everything that happened at work to himself. Sometimes it was better that what happened in Bovingdale stayed in Bovingdale. Leaving his day behind those imposing walls made it easier to feel cleaner when he got home. Literally, if he’d spent a day scrubbing down after a dirty protest. ‘I scrubbed some little oik’s shit off the walls today, love.’ What wife or girlfriend wanted to hear about that kind of thing over the dinner table? There weren’t many aspects of his job that made great social chit-chat at parties.
‘They’ll be gone soon,’ Jim said. ‘And the next lot of scallies will be in their place.’
‘What can this charity do for them?’
‘I hope that they’ll be able to find some way of keeping them together. They’ve become quite close and, to be honest, they could do with leaning on each other for support.’
‘The prisoners get help when they come out, don’t they?’
‘Yes, but it’s of variable quality and frequency. The government cuts are hitting hard. Their main priority won’t be the lads’ relationship. With the best will in the world, social services just want to tick some boxes. I know these lads and I’m worried that either one of them could go to pieces without the other. If they can stay together, I really believe that they’ve got a good chance of turning their lives around.’
‘Good luck with that then.’
‘Thanks.’ Jim eyed the pile of presents and nodded towards them. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘I’ve been thinking, Jim,’ she said. ‘With all that’s going on, shall we not bother with Christmas presents for each other this year?’
‘It’s up to you, love. Wouldn’t you like something special after all this hard work?’
‘Maybe we could treat ourselves in the new year when it’s all died down. Just something small. We’ve got a lot of debts racked up. We’ll have a better picture of where we are when I know what I’ve actually earned from all this, see if we’ve got any cash to spare.’
He shrugged. ‘Sounds sensible.’
‘We could just have a romantic dinner at home one night and exchange cards. That would be nice, don’t you think?’
‘Yeah. If you’re sure that’s what you want.’
‘I don’t want to put either of us under any more pressure than we have to.’
‘At least I’ll be able to write my card prettily now,’ he teased.
‘I think your calligraphy is better than mine,’ she conceded. ‘Marginally.’
‘I’ll see you later,’ Jim said and he kissed her before he picked a careful path to the door.
The charity Starting Over was housed in one of the less salubrious parts of Hemel Hempstead. Though, in truth, none of it was really awful – not compared to some of the sink estates in London where some of the lads came from.
Starting Over ran six flats. Most of them were
single units with just two for a pair sharing. If Jim could get Smudge and Rozzer into one of the shared places, he’d consider that a result. The building was less than inspiring to look at. It was a two-storey, flat-topped box covered in grey pebble-dash, but Jim knew from past experience that the flats were well maintained. They might not be up there alongside the Ritz, but neither were they damp, rat-infested holes run by sleazy landlords who charged rip-off rents for those who couldn’t provide good references or credit checks.
Jim rang the bell. The manager of the block, Vincent Benlow, was a big, black guy the size of a small block of flats himself. He and Jim had been at school together, in the same class. Once upon a time, before life got in the way, they had played five-a-side footy together. They occasionally bumped into each other in the pub in Leverstock Green, which they still called the White Horse although it was now called something else.
Calling Mrs Christmas Page 9