by Holly Martin
‘I can make mince pies, jars of mincemeat, ready-made roll-out pastry, job done, or buy a box of six Mr Kiplings. Nobody can beat Mr Kipling.’
‘We’re making the mince pies from scratch,’ Libby whispered back just as they got shushed from a couple right in front of them.
George opened his mouth to speak and she clamped her hand over his mouth.
‘So you can use as much or as little of the ingredients in front of you as you like to make the mincemeat,’ Linda said. ‘There are suggestions on the laminated sheets on your tables but really these are your mince pies so just throw whatever you like into the saucepan and then heat it for about ten minutes or until the ingredients start to bind and become sticky.’
There were some murmurs about the various methods and ingredients the different tables were going to use and Libby released George’s mouth.
‘So off you go … and for our latecomers,’ Linda flashed her and George a smile, ‘perhaps you should go and wash your hands first.’
Libby blushed as everyone turned round to look at them, some of the people of the town shaking their heads with disapproval. They quickly moved off to the bathrooms to wash their hands and when they got back people were already throwing ingredients into their saucepans with gay abandon.
‘What shall we put in then, George?’ Libby asked, rolling up her sleeves.
George looked seriously at all the ingredients in little glass bowls that filled their table. ‘Well, currants, sultanas, they’re a must surely.’ He grabbed the two bowls and tipped them into the saucepan.
‘Brandy?’ Libby offered the small jug.
George took it from her and poured no more than a teaspoon into the saucepan. She laughed and, taking the jug back off him, poured the rest into the pan.
George laughed. ‘Should we just pour everything in then, see how it turns out?’
Libby nodded and they grabbed the chopped apples, the orange zest, the sugar, the apple juice, the cinnamon and the cloves and poured every last ingredient into the saucepan, giggling like school kids. They put the saucepan onto the little camping hob that sat in the middle of their table, turned the temperature up high and leaned over to stare at the ingredients – like the witches in Macbeth standing around their cauldron, Libby thought.
Linda, moving between the tables, arrived at theirs. ‘Oh, you’re on to the cooking part already. Which ingredients did you choose – did you go more apple based or more orange based?’
Libby looked at George guiltily; were they supposed to choose one or the other? Linda followed their eyes to the empty bowls on the table. ‘You used everything?’
George nodded reluctantly.
‘Even all the cloves? You’re only supposed to use half a teaspoonful,’ Linda said, in shock.
‘We like it strong,’ Libby said, trying not to laugh. Their pies were going to taste disgusting. Already the potent smell of cloves was drifting from their saucepan.
Linda laughed. ‘Well, remind me not to taste your mincemeat when it’s finished. Keep stirring it so it doesn’t stick to the pan and you could make a start on making the pastry. The recipe is on the tray with the ingredients.’
Linda walked away as the smell of cloves got stronger, making them cough.
‘Shall we try to be a bit more exact with the pastry?’ George suggested.
Libby shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
They measured the dry ingredients carefully and then added the butter.
‘So we just shove our fingers in and rub the butter into the flour and sugar?’ George asked, looking at the butter with some distaste.
‘Yep, come on, it’s fun.’
Libby started massaging the butter between her fingers and George followed suit, the look of disgust very evident on his face.
She laughed at him. ‘It’s only your hands, you can wash them afterwards, it’s not like it’s your face.’
Libby quickly dragged her fingers down his face, leaving buttery smears across his cheeks. He stared at her in horror. With his fingers in the bowl, he flicked his hands up at her, coating her in a snowstorm of flour.
Other couples nearby looked at them with disapproval as Libby shrieked and laughed.
‘You’re such a child, George Donaldson. Wait till I tell your mum.’
George laughed, not ashamed of his behaviour for one second.
Libby put her hands back in the bowl with George, eyeing him warily just in case he tried anything else for revenge, her fingers brushing up against his for a second, causing his eyes to snap up to hers.
‘You know our pie is going to taste like shit,’ George said.
‘I know but at least it’ll be added to the many memories that we’ll never forget.’
George looked at her. ‘We make a good team, don’t we?’
She smiled, feeling her heart fill for him. ‘Yeah, we do.’
She watched him as he rubbed the pastry together, a huge lump forming in her throat. She didn’t recognise the pain in her chest but she was pretty sure she was falling for him.
* * *
The noise of the pub below Amy had gone silent an hour or so before and after a while Seb had been up to see her, to make sure she didn’t need anything before he went to bed. She refrained from saying she needed him. But she was still awake now, looking out the skylight at the clear sky peppered with thousands of stars. Judging by the size of the single bed she saw earlier, she bet he was awake too. It was weird being in such close proximity to him and yet still being so far away. How could he kiss her and then still not do anything? She understood about Judith – she had picked up the pieces for him after Marie had died and then he had done the same for her when she fell apart. They were close, Amy got that, and she didn’t want to hurt Judith either. She understood the pain of his grief too. Her own dad had died ten years before and it had been utterly heartbreaking, but that’s why they should enjoy the time they had with each other while they could. To deny each other when they loved each other so much didn’t make sense. Real love didn’t come round very often, and when it did, and when you were lucky enough to have it reciprocated, you should grab it with both hands, not run in the other direction.
She stood slowly, stepped over Jack, who was snoring loudly at the foot of the bed, and carefully walked over to the window. She stared out on the view for a moment and opened the window so she could hear the sound of the sea. Sitting on the windowsill, she stuck her head out, feeling the damp, salty air on her cheeks.
‘You better not be smoking, Amy Chadwick, my pub is a non-smoking establishment,’ said a rough voice in the darkness.
She leaned back in, smiling, and looked around, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom again. ‘Did you not knock? I could have been naked.’
‘I did knock, you must not have heard me.’ His tall frame appeared from the shadows. ‘And a part of me was kind of hoping you were naked.’
She swung her legs off the windowsill and stood, wincing when it hurt to do so. His arm was suddenly around her waist, supporting her, and she leant into him. ‘And what would you have done if I was naked?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know, I’d hope I’d have the strength not to do anything.’
She leaned her head against his chest. ‘How long do you think we can do this for? This thing between us isn’t going to go away.’
‘I know, but…’
‘What did you come in here for?’
‘I couldn’t sleep, I’m not sure if it was the hardness of the bed or the fact that you’re sleeping just ten metres away from me, or…’ he sighed. ‘Amy, nearly losing you today scared the crap out of me. And I don’t think my heart has stopped pounding since. I’d quite like to hold you for a while.’
‘You just want to sleep in your own bed, holding me is just an excuse.’
He pulled away and got into bed, lying exactly where she had been lying moments before. ‘I get the best of both worlds – my nice comfy bed and a beautiful woman in my arms.’
She bit her lip, while she watched him. Was he deliberately trying to torture her? She could lie in bed with him, hug him but not make love to him.
‘Will you get over here, woman?’
She sighed then slid into the tiny gap he’d left by his side. With a bit of careful rearranging, she lay down with her head on his chest, and he wrapped one arm round her back, the other in her hair, stroking her. And although she thought she would never get to sleep, finally being wrapped in the arms of the man she loved, a few minutes later she was snoring softly.
Chapter Twelve
Amy was standing in the bathroom, trying to remove her nightie. But she had woken that morning feeling so much more stiff and sore than she had been the day before, and she couldn’t now lift her arms to get the nightie over her head.
It was early and she’d left Seb asleep in bed. She needed a bath – hopefully that would ease some of the aches and pains.
It had been weird waking up in his arms this morning, lying on top of him as if they had shared a night of passion. It had been almost painful, being so close, but not being allowed to do anything. That had been another reason for her getting up so early; he certainly had more strength of mind than she did. She couldn’t lie in bed with him and not touch him.
She whimpered as she tried again, her arms were so stiff, so painful.
Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and Seb was standing there, looking at her in confusion.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying to get my nightie off, but my arms are so sore I can’t do it.’
He swallowed then moved into the bathroom. ‘Let me help you.’
‘I…’ she started but he had already pulled the material at her hips and was very gently and carefully sliding the nightie over her head. The nightie slithered out of his fingers to the floor and she was standing there naked before him. He was so close to her, she could feel his heat, his breathing was strangled, his lips so close to hers they were practically touching. She closed the gap and kissed him. For a second, maybe two, his lips responded, he kissed her back. But just as soon as it started, he pulled away and walked out of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.
* * *
Libby’s fingers were moving so quickly across the keyboard, she was surprised steam wasn’t coming from them.
After her lovely date with George the night before, the silliness at the bakery and the wonderful moonlit walk along Silver Cove beach afterwards, she’d had trouble sleeping, her thoughts awash with him. So she had got up, switched on her laptop and started writing, eventually crawling into bed at three in the morning.
Now she had been up and writing for hours, even waking up before Alex and Rosie’s bed squeaking started, and her back was starting to ache.
She stood up and stretched, just as George walked in.
‘Morning.’ She smiled at him.
‘Hey. I have a proposition for you – a contract if you will,’ he said seriously, though his eyes twinkled with mischief as he waved a formal-looking document at her.
‘Do I need my agent to look at this? Normally she has to go through any contracts with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘I don’t think we need to involve outside parties, not yet anyway.’
‘Well, let me make some tea and we can discuss it formally over the boardroom table.’
George nodded to accept these conditions and when she returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, he was already sitting at the dining table with the contract.
She passed him his mug and sat opposite him.
‘In the interest of our dating competition, I’ve taken the time to draw up a checklist of rules for the perfect second date. You get a point for each one of the rules that’s included.’
‘Hang on, these are your criteria for a perfect second date, what about mine?’ she asked.
‘OK, you can look at my list. If there’s anything you want to add or change we can discuss terms.’
She looked at the list:
1. Gift – Normally in the form of flowers given at the beginning of the date but can also be in the form of Mars Bars or other such confectionery items.
2. Food – This could be in the form of something cooked or prepared by one of the participants or the purchasing of food from an establishment such as a restaurant or pub.
3. Chat – There should be time in the date for at least thirty minutes of talking time. This is not the time to find out about your partner’s first pet, or their deepest darkest secret, this is merely enough time for the participants to feel comfortable with idle chat. Maximum one hour of talking.
4. The special element – Under no circumstances should the date involve going to the cinema, bowling or the pub unless pub falls under category two, see above. If pub is chosen for food it should form a small part of the date and not be the whole date. The special element must be something different that the participants in the date have not done before.
5. Fun – Both participants in the date must have fun for this category to be ticked. Fun is described as something that is enjoyable and amusing. For this reason both participants must be seen to be smiling for a minimum of ten percent of the date. If the date lasts for four hours then smiling time must be at least twenty-four minutes. Both participants do not need to be smiling at the same time.
6. Romantic gestures – This can be in the form of hand-holding, a hug, kiss, or arm round the shoulders. Can also include holding the door open for the date. Minimum of two such gestures.
7. Romantic moments – This can be in the form of a sunset or an amazing view. Generally considered to be a moment that takes your breath away. Minimum one moment.
8. Additional features – The moments that are not planned but happen as a circumstance of the day. These moments are measured by those times the participants’ hearts raced. For example, a smile that sends the heart aflutter, an accidental touch that sends goosebumps up the participant’s arm. The moment when you look into your partner’s eyes and realise this is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. Minimum one feature.
9. Nudity – Full or partial nudity is acceptable here.
10. Dirty sex – This can take the form of sex on a table, in a shower, on the sofa, on the floor, in the car or outdoors. Ripping clothes off is a prerequisite so you may wish to wear old clothes that you don’t mind getting torn.
She laughed, loudly. ‘This is quite a comprehensive list.’
He nodded, a smile twitching on his lips. ‘Well, I wanted to make clear the expectations.’
‘You’ve certainly done that.’ She studied the list again. ‘I like the chat part, that there should only be a maximum of one hour. We don’t want any awkward silences.’ She read on. ‘How can sex be dirty in a shower?’
‘I don’t know, it just sounded like somewhere dirty sex would take place.’
‘So I can only get ten out of ten for my date last night if I slept with you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well then you’re only going to get a maximum of nine for your date as well.’
‘You don’t know that. You haven’t experienced the date yet; you might be so bowled over by my date tonight that you jump straight into bed with me at the end. You never know, Lib, it might just be one of those moments, those go-with-the-flow moments.’
‘OK, I won’t rule it out.’
‘Good, that’s all that I’m saying, keep an open mind.’
‘So how much would my date last night get? I did buy you that Mars Bar when we stopped at the newsagents on the way.’
‘I know, that’s why it’s on the list.’ George took the list back and quickly did a mental calculation. ‘No nudity and no sex, but you got everything else.’
Libby smiled as she thought about the ‘Additional features’ rule. Had she done something that caused his heart to flutter? The hug on the beach – had that meant as much to him as it had to her?
‘And how much would the island date get?
’
‘Well, despite me throwing up all of my intestines, and us nearly being killed in the storm, it was still one of the best dates I’ve ever had. And we had the nudity at the end so nine, although we did agree your island date didn’t count as our second date. So I’ll have to mark you tonight for your official second date.’
‘How long are we going to keep these practice dates going?’ George asked and Libby’s heart dropped.
‘Are you not enjoying them? We can stop if you want.’
George looked alarmed. ‘No, of course I’m enjoying them. It’s been brilliant so far. I just wondered how far we would take it, whether we would be practising marriage and babies next year.’
Libby laughed. ‘How about Christmas Eve, that could be our finale. We have the Christmas Eve ball and there can’t be anything more romantic than that. After that, the day after Christmas, you march straight round to Giselle and ask her out. You’re very good at this dating thing, I don’t know why you’re so scared of asking Giselle out, she’d be very lucky to have you.’
‘You’re very sweet, Lib, but it’s different with you. If I was with Giselle, I’d be second guessing my every move. Shall I hold her hand now, what if my hand is sweaty, shall I put my arm round her, shall we have fish and chips for lunch or would she prefer to go somewhere more classy, would she prefer to go somewhere that serves salad, why is she looking at her watch, is she bored, what is she thinking, what shall I say, do I smell OK, does my breath stink, shall I kiss her, what if the kiss isn’t very good, if I kiss her where do I put my hands, do I use tongue or not, how long should I kiss for. With you it just sort of works, I don’t second guess anything. I wouldn’t be this relaxed with Giselle; I’d be a sweaty mess. That’s what I’m afraid of.’
‘You really think all that stuff?’
He nodded.
Her heart went out to him. ‘You’re overthinking it, George, you just do what you want to do. If she doesn’t like it then she’ll let you know one way or another, but at least she will be going out with the real you, not the man you are pretending to be. If you don’t hold her hand or kiss her because you’re scared of the reaction, then she might go home thinking that you’re not very affectionate, that you obviously didn’t like her. Just be yourself.’