The Christmas Stocking and Other Stories

by Katie Fforde

  ‘So think how much easier it would be if no one knew what you looked like.’

  She frowned. ‘Well, no one does know what I look like.’

  ‘More to the point, no one knows what my girlfriend looks like.’

  Jo gave Matthew a smile that should have told him she had no idea what he was talking about, and would he please leave her alone to get on with her work. In fact she did have an inkling – and no intention of going along with his idea. But she didn’t want to offend him. He was Caroline’s guest, after all.

  He either didn’t read or chose to ignore the signal. ‘You could pretend to be my girlfriend.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Really? Why would I want to do that?’

  His attempt to look pathetic made her smile. ‘To help me out? Stop my mother’s celebrity cougar friend pouncing on me?’

  ‘Look, I am sympathetic. I realise how awkward it must be for you, but you’re asking the impossible.’

  ‘No! Don’t you see? This will make things easier for you. You could be a very helpful sort of girlfriend, who rushes out to help, which means that she – you – will be able to bring things in, take things out, without having to dress up as Andi.’

  ‘No. I’d have to dress up as Seraphina, or whatever your girlfriend is called.’

  ‘Lulu. She’s called Lulu, but as Caroline won’t remember that, you can call yourself anything you like.’

  ‘There is no name I like! I’m not doing it. And if you don’t go away and stop making ridiculous suggestions, I’ll make you de-vein langoustines.’

  ‘Perfectly happy to do that.’

  To her surprise, he took off his suit jacket and found a tea towel that was hanging from the range cooker and tucked it round his waist. He helped himself to a knife from the knife-block and was soon slicing and de-veining at an impressive rate.

  ‘You’re good at that,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Misspent youth in Oz.’

  ‘Not that misspent. You’ve learnt a skill and you’re still quite young, so lots of time to learn more.’ She didn’t look at him while she said this. She didn’t want him to see that she was sending him up a little.

  ‘Still quite young, but quite old enough to have a girlfriend.’

  ‘Don’t worry – you’ll get one! You could go on Tinder, or a dating website. You’ll have your pick.’

  ‘Really?’ He seemed amused at something; perhaps it was her confidence in his ability to get another girlfriend.

  She nodded. ‘You’re posh and quite nice-looking.’

  ‘But obviously not posh enough or nice-looking enough for you!’

  She giggled. ‘You’re certainly posh enough.’

  ‘So, too ugly?’

  She met his gaze and saw that he was laughing, too. ‘Not too ugly, no. But I’m busy. I can’t be your girlfriend and cook Christmas dinner.’

  ‘But don’t you see? It would be easier. As my helpful girlfriend, you can appear as you far more often. Think about it?’

  She gathered up the non-edible remains of the langoustines and did think about it. ‘I sort of see what you mean,’ she said. She remembered Andi saying she wouldn’t need to serve that much; and having one of the guests onside would definitely make things easier. ‘But why would your girlfriend turn up for Christmas in chef’s whites?’ She was teasing him, but she wasn’t sure he realised.

  ‘She wouldn’t. She’d be wearing the hideously expensive cashmere cardigan with matching camisole that I gave her. And that I happen to have here, gift-wrapped at vast extra expense.’

  She was coming round to his way of thinking, but she didn’t want Matthew to know that just yet.

  ‘You could keep the presents – all of them. There’s even a nice little blue bag from Tiffany’s.’

  ‘You must think I’m very mercenary,’ she said, wondering if she could sell the contents of the blue bag, and how much would it raise for the charity.

  ‘Actually I don’t think you’re mercenary at all, otherwise you’d just say yes to the presents and put them on.’

  She laughed. ‘It won’t work.’

  ‘It will, if you give it a go. So, what can I offer you that would make it worthwhile?’

  ‘I thought the expensive presents were supposed to be enough? If I’m not mercenary?’

  ‘They’re not enough. If you did this for me, I’d like you to have something you really want, and not just money.’

  ‘I do want money! Well, my favourite charity always does.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Only if you help with the sprouts. Andi didn’t get time to do them and there’s a sackful.’

  While they both peeled sprouts, Jo told Matthew about the charity: how it rescued bitches and puppies from puppy farms, and how sometimes the dogs were so unfamiliar with human company that they needed someone to just sit in the kennel with them, reading, so they could get used to being with a person.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Matthew. ‘What you really need then is a big event – like a ball or a fun day or something – with a big celebrity to host it.’

  ‘That sounds good. Can you arrange that then?’ She was openly teasing him now.

  He smiled. ‘I could, if I had time, but I haven’t. What I can do for you is supply a really good celebrity, though.’

  ‘Really?’ This was quite interesting. ‘Who?’

  ‘Euan Donavan,’ he said calmly.

  Jo wasn’t much into celebrities. She hardly ever recognised anyone when they turned up on TV programmes, even when they were apparently universally famous. But she had heard of Euan Donavan – actor, film star and more recently singer-songwriter. Briefly she considered pretending not to be impressed, but gave it up. ‘You could get him? How?’

  ‘We were at school together and have been mates ever since.’

  ‘Yes, but – surely you couldn’t get him to commit to doing some charity event?’

  ‘I could actually. And with someone like him, at the right event, you could raise a hundred grand.’

  Jo went hot and cold and didn’t know if she should take Matthew seriously or not. ‘You must have some amazing dirt on him!’ she said, sweeping sprout peelings into the compost bin.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Matthew. ‘But, apart from that, I think he’d really relate to your charity. He is a big animal-lover.’

  Jo nodded. ‘That’s probably why I’ve heard of him. I’ve never usually heard of anyone.’ A thought struck her. ‘You do look a bit familiar. You’re not famous, are you? Not in Made in Chelsea or anything?’

  He seemed to find this hilarious. ‘No!’

  ‘And you’d really do this for me? For my charity?’

  ‘Yup. If you pretend to be my girlfriend.’

  She studied him. He seemed to be completely genuine. His gaze was honest and straightforward and, if he did let her down, she’d still have the Christmas presents. She could sell or raffle them to raise money. There’d be something for the charity in it, even if not the main prize.

  ‘There’s one thing – well, a couple of things really. Suppose it all fails? That Caroline discovers I’m not Andi? And not your girlfriend?’

  ‘If she discovers you’re not Andi, I’ll do my best to get Caroline not to sack her. But as for you not being my girlfriend – well, why can’t you just be my girlfriend? I’m single; you’re single. I’ll take you out for dinner next week.’

  Jo laughed; it was funny, and she was looking forward to telling Andi about it. ‘Because I do not look like someone who’d be your girlfriend.’

  ‘And what do you think she’d look like?’

  ‘Well … groomed, made-up, sophisticated and not wearing chef’s whites – and clogs.’ She laughed even more. It was so ridiculous.

  They both looked down at what she was wearing on her feet: chef’s clogs, brilliant for standing in all day, but not so good for masquerading as an It Girl.

  ‘Ah,’ said Matthew, ‘bit of a problem. I did buy my ex the cashmere
and jewellery, but she would have worn her own shoes.’

  Jo suddenly felt very depressed. ‘Oh no! I wasn’t really looking forward to doing it, but the thought of having Euan Donavan, and the money we could have raised—’ She also felt that if she had masqueraded as Matthew’s girlfriend and was discovered also to be pretending to be Andi, he could (and would) have convinced Caroline it wasn’t a sacking offence, provided the food was good, and as ordered. It would have been nice to have that bit of job security for Andi.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t despair. I’ll think of something.’

  ‘Matthew, no one – let alone Caroline – is going to believe I’m your girlfriend, even if I did have the right shoes. I’m just not your type.’

  ‘How do you know? I think you could be exactly my type. Nice-looking girl, great haircut, animal-lover, I assume a non-smoker – perfect!’

  ‘Sweet of you to say that, but let’s face it, no one will be convinced.’

  ‘Of course they will. I’ll sort the shoe thing.’ He frowned for a second. ‘I know, I’ll tell Caroline that a heel came off one of your shoes, and can she lend you a pair. That should be OK.’

  ‘Ooh. It rather depends on me and Caroline having the same-size feet. Give or take.’

  ‘Your feet look quite small,’ he said, ‘as far as I can tell in those clodhoppers, so it should be fine. And if Caroline has smaller feet – well, she’ll have to lend you some slippers or something. Don’t worry.’

  But Jo was now convinced the plan would fail. She was disappointed. It wasn’t just the money for the charity that she regretted, she realised, but the fact that pretending to be Matthew’s girlfriend would have made it easier to pretend she was Caroline’s cook, and now that seemed difficult. Being a girlfriend would also make it more fun.

  ‘I’ll leave it a bit longer, then I’ll arrive officially,’ said Matthew. ‘Caroline’s not expecting me until after eleven, but she won’t mind or be surprised if I’m a bit earlier.’

  Convinced that none of the subterfuge would come off, Jo referred to her list. She had to make choux buns filled with mushrooms, as a hot vegetarian canapé. She’d never made them before, but they’d probably be fine. She sighed, without realising she was doing it.

  ‘Come on, Jo. We can do this! Shall I open a bottle of fizz? We could have a glass to stiffen our sinews.’

  This made her laugh. ‘Matthew, we don’t live in the same world – really we don’t. First of all, any cook who opened and drank the boss’s champagne would be instantly dismissed …’

  ‘Not on Christmas Day, they wouldn’t be.’

  ‘… and secondly, champagne wouldn’t stiffen my sinews; it would turn them to rubber, which would not help me – or us – in any way.’

  ‘It was only a suggestion. I would have told Caroline it was me who opened the bottle; she probably wouldn’t mind – I’m sure there are dozens in the fridge.’

  ‘There are, but I’m still not letting you open one now.’ He looked a bit disappointed so she went on, ‘Oh, I suppose you could open one, as long as you made sure Caroline knew it was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You could have a sip from my glass, and Caroline would never know you’d had some,’ he suggested.

  ‘No! It’s already going to be hard enough, without me being tipsy. I have to serve canapés with my head turned away from my boss, so she won’t see who I am. I have to get food to the table and serve it, ditto. Not at all easy.’

  ‘No! My girlfriend – my very helpful girlfriend (not that she was in real life, actually, otherwise she wouldn’t have dumped me at such an inconvenient moment) – will hand the canapés round. Then she’ll “pop downstairs to see if the cook needs a hand” and will reappear, in your disguise, and be helpful.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that look weird? Why would she be helpful?’

  ‘Because she’s incredibly nice and wants to impress my celebrity friend, hoping for some unobtainable tickets to something.’

  ‘Not that nice then – definitely on the make.’ Jo frowned at her list, wondering what to prioritise.

  ‘Maybe she’s just doing it to be helpful. Some people are.’ He nodded towards Jo. ‘Like you, helping your friend Andi.’

  ‘Oh, OK, she’s kind! But I have to say that if this mythical girlfriend thinks Caroline would be impressed by her helping out the staff, she obviously hasn’t read what the gossip mags say about Caroline.’

  ‘Mythical, extremely kind and extremely naïve?’

  Jo had to laugh. It was all so ridiculous. ‘You forgot to add “dresses in strangely austere clothes that look uncannily like a chef’s uniform”.’

  ‘Come on! Where’s your imagination? You’re wearing black trousers – anyone could wear them.’

  ‘Humph. You were lucky. I usually wear very loud checked trousers, but Andi doesn’t, so I wore black ones today, like she does.’ She went across to the larder cupboard to find flour. ‘I don’t think Caroline likes loud checks.’

  ‘Certainly doesn’t.’ Matthew Farley studied Jo while she measured out flour and then tipped it on to a piece of baking parchment. ‘I’ve got jewellery and I’ve got clothes.’

  Jo went to the fridge for butter.

  ‘I’m going to get the presents,’ said Matthew, ‘and see how well we can dress you up.’

  She shrugged and carried on with her measurements. She wasn’t convinced.

  She was beating the eggs into the flour and melted butter in a pan when he came back with a pile of boxes. ‘Golly, you do give lavishly!’ she said.

  ‘I do. You really should think about becoming my girlfriend. You’d do well.’

  Eyeing the boxes, she remembered that last year her then-boyfriend had given her ‘on offer’ body wash and hand cream and a bracelet that made her wrist itch. Posh boys obviously gave much better presents.

  ‘Take them into the downstairs bathroom and put it all on. When we see what you look like, I’ll telephone Caroline and ask her about the shoes.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jo, taking the boxes and feeling unexpectedly excited.

  ‘Oh!’ He put a detaining hand on her arm and extracted one of the boxes from the pile. ‘I’ll have that one back. You haven’t been my girlfriend long enough to give you that yet.’

  Jo laughed. ‘Saucy underwear?’

  ‘Come on, we’ve got a lot to do.’

  The downstairs bathroom was attached to a sort of boot room, where Andi changed and kept her outdoor clothes. Jo was hoping – though not really believing it would happen – that Andi had left a bit of make-up in there. A stub of pencil, some mascara, maybe a lipstick. She found hand cream and lip balm, but that was it. She sighed. However she looked in the clothes and jewellery, no one would believe she was Matthew’s girlfriend if she didn’t have on a scrap of make-up, apart from well-moisturised lips.

  Since he had confiscated one of the parcels, there were two boxes and a little blue bag. The boxes had been wrapped in-store by someone who took pride in their work. Had she been at home, Jo would have saved the pale pink tissue paper that cradled the contents of the first box: the cashmere.

  It was a V-necked cardigan, fairly short, in a soft teal blue – almost the same colour as the little blue bag. She pulled off her chef’s jacket and put it on. She loved the colour, and the cashmere felt wonderful against her skin. Excited, although she tried not to be, she opened the other box. It contained a silk camisole in the same blue. Hastily she took off the cardi and put on the cami, and then put the cardigan back on. It felt even nicer!

  She turned to the little blue bag, the present from Tiffany’s. Although Matthew had said she could keep the presents, she had no intention of doing so – certainly not the jewellery. In the bag there was a box, and in the box was a pair of diamond studs for her ears and a diamond pendant. Jo looked down at them, feeling slightly faint. If they were real diamonds, they represented an awful lot of money; and she didn’t think Tiffany’s – or Matthew, come to that – would deal in fake
ones. She couldn’t wear them. She wrapped up the box, concealed the other wrappings in Andi’s cupboard and went back into the kitchen.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’re not wearing the earrings or the pendant. Didn’t they fit?’ He feigned a look of horror.

  ‘No. Yes! Of course they’d have fitted. But they’re far too expensive. I couldn’t wear them. It’s against my principles.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Somehow, the way he said it meant Jo didn’t feel the urge to hit him. Matthew took the bag from her and rapidly extracted the goods. He put the pendant round her neck and turned her, so that he could do it up. ‘Here, you have to put the earrings in. Do you need a mirror?’

  ‘It’s OK, this cupboard has a very high-gloss finish – I’ll manage.’

  ‘Wow!’ he said when she’d fiddled them into place. ‘You look stunning.’

  Although extremely tempted to run back to the boot room, where there was a real mirror, she said, ‘I’m not wearing make-up, and I’m not going to look the part without it.’

  He stared down at her, frowning a little. ‘You have a point. And I still have to get you shoes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll ring Caroline.’

  ‘It seems ridiculous to ring her when you’re in her house.’

  ‘Not at all! I wouldn’t dream of disturbing her when she’s getting ready, even if I did want to—’ He stopped, possibly to spare Jo’s blushes, although she felt it was a bit late for that.

  ‘Caroline. Good morning and happy Christmas,’ he said into his phone, which he’d put on speaker mode.

  ‘Darling,’ said his hostess. ‘Where are you? I can’t even remember what time I invited you for, but I hope it isn’t now, because I am not ready. I’ve had a hair disaster.’

  He laughed indulgently. ‘I know you’ll look stunning, as usual; but talking of disasters, Jo’s had one.’

  Jo jumped. What had he done? Why was he mentioning her? She was supposed to be a secret!

  ‘Jo?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘My girlfriend? The one I told you I was bringing?’

  ‘Oh. I thought she was called Lulu, but you know me – hopeless with names.’