How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Eve said, feeling wrong-footed and silly as he nodded and disappeared out onto the common.

  The clock told her she had less than twenty minutes to be at her pottery class. She couldn’t phone ahead to say she was going to be late and she couldn’t very well not appear. She had come all this way to do the course and do it she would. Loading up Marmite’s bowl with food, she swept through to the bathroom, standing hunched in the bath as she turned on the shower, staring at herself in the circle of mirror over the sink, a leaf in her hair, eyes smudged with eyeliner, hair straggly, dripping down onto her top. No wonder he had escaped after five minutes. She felt relief as the water cascaded down her body.

  She hastily dressed, then squeezed water out of her hair and scraped it back into a wet bun.

  The clock told her she had less than ten minutes. Locking the door, leaving Marmite curled up in his fleece basket, she pounded across the common and over the iron bridge, past the toll booth and along a path to the right that she had been told led to the class, which was held in a house just overlooking the river. Her ears were cold as she placed both hands over them; she wished she’d had time to dry her hair.

  She hadn’t asked him anything; she could have discovered more about the village. She thought back to his kindly face; his blue-grey eyes had crinkled at the edges. He must have been around the same age, perhaps a little older. He seemed tanned for this time of year. She wondered whether he was local or just passing through. He had seemed friendly enough. Then she reminded herself she was here to learn a skill and to be alone, and anyway, she didn’t even know his name.

  9.12 a.m. – forty-eight minutes till Greg needed to leave for the game.

  He was heading home to get changed into his kit, they were playing at home this morning and the drive wasn’t far. He was trying to remember where he had left his Astro turf boots when he noticed the woman on the common. For a second he thought she must have been released from an institution, running around in pyjamas, her dressing gown flapping, trainers on her feet, one lace trailing. Who did one call in this situation with a crazy woman running around dew-soaked grass in her nightwear? He paused and watched as she bent over, her short hair falling around to obscure her face. She picked up a stick from the ground and flung it for a dog. It looked like a terrier, maybe some kind of cross, grey curly hair, tail wagging as the stick looped over his head and he spun to fetch it.

  He had spent so long looking at the dog he hadn’t noticed the woman was actually really pretty, as she stood, her dark hair rich in the morning sunlight, grinning after the dog. Her cheeks were pink with running and she seemed almost sane from this distance, normal but for the pyjamas. He walked nearer as she continued to chase the dog, her laugh reverberating around the common, aware suddenly that he was intruding.

  She started walking across the common to a houseboat moored up by the square platform on the common. The pyjamas made sense and he felt a rush of relief that she wasn’t mad at all. He found himself smiling then, watching the dog trot after her. The early morning mist still clung to the top of the water, refusing to budge from the surface. He stayed for a moment more and then checked his watch, back to wondering where his Astro boots were and reckoning he had time to grab a coffee on the way.

  Then there was a splash and a gargled scream of surprise and he craned his neck in the direction of the noise. He had been sure that it had come from the boat but perhaps he was imagining things. Then, covered in turgid water, a dripping dressing gown that stuck to her legs, hair now plastered to her face in loose strands, stood the stick-thrower. Before he could make his escape, the dog, carrying something in his mouth, was running straight for him and the woman was shouting after him and in hot pursuit. Then they were both there, panting. The dog had dropped the thing in his mouth – a phone – and she was standing before him, all her clothes sticking to her. Greg panicked, which is why a bubble of laughter spilled out of him.

  ‘Early morning dip?’

  God, Greg, make her feel worse, why don’t you?

  The dog started barking in short, sharp bursts and Greg’s laugh stopped as abruptly as it began. He wanted to reach down and pat him but the woman was staring suspiciously. Dogs usually liked him, unless he was intending to castrate them, then they seemed to have a sixth sense he was the enemy. He could normally calm them, though. But he didn’t recognise this dog, hadn’t seen it in the practice.

  ‘Your dog doesn’t like me.’

  He sounded defensive, he knew he did. Greg, stop talking to her and leave. The woman had wiped some of her hair back from her face. Her skin was smooth and she had wide eyes, an extraordinary colour, a mix of greens and yellows. He was trying not to stare at her too hard, her outline clearly visible through the thin layers. Then he realised she was shivering and stepped forward. ‘You look frozen. Can I help?’

  The woman put a hand up and he noticed her arms were covered in goosebumps. He wanted to help her, make her feel better.

  ‘Have you got any rice?’

  She looked startled, a line forming between her eyes.

  ‘Your phone you see, it can fix it.’

  Rice, Greg? Leave the woman alone; she is clearly not interested in your help. She has just fallen in a river. Would you want to talk to someone about rice five seconds after you had fallen in a river?

  He found her nodding, though, and felt strangely happy that he caused it. Then she turned round and headed for the boat, her soggy clothes sticking in patches to her. She had this energy about her when she walked, bouncing on her heels, and he found himself two-stepping unevenly to keep up. As she stepped onto the deck, he felt a curiosity steal over him.

  The boat was more spacious than he had first thought. Everything had its place. A wooden stool in the corner, a TV fixed to the wall, a folded chair hooked to the other wall to keep it out of the way, a bench with hinges that clearly doubled as a trunk, a rug on the floor in a faded design, a woodburning stove tucked into the corner, a low shelf of books running below the television, and then a galley kitchen and beyond to the rest of the boat. Small, square picture frames of pressed flowers were dotted around, in between the occasional circular portholes that showed the water and other side of the river, a sprig of lavender in the nearest.

  He hadn’t been on a houseboat before and he found himself ducking as he entered, hunching his shoulders as he stood there, feeling that if he stood up he would bang his head.

  ‘Thanks, I won’t be long.’

  He shrugged off his coat and moved over to the kettle. Unable to find the coffee, he took down two teabags and poured water over them, uncertain as to whether she wanted milk or sugar. Most people liked milk in their tea at least, so turning to locate the fridge, he added milk to the mugs. He saw a pack of digestives and tipped two of them onto a small plate on the side.

  The rice was next to the biscuits and he tipped most of it into a bowl, taking apart her phone and submerging the different pieces in it. Then he stood in the kitchen waiting, tapping his teeth with a finger. He could hear her moving around in the room beyond, although nothing was really separate – he could see the sink with her toothbrush resting on it, the toothpaste still open, it was strange. He stepped away, taking the mugs, not wanting to intrude.

  On the small table next to the bench a book was left open and he picked it up idly, realising it was about flowers. She must really be into plant life. This was confirmed when she emerged once more in jeans and a thick olive jumper, her wet hair neatly combed back from her face, and peered over his shoulder.

  ‘A very unusual orchid.’

  He didn’t know anything about orchids, or flowers, and the picture had slightly thrown him, so he pushed one of the mugs towards her, feeling idiotic and in her space. ‘I didn’t know how you took your tea but I added milk out of habit. I can start again.’ Her dog had sneaked under the table and was now lying happily rested against his legs. The woman raised an eyebrow as she noticed and Greg shrugged quickly. ‘He’s c
ome round.’

  She took her tea and walked over to the stool on the other side of the room, sitting down and watching him. There was a moment’s pause as they both drank their tea, the gentle tilt of the boat reminding them of the water beneath them.

  ‘This is a cool place to live. Is this your boat?’ he asked, looking around him and taking a sip of his tea. She looked like the kind of person who would rent a boat, the laidback clothes, the way she looked completely comfortable on the stool next to the stove. She seemed free of things, ready to hop up and disappear. He thought back to her running around the common after her dog.

  ‘No, I’m renting it for a few weeks.’ He wanted to ask more then. Where had she appeared from? Did she often rent boats? But she cut him off with her own question before he could ask.

  ‘Can you get diseases from the river?’

  Greg sipped his tea. ‘Unlikely.’ She looked a little worried, that line again between her eyes, her fingers rubbing against the other. ‘Unless you are planning to make a habit of jumping in it.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  It burst out of her and made him smile.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. Unusual swimming get-up.’

  ‘I wasn’t…’

  He put up a hand. ‘No need to explain. I often see interesting things on my walks but you have been this week’s highlight.’

  ‘This week’s?’

  ‘Last week I saw two swans mating. Noisy.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Two swans mating, Greg? He internally put his head in his hands. Why had he mentioned that? She was definitely looking at him warily now. Of course she was. She had got up from her stool, clearly wanted to move on, walking over to look at the bowl on the side.

  ‘Does that really work?’

  He cleared his throat, trying to move on from the mating swans comment and seem confident and in control. He didn’t actually know if it worked; it was one of those things he’d heard. Danny had told him once, it was rice or an airing cupboard, and he wondered momentarily whether he should have made these wild promises.

  ‘Apparently so, you’ll have to see…’

  Something about her unnerved him, and he found himself rushing, tripping over his words. Leave, Greg, leave now. He checked his watch; he actually did have to leave now. He’d be late for the warm-up, although he consoled himself that was no bad thing – he often played better just heading straight onto the pitch after a quick stretch.

  ‘Right…’ He stood up, feeling again too big for the space. ‘I think I better go. You seem drier and I have made real headway with your dog, so best to leave on a high.’

  He added a bark of laughter that didn’t sound like his usual laugh at all.

  ‘Marmite.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘His name… it’s Marmite.’

  ‘Oh very good, well.’ He bent to stroke Marmite between the ears. ‘I’ll be off. I hope your phone does come back to life and I hope you don’t contract anything horrible from the river.’

  He crossed the small room, opened the door and pulled back the sheet of plastic that reminded him of a tent entrance.

  ‘Well, thank you.’

  He nodded at her, worried now he had stayed too long. He stepped across onto the bank, careful not to trip and end up in the reeds too. There were a few people now on the common and he headed home through the park at the back, wondering whether she would still be there later or whether she would be further upstream chasing her dog around another patch of grass. He kicked himself for a second. Marmite was the dog’s name but he couldn’t believe he hadn’t even asked hers. As he rushed home to change for the game, he briefly conjured up the image of her dripping dressing gown and startled eyes and laughed out loud into the empty room.

  The house was at the top of a sloping lawn, a wooden gate with an arrow sign directing Eve off the river path as the website instructions had suggested. She walked slowly, her head moving left to right as she took in the gorgeous honey-coloured facade, the enormous mullioned windows, the wide stone terrace that was crammed with pots and smart wicker garden furniture. Ivy clambered up and around the windows and smoke rose from one of the four chimneys. It was an idyllic place, with a view of the river below from the many bedrooms. Eve cast about in the direction of the houseboat but the line of trees blocked out a great deal from where she stood. She imagined living in a house like this, her palms dampening as she skirted the house, moved up steps, past two stone pillars to pull on a large brass bell.

  The sound was greeted by barking and she was grateful that she had left Marmite on the boat. He always went crazy around other dogs, jumping, yapping and generally showing up how little control she had of him.

  ‘Coming,’ a female voice hollered. ‘Down, boy, stop it now, Sandy, down.’

  Eve felt marginally better that the authoritative female voice was clearly struggling to control her dog too.

  The latch slid across and the woman revealed herself, standing at the entrance of an airy hall. White panels with bold pictures of flowers in a row made it seem as if it were the entrance to an art gallery. The woman was draped in a multi-coloured shawl, pearl earrings hanging like tear drops from her ears, hair twisted into a bun, strands of iron-grey hair escaping, blue eyes sparkling behind pink-framed glasses.

  ‘You must be Eve,’ she said, stepping towards Eve and startling her by enfolding her in the most enormous hug. She smelt of pancakes and lemon. Eve wiggled in her grasp, desperately aware of the damp tendrils of hair, the river still clinging to her.

  The dog, a golden retriever, chose that moment to surge forward and for a second it seemed that Eve was encased in a massive hug: limbs, noses, arms everywhere. ‘It’s always wonderfully exciting to meet a newbie to the group. The others have all been on similar courses before but there are two new members this time, it is just so exhilarating.’

  She released her and told her to follow behind, and they moved down the hallway and right into the most gorgeous living room painted rose pink, a tattered chaise longue next to the window seat, a Jackie Collins book face down. Through the living room, they moved into a conservatory, which overlooked the garden and was set up with eight potter’s wheels. Various people in aprons moved around the room, filling up bowls with water, chatting in corners, looking at the shelves which lined the walls and were cluttered with half-finished egg cups, bowls, mugs and all sorts. The winter sunlight was weak and hazy, blocked by bare vines that criss-crossed above their heads. She caught a glimpse of silver river through the trees at the bottom of the sloping lawn. It was gorgeous. Eve felt her muscles relax; it would be great fun. She would sit in this incredible house and become an expert potter.

  ‘Everyone, this is Eve, Eve, this is everyone.’ The woman waved a hand, ten silver bracelets clattering down her forearm as she did so. ‘The most important person, of course, is Raj – you absolutely must meet Raj.’

  Did Eve imagine it or did the woman’s blue eyes soften as she said his name?

  A smooth-skinned man in a rolled-up white shirt, looking as if he had just stepped off a beach and wasn’t sitting in a conservatory at the start of December, flashed her a smile; his teeth bright and even, his eyebrows perfectly manicured. Eve found herself stumbling over her hello.

  ‘Raj is our potting maestro, our leader, our ceramic chief. He is very in-demand, hence he could only do this month this year.’

  ‘No need to go overboard, Minnie, hey? Set up there, you’ll need an apron and I’ll sort you the rest. Have you ever made anything before?’

  Eve shook her head, embarrassed to have temporarily lost the ability of speech, grateful to be thrust an apron by Minnie, who was throwing one over her own head. ‘Raj here is a magician. He taught me and my school reports clearly stated I was unteachable. Unteachable. And yet Raj here manages to break through.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Eve said, sitting in front of a wheel.

  Raj appeared in front of her, holding a lump of clay in both hands.

&
nbsp; ‘So, Eve, there isn’t much to it. You can just follow my lead today and see how you get o—’

  He was distracted by the arrival of a couple shyly holding hands in the doorway, the drawing room behind them framing them in rose pink.

  ‘It’s the lovebirds.’ Minnie clapped, springing out of her seat before her bottom had touched down. ‘Aisha, Mark, this is Eve, she’s new, be nice.’

  Aisha and Mark stepped into the room, holding hands, small half-smiles on their faces as they said hello. They looked strangely similar, the girl with raven-black hair in a long plait, the man with dark curls and a wide, easy smile, a gap between his two front teeth.

  Minnie turned to Eve to explain. ‘They’re getting married next July. They’re making all their wedding guests a little something, isn’t that amazing?’

  Eve didn’t react to the question, too busy replaying the previous sentence. July. Next July. Liam and she had planned to marry in July next year. That was just over six months away. A summer wedding. Clear blue skies, flowerbeds bursting into colour, the sun high overhead, their guests sipping Pimms, eyes hidden by sunglasses. She had scoured the internet looking for the perfect venue. Now there would be no wedding for them in July; she’d be alone in July. She blinked, realising she was still sitting at her potter’s wheel staring at the couple, Minnie frowning at her vacant expression.

  ‘Are you Pisces?’ Minnie asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Pisces, they are dreamers, you seem to be a dreamer. Not to worry,’ Minnie continued, holding up a finger and pointing it at her own chest: ‘I’m Cancer, us water signs are all the same really, rivers run deep and all that.’ She looked over at Eve curiously. ‘Are you all right? You look as if you’ve had a bit of a scare.’

  ‘I’m fine, fine, sorry, just thinking about something else.’ Eve busied herself with her apron, retying the back in a bow, trying to focus on Raj who was now sitting at his own wheel two rows in front of her, facing towards the class, his brown hands glistening with water, holding firmly onto a lump of clay.