How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  ‘So I saw Eve on Christmas Eve,’ Danny said, swallowing his soup.

  ‘Who’s Eve?’ Linda asked, looking up. It wasn’t just in Greg’s mind, she seemed healthier today; her cheeks fuller, pinker, her eyes glinting. ‘Greg, this is delicious,’ she said, spooning another mouthful.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Eve is a girl from Danny’s pottery course.’ He saw Danny grinning at him under his messy fringe. ‘Oh, sod off, Danny.’

  ‘You boys.’ Linda chuckled. ‘Is she nice, Greg?’

  ‘She’s great,’ Danny said, shooting Greg a look.

  ‘And you would know how?’ Greg asked. For a brief moment he felt fully back; they were eating the usual Boxing Day lunch round their table together, with all the usual jokes and the teasing. He smiled before taking up his spoon.

  ‘Sat next to her for the last month in class, didn’t I. She’s funny and good-looking, mate, and clearly blind because she likes you.’

  ‘Daniel.’

  ‘Yes, Daniel.’ Greg laughed, covering his mum’s hand. ‘Thanks, Mum. And how about you, Danny? Any lucky lady?’ Greg asked, enjoying watching his little brother squirm in return.

  ‘I don’t have time for women, mate. I’m playing the field.’

  ‘So that’s a no then,’ their mum said, shaking her head.

  ‘Harsh, Mum,’ Danny said, pouting at her and getting up to remove the bowls.

  Greg was grinning as he got up to help him wash up.

  They spent most of the afternoon watching the end of some drama series Mum liked, but mostly eating all her chocolates and grapes that people had delivered. ‘So many grapes, I will be all grape by the end of this year.’

  It had been a great day and, as Greg shrugged on his coat in the hallway, he was pleased to glimpse his mum in the front room standing up to hug Danny, already moving more easily, seeming to have some of her strength back.

  She came into the hallway. ‘Be careful in the snow,’ she said, offering him a cheek to kiss.

  ‘Will do, see you tomorrow. Can I get you anything before I go?’

  ‘No, don’t be silly, I have everything I need and I’m feeling much better, love, truly,’ she said, and for the first time, Greg dared to hope it was really true.

  They left the house together. Danny was heading to Andy’s to watch a match on Sky, but Greg wasn’t in the mood. It had started to snow again, lightly but persistently, the car covered already.

  As he turned to get into his car, Danny suddenly stuck an arm out to stop him. Greg frowned and looked round.

  ‘I wanted to say…’ Danny pulled a beanie down over his blond hair, snow already clinging to the wool. ‘You can relax now, bro, she’s going to be all right, and I’m all right.’

  Greg looked at him, feeling his chest loosen a bit, the weight he’d been dragging around start to lessen.

  ‘You don’t have to keep looking after us, think about yourself, okay?’

  Greg didn’t know how to reply, unused to seeing his brother with this solemn expression on his face, his nose turning pink with the cold.

  ‘And that Eve, she is a good one. I think she got cheated on by her last boyfriend, you know,’ Danny said.

  That made sense. Greg thought back to the row outside the boat, how she had so quickly accused him of his double life. It had seemed so out of character, this strange outburst.

  ‘I should have told her about Mum, kept running away, but I didn’t want to bring her down, didn’t want another person feeling sorry for me.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. If the lads are any nicer to me at the garage I’ll have to start buying them all rings.’

  Greg laughed as Danny carried on. ‘You can fix it, mate. You know, she’ll be back in the village for our last few lessons of the year, if you wanted to see her.’

  Greg looked at him, as if Danny had been able to see inside his head these last twenty-four hours. He’d been thinking about her a lot, had walked by the boat that morning, the portholes dark, the lights all off. She had obviously gone away somewhere for Christmas. She’d come into the practice on Christmas Eve, left something for him; Karen had texted him to let him know. He wished he had been there to see her and would stop by the practice and pick it up.

  ‘Good to know,’ he said, trying not to look too interested, not wanting his brother to keep taking the mickey.

  ‘My present to you, bro. Happy Christmas,’ Danny said, pushing his fringe out of the way.

  ‘You going to get a haircut in the New Year?’ Greg asked, not wanting the spotlight on him any more.

  ‘Nah, chicks dig it,’ Danny said, making Greg roll his eyes.

  Danny stamped his feet, looking up at Greg quickly. ‘Well, let’s just have a man-hug and be done with it all right, my balls are about to freeze off.’

  ‘Niiiiiceeee,’ Greg said, pulling him in for a hug. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, his voice gruff, a quick cough into his hand.

  ‘We’re pathetic, aren’t we?’ Danny said with a laugh, going to walk away and then remembering something Aisha had said at the last class. He turned back round. ‘You got any plans for tonight?’

  Greg shook his head.

  Danny grinned. ‘You might have now.’

  Heading back to the boat for the final few days of the year, Eve felt calmer than she had done for months. It had started to snow as the train pulled into the village; the fields coated, the sky swirling with snowflakes. The tops of the houses in Pangbourne were all hidden under a blanket of white.

  She walked through the snow towards the common, a feeling of calm settling over her, glad to be back in the village. She missed the high street with its shops decorated with holly, the low-ceilinged pubs, the people smiling and nodding at each other, faces that she had started to recognise. The snow had been shovelled back and the pavement was coated with a layer of salt, the pieces crunching unevenly under her wellies as she walked. Underneath the railway bridge she marvelled at the difference, as if she were walking straight into a Christmas card as she stepped back out into the white world the other side, Marmitre trotting beside her.

  Overhead, snow clung to the branches, tiny flakes drifting down when the wind blew. Snow lined the gutters and coated the rooftops, built up around the fence posts on the gate leading to the common. Then, stretching out, the fields and trees were covered in a thick layer, footprints barely able to make their mark, with the river, silver in this light, calmly moving through it all. It was a beautiful scene and she stopped, realising how familiar this felt, knowing then absolutely that she would apply for the job in the agency with Aisha. She wanted to continue to live here; she felt like she was coming home.

  As she moved off, nearing the boat, she frowned, worried then that she had left the lights on. The circular portholes were glowing yellow, the boat lit up. She thought she made out movement inside. Her heart was beating a little louder in her chest as she approached one of the portholes. She saw the back of a head and her stomach dropped.

  Pausing as she stood on the bank, her eyes wide, she felt her palms dampen, her mind racing.

  Marmite didn’t give her any time to think straight, barking and yapping as he streaked to the front of the boat. She followed him as if in slow motion, smiling as she took in the door that was framed with holly, mistletoe hanging in the porch inside. She picked Marmite up, took a deep breath and opened the door. As she stepped inside, her face broke into the most enormous smile as she gazed around.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she whispered.

  It was a riot of colour and candles. Red and silver tinsel lined the walls, counters and picture frames. Tea lights in jam jars flickered inside wreaths of holly and ivy. Fairy lights were strung up too and the lights were dialled down so that the whole room glowed and twinkled. The smallest Christmas tree, dripping with baubles, sat on top of the stool in the corner, a couple of presents neatly wrapped and perched underneath. The smell of pine needles merged with the smell of cooking and the sizzle of something in the oven had her stomach rumbl
ing.

  Then there was Greg standing facing her in the kitchen, an enormous smile on his face and an expression that took her breath away.

  ‘Thank you, this is… how did you?’

  She was lost for words, embarrassed to feel a lump in her throat, unable to finish her sentence.

  ‘Aisha told us you rented it from them and, well, Danny thought I might like to ask her for the key. Do you mind? I hope…’

  He walked over to her, his head practically hitting the top of the boat, a navy jumper darkening his features and making her swallow slowly. ‘I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas,’ he said.

  The words made her insides wobble and melt.

  She reached up a hand to touch his face, laughing at the day-old stubble. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Thank you. Happy Christmas.’ She stepped forward so that she was inches away from his face. She took a breath, breathing in the scent of him; the pine needles and woodsmoke making her head spin.

  ‘And thank you for the mug you made me, I love it,’ Greg said.

  ‘I wanted to make you something,’ Eve said, feeling her whole body glow with the compliment.

  ‘I liked the picture of us on the boat.’

  ‘Good,’ Eve whispered, unable to really believe he was here, standing in front of her like this. Then something caught her eye just behind him. ‘What is that?’ she asked in amazement, the golden crispy body of a turkey on the side. It seemed smaller than the turkey they had at home.

  It was his turn to laugh now, looking at the plate behind her. ‘Oh, um… I made dinner. I thought we’d have goose,’ he said, his eyes flashing.

  Eve put a hand to her mouth. ‘No way,’ she said as realisation dawned.

  ‘The fine is relatively small for killing a goose and…’

  ‘But you’re a vet,’ she said in a shocked amusement.

  ‘Anything for you,’ he whispered, stepping closer to her and then laughing uproariously as, just outside the porthole on the bank of the river, came a loud, disgruntled honk.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to a number of people who have helped along the way: ‘CatWoman’ Fran for your extensive cat knowledge, Ben Major on the intricacies of being a vet, Jane Masoli, Tamara Gall, Lucy Brain and Jess White for medical questions, Sarah Jasmon on boats, Liz Robinson on pottery. Bronwyn Petrie and Keith McIver for inviting me onto their houseboat. Charlie at Urban Writers and the gang there for the brilliant week in Devon. Trish on a bus, Rachel Hawes and Aimee Horton for car advice. To Kirsty Greenwood for plentiful email cheering.

  Darley Anderson is a brilliant literary agency and the whole team there are great. In particular thanks to my agent Clare Wallace for her straight-talking, excitement and support. To Mary Darby, Sheila David and Emma Winter for being so enthusiastic about my books in the rights department.

  Corvus have welcomed me into the fold and I am so grateful for their enthusiastic support and belief in my writing. To Louise Cullen for her excellent editing tips and her calm under pressure. It is such fun working with you. To Alison Davies for being fabulous and energetic in her role. To Francesca Riccardi for her digital know-how and brilliant sense of humour. The whole sales and marketing team at Corvus who truly love books – I salute you.

  My Twitter crew – yeah homies – chest-bump – you know who you are. Above all the brilliant bloggers who spend so much of their time reading and reviewing books for free – you guys rock, have a mince pie on me.

  Finally thanks must go to my own family – my gorgeous niece Poppy for letting me steal her name and her ‘nom, nom, nom’ noises. To my siblings Naomi, Charis and Henry for reminding me family rocks. To Daddy – keep wearing the canary-yellow cords and Converse trainers. To Mama Christmas for the recipes and so much more. And lastly to my own hot vet Ben (I have no idea where I get the inspiration) – you are fabulous and make this whole writing lark a lot more fun.

  Rosie is an author of comic commercial fiction. She spent her university years writing pantomimes based on old classics (highlight: ‘Harry Potter: The Musical’) and went on to write short stories and features for a range of publications including: Cosmopolitan, The Lady, The Sunday People, Best and Reveal Magazine. She worked in television as a presenter on both live and pre-recorded shows in Bristol and London. She has written three novels and plans to write many more.

  Rosie likes baked items, taking long walks by the river and speaking about herself in the third person. Her greatest ambition in life is to become Julia Roberts’ best friend.

  _

  Also by Rosie Blake

  How to Get a (Love) Life

  Published in paperback in Great Britain in 2015 by Corvus,

  an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

  Copyright © Rosie Blake, 2015

  The moral right of Rosie Blake to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Paperback ISBN: 9781782398608

  E-book ISBN: 9781782398615

  Printed in Great Britain.

  Corvus

  An imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

  Ormond House

  26–27 Boswell Street

  London

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  www.corvus-books.co.uk