Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Slang Guide
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Part Two
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Coming Soon
More by Andie M. Long
About Andie
JINGLE BALLS
By
Andie M. Long
#Deck the Balls
Dedication
For everyone who has continued to read and support The Balls Series.
It means a lot.
Thank you.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Copyright (c) 2016 by Andrea Long
All rights reserved.
Cover photo from Adobe Stock.
Slang Guide
Dear Reader
As usual to help you if you aren’t British or indeed from Yorkshire, is a handy slang guide.
British/Yorkshire Slang.
Argos catalogue - not slang but you may like to know that this is a catalogue of a shop that sells homeware.
Arse - idiot.
Boots catalogue - comes out every Christmas. Our Boots is similar to Sephora. Sells toiletries and cosmetics.
Fuckwit - stupid idiot.
Lindt Lindor - lovely chocolate balls.
Love - term of endearment.
Pants - panties, knickers. Though we Yorkshire folk also use it for saying somethings not good, “That is pants.”
Plonk - to sit heavily on the sofa if you’re tired or fed up.
Send myself up - make yourself look foolish in front of people on purpose.
Sucking up - trying to get in someone’s good books.
Trap - another word for mouth, eg “Keep your trap shut.”
Twat - a word for vagina, used to say a person is a despicable person.
Yorkshire Pudding - made out of the same batter as pancake mixture but savoury. Goes with meat gravy. Link to recipe here: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/9020/best-yorkshire-puddings . Please note, the author of this book cannot cook them to save her life. They come out like flat discs.
Part One
SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER/NOVEMBER
2016
(When normal people don’t think about the festive season much.)
Chapter One
Tim
September 2016
Look cool, Tim, look cool.
Breathe.
I’m sure it’s nothing. She’s busy with the new business.
In fact, it’s good to see her put her energy to a positive use. Baking keeps her occupied and out of mischief.
So why is my wife surrounded by magazines and notebooks? An array of different coloured pens sprawled over the sofa. She’s using what looks like the Argos Catalogue to rest on while she scribbles furiously. There are scissors, glue sticks and pieces of cut out magazine everywhere.
I hover. “Erm, Dora love.” I make every attempt not to give away the wobble in my voice.
My wife looks up at me. Her long blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun. She’s got a pen behind her ear, no doubt forgotten. Her eyes appear wide, alert. She gives me a beaming smile.
Fuck.
“Business stuff?” I query, though I can tell from the almost child-like enthusiasm and mad eyes that it’s not.
“Oh, no, honey. I’m planning Christmas.”
Oh, God no.
“Erm, it’s only September, love.”
She glares at me.
Error. Reverse. Back out of the room slowly, Tim. Gah, too late. She’s on her feet and the hands are on her hips.
“Tim. We have a large family. I have to buy the presents, write cards, plan the decor, the meal.”
The mad, enthusiastic eyes are firmly fixed on me, and there’s a hint of evil behind them.
“It’s not the sort of thing you can do overnight. Gifts go out of stock. People expect a lovely dinner, and Beth and I will be run off our feet with orders at Christmas time, so I’m starting to plan now. Is that okay with you, Tim?” It’s like she has her hand on my bollock twisting.
“Of course, beautiful. I was simply checking that you weren’t overburdening yourself. You know how busy you are.”
“I’m a mum, I’m used to multi-tasking and being busy. It’s an acquired skill.”
I try to get my breathing back to normal. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Must get to work.”
“Yes. You go to work, sweetie. Your pack-up’s in the fridge. I’ve done Turkey and Cranberry sandwiches with a sprout pesto and there’s a mince pie for afters done the old-fashioned way with real mince.”
We’re having an Indian Summer. It’s thirty-five degrees and I’m having a Christmas dinner.
Most people hate going to work. It’s times like this that I want to run out of the door.
“Right love, I’ll get ready and leave you to it then?”
She nods. “This year's theme is home-made. I’ve ordered lots of home-made looking decorations, bunting, that kind of thing.”
My forehead creases. “Erm, aren’t you supposed to make things yourself?”
She lets out a peal of laughter. “Oh don’t be silly, Tim. Businesswomen haven’t time for all that. We buy it so it looks like we’ve made it.”
“Oh right, yes. Silly me.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Well, see you later love.”
That pack-up’s going in the bin as soon as I arrive at work. Fuck it. I’m having a fry-up in the canteen. Why worry about fatty food causing a strain on my heart when I live with Dora?
Chapter Two
Camille
Sunday 30 October 2016
We’re eating Sunday dinner with my parents, Tyler, and Lindsay at the Red Lion. Everyone is trying to ignore the fact that my mother has come out wearing a black tea dress with skulls and demon cherries on it. She’s painted her nails black too. I’d say the pub has got with the season with all the cobwebs, but that’s because the cleaning lady is hopeless and at five feet tall reckons she can’t get to the corners.
Everything is lovely and calm until Tyler rummages through the bag he’s brought with him. He struggles to pull the bursting at the seams bag onto his knees.
“What’ve you got in there, Ty, the kitchen sink?”
He looks up at me with a smirk. “Sis, you may mock but I have everything I need in here.”
Lindsay rolls her eyes and leaning towards me, whispers, “Don’t ask. I’ve learnt not to.”
Tyler brings out a copy of a newly released Christmas magazine and passes it to our mother with a flourish.
“Came into Smiths yesterday, Mum. Brand new. It’s not out on shelves til Monday, so you have an exclusive.”
“Tyler, thank you, that’s so thoughtful,” says Mum, pushing her lunch to one side as she flicks through
it. Her face morphs from a beaming smile to a death stare as she returns to the cover, then flicks back inside.
“No, no, no, no, no.” She slaps the magazine down on the table. “Well, that’s Christmas fucked.”
My dad glares at Tyler. “What have you done?”
Tyler shrugs and goes through his man bag again.
I ask the question no one else dares. “What’s the matter, Mum?”
“The matter,” she says with a sweep of her arm over the magazine, “is that Simply Christmas has decided that the only theme they’re focussing on this year is a home-made Christmas.”
“But that’s great, love, there’ll be loads of ideas for you then.”
She affords him a look that would freeze the sun. “And for the thousands of people who buy the magazine. No array of ideas for people to choose from as in past issues. Just the one. The theme I happen to have chosen a month before the magazine came out. While I accept my skills as a trendsetter, there is no way I am doing a home-made Christmas with thousands of other people. I will not be a sheep. I am a lioness. I’ll have to retreat and consider my position of attack now.”
My dad shakes his head and stuffs a large piece of Yorkshire pudding into his mouth, obviously to prevent himself from saying a further word that may upset mum.
“You finished with that love?” says one of the waitresses, spying my mother’s plate pushed to the side.
“Yes, please take it. I’ve had bad news. My appetite is gone.”
“Oh, love, I’m sorry. Nothing too bad I hope?”
“Nothing I can’t recover from in time,” answers my mum. “Have you got jam roly-poly on dessert?”
The waitress backs away from the table slowly. “Er, I’ll go check.”
Tyler passes Mum a box of Lindt Lindor from his bag. “Sorry about that, Mum. You’ll think of something even more amazing though.”
Her face brightens. “Oh, thank you, love. That’s so thoughtful. And you’re right. Everything happens for a reason. I must be going to arrange the best Christmas ever.”
“Actually, Mum.” My heart thuds a little in my chest, but I feel I may as well bite the bullet while she’s on an even keel. “I was wondering if we could have Christmas at our house this year?” Dylan and I had recently had an offer accepted on a new house in Rotherham and were due to move in mid-November. “I thought it would make a good housewarming.”
“Oh,” replies Mum, a finger across her lip, thumb under her chin. “Yes, that could work out quite well. Who were you thinking of inviting?”
“All of us, and Beth, Leo and Trey.”
“Right. Do they not want their first Christmas together?”
“Beth says she wants time off making things and would love to come to ours.”
“Sounds like you have it all worked out. Do you have a theme?”
“No.” I speak slowly. “I thought I’d cook a normal Christmas dinner.”
“Ah, traditional. I like it. Maybe some wooden ornaments and a real Christmas tree.”
“Well actually, we weren’t going to put a tree up. Bob kept jumping on it last year, and pulling it down.” Bob is our beautiful but mad cat.
“No tree? No tree?” Mum repeats.
Tyler reaches into his bag and hands Mum a book - One hundred ways Mothers are Amazing.
She strokes the book. “Tyler, this is just what I need right now. A pick-me-up.”
Tyler beams.
“What a day,” Mum says. “No home-made Christmas and no tree.”
I catch Tyler’s eyes and narrow mine. I mouth, “What are you up to?”
He looks away with a smirk curling the edges of his lips.
“So what are you going to do with the couple of hundred of pounds’ worth of stuff you bought for the home-made Christmas?” my dad asks. You can see him eyeing up the Yorkshire pudding on my plate, probably wishing he could have stuffed it in his mouth before uttering those words.
“I don’t know, honey. What do you suggest I do with them?”
Dad shuffles on his seat, no doubt clenching his arse cheeks together.
“How about donating them to someone who may not be able to afford any?” says Tyler. I’m going to throttle that sucking up twat of a brother in a minute.
“Actually, Tyler doesn’t have any decorations,” says Lindsay. “He’ll buy them off you.”
“Why would I want--” Tyler stops as Lindsay elbows him in the ribs.
“You are trimming up, Tyler, or I’m not staying at yours and you know what that means.”
Tyler rolls his eyes when he thinks no one is looking, but I am. He’s back in the bag where he brings out his wallet.
“How much for your decorations, Mum?”
“Oh, Tyler, nothing sweetie. You’re my son. I don’t want anything from you.”
I sigh. Mothers and their sons. There should be a sick bucket passed to the rest of the family at birth.
She pats my hand. “And you’ll get the same. I don’t do for one and not the other. Traditional Christmas here we come.”
What have I let myself in for?
“We’ll talk about it later, Mum. I already have some decorations.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m going to invite Aunt Miranda over for Christmas this year. Being on her own in that house is doing her no good at all. She’s three cats now, you know? One’s called Rock because it has stripes, ones called Sock because it looks like it has black socks, and the latest is Dock because it’s lost its tail. She needs help before she looks for a male with a large-”
“Jam roly-poly on the house,” interrupts the waitress. “I hope things look up for you soon.”
“Thank you so much,” Mum says, picking up her spoon and tucking in.
I corner Tyler back at the folks’ house. “What’s with that bag, fuckwit?”
“Takes one to know one,” he sing-songs back.
“I,” he says commandingly, “have single-handedly discovered the secret to winning round women.”
I splutter with laughter. I’m laughing so hard I clutch my waist, and my cheeks ache. “You? Know women? I don’t even know how you kept Lindsay.”
“It’s all on here,” he says, swiping his phone and showing me his YouTube channel. His previous channel housed videos of him playing computer games and was watched by a total of about two hundred viewers. This one, named A Beginners Guide to Women has twenty-five thousand subscribers. I snatch his phone and press play on his most-watched video. I’m staggered. It has over three hundred and fifty thousand views.
Tyler appears on screen with his bag. “I’ve discovered the major secret in keeping your woman happy,” he says, “and it starts right here. The bag of happiness.”
Inside he reveals a box of chocolates, a packet of tissues, a fiction romance book. “This is the start of it. You need to buy their favourite chocolates, a book they’ll like to read, tissues if they’re weepy. A girly DVD. I would show you that, but I needed it last night. It got me out of a major telling off. I reached into the bag and asked if she wanted to watch The Notebook. Problem solved, and I got a reward after, if you know what I mean?” He winks at the camera.
“I gather Lindsay doesn’t know about this, given that you’re still alive?”
“Course not. It’s going so well, Cam. I’m being offered sponsorship and affiliate deals. I probably won’t need to work at Smiths much longer. The fact I was hopeless with women and now I’m successful with one, has meant other blokes identify with me. They want me to write a book but how can I? Lindsay would see it.”
“It was nice knowing you, bruv. What sort of casket would you like, because you obviously have a death wish?” The views on the video have are now over four hundred thousand. “Ty, I don’t know who shared this, but it’s going viral.”
He takes the phone off me. “Oh, shit.”
Chapter Three
Beth
I’d like to say things have been brilliant since Leo moved in, but I’d be lying. I’m used to my own sp
ace and routines with Trey; it’s difficult letting someone else in, even if they are your son’s father. Leo, at over six feet tall, is becoming exasperated by sharing my small terrace when he has a large house at Whiston. I have to remind him that he was the one who agreed to this. We said we’d let Trey get used to having him around before upsetting him with a house move.
“Cam’s asked if we want to go to her’s and Dylan’s for Christmas. Is that okay with you?”
Leo’s expression is pinched. “Yeah, might as well be cramped in her house as ours.”
“Leo.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “If we moved into mine we could have everyone around, there’d be tons of room.”
I pluck a hair off my sleeve. “Except I bake 364 days of the year so on Christmas, if it’s okay with you, I’d quite like someone else to cook for me.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“I’d cook for you, and your friends.”
I huff. “Can we leave this right now? I’m going to put Trey to bed.”
“You avoid everything. Do you know that?” Leo fixes me with an annoyed glare.
“I’m too tired to fight.” My shoulders sag. My business is inundated with seasonal orders, first Halloween, then Bonfire Night and of course Christmas.
“We’ll leave it for the counselling session then. Seeing as it’s the only time I get to talk to you these days.” He storms into the kitchen where I hear him banging pots around. That’s the other problem with this house. There’s nowhere to escape to in an argument.
The truth is that I’d had the idea of moving into Leo’s house for New Year’s Eve. I was planning a celebration and for us to have a fresh start in 2017. Now I’m wondering if that might be the biggest mistake ever. Were we even going to make it to Christmas?
Jingle Balls (Ball Games #5) Page 1