by Liz Eeles
I don’t even glance up at the crooked roofs of the buildings in Honeyford High Street, or the rolling hills above the town that are often dusted with white these days as the temperature plummets. But then a thought strikes me and I breathe a sigh of relief. Zac is bound to turn down my sister’s invitation. He mentioned that he was a bit scared of Jazz so there’s no way he’ll go on a kind of date with her. He’ll definitely cry off.
Feeling reassured that life isn’t about to get super-weird, I say good morning to Flora and start opening up The Cosy Kettle for another busy festive day. Switching on the Christmas tree lights is one of my favourite things and their glow floods into every corner of the café.
It’s so busy all morning, I’m run off my feet and hardly notice when Logan and another man come into the café just before lunchtime.
Logan takes a seat beneath the shelf of copper kettles that give the café its name, while his companion comes to the counter and places their orders. He doesn’t wait for their coffees, so I take a deep breath and wander over with their cappuccinos and two slices of cranberry cheesecake.
‘Thanks, um… Becca,’ says Logan. He remembered my name! ‘No Jasmine today, then?’ And my sister’s name, too. Of course.
‘Not today,’ I tell him, willing myself not to blush, which makes my cheeks redden immediately. ‘It’s just me today.’
‘That’s great.’
Logan doesn’t look like he thinks it’s great. He doesn’t look happy at all. He’s frowning so hard there’s a furrow between his eyebrows, and he’s sighing. Manly little sighs that blow the froth on his coffee into tiny peaks.
I take a cloth from my apron pocket and start wiping the next table. I’m not listening in. Not really. But I can’t help overhearing when Logan slumps back in his chair and says: ‘So, basically, Stu, I’m royally screwed.’
‘It’ll be all right, mate,’ says Stu, forking in a mouthful of rich, creamy cheesecake. ‘Your boss will understand,’ he mumbles.
‘He won’t. I was supposed to organise the Christmas party ages ago but never got round to it and now everywhere local is booked up. Colin’s VIP French clients have saved the date but they’ll be partying in a freezing cold field at this rate. I’m so screwed I even contemplated hiring Honeyford Community Centre but the roof’s sprung another leak so it’s out of action for the foreseeable. Bloody typical.’
‘Can’t you just explain to Colin what’s happened?’
‘If I do, he’ll go mad, say I’m disorganised, and poof! There go my promotion prospects. I want to impress him, not upset him. It’s a nightmare, man.’
He prods his finger into his cheesecake, and pouts. He looks particularly lovely when he pouts – all mean and moody.
Local butcher Vernon has come in for his Belgian bun and a drink, so I head back to the counter to serve him. But I keep an eye on Logan and his friend through curls of steam while Vernon’s milk is frothing. Logan is sitting staring into his coffee, his body language screaming defeat.
An idea starts forming in my brain. A mutually beneficial idea which, as well as helping Logan, could be a big step towards making my Christmas wish come true. Be more assertive and confident, particularly as regards café? Tick. Impress Flora with business acumen? Tick. Secure date with Logan? Hmm, I doubt it, but at least I’d get to spend more time with him, and secure more custom for The Cosy Kettle. I might even impress my parents so much they’d look at me like they looked at Jasmine yesterday, when she told them about her achievements at work. But do I have the nerve to carry it through?
‘How’s the coffee coming along?’ calls Vernon, as I stare into space.
‘Oops, sorry. I was miles away.’
After I’ve handed over Vernon’s coffee and bun, I sit with my elbows on the counter and my chin in my hands, gazing at Logan. He’s still pouting, like a handsome grumpy prince in need of rescuing by a fabulously assertive princess who wants to impress her own boss.
I slide off my stool, smooth down my sapphire-blue hair and start walking towards Logan and Stu. This is going to take some chutzpah – which is something I’m not sure I possess – but, whatever. I’m going in.
Both men look up as I get to their table and stand over them. I swallow hard and put my hands on my hips. ‘Excuse me for butting in but I overheard what you were saying a while back. I’m sorry. I honestly wasn’t listening in.’ Aargh, I’ve started apologising horribly unassertively already. I pause for a moment before continuing. ‘What I want to say is, what about holding your party in here?’
‘In here?’ repeats Stu, his lip curling in the corner.
‘Yes, in here. We could host a Christmas party for you in The Cosy Kettle if that would help you out.’
‘It’s certainly festive in here,’ says Logan, looking around him at the lights and the tinsel and the paper garlands. ‘But it’s not big enough.’
‘There’s the garden too.’
‘What, just before Christmas?’ laughs Stu. ‘Logan’s boss doesn’t want his important French guests freezing in a snowy garden in December.’
‘Of course not, but we can hire outdoor heaters and transform the garden into a cosy enchanted winter wonderland,’ I say, thinking on my feet. ‘With hot punch and fairy lights and a Father Christmas and carols.’
‘Father Christmas?’ Logan gives Stu a look I can’t interpret. ‘Who would be Father Christmas?’
‘I have someone in mind,’ I say, crossing my fingers that Dick might be up for it. He looks like Santa already with his long white beard. He might as well milk the resemblance.
‘And what about the drinks and canapés?’ asks Stu, dabbing at the cheesecake crumbs on his plate before licking his fingers.
‘We could provide hot chocolate and gingerbread lattes, as well as the punch, and I can ask our baker to rustle up bite-sized Christmas-themed cakes. Everyone loves miniature stuff. Especially the French.’
I have no idea if John, our local baker, can do bite-size, or if the French are particularly partial to small things, but nothing can hold me back. I feel powerful and in charge and ready to tick a few wishes off my list. Securing a date with Logan is definitely a stretch. But we’ll have to work together closely on party arrangements and I can dazzle him with the magnificent makeover of my personality and appearance that’s about to happen any time soon. All I need to do is keep Jasmine out of the picture.
‘What about the cost?’ asks Logan, staring at my face as though seeing me for the very first time.
‘We can sort that out,’ I say, airily. ‘Let me know your budget and I’m sure I can make it work.’
‘The party’s for thirty-five of our most important clients. Can you cope with that many people?’
‘Of course,’ I say, trying to push down the anxious feelings that are bubbling up.
We had about thirty people in here during the Honeyford Bake-Off, back in the summer, and that felt pretty cramped.
‘It’s really important that this party is a success and enjoyed by our guests from France. My company’s a major distributer of repair parts for corporate printers and is expanding massively into the French market.’
‘Gosh, that’s impressive,’ I lie, because schmoozing a potential client seems important right now.
‘And I also need to make a very good impression on my boss.’
‘I know the feeling, and it’s not a problem. Everything will run like clockwork.’
‘Don’t you need to check it out with your boss first?’ asks Stu, pursing his narrow lips.
‘No. It’ll be fine. I manage the café and the events that are held in here. When it comes to The Cosy Kettle, I’m in charge.’
I say ‘events’ as though we’re a regular party venue, even though all we’ve ever hosted is the Bake-Off, the book club and a few coffee mornings. But it’s weird – I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. A new, improved Becca has taken over and is asserting herself big-time. Logan certainly looks impressed.
‘It just
might work,’ he says, his face shining in reflected light from the Christmas tree. ‘Becca, you’re an absolute life-saver! This place is cosy and festive and the coffee and cakes are great. Are you OK with us working together on the arrangements?’
‘Absolutely, Logan,’ I say, as though I’m as confident a businesswoman as my twin sister. ‘Together, we’ll make a great team.’
A wide, pearly-white smile spreads across Logan’s lovely face. ‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll talk you through what I have in mind.’
‘Of course. We can seal the deal.’
I pull up a chair, imagine how Flora would handle it, and start negotiating the terms of the event.
My confidence lasts until Logan and Stu have polished off their coffee and cake. But the minute they disappear out of the café door, new, improved Becca does a runner.
What the hell have I done? Outdoor heaters? Dick dressed up as Santa? Bite-sized Christmas cupcakes? When it all goes tits-up, Logan will blame me. And what on earth will Flora say? It’s all very well channelling my boss but I still need her actual permission.
Flora stops rearranging a display of women’s fiction bestsellers and stares at me. She’s kneeling on the floor, with books piled up either side of her.
‘You did what?’ she asks, sitting back on her kitten heels.
‘I made an executive decision and told Logan Fairweather that we could host his firm’s Christmas party in The Cosy Kettle, from seven o’clock on December the twentieth.’
‘Is that a Friday?’
‘Yes. That was the date he specified and the café’s always closed by five on Fridays so that’ll work fine. It’ll mean catering for up to thirty-five guests.’
‘Wow!’ Flora lets out a low whistle. ‘Is The Cosy Kettle big enough for that many people?’
‘I said we could get some outdoor heaters so guests could spill into the garden. And—’ I take a deep breath. ‘I kind of promised that the garden would be transformed into an enchanted winter wonderland.’
Flora hesitates for a moment, a look of surprise on her face, before bursting into peals of laughter.
‘Golly, Becca! You’re really coming into your own at last.’
‘You don’t mind then?’
‘Of course not. So close to Christmas isn’t ideal and it’ll involve a lot of work, but it sounds like a good business decision to me, as long as you ensure that we’re making a decent profit.’
‘I will, definitely. So are you OK with it?’
Flora nods. ‘More than OK. You acted swiftly and instinctively to benefit the business. That’s great, Becca. Well done. I’m impressed.’
Yay! I mentally give wish number two, Impress Flora with business acumen, a half-tick. I need to pull off the party and make it a great success before that wish gets a full tick.
‘Well done about what?’ asks Millicent, who’s just come into the shop, pushing Phyllis in her wheelchair.
‘Becca has just secured a prestigious event to be held in The Cosy Kettle.’
‘Is that part of your wish list, Becca?’ pipes up Phyllis.
‘What wish list?’ Flora looks puzzled.
‘Nothing,’ I tell her, quickly, because she thinks I’m weird enough already. ‘Come on, Phyllis. Let me push you through to the café.’
As I’m getting Phyllis and Millicent settled with drinks, Stanley, Dick and Mary also troop in. Mary has Callum strapped to her chest in a sling and he’s fast asleep and dribbling.
‘What are you lot doing here? It’s not book club day.’
‘This is our inaugural planning meeting regarding your transformation,’ declares Stanley. ‘We’re gonna make you hip, Beccs. Help you to take control of your life, achieve your potential and become your best self, like I did.’
‘We’ve got lots of ideas,’ says Mary, stifling a yawn. Callum is teething and she doesn’t get much sleep these days.
‘What sort of ideas?’ I ask, nervously.
‘Ideas like me taking you shopping for some new clothes to suit your brand new personality and lifestyle. I didn’t always dress like this,’ she says, running a hand down her sloppy green sweatshirt and jeans. ‘I used to dress really well for work but then I had a baby and, like many new mums, had to abandon my career hopes and dreams.’ She pauses. ‘Do I sound bitter?’
‘Only a little bit, love,’ says Phyllis, soothingly, patting her hand.
‘What was it you used to do, Mary, before you had Callum?’ asks Dick.
‘I ran a city make-up store.’
‘Coolio,’ says Stanley, high-fiving Mary.
‘I can’t be arsed to put make-up on these days. But I can give you a makeover, Becca. No problem. You’ve got cheekbones to die for, and your green eyes are absolutely beautiful. Or they would be if you drew attention to them.’
She leans forward and peers at my face, as though she’s studying a painting.
‘I know you can’t work miracles, but could you make me look a bit more… polished?’
‘Polished, sophisticated and gorgeous.’
I grin, liking the sound of that.
‘Becca’s already taken a step towards her more assertive self by arranging to have a party here, in the café,’ butts in Millicent.
‘It’s going to be a Christmas party for Logan Fairweather’s company, and the garden is going to be transformed into a winter wonderland. There’s going to be a Father Christmas and I was wondering…’
I trail off and stare at Dick. Is this a good idea?
‘What?’ asks Dick.
‘I was wondering if you might agree to dress up and be Father Christmas on the night?’
‘Why me?’ asks Dick, running his fingers through his long white beard.
‘’Cos you look like him, you daft bugger,’ says Stanley. ‘Like a very tall, elderly Santa.’
‘With a sports car,’ says Dick, whose ancient green sports car is the love of his life.
‘Yep, a Santa on wheels. And I can be an elf.’
‘An elf?’ I squeak.
‘Absolutely.’ Stanley pats my hand. ‘We’re here for you, Becca, to help make this event the best party ever. And I’m willing to dress up as an elf for the occasion. Anything to support you and The Cosy Kettle.’ Oh my. I’m not sure Stanley in full elf get-up will enhance the vibe I’m going for, but it’s kind of him to offer. ‘Anyway, we’ll hold our meeting and will report back our findings ASAP.’
There doesn’t seem to be much point in arguing so I carry on serving customers in the café, glancing nervously at the book club. They sit in a little huddle for an hour, staring at me occasionally, with Millicent making notes in her Liberty print notebook.
I feel like an animal in a zoo.
Zac is laughing so much, flour has gone up his nose and now he’s started sneezing.
‘It’s not funny,’ I tell him, as he sneezes three times in quick succession.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ says Zac, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘The Famous Five had an inaugural committee meeting about turning you into an uber-confident supermodel. That’s priceless. You know what inaugural means, don’t you? There are going to be more committee meetings. Many more. And you’re going to need them.’
He snorts as I shake my rolling pin at him and bits of uncooked pastry go flying. I’m making Zac some mince pies as a treat, because he loves them. But they’re not quite going to plan. The pastry has gone all flaky and keeps cracking as it’s rolled.
‘Also,’ I tell Zac, pushing the pastry together with my fingers. ‘Dick has said he’ll be Father Christmas at Logan’s party, but now Stanley is insisting on being an elf. I bet he’ll wear a pointy hat and everything.’
‘Stop it!’ Zac is bent double with his arms across his stomach. ‘All this laughing is making me hurt. Oh, boy! I can just imagine Stanley all dressed in green with elf shoes on. You know, the ones that roll up at the end.’
He starts roaring with laughter again, pain etched across his face.
‘Tak
e it seriously or I won’t make you any mince pies. I could have brought some home from work but instead I’m going to the not inconsiderable effort of making them myself.’
‘And I’m very grateful,’ says Zac, composing himself and poking at the pallid pastry with his finger. ‘I’m sure they’ll be very nice, as always.’
Ignoring his obvious sarcasm, I start cutting out pastry shells and placing them in the baking tray. Why are bits still flaking off?
Zac is heading out of the kitchen but pauses by the door and looks back, suddenly serious.
‘Did I mention that I got an email today from Jasmine?’
‘No, you didn’t.’ I wipe flour from my cheek with the back of my hand and start spooning fruity mincemeat into the rubbish pastry cases. ‘What did she want?’
‘She asked me to go with her to her work’s party before Christmas. I was quite surprised to hear from her but she said her date had cancelled and she knows I’m interested in PR, so she wondered if I’d like to go along instead.’
‘Like second best,’ I say, and then wish I hadn’t. Zac’s face clouds over.
‘I suppose so. But it was nice of her to ask me.’
‘It was very nice. And Jasmine doesn’t do second best. It’s a shame that it’s not really your thing.’
‘Parties? Not usually. But maybe, like you, I ought to shake things up a bit and do something new – put some zing into Zac.’
Is he seriously considering going on a kind of date with my sister? A dollop of mincemeat splodges onto the worktop because I’m not concentrating.
‘What do you think about me going with Jasmine?’ asks Zac, not catching my eye. ‘Would you mind?’
Of course I’d mind. It’s weird and… inappropriate. Though I’m not sure why because Zac and I share a house. That’s all. But I can hardly say ‘No, don’t go,’ for no good reason, can I? He’s a grown man who can do what he likes. I mop up the spilled mincemeat with kitchen roll and plaster on a smile.
‘Why should I mind?’
‘I just thought maybe ’cos it’s Jasmine…’ He shrugs his broad shoulders.