Zara Stoneley - Four Christmases and a Secret

‘We’ll be doing that next year.’ I tell Stanley, who is curled up against my feet. He wags his tail lazily, to show he’s listening. ‘Well, you’ll have your fur ever home, in some big house with a massive garden. I’m not quite sure what I’ll have.’

I lie back and close my eyes, but I can’t stop thinking about my job. Or lack of it. So I pick my phone up again.

There is a new email from Ollie: ‘Sorry to disappoint, nothing as amusing as Ziggy – it’s Zane. Rgds Ollie.’

I wonder if he always writes such formal emails?

‘Not a disappointment!’ It is. ‘Is it a family name? Best wishes, Daisy’ – I did write ‘Love Daisy’, but then decided that was a bit too familiar for somebody who says ‘Rgds’.

‘No idea! Night. O’

‘Good night!’

I wait a few moments to see if he sends any more messages, and when he doesn’t I open the email from James Masters.

Maybe my first step in proving to everybody (including myself) that I can be a success, is to challenge my caretaker boss and demand better a better job immediately?

Still can’t sleep. Keep wondering about what might have happened if there had actually been some mistletoe in my snug in the bookshop when Ollie had squeezed in beside me.

This is not a good way to think.

1 He has a girlfriend (can’t see it lasting though).

2 I still kind of have a boyfriend, I think. Not sure if cancelled Christmas = cancelled relationship, or if he might want to see me again.

3 Our lives have gone in different directions, we are no longer compatible. At all. Whatever my mother thinks. He is smug and insufferable, and I hate him. Though he was very kind earlier.

Bugger! How can he be so annoying and taking up so much of my head space when he has nothing to do with me and my life ? I pull the duvet right up to my ears, feeling stroppy.

He was very kind though, and I was tempted to kiss him.

I curl up, and realise I’m smiling.

It was the way he looked into my eyes, as though he understood me. As though he knew. For a moment I was the old Daisy, the teenage Daisy, the one he’d snogged.

He really does have very kissable lips, and a cute dimple, and eyes I could lose myself in …

‘You’ll find something.’ Mum says, even though I haven’t mentioned my possible jobless state. ‘You always do, you’re resourceful, and your adverts are wonderful, they’d be silly to let you go. Stir the gravy will you, darling.’

I stir the gravy. ‘Everybody has to relocate though, to the head office. Ours is closing.’

‘How sad, I wonder what it will be?’

‘What, Mum?’

‘The office! I wonder what will happen to your office when it’s closed, they’ll turn it into a trendy bar I imagine. Stir harder darling, there are lumps.’

‘I could sieve it?’

‘See, I said you were resourceful. Now, sprouts, will they make Stanley smell?’

‘Stanley?’ He looks up hopefully at the sounds of his name, he’s been lurking in the kitchen since we arrived and doing his best to trip Mum up.

‘Well I’m serving him a dinner as well dear, he is your plus one after all!’ She’s being rather upbeat about all my shortcomings today. I give her a quick hug and she gives me a bigger one back. ‘Now where did I put that slotted spoon, where is it then?’

‘Here.’ I pick up the spoon which she’s placed ready in front of herself.

‘Oh, not that, silly. I meant where is the new office?’

She does this, jumps between conversations. She’ll leave one unfinished, then half an hour later carry it on as though there’s not been a break.

‘The email said most of the jobs will be in Stavington.’

‘That’s a long way, darling. Who do we know there? I’m sure we know somebody who lives there. It will come to me. Just pop that cranberry sauce in the microwave, will you?’

Stavington is a long way. If I carry on living with Frankie and commute all the way to Stavington, I’ll be spending nearly all of my paltry salary on train fares – or polluting the countryside with my car.

Which means moving there, if the pay is good enough for me to afford a flat, because I haven’t a clue who my mother is thinking about. We don’t know anybody who lives in Stavington.

Oh my God! I’ll be finally leaving home if they offer me a job.

I mean, I know I don’t actually live at home, I do live with Frankie. But I’m practically on the doorstep.

This is different.

I’ll be moving on with my life, like I’d always thought I would. I put the sauce into the microwave with a clatter and press a few buttons. I won’t be living in this village any longer, it will be a fresh start somewhere else. This is a positive I hadn’t thought about.

A scary positive. I will be totally independent, a proper adult.

‘Daisy, Daisy, darling, I don’t think it should be bubbling like lava should it?’

‘Oh shit, sorry, no.’ I ping the door open and stare at the sauce, mesmerised as it flows over the top of the bowl.

‘Is everything okay, darling?’ Mum presses a dishcloth into my hand and squeezes my shoulder. ‘It will be okay, I know it will. You’ll sort it all out.’

I glance at her, and she nods encouragingly.

If I move away, I’ll be further from Mum, just as she’s started to support me more, just as I’ve started to realise that despite the competitive banter with Vera, she does really care. She does believe in me.

I’ll miss her.

‘It’s not that far away really, just far enough.’ It’s almost like she’s read my mind, like she used to when I was little. Well, at least I thought she was a mind-reader back then. ‘It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? Do you think I’ve done enough sprouts?’

I nod, then smile. It is. My stomach is churning a bit, and I do feel all jittery and nervous, but it is exciting. This could be my turning point, my fresh start.

‘Now if you don’t wipe that up quickly it’ll be stickier than a flypaper!’

‘Sorry?’ I frown at her.

‘The sauce darling! It will set like toffee, you’ll have to scrape it off the sides, oh my goodness, the gravy!’

The rest of Christmas day passes in a bit of a blur. It’s hard to fully appreciate cracker jokes when your future is held in the balance. Although I have to admit I had totally forgotten how much fun pin the tail on the donkey can be after two brandy and Babychams, and a snowball consisting mainly of Advocaat. Maybe retro really is the way to go.

The last few months have been a bit of a nightmare, I feel like I am dangling in hyperspace. My life has been suspended, while I wait to see what Guardian HQ has in store for me.

In January, we were moved into a much smaller office, just up the road from our old office, with a much bigger temporary boss. She’s enormous, has chin hair, and is very stern and serious. I think she’d rather be in Stavington reporting on speeding offences and petty crime, than here featuring the village fête and looking for lost gerbils.

She also isn’t that keen on my funny small ads (‘Is humour really necessary?’) or enquiries about my future (‘We’ve all been there, just cope. Is that really how you spell Chihuahua?’). In fact, let’s face it. She’s a grumpy cow.

I did in fact mention this to Ollie, who has been sending me the odd email (and some of them are very odd) since Uncle T’s party, asking how things are going. It’s a bit like when we were kids and he’d leave a note in my locker saying ‘I’ll beat you next time’ if I’d got a higher test score than him.