Kerry Barrett - Under The Mistletoe

She was the doctor’s receptionist, married to one of the pros, with two kids at secondary school. Middle-aged, with short mousy hair and no make-up, Denise wore a military design grey dress with buttons all the way up. Her slim legs cried out for stylish shoes but instead she’d chosen a flat trainer type. She wore what looked like one hundred denier flesh-coloured tights and on her back hung a mini rucksack.

‘Good morning, Melissa,’ said Denise stiffly, and looked around. ‘Rather isolated here, isn’t it? Give me the hustle and bustle of an estate, any day.’

Vivian was already over by the trophy cabinet. ‘You should see my Geoff’s collection of prizes; takes me a whole day to polish them. It’s just one of the responsibilities of being the captain’s wife.’

‘Ladies, what would you like to drink?’ Melissa said, her smile already looking a little fixed, like those actors at the Oscars who’ve just found out they haven’t won. ‘Cappuccino, Espresso…?’

‘Got anything straightforward,’ said Denise, ‘like black tea?’

‘Why don’t people sell coffee in English any more?’ said Vivian’s clipped tones. She turned to me. ‘White coffee, please dear.’

By the time I took their drinks into the lounge, the doorbell had rung again and two younger women were in there too, chatting. One had her hair tied back in a scrunchie and wore sporty culottes, a cute pink hooded cardigan and cute stud snowman earrings. She had to be Kate, who, Melissa said, had two toddlers and worked in a gym. Melissa liked her best. That meant the other was Saffron, with hair as yellow as her name and a tan which clearly didn’t come from one of those exotic holidays the Winsfords enjoyed. She’d given Kate a lift and had just slipped her keys into her Louis Vuitton handbag, which I subtly scanned. It was fake, just like the one I’d bought off St Albans’ market. You could tell because there was no monogrammed LV on the zipper pull. Saffron stared around the room, lip-lined mouth open, kohl-rimmed eyes like saucers. Her nails were turquoise with red jewels and her frilly dress was both higher at the bottom and lower at the front than any of mine. I could have sworn I’d seen that exact dress on sale last week in one of my favourite discount shops in Luton .

‘Thank you, dear.’ Vivian took her coffee from me.

‘I’ll have one of Melissa’s lovely Macchiatos please,’ said Kate.

‘Got any green tea?’ said Saffron. ‘If not, I’ll have a black coffee, ta. Got to watch my figure – otherwise the men won’t, know what I mean?’ She smiled smugly. ‘Although I couldn’t do nothing so energetic as Melissa. All that sweat. Don’t you get bored of your own exercise DVD, babes?’

‘I’m with Saffron,’ said Denise. ‘And I couldn’t sit through all those manicures and hair appointments, either.’

‘I see it as my duty, as one of the national birdies,’ said Melissa, in a tight voice. ‘People expect me to look my best at all times.’

Vivian was on her feet, studying a portrait of the golfing wife.

‘It’s very brave to hang that up,’ said Saffron, innocently. ‘Was it drawn before you went on a diet?’

‘Just look how the artist’s captured Melissa’s fine bone structure and glossy hair,’ said Sandra firmly, as she passed by and winked at Melissa. ‘No amount of weight loss could achieve those two things.’

Saffron wrinkled her nose.

‘Kimmy, isn’t it?’ said Kate to me, as I tried to make my escape. ‘The cakes look delicious.’

‘Yes, maybe you could hand them around, Kimmy,’ said Melissa, in a measured voice. ‘ KimCake Ltd ’s products are very exclusive.’

‘Never understood people paying for fairy cakes,’ said Vivian.

Denise nodded. ‘Especially us mums. Having kids makes you your own expert on icing and sprinkles. And just because they cost the earth doesn’t mean they’re the best quality. We had a patient in the other day who’d ordered some fancy ones online. They’d taken a big bite and almost choked on a plastic twist tie.’

‘These are rather special though, and Christmas-themed,’ said Melissa, through gritted teeth. She glared at me.

‘Um yes,’ I stuttered, and gave them a tour of the two pretty stands. Kate clapped her hands when I mentioned the mincemeat cupcakes’ brandy buttercream icing. Vivian sniffed and said she’d try the Santa Colada, only because Denise was driving. Saffron, in between gazing at Melissa’s lush furnishing, interrogated me as to the number of grams of fat in each skinny Stollen and said I should really offer gluten-free, as that was a very trendy diet. Modest Denise said she’d try a cinnamon and spice muffin, as that was the least fancy. So I served their requests onto the delicate china plates and left the room. At least whilst they ate, it went quiet.

I mean, jeez! Friendly Wysteria Lane of Desperate Housewives it wasn’t! I’d always thought that being a celebrity meant people would like you, or at least pretend. But Saffron was obviously jealous, Denise unimpressed, Vivian competitive… Thank God for Kate. If anything could bond this mismatched bunch together, it would be eating cakes with the melt-in-mouth buttercream icing and kick of sugary sponge.

When I went back, Vivian was onto her second Santa Colada and Denise was asking Melissa if she could have a plain biscuit instead of another cake. Kate gave me the thumbs up and wiped some brandy buttercream icing from around her mouth. Saffron was playing with her healthier skinny Stollen, a tortured look on her face as she refused to let herself eat it. Melissa should have shared her tip about chewing it then spitting it out. But there was no need as Saffron finally put down her plate. Then she ran her hand over the expensive sofa.

‘Have to say, I am rather impressed, young lady,’ said Vivian to me and raised her cupcake, a popping candy fizzing noise coming from her mouth. ‘This Malibu icing is delicious and the dessicated coconut’s texture just sets off the richness.’

‘Same for the brandy buttercream icing,’ said Kate and licked her thumb. ‘Good thing I’m not driving home.’

‘Don’t know what’s wrong with simple flavours nowadays,’ muttered Denise. ‘Go to buy a chocolate bar and you have the choice of about ten versions. And it’s impossible to understand the list of ingredients. One of our patients has a nut allergy and is always coming in with Mick Jagger lips, after eating something that’s been cross-contaminated and not clearly labelled’

‘Kimmy has an impeccable record,’ said Melissa, in her velvet tones. ‘I was lucky to find her.’

‘Who else have you catered for, dear?’ asked Vivian.

‘Um, most of the national team,’ I said, with an air of confidence, despite crossing my fingers. ‘And some footballers.’

‘Really?’ Saffron sat upright. ‘That’s mental!’

Vivian shook her head and smiled, as if to say the young woman would eventually grow out of being impressed by celebritydom.

‘I’m holding a hen night for my big sis this Friday,’ continued Saffron. ‘We’re having a buffet – you know, finger food, like on those frozen food supermarket adverts. You could give me your card. It’s not too late, is it? I’m thinking pink and glittery with her name on, and all the better if you have a recipe that’s low-cal… I saw one in Starchat last month for chocolate fudge cupcakes. They done a list of all the celebs eating healthy at the moment. Gluten-free cupcakes are the latest must-have,’ she said and shook back her bouffant blonde hair, as if she’d just made some important announcement.

Blimey. She sounded just like me yakking to Adam about the latest celebrity gossip. I passed her one of my, ahem, business cards – they were tucked in the pocket at the front of my apron.