Georgie Carter - The Perfect Christmas

Hmm, just my luck that I live in the real world where AA men are bald and grumpy.

And gorgeous, thoughtful men like Jonathan are married.

Maybe I should look on the bright side. After all, there is one sunbeam on an otherwise gloomy horizon and a pretty impressive sunbeam it is too. I can still hardly believe that I’m going to be planning Saffron’s wedding! I’m still pinching myself because I’ve been given the green light to source fabulous designers and tasteful Christmas accessories. I haven’t seen Hester since Saffron made her decision but I know she won’t forgive me in a hurry. She’s furious that Perfect Day has won the tender and, according to Saffron, turned white with disbelief at being pipped at the post by such an amateur outfit. If it was anyone else I’d almost feel sorry for her but this is payback for all the hideous jobs she gave me, especially the time she made me clean up after three vomiting bridesmaids.

I turn my attention back to the car. I wouldn’t put it past Hester to have sabotaged it.

‘Can you fix it?’ I ask the AA man.

‘It looks like the radiator. I’ll do my best to patch it up so you can get home but you’ll probably need to replace it.’

‘Is that expensive?’

‘About two hundred quid.’

Great. My bank manager will need Valium if I go any more overdrawn this month.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ the AA man says, wiping his hands on a rag before delving into the back of his truck. ‘Worse things happen at sea.’

‘I’m not at sea. I’m on the A4,’ I point out.

When my phone buzzes, I take a look at the screen. There’s no name, but the number is ingrained into my memory from repeated and persistent use. Patrick. What do I have to do to get rid of this man?

I flip my phone open.

‘What do you want?’

‘And hello to you too,’ says Patrick cheerfully. ‘Sure, isn’t that a lovely way to greet your friends?’

‘What makes you think you’re my friend?’

Pat laughs. ‘I love your dry sense of humour, so I do.’

I’m not joking.

‘This really isn’t a good time for a social call. Dolly’s broken down.’

‘Jaysus! Not again? How many times is it now? Eight?’

‘No!’ I retort hotly. ‘Only six actually.’

‘Only six?’ Although I can’t see him, I know that Pat’s eyes will be twinkling with mirth. ‘Oh, that’s OK then. Honestly, Robs, it’s time you gave up with that old car and got yourself a newer model.’

‘Like you did?’ I nearly say, and only just stop myself in time. Instead I say, ‘You never did like Dolly, did you?’

‘Robyn, what sort of man wants to be seen in a Barbie car?’

‘Ken?’

Pat laughs. ‘A man with no dick! I rest my case. Anyways, Robs, I haven’t called just to talk dirty, fun though that is. I was wondering if you fancied coming out for lunch sometime? Maybe Wednesday?’

I’ve always known he’s tactless but this doesn’t so much take the biscuit as the entire McVities factory. Our first wedding anniversary would have been next Wednesday. What’s going on? I hope he’s not about to suggest we have sex for old time’s sake or something equally ridiculous. I wouldn’t put anything past Patrick. I barely trusted him when we were together – rightly, as it turned out – and I certainly don’t trust him now.

‘I’m really busy next week. I’ve lots of weddings.’

Weddings. Hint. Hint.

‘Ah, feck,’ Pat sighs. ‘I really wanted to see you. There’s something I need to ask you.’

‘Everything’s OK, isn’t it?’

Pat is silent.

‘Pat? You’re not ill or anything, are you?’

‘Sure, we’re fine!’ he says swiftly. ‘Especially Jo. She’s blooming. Jaysus, Robs! I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted to be a da!’

‘I know you have. You’ll be brilliant, so congratulations.’

And he will be brilliant too. Pat’s always wanted kids and he was fantastic with my half-brothers. It was something of a bone of contention that I wasn’t ready to think about children from the instant that the engagement ring was on my finger.

‘Jo’s excited too. She’s not like you. Family means everything to her.’

His implication being that family doesn’t mean very much to me. I want to be offended, but in a way he’s right. If I’m honest, the idea scared me. But it scares everyone, doesn’t it? Becoming a mother is not a decision to take lightly, so I was right to be cautious.

Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

‘We’re going to move to Ireland too,’ he adds. ‘I’m earning enough now to buy a little cottage in the country. That was always my dream, remember, Robs?’

Oh yes, I remember. Pat always had a longing for the so-called simple life and we spent many hours arguing over the pros and cons of moving to the country. Somehow I couldn’t imagine swapping Jimmy Choos for chickens, and Patrick wouldn’t compromise with a mews house in Primrose Hill. Running Perfect Day from the sticks would have been impossible, and the thought of giving up my business and being dependent on Patrick had made my skin prickle with unease.

I force a light note into my voice when I say, ‘Barefoot and pregnant. Lucky Jo!’

‘I’m pretty traditional,’ admits Pat. ‘We’re going to get married as soon as we can so that we’re Mr and Mrs McNicolas by the time the baby comes. Jaysus! Like I said, I can’t have my child being born a bastard.’

I skip the obvious joke at his expense and say, ‘Look, Pat, this is all great but I really can’t talk. I’m stuck on the A4 and about to be rear-ended.’

‘I always loved your rear end,’ says Patrick, nostalgically. ‘But that isn’t why I phoned. Well – and feel free to say no if you like – but Jo and I were wondering whether you’d consider planning our wedding?’

For a second I’m struck dumb. Did I just hear my ex-fiancé asking me to plan his wedding to the hussy he cheated on me with?

‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you?’ says my perceptive ex when I fail to whoop and screech with rapture. ‘Ah, feck. Jo said you’d say no. I should have listened to her.’

Jo obviously has more sense than I’d given her credit for.

‘She said you probably aren’t over me yet,’ Pat ploughs on.

Or maybe not!

My temper starts to bubble like lava in a volcano. Jo thinks I’m still in love with him? The cheek of it! I’ll show her just how over him I am! I’ll arrange such a fantastic celebrity wedding for my ex and his new fiancée that it’ll make Posh and Becks’ look like a budget do!

I try to laugh lightly but sound instead as though I’ve been strangled. Embarrassed, I hastily turn my laugh into a cough. Better he thinks I’m choking than incoherent with rage.

‘Jaysus, are you all right?’ Pat asks, sounding concerned.

‘Fine! There’s just a lot of pollution here by the roadside,’ I improvise wildly, throwing in a couple more coughs just for good measure. ‘That’s better. I’d love to be your wedding planner!’

‘Ah, that’s great so it is!’ Pat says warmly. ‘Now, I have to be honest. I may have led Hester to believe that she was in with a chance of getting the gig. After all, I know first-hand just how much attention to detail she pays to these things and I did have some very specific ideas!’

My eyes widen. When we were together Pat, witnessed my despair on countless occasions when Hester gave me the worst jobs imaginable. Sometimes we’d laughed when there was a funny side (I’d never forget rescuing a very famous A-lister who’d been naked and handcuffed to a bed on the night before his wedding) but more often than not, Pat had seen me in floods of tears over some awful petty task that Hester had insisted I carry out. And he hadn’t been impressed.