Darcie Boleyn - Wish Upon A Christmas Cake

‘Hello, Aunty Gina.’ I proffered a hand to shake but she swatted it aside and enveloped me in a bear hug, forcing the air from my lungs. Her perfume of choice was a heady mix of patchouli and rose which I could taste as I sucked in a breath when she released me. Suddenly aware of a cold feeling in my groin, I glanced down to see that the wet patch spreading over the crotch of my jeans and the hem of my jumper was the remains of my whisky.

Gina followed my eyes. ‘Oopsy!’ She shrugged and smacked her scarlet-painted lips together. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’ She patted my shoulder, then saluted me as if we were rebels sharing a secret solidarity before drifting over to the fridge where she helped herself to a G and T.

Thanks, Gina.

Dad smiled as I stood up and attempted to dust myself off with a tea towel. ‘Why don’t you get changed and I’ll help your mother finish dinner. I hope you’ve brought some of those fancy cakes of yours because I can’t stop thinking about the ones you made for Granny’s birthday.’ I watched as his face fell for a moment but he quickly concealed his grief.

‘They’re in there, Dad.’ Apart from the ones currently freezing out in the barn. I pointed at the box on the counter and cringed as the image of Sam trying to prise it from my hands popped into my mind. ‘Of course I’d bring cakes with me. It would be criminal not to.’

Dad smiled as he peered into the box, then nodded approvingly. ‘They look good.’

I crossed the kitchen to the open doorway then realised I had no idea where I was going. As if reading my mind, Esther said, ‘Take a left at the top of the staircase then you’re the third door along. We selected a lovely room for you.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I turned away quickly, not wanting her to see the surprise on my face at how pleasant she was being. It made me want more, yet simultaneously made me a bit uneasy, as if someone was playing a trick on me.

I left the kitchen and wandered into the hallway.

And stared.

I swear that my jaw actually fell so far open as I gazed around me, that it hit my chest.

A huge staircase with a polished oak banister and ornate iron spindles ran from the middle of the hall and branched off in two directions as it ascended. There were several rooms off the ground floor hallway, one of which I assumed must be the dining room as I could hear the clink of china and the tinkling of cutlery as someone laid the table. Music came from the room adjacent to it, which was just off the grand double-front door. I realised that it must be the drawing room or lounge, depending on which century you were from. I scanned the hallway to see more rooms on the other side of the staircase too. Obviously the building was enormous from the outside but the inside reminded me of a cathedral. No, make that two cathedrals combined.

This house would need some serious exploration. Once I’d got changed, of course. I dared not hold my family up any longer.

***

I kicked the door to my room open as I was juggling my holdall, my handbag and trying not to let the whisky on my jeans seep through into my M&S knickers. I flicked through my memory to my shower at the flat then recalled popping a white pair on. Great! If whisky soaked into them it would be hard to get out, which meant that I’d never be able to dry the stained pair on the washing line. I blamed Esther for my obsession with whiter-than-white-whites. Socks, knickers, bras and aprons all had to be blindingly clean and white or…or what? I didn’t know the answer to that one but it was just a fact I’d grown up knowing. What if you get knocked down by a bus today and you haven’t got your best knickers on? What if you want to try something on when you’re out shopping and there’s a communal changing room? What if the vicar comes for tea? (Strange that one, how would he know what state my knickers were in?) What if you meet the queen? (Did Elizabeth II have x-ray vision then?) But Esther’s convictions were so strong that they could actually assume the appearance of facts. I guess that’s a mother thing.

As the door to my room swung wide, my jaw went slack for the third time since I’d arrived.

‘WOW! WOW! WOW!’

The bedroom was dimly lit by two floor lamps that stood either side of the bed but I could see that the room was huge. I could have fitted our whole flat into it. There was a king-size four-poster bed with its head against the wall to my left, an enormous mahogany wardrobe on the wall behind the door, two long sash windows in front of me and a large antique dresser to my right. Next to that was another door.

I dumped my bag on an ornate and presumably antique ottoman at the foot of the bed, then crossed to the windows. They overlooked the gravel path at the side of the house and the barn where I’d parked my car. I was sure I could see a few Florentines glowing in the darkness as they froze solid. I gave my Beetle a little wave then pulled the curtains against the inky blackness of the night and crossed the room to the other door.

Behind it was an exquisite en suite that filled me with both joy and relief. There’s nothing worse than having to leave your room when you’re staying away from home just to go for a pee in the middle of the night. At least I’d be spared such indignity. Besides, a big old house like this would be a bit spooky once everyone had gone to bed, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to creep across the landing and risk bumping into a headless nun or something. If the manor house was haunted, of course. Which it probably wasn’t. And anyway, I don’t believe in ghosts. Or – and this thought was far more pleasant – I could be innocently walking along, wearing my best silky nightie which showed off my curves – but not my lumpy bits – and bump into Sam. Oh, to crash into that wall of chest then be scooped up into those bulging arms. I’d be faint obviously, so he’d have to take me back to my room and give me mouth to mouth as his huge body covered mine and then…

Nothing. He was married. He had kids. Forget it. Forget him. That was all in the past.

I eyed the deep white tub longingly. It would be wonderful to fill it with bubbles then sink beneath them. Maybe I could jump in later, or in the morning after breakfast. But I’d better get changed and go down before steam started whistling from Esther’s ears. She’d been reasonable so far but I didn’t want to push my luck.

I opened my bag and pulled out a black shift dress made of that fabulous crinkle material that you don’t need to iron. I love this dress. It’s so easy to wear because it’s loose and flattering. I rummaged around until I found my black cork wedge espadrilles then dressed quickly.

There, that would have to do. But what about a bit of make-up? Not much but something to give me a bit of a glow. After all, I was feeling tired and some bronzer and lippie always made me look more human. We did have guests and really I didn’t want to scare them. You know, appear downstairs like Bob Marley in A Christmas Carol . I mean Jacob Marley. Bob Marley appearing would have a completely different effect now, wouldn’t it? More Could You Be Loved than you must change your ways . Although a visitation of the latter kind might make my mother a nicer person.

I placed my make-up bag on the dressing table and took out my bronzer, then flicked the thick brush over my cheeks. Hmmm. My forehead was a bit shiny, especially the bruise where I’d bumped my head on the steering wheel, so I whisked the brush over that too. And my neck for good measure. A slick of red lip-gloss, a finger comb of my mousey-brown curls and I was done. I smiled at my reflection. Not bad. Not great either but, hey, after a glass of wine, I’d feel more comfortable with myself and Esther’s inevitable critique would drift over my head like wood smoke on the breeze.