Page 21 of The Village Christmas Party

It’s a busy afternoon, and a promotion on half price Christmas candles is pushing sales along nicely. At this time of year we all pull together and take varied items at all the tills, rather than our specialised ones as the manager doesn’t want people waiting in queues. The staff from the lighting department upstairs are suddenly rushed off their feet. ‘And earning their money, instead of standing around with their thumb up their arse,’ according to Gemma. Maybe she has a point, as every time I’ve popped upstairs the staff are rearranging displays and chatting. Christmas time definitely keeps them on their toes.

‘Have you got any plans for this evening?’ asks Gemma when there’s a rare lull in sales.

‘Actually, no,’ I say, watching a young woman practically give herself a free makeover with the cosmetic samples on display. As it’s Christmas time I don’t want to approach her with the hard sell, so I leave her to it. She’s probably on her way out to a Christmas party. And to be fair, some of the products are pretty expensive in here.

‘What, no jobs to tick off the list this evening? Ironing the tea towels, maybe?’ she teases.

The young woman makes eye contact with me before smiling and darting out of the shop. I hope she has a good evening.

‘I’m not that bad.’ I laugh. ‘Am I? And actually, I was just going to watch a film. Maybe try out a cocktail in the cocktail shaker I got in the Secret Santa. What are you up to?’

‘Coming to yours for a screaming orgasm, if you have the recipe,’ she says, and has me laughing out loud.

‘Of course I do, the cocktail shaker had a little recipe book. I have all the ingredients, apart from amaretto for that particular cocktail.’

‘I’ll grab a bottle on the way,’ she says, and I am more than happy to have my friend’s company this evening.

‘Great, it’s a date, then. I’ve got some chilli in the freezer I can defrost for dinner, if you like?’

‘Sod that, let’s order a takeaway. How about Indian?’ says Gemma. ‘Not something I’m likely to have much of over Christmas.’

‘Me neither, I suppose.’

I think of my ex, rifling through the kitchen drawer and shouting the takeaway options through to me in the lounge, and I wonder whether I should have tried harder with him? Don’t sweat the small stuff, and all that, although I quickly remind myself that it wasn’t in fact small stuff. He could easily squander hundreds of pounds a month on gadgets and takeaways. It wasn’t as though we even had to save for a mortgage as I own the house, but he might have shown some interest in at least saving up for a wedding. I’d been wearing his engagement ring for two and a half years, having been together for four. I realise it’s been over a year since I treated myself to a takeaway, the thought of it triggering painful memories. Maybe it’s time to grasp the nettle and get on with things. And I do miss the occasional takeaway, truth be told.

‘You’re on. A curry with all the trimmings sounds just perfect,’ I say as we grab our bags from the cloakroom.

‘Great, see you at seven,’ says Gemma. ‘I’ll bring the menu from A Passage to India.’

‘Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten how good this tastes.’

I devour some of the delicious lamb curry before taking a long sip of Indian beer. The banquet is spread out on the kitchen table, with pakoras, bhajis and dips all vying for space and some nineties music playing in the background.

‘Do you want me to stay over tonight?’ asks Gemma as she dips some naan bread into a dip.

‘I don’t mind. Do you want to?’

‘I wouldn’t mind.’ She shrugs. ‘I just thought you might like some company.’

‘Do you mean after the break-in?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, suppose. Although with it being Sunday tomorrow, I thought we could have a late night and sit up chatting like we used to. I can download some Take That to listen to.’

‘Gosh, remember listening to them?’ I say, recalling being at a disco where everyone was raising their arms in the air and singing ‘Never Forget’ at the top of their voices.

I think of my plans for tomorrow then as the day of the community centre party draws closer. There are sausage rolls to make and freeze, as well as a Christmas toy drop-off at the children’s refuge. And someone is coming tomorrow afternoon to steam clean the curtains in the lounge.

‘I mean, I won’t if you don’t want me to,’ says Gemma, noting my hesitation as I think of my plans for tomorrow and I feel like a bad friend. ‘I just thought it might be nice, that’s all.’ She shrugs.

‘Of course it would be nice. In fact, not just nice, it would be lovely. I do have a few things to do tomorrow, but we can still enjoy this evening together.’

‘Great!’ Gemma clicks her beer bottle next to mine, before she leans in close and glances at me.

‘Is everything okay, Lauren?’

‘Yes, fine why?’ I ask, backing away slightly.

‘I just… I’ve noticed you being a bit preoccupied lately. I’ve known you long enough to notice that. I hope there isn’t anything you aren’t telling me. I have noticed you stroking your cheek a lot too lately.’

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