Page 39 of The Village Christmas Party

Mum has quickly rustled us up some organic scrambled eggs, even though my appetite has completely deserted me.

‘You must eat,’ insists Mum. ‘And these are organic free range from a friend of mine who has a smallholding,’ she tells me as she spoons scrambled eggs onto a plate.

‘They do look good. Thanks, Mum.’

‘We will have a busy day, so it will set us up nicely,’ she sensibly advises.

My stomach is churning over, but I manage to eat some of the breakfast that is actually delicious. Mum has always been a good cook, and I think the idea she mentioned some weeks ago of some cookery lessons at the food bank is a great idea.

I still worry that I ought to have warned the older people that they are going to be sharing the space with children, despite Sue telling me otherwise. On the other hand, that might have caused them to stay away and miss out, which is the last thing I want.

My mind is swirling with thoughts of sharing the hall with Kian which, if it were under different circumstances, I would be quite excited about. I hate to admit it, but there is just something about his presence that captivates me. Maybe it’s that seductive voice. Or those gorgeous eyes. Perhaps his easy-going, laid-back attitude. Whatever it is, I have to admit, I enjoy being in his company.

It’s just after ten o’clock when I set out the vegetables, as well as making sure the plates and glasses are all squeaky clean. The other volunteers will be arriving shortly to begin the preparations for lunch. After that, we usually sing along to Christmas songs and generally get into the festive spirit. Everything is going to be so different this year. I take a deep breath as I head out of the kitchen, and gasp.

The right side of the hall has now been festooned with pink and mauve balloons and a giant cardboard cut-out of the Little Mermaid is standing close to a stained-glass window that is streaming morning sun into the hall. There is no denying it all looks beautiful.

On the other side of the room all the tables have been laid out ready for the pensioners’ lunch.

‘You did this?’ I nod towards the tables.

‘I did,’ says Kian. ‘As I was here, I thought I would lend a hand whilst you were in the kitchen.’

‘That was a great help, thank you,’ I tell him gratefully.

‘Not a problem.’

I introduce Kian to my mum properly.

‘I’m sure your daughter will love this,’ I say, gesturing to the pretty decorations. ‘It’s all so beautiful.’

‘Thanks. She’s with her gran this morning so I could get things ready,’ he explains. ‘She’s been up since the crack of dawn, bouncing with excitement.’ He smiles affectionately when he talks of his daughter.

I offer to make him a coffee, and Mum takes her own herbal teabags from her handbag and hands me one.

‘Probably sensible not to have too much caffeine, but I can’t live without my coffee if I’m up early in the morning,’ says Kian.

I give Sue a quick call and let her know that the tables are all set up, so if Barry has something else he needs to do that’s fine. She tells me he will come with her anyway, otherwise he will sneak off to the pub.

When Kian heads to the kitchen, Mum starts to talk in a low voice as we get to work covering the tables in festive paper tablecloths.

‘So that’s the guy you told me about? You never said he was so handsome,’ she says, nudging me.

‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’ I shrug.

‘And that lovely accent too. I went out with an Irish boy when I was seventeen,’ says Mum, taping the paper tablecloth to the underside of the table.

‘Did you?’

‘Yes, it was in my first year of college. I later ditched the course but we went out for a few months,’ she recalls. ‘His name was Eamon. Oh, he was handsome.’ She smiles wistfully.

I never think of Mum as having any other boyfriends other than my dad. I guess there’s a lot we really don’t know about our parents unless we ask.

I can hear Kian whistling in the kitchen and wonder what it must be like to be the type of person who just shrugs and catches the curveballs life throws at you. I must admit there are times when I wish I could do the same, but I guess we are all different.

Thinking about it, being organised has probably been the key to me keeping any anxiety at bay. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Lists and organisation are the key to keeping things running smoothly. Until today, that is. Lists make things real to me, otherwise everything feels a bit abstract which makes me feel ungrounded. Add to that the fact that I don’t have the best memory, so making lists has been my saviour. I can’t imagine doing anything in life without a plan.

I once went on a weekend away with a friend who had forgotten half of her clothes and had to borrow mine. She also underestimated her spending money and had to message her dad to put some into her account. Then there was the fact that she failed to book a table at a smart restaurant as she had promised for my birthday. We couldn’t get in anywhere decent at such short notice, apart from a dodgy-looking place down a side street. The weekend left me so stressed I vowed to make sure I would plan everything to the nth degree so that nothing can possibly go wrong. Until now, that is. It seems life happens anyway, regardless of my meticulous planning.

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