Page 6 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Oh, Eileen, that does sound tempting, and it’s years since I’ve eaten dumplings, but I have a lot on tomorrow evening, and won’t be home until after nine, I’m afraid.’

Eileen’s face falls for a second, before she musters a smile.

‘Oh, don’t worry, love, I just thought I would offer. I can freeze the casserole. Unless I give half to you, and you can have it another time?’ she offers.

‘Thanks, Eileen, I really appreciate it. Would you like a cup of tea?’ I suggest, feeling bad about not taking her up on her invite.

‘I won’t actually, love, there’s a crime drama about to start that I’ve been following. Right, I’ll be off then.’

‘Okay, see you soon. Enjoy your programme.’

A couple of hours later, I consider knocking with a slice of cake or a mince pie for Eileen, but think it may be a little late, so I will offer her something tomorrow.

I settle down with a glass of wine and think about Gemma’s date. I hope her evening is going well, and that the newly separated guy from the shop is the real deal. She deserves to be treated well and have a bit of a good time, as she’s had a tough time of it lately, after losing her dad, who she was really close to. It made me think of my own dad, and having to face the fact that our parents won’t be around forever, which is a harsh reality to face.

Glancing out of the window, the lamp from the lounge is illuminating the front lawn, and I gasp when Tony leaps onto the window ledge and stares in. The frosty air bites as I open the patio door and let him inside.

‘Not staying out tonight then?’ I ask and he mews as he heads straight for the log burner, his basket lined with a thick tartan blanket.

‘Although I can’t say I blame you,’ I say and he responds with purrs, before he curls up in front of the fire.

Sitting here alone, I briefly think of something that has been bothering me, before taking a sip of my wine and pushing it to the back of my mind. Besides, I only noticed it last week, or was it the week before? It’s hard to keep track at this time of year as the days seem to merge into one. Anyway, it’s Christmas Day in just over a week, so I will get things checked out in January with the doctor. Right now, there are far too many things that need doing. First on the list is booking in an appointment to have my curtains steam cleaned before Christmas.

In the kitchen, I reach for a tall latte glass and notice a nearby champagne flute that looks as though it could do with another polish. I add the task to my list, as I want all the glasses sparkling before the party season arrives.

‘So how was your date?’

We’re sipping coffee on a break at work, in the staffroom, a beige rectangle of a room that has none of the opulence of the rest of the store.

‘Okay,’ says Gemma, not giving much away.

‘Only okay?’

‘Yeah. It’s strange that Joe, that’s his name, is always nice in the shop, funny too.’ She cups her drink and stares ahead.

‘And?’

‘So I thought he would be like that on the date, but he hardly said two words.’ She takes a sip of her coffee and tells me off for bringing the red velvet cake in to work, asking me how on earth she is supposed to resist. ‘In fact,’ she continues, giving in and cutting herself a small slice, ‘he seemed more interested in going back to my place than having any sort of a conversation.’ She sighs. ‘Which was a complete turn-off.’

‘Oh, Gem, I’m sorry it wasn’t the evening you expected it to be.’

I’m fuming with the selfish sod, who clearly had nothing more on his mind than a one-night stand.

‘And I think you’re right about him not being as separated as he claimed he was,’ she continues. ‘In fact, I know you are right.’

She takes a bite of the cake and makes an appreciative noise.

‘And you know that for a fact?’ I ask her, dreading what is coming next.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ she says, licking cream cheese frosting from her fingers.

‘So, what happened?’ I ask.

‘Well, we drove to this country pub, in the middle of nowhere,’ she says, wiping her fingers with a napkin. ‘And there we were sat in front of a gorgeous roaring fire enjoying a drink, him taking quite an interest in my flat, and suggesting we go there.’

‘The cheek.’

‘I know. I thought we would at least chat about something, his job, plans for Christmas, the cost of living, anything, but no. I was going to bail out and send you a text asking you to call me.’

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