Page 13 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
My father drifted in and out of our lives, spending months away from us at a time. Sometimes he was on tour; at other times I preferred not to know where he was, or who he was with. But he was always home for Christmas. Images flash through my head. Him at the piano, us gathered around singing. A normal family, even though we weren’t most of the time. So yeah, I’m no Grinch. I can get in the Christmas spirit, but after a day in this house where it looks like someone spewed holiday cheer in every corner, I think I’ve had enough to last me a while.
“And what do we win?” Ollie calls to his sister. “A trip to Santa’s workshop? I’ve always wanted to see the North Pole.”
I’m surprised he hasn’t already. When he’s not with the band, Ollie loves to travel to weird places.
“A chance to turn on the Oxford Street lights this year?” Garett suggests with a grin at his wife. “Liv would be up for that.”
“No, they’re already on, love,” Liv says.“I’m betting it’s something like a year’s supply of Christmas cake. Or a limitless coffee card, only valid for peppermint mocha.”
“Wrong on all counts,” Haley says. “You’ll be trying to win something for someone else, not yourselves.” She and Loreena exchange satisfied smiles. “Loreena and Tommy support a lot of charities, especially atthis time of year.”
I know that’s true. Last year they helped Haley and Christian’s favourite dog rescue score a hundred grand. Then there’s the vet scholarship they set up with Haley as the first to benefit. And now they’re the driving force, and the money, behind a pet refuge for families fleeing bad situations with their animals. It’s already going up in the old gamekeeper’s cottage on the estate. I respect that. People who use their good fortune to lift others, not just themselves.
“You must complete all five games. At the end, the pair with the most points wins a £20,000 donation to a charity of their choice. You and your partner can decide on the charity.” Haley pauses, as if daring us to look around and claim one.
“Partner?” I ask as my eyes meet Rachel’s. I’m already silently pleading for her to choose me. I’m sure I catch a spark of interest. Or I might just be trying to will it into existence.
“You’ll work in the same pairs as the wedding party: me and Christian, Liv and Garrett, Sam and Ollie, you and Rachel.”
I could kiss Haley for her perfect organisation—although Christian might deck me for that. He’s so damn protective of her. I fight the urge to leap onto my seat in celebration and fist-pump the air. These games have suddenly become a lot more attractive.
Haley waves at Loreena. “Judging duties fall to Loreena and Tommy.”
“Totally impartial,” Loreena grins. “Even the bride and groom can’t sway us.”
“Not open to bribes either.” Tommy Bunt cackles as he wheels in a trolley with four large boxes stacked on it. He places a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “So don’t bother trying it on, yeah?”
I like this guy with his raspy East End accent and designer trainers. Although he owns this mansion, he looks as out of place in it as the rest of us. He hefts the mysterious boxes onto the table.
“It’s nine-forty-five now.” Haley glances at an enormous clock on the wall and, right on command, it chimes a tune—the first bars of ‘Good King Wenceslas’—and a little nutcracker soldier appears, salutes and disappears back behind a door. “Meet with your partner and decide on your charity. I’ll see you back here in fifteen minutes, and Loreena will explain the first game.”
We all file out, the other three couples already with heads nestled together in conversation. While I’m buzzed that I’ll get to spend enforced time with Rachel every day for the next five days, we’re at a disadvantage in this competition. The others have a solid track record of working together.
Garrett and Liv met in high school and have been married for over ten years. Christian and Haley’s relationship survived a difficult start with the whole world looking on. A year later, anyone can see why they’re making vows for life. Sam and Ollie have been friends since they were kids. All Rachel and I have to build on is a bit of flirting and this morning’s horse ride. There’s no guarantee we’ll make a winning team. I’ll do my best, but it feels like Rachel may have been saddled with the guy least likely to win as her partner.
Apart from being the band member with the most groupies chasing me, I’ve never been number one at anything. Last in my family by four years, I was an unplanned afterthought, the result of one of those times when Mum and Dad were together for a while. Being the only son could mean something, but it doesn’t in my family. My sisters had already claimed all the medals, all the attention, and whatwas left for me was being everyone’s kid brother. Loved, sure, but never the star.
And much as I love my bandmates, in subtle ways they let me know I’m the one with the least to contribute. Just the drummer, even though I know—if I ever grew a backbone—I could offer so much more. The rare times I’ve hinted I had lyrics, or a melody tucked away, the moment’s passed without anyone picking up on it, and the one time I half-joked about lead vocals, it got laughed off before I could say I was serious. I should’ve pushed harder. That one’s on me, I suppose.
But the rest? No, I’m just the guy who keeps the band in the headlines. My love life—not that there’s any love involved—splashed across social media. That one’s on me, too.
Rachel oozes competence and confidence, like she was born with an instruction manual for life. I’m not sure what these Christmas games involve, but there’s a nagging voice in my head reminding me of all the ways I could screw this up. The thought of letting her down twists something in my chest, which is ridiculous considering I’ve had less than a day to consider the possibility of her as more than a teammate in some stupid contest. I may not have what it takes to win the prize Haley’s offering. Or to win Rachel’s interest, either.
Rachel strides down the hallway, her long legs painted in dark denim, the curve of her arse a feast for my greedy eyes. Her hair, freed of this morning’s braid, spirals in golden waves halfway down her back. It hints at something wild and untamed inside this otherwise perfectly-groomed woman. The smell of her perfume wafts through the air as she moves, decadent sweetness and spice mingling in something that smacks of expensive.
I like the idea of Rachel spoiling herself with her lawyer’s income. I bet she deserves it. She’s so much more than a pretty face, and I think that’s what draws me to her more than anyone I’ve met in a long time. She’s smart and witty, bold, but with a thread of kindness running beneath it. I see it in the way she is with her friends, a softness in the way she speaks to Haley; her playful banter with Sam. Her easy charm at the dinner table; the way when she talks to someone, they get her full attention like they’re the most important person in the room. I want to be that person. Seeing her gentle way with the horses this morning tugged at my chest.
There’s so much more to Rachel MacDonald than meets the eye, and I’m desperate for the chance for her to see that about me, too. I’m not just the pretty boy rotating women through my life as fast as a tempo change between verse and chorus. I’ve been handed an opportunity. Now it’s up to me not to fuck it up.
She pauses at a doorway, peers inside and beckons me to follow. The library room has wall-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books, a fire burning in the hearth—gas, but it looks cosy—and large comfortable sofas. I relax back into one, pull an ottoman across, and put my feet up. My thighs scream from this morning’s ride, reminding me of muscles I haven’t used in years. I’m sure there’s a bruise on my arse turning purple as we speak. I should have asked for some ice, but I didn’t want to look a right dick in front of Rachel. I’d already done enough by falling off that flighty damn horse.
“Any ideas which charity?” I ask as she settles her shapely butt—just as attractive in jeans as jods—into a large wingback chair. She looks like a queen on her throne, straight back, ankles crossed, her slender fingers ablaze with rings, and golden bangles jangling on her wrists.
Rachel sighs, leaning back in the chair, arms folded across her chest.
“Dozens. I can’t count the number of bloody charity galas I’ve endured over the past few years. All good causes, I’m sure, but the people are insufferable. Snooty bastards. Most of them don’t give a shit about the charity—only there to get their picture taken. I love getting glammed up as much as the next girl, but if I never went to another fucking fundraiser in my life, I’d be happy.”
I can imagine this woman in evening wear—glittering fabric hugging those narrow hips, a plunging neckline revealing the perfect cleavage promised by the tight jumper she’s wearing. She’d outshine all the other girls. I’m already plotting how I can keep Rachel in my life long enough to parade her on the red carpet at the Brit awards in March. That’s three months away. With my track record, there’s not much chance of something I start with a woman lasting that long, but hey a man can dream, can’t he?
