Page 2 of The Christmas Catch
“Bite me.”
“Okay, a bottle of whisky it is.” Morgan knew that would make Josh smile.
“And he still gets to drink,” Annabel huffed. “Pregnancy is a special form of torture, you know that? Whoever thought it up had just been dumped in the worst way by the worst woman ever. And it was definitely a man.”
“But in the end, you get a cute little bundle of wonder. Did I mention I’ve bought lots of presents for Bump?”
“Aww,” her sister replied. “I would say you shouldn’t have, but I’d be lying. Buy Bump another gift and forget Josh. That’s my vote. Or buy him whisky and I’ll drink it once I’ve birthed said bundle of wonder. I’ll hide it under the bed. The whisky, not the baby. You are in the right place to bring me the best, after all.”
“You see? I knew you’d find the silver lining.” Morgan looked left, then right. Both sets of lights were on red, and the main road was clear. She made a dash for the cab rank on the other side.
Just as she moved, she saw something dark moving towards her out of the corner of her eye.
She stopped, then focused fully right.
By that time, the cyclist was almost on top of her. No lights on, and the rider wearing no hi-vis clothing.
Morgan jerked backwards as the cyclist swerved around her. She just about avoided the collision, but in the melee, her phone leapt from her hand. To her left, a car slowed as Morgan let out a squeal. She rushed to the other side of the road where her phone lay in the gutter, spinning.
Fucking cyclists.
Josh was getting whisky, no argument.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she bent to pick up her phone. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Damn it all to hell. The screen was smashed. Frustration boiled in her as she stepped onto the pavement before another bike mowed her down. She held it up to her ear just in case her family were still on the other end.
“Hello?” Nothing. Now they were sure to think she’d expired on the mean streets of Glasgow. Her family didn’t understand her motives for living so far away. If she carked it here too, they’d never forgive Scotland.
She dropped her phone into her bag and stood in the queue for the cabs. On December 21st, with everybody laden with shopping bags, it wasn’t a short line. She should get the bus. But it was too cold, and this week had been too long. Plus, she’d just nearly died. She deserved a cab. Her friend Crystal would tell her to walk. Then again, Crystal was born and bred here, and still didn’t own a coat. It was the Scottish way. Morgan was always the soft southerner.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in the back of a cab, the driver asking which football team she supported. She didn’t think Plymouth Argyle was going to raise his interest. Morgan’s mind wound forward to tomorrow. To her plane ticket being digital, and so on her phone. Could smashing her screen have happened at a more inconvenient time?
She made a quick mental to-do list in preparation for her midday flight.
1. Get to the phone shop and get her screen repaired.
2. Email Ryan and tell him to have a stern word with Cinnamon and Antonio.
3. Borrow her neighbour Harry’s phone to call her family and tell them she wasn’t dead.
CHAPTER2
Ali Bradford waved her arm to get served. The guy behind the bar looked through her every time, only serving the women with long hair. Blondes especially, she’d noted. The world wasn’t a fair place, particularly for a thirsty short-haired lesbian surrounded by office Christmas parties. Ali hadn’t gone to her own. This was her makeshift party with her friends before she headed home. At least, it would be if she ever got served.
Behind the bar, the pretty bar staff were still resolutely ignoring her like it was some sort of sport. She was just about to turn and tell her friend Sasha to try instead—she had long hair, after all—when the man beside her pointed the nearest bartender in her direction.
Ali blinked. “Thank you.” Apparently, chivalry was not dead yet. She ordered a Peroni for her, a Coors Lite for Sasha, and a Soave for Tobias (“criminally underrated” according to him). She flashed her card at the terminal, picked up the drinks, and walked back to their booth.
When she got there, Sasha frowned at Tobias. “It’s got to be Christmas trees, right?”
Tobias shook his head, his dark fringe flopping in his eyes. “Nope.” He put his right cheek in the palm of his right hand and tilted his head to their friend. “Guess again.”
Sasha pursed her lips, then snapped her fingers. “Advent calendars.”
“Wrong!” Tobias loved guessing games, while Sasha hated them. He took his wine from Ali’s hand, “Thanks hon!”, then trained his gaze back on Sasha.
“What are you two talking about?” Ali slid into their booth. She pushed their pile of coats against the wall, giving herself more room on the red leather seat.
A cheer erupted from the booth behind.
