Page 44 of Christmas Romance Galore!
Saturday December 17th
I met my mum just after one o’clock under the Swiss cuckoo clock in Leicester Square, which wasn’t the best place to meet someone on the penultimate Saturday before Christmas. Half of London was there, prowling around, looking for wildly inappropriate goods to spend their money on. I hated rushed Christmas shopping, so was glad I’d got all of mine out of the way already.
My mum was a mass of floaty material and beads as always — I often joked this must be the learned dress code in professor school. Her hair was shoulder-length and she’d dyed it recently so it was the colour of honey. She was wearing her comfortable shopping shoes from Marks & Spencer and was already clutching at least three shopping bags, as I knew she would be. My mum was an early riser and she liked to hit the shops as soon as possible to beat the crowds. “If you don’t get there till lunchtime, you’ve lost already,” she always said. Which was the main reason why we rarely went shopping together.
“Alright, kiddo.” She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I would hug you, but I’ll save that till we’re sitting down and I can drop these bags.” As she said it, a tourist ran past and almost knocked Mum over. “Shall we get out of here before I get trampled?”
I took one of her bags before indicating over my shoulder and she followed me. Within five minutes, we were in Soho and in one of my favourite restaurants, which did a fabulous set lunch for prices that didn’t break the bank.
“Lunch is on me,” I said, pulling out my chair.
“I knew I had a daughter for a reason.” Mum gave me the promised hug, which nearly knocked the wind out of me before slotting herself and her shopping into and under the chair.
We ordered from a very smiley waiter, and once the wine had been poured, we relaxed.
“So you are coming home next week?” Mum took one of the bits of French bread and smothered it with butter.
“Course. Unless I get a better offer.”
Mum spluttered. “Charming. You’re going to leave me with your gran and Aunt Ellen? That shows a huge lack of Christmas spirit, if you don’t mind me saying. Especially from one who loves Christmas so much.”
I smiled. “I’m joking — you know I wouldn’t miss it. How is Gran?”
“Gran is great — the usual. And Ellen’s back and itching to go away again already, so no change there either.”
My mum’s mother was faring well, still strong and independent at the age of 75. Her older sister Ellen was also giving old age two fingers at every opportunity, having just returned from a safari in South Africa. I loved spending time with both of them and hoped I was as funny and healthy at their age. Plus, they were both huge red wine fans, so we spent a large chunk of Christmas Day trying new bottles — hence they tended to be a little boozy. Which was exactly the way my gran planned it, so she could then clean up at poker in the evening. She always seemed to miraculously sober up at that point.
“So what better offer are you waiting for?” Mum asked, as the food was brought to the table. French classic beef bourguignon for her, coq au vin for me.
I shook my head. “I was joking — I’ll be there.”
Mum chewed her mouthful before replying. “Nothing to do with Nicola Sheen?”
I cast my eyes down. “No. We ran into each other yesterday and that is done and dusted.” I relayed the story to Mum and she clicked her tongue in response, an annoying habit I knew well. It meant she had more to say, but she was holding back for now.
“And what did Holly have to say?”
“I didn’t see her last night — she was out with work people.”
“What’s she doing for Christmas?” Mum took a sip of her wine, but kept her eyes focused on me.
“The usual,” I replied. “Some time with her dad, some time with her mum and nobody’s happy. Always makes me value our Christmases even more when I hear about hers.”
Mum chewed slowly. “She should come to ours — the more the merrier.”
“I’m sure she’d jump at the chance,” I said, waving my knife in the air. “But you know, family politics.”
“Well, the offer’s there if she changes her mind.” Mum raised an eyebrow, then carried on eating.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Hmmm?”
“That,” I said, mimicking her movement. “The eyebrow raise, the ‘wait and see’ look.”
Mum shrugged. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about.” She ate some more food and put her fork down. “So tell me about some of these dates you went on. They sound like a hoot. Especially the one where you fell asleep on the loo.”
After the Dixie Chicks tickets and all the grief I’d put her through, I knew I owed Holly big time. So I texted to say I’d meet her at home that night. After I left my mum with our Christmas plans ringing in my ears, I stopped off at Marks & Spencer and bought one of their meal deals, ready to grovel to Holly. And if that didn’t work, I bought extra chocolate and wine for added back-up. After all, one bottle of wine was never enough in these situations.
