Santa Baby (2 page)

‘Oh, look who it is. Little Miss Frigid! As if I’d want to shag
you
.’

He stepped towards Tiffany who edged back, not liking the mean look in his eyes.

‘Come on, there’s no need for that, mate,’ Harley said reasonably. ‘Why don’t I get you a taxi?’

But Gavin carried on advancing towards Tiffany, while she backed away nervously. And when Harley reached out to put a restraining hand on Gavin, he swung out wildly with his left fist and punched Harley in the face. All hell broke loose then as Kara screamed, ‘You bastard! Don’t you touch my Harley!’ and launched herself at Gavin, battering him over the head with her turquoise clutch bag, which was probably more painful than it sounded as Kara packed a lot of cosmetics. Within seconds the bouncers had raced into the foyer and pulled her away from Gavin, struggling to restrain him.

‘Don’t you fucking touch me!’ he yelled, elbowing the two men. ‘Fucking low-life scum! I bet you’ve just come out of prison and this is the only job you could get.’

Tiffany couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Gavin was a complete psycho!

‘Actually, mate, I was in the army,’ one of the bouncers said, the one who had looked at Tiffany so scornfully.

‘Couldn’t get a proper job, eh?’ Gavin spat. ‘And now you’re out and most likely pretending you’ve got that Post Traumatic Stress bullshit.’

For a moment a look of pure rage flared up in the other man’s eyes and Tiffany was certain he was going to deck Gavin. Not that the idiot didn’t deserve it. Instead he turned to her, the look of scorn back in his eyes. ‘Nice boyfriend you’ve got. Now get him out of here before I call the police.’

Tiffany was about to protest that Gavin wasn’t her boyfriend, but the man had already turned away to talk to his colleague. Gavin’s bravado had crumbled at the mention of the boys in blue and he was practically
sprinting
out of the club. Tiffany looked at Kara who simply said, ‘Taxi. Now.’

An hour later Tiffany was home. Never had the rundown studio flat she rented just off the Archway Road in North London seemed so inviting, even though it was cold and damp. Tiffany made a quick dash into the shower then piled on layers of clothes: a vest, her pink brushed-cotton PJs patterned with pawprints, her fluffy dressing gown and socks. The cold here prevented Tiffany from being stylish in bed. Gavin didn’t know what he was missing, she managed to joke to herself. She curled up in bed with a hot water bottle, but even then she was shivering. She had turned down her step-mum’s offer to buy her an electric blanket for Christmas, saying that she was twenty-two, thank you very much, and not sixty! She had regretted that decision every time she’d subsequently got into bed and shivered under the duvet. Tonight had been shit! She was never going to let Kara set her up with anyone else
ever
again. She winced as she recalled how the bouncer had thought that Gavin was her boyfriend. As if!

Tiffany could have done without the whole experience. It had been a nightmare couple of weeks as it was. She had recently got in touch with her birth mother, with whom she hadn’t had any contact since she was a baby. It had been a total disaster. She had wanted to meet her real mother for years. Had expected to feel something for the woman who had given birth to her, some kind of connection. Instead the woman she had met had been a hard-faced junkie who didn’t appear to have any feelings for her daughter at all. It had been a crushing experience. Fortunately Tiffany had a great relationship with her dad, who had brought her up, and with her step-mum Marie. But it was hard not to feel unwanted and rejected after the experience.

And then there was her job as a waitress, which Tiffany hated. She had finished college over a year ago and had been trying so hard to make it as a stylist, working for free wherever she could. But she had got nowhere and, as she couldn’t carry on working for free, had been forced to take on the waitressing shifts. Her dreams of being a stylist seemed to be slipping further and further away from her. But hey, she tried to cheer herself up as she burrowed further under the duvet, at least she had not ended up with that loathsome Gavin!

SUNDAY LUNCHTIME, TIFFANY
arrived at her dad’s terraced house in Faversham, a small town in Kent. She was about to put her key in the door when it was swung open by Lily-Rose, her beaming eight-year-old stepsister.

‘Hiya, Tiff! Can I show you my dance routine to Lady Gaga? I’ve been practising all morning.’ She twirled round in her pale pink leotard and matching skirt.
Britain’s Got Talent
had a lot to answer for, Tiffany thought. Right now all she wanted to do was tuck in to her dad’s famous roast, and collapse on the sofa.

‘Give Tiff a chance to come in,’ shouted Marie from upstairs. ‘She was probably up all last night, living it large and doing shout-outs to all her homies.’

‘Giving it large,’ Tiffany shouted back. ‘And no one says that any more. It’s
so
2000.’

‘Whatevs, babes,’ Marie retorted.

Tiffany followed a pirouetting Lily-Rose into the kitchen where her dad was already hard at work, slaving over his roast potatoes. He was wearing an apron with a picture of a frilly bra and pants set on the front, a cheeky present from Marie, who never cooked. Tiffany was so used to seeing him in it that she didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘Tiffany, how are you?’ Her dad was one of the few people who ever called her that. He turned away from the oven and hugged her. It was so nice to see him, her
solid,
dependable dad, Chris, who had always been there for her.

‘I need coffee,’ she replied, sitting down at the kitchen table. The caffeine might make the performance of ‘Born This Way’, a little more bearable. She could only hope that Lily-Rose had not taken things to extremes and been incubating in an egg, or fashioning an outfit out of meat. Chris would go mad if she’d been at his organic beef.

‘I’ll get you one, love,’ said Marie, coming into the kitchen. She was thirty-seven, with wild auburn curls, freckles, green eyes and the warmest smile in the world, Tiffany always thought. She kissed her step-daughter on the cheek and Tiffany received a reassuring waft of her perfume, Clinique’s Happy. Lily-Rose completed her pirouttes and ended in deep plié. Then she jumped up and exclaimed gleefully, ‘I’ve got a joke about Lady Gaga.’

‘Go on then,’ Tiffany replied, knowing full well that she was bound to have heard it many times before.

‘How do you wake Lady Gaga up in the morning?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Tiffany played her part.

‘Poke her face!’ Lily-Rose squealed. ‘Geddit?’

And even though it was the tenth time Tiffany had heard it, she still smiled. It actually wasn’t a bad joke for an eight-year-old.

‘So will you come and watch me now?’ Lily-Rose put her hands together in prayer. ‘
Please
.’

‘You know she won’t give up asking until you do,’ Marie said, handing Tiffany a mug of coffee.

Tiffany had come up against Lily-Rose’s iron will many times in the past, and so she took the coffee and followed her sister into the living room.

Thankfully there was no giant egg or meat dress in sight. With one flick of the stereo remote, Lily-Rose was off, strutting her stuff, performing a series of
complicated
arm movements, turning this way and that, miming to the words, with an assurance that was beyond her years. Tiffany clapped away and smiled; her sister was so happy, so confident in the love of both her parents. Tiffany remembered how she herself had always felt there was something missing from her own life. Her dad had been a fantastic single parent, but Tiffany had wanted a mum too. It was only when Chris had met Marie that Tiffany finally felt her family was complete.

Marie wandered into the living room as Lily-Rose was coming to the end of her routine. ‘I was just remembering what I was like at her age,’ Tiffany commented.

‘You were so bossy, always telling me what I should wear. You had such strong views.’

‘It never worked though, did it?’ Tiffany laughed. Marie wore a uniform of jeans and slouchy tee-shirts and nothing could make her part from that, even though Tiffany constantly tried to get her to wear dresses and heels.

‘So how’s it going? Any luck on getting any stylist work?’

Tiffany shook her head. She’d emailed, phoned, gone in person to see a number of magazines … and no one could offer her anything, even working for free.

‘I’m doomed to work at that pizza restaurant for the rest of my life,’ she said gloomily. ‘I’ll be buried in a coffin made of pizza dough.’

‘Of course you’re not! You’re very talented, and one day soon I’m sure you’ll get a break. You deserve it. Now come on through, girls, Dad’s about to serve lunch and you know how he hates people being late.’

‘That was fab, Dad,’ Tiffany declared, putting her knife and fork together on her empty plate. Her dad was a
brilliant
cook; in fact, it was his dream to open his own restaurant or gastro pub, but he had always been too worried about money, wanting to provide security for his family. Marie didn’t earn very much as a teaching assistant at the local primary school. So instead Chris worked as a carpenter and cooking was his hobby.

‘I hope you saved some room for dessert. I’ve made poached pears in red wine. Ice cream for you, Lily-Rose.’

‘I’ll have some in a minute, I need to check on Justin Bieber,’ Lily-Rose declared, sliding off her chair.

‘That’s the name of her new dwarf hamster,’ Marie interpreted. ‘He’s cute but also annoying.’

‘Kind of like his namesake then,’ Tiffany replied, as she got up and cleared away the plates from the table. She paused at the work surface to admire the pears in red wine, marvelling again at her dad’s culinary skill.

‘I don’t know why I ever moved out,’ she commented. Of course the commute to London had been a killer and so expensive that it was cheaper for her to rent the grotty flat. But maybe she could have a change? She sat back down. ‘Come to think of it, maybe I could move back in for a few months while I work at getting a stylist job? I could babysit Lily-Rose for you by way of rent.’ She was voicing an idea she’d had for a while now. It would mean sleeping in the tiny box room, but at least she wouldn’t be scrabbling round to pay bills at the end of every month and she could give up working at the restaurant. Both her dad and Marie were looking awkward, however.

‘Er, you know we’d love to have you back, Tiffany,’ her dad said, ‘but we haven’t really got the space.’

‘It’s OK, I could have the box room and I’ll streamline my clothes. Less is more.’ She felt a little hurt that he wasn’t welcoming her back with open arms.

‘We should tell her, Chris,’ Marie said quietly. ‘I know we wanted to wait a bit longer, but it’s only fair.’

‘Tell me what?’ They were making her feel anxious.

‘Well, Tiffany, the thing is … the box room is going to be a nursery.’ Her dad smiled broadly as he put his arms round Marie. ‘We’re having a baby.’

Instantly Tiffany shot up from her chair and hugged them both. ‘That is such fantastic news!’ She thought they had given up on their dream of having another child after Marie suffered three devastating miscarriages.

‘We’re being cautiously optimistic,’ her step-mum said. ‘I’ve just had the sixteen-week scan and everything seems to be fine.’ She had tears in her eyes and Tiffany had tears in her own; she knew how much Marie wanted this baby.

‘If there’s anything I can do to help … if you need me to come and look after Lily-Rose, anything … just let me know.’

‘I know you’ll help me, Tiff, and I don’t want you to feel left out because of what happened with your real mum. You know that I see you as my daughter, just as much as Lily-Rose and the baby.’ It was an emotional moment. Tiffany had a lump in her throat as Marie hugged her, because thrilled as she was for Marie, she couldn’t help thinking yet again of her real mum who hadn’t wanted her …

‘God, it’s like East bloody Enders!’ Chris tried to joke, but Tiffany knew that he found it emotional too. ‘I’m going to serve out pudding.’

Marie had a rest after lunch and Tiffany and Chris went out with Lily-Rose who was itching to go rollerskating around the local park. ‘You don’t mind about the baby, do you?’ Chris asked as they watched Lily-Rose skate confidently ahead of them, her blonde hair blowing out
behind
her like a banner. ‘Like Marie said, we don’t want you to feel left out.’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Tiffany exclaimed. ‘Though you’re going to be a well old dad!’

‘Cheek! I’m only forty-two. In my prime.’

‘Yeah, whatevah!’ Tiffany teased back.

‘And I’m sorry about the room. Perhaps you could move in until the baby’s born?’

‘No, Dad, thanks anyway. I’ll work something out, you’ve got enough going on.’

By the time they got back to the house, it was late-afternoon and Tiffany had to head off as she had agreed to fill in for a couple of hours at the restaurant. It was drizzling, the sky was grey, and the thought of work was depressing. Marie sensed her mood. ‘Chin up, Tiff. You’ll be OK, I see great things ahead for you.’

‘But in the meantime, it’s garlic bread, dough balls and pizza all the way,’ Tiffany replied as she zipped up her black biker jacket.

She was halfway down the street when Chris came running after her, waving a letter. ‘I meant to give this to you.’

‘Thanks.’ Tiffany looked at the official brown envelope. Knowing her luck, it was a reminder for a bill she hadn’t paid. She gave her dad another quick hug, stuffed the letter in her pocket and promptly forgot all about it.

ANGEL CONSIDERED HER
reflection in the dressing-room mirror. Yet again she felt that her stylist, Claudia, had dressed her in completely the wrong outfit for the TV makeover show she presented. She wanted to look approachable and sassy, ideally wearing clothes from the high street mixed in with the odd designer label. Instead Claudia had given her a purple, fitted designer dress, which made Angel look as if she was trotting off to a cocktail party. And the dress didn’t even fit properly – being too tight across the bust and too loose around the waist. Sometimes she had a sneaking suspicion that Claudia wanted her to look bad …