The Christmas Party (6 page)

Lance poured himself a neat bourbon from the small cocktail cabinet in the car and took an unhealthy gulp. He smacked his lips in appreciation, even though he’d only just finished a glass in the bedroom while he was getting ready. He was probably most of the way through a bottle or even more by this time of the day.

‘Anything for you, honey?’

‘No, thank you.’ It wasn’t that she didn’t drink, but it always served her well to be less drunk than Lance. ‘Is there anything we need to discuss before we get there? Are you going to talk to Tom Davidson about the refinery proposals tonight? I can run through my ideas again, make sure they’re fresh in your mind.’

He patted her knee. ‘Not now, sweetheart. Tonight is purely fun. I have a few announcements to make, but that’s all.’

‘What about?’

‘This and that,’ he said cagily.

It was unlike him not to discuss the ins and outs of Fossil Oil dealings with her.

‘The rest of the business can wait until tomorrow.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

He shrugged.

Lance must be mellowing in his old age. That was probably the first time she’d ever heard him say that.

The car hit the edge of the city and headed out into the rolling countryside towards Wadestone Manor, taking the twisting bends and the narrow lanes smoothly. Martin was an excellent driver.

The Christmas party was always the highlight of the social calendar for the staff. Whenever there was a free bar provided by Fossil Oil, they usually took as much advantage of it as humanly possible. It was always total chaos and, in years gone by, she’d tried to persuade Lance to leave as early as was deemed polite.

‘Tyler and Kirsten will be on our table, that should liven things up a bit,’ Lance said.

‘Oh, are they?’ Melissa feigned surprise. She knew they would be. Of course they would.

‘You always enjoy their company.’

‘Yes. That’ll make the evening more entertaining.’

In the glass that separated them from Martin, Melissa’s reflection wore a sceptical expression. Lance patted her hand affectionately. She turned to gaze out of the window at the passing countryside, unable to meet her husband’s eye.

The truth was that she enjoyed Tyler Benson’s company much more than she should.

Chapter Five

The hairdresser is tipsy. And she’s dressed as Snow White. The other stylists in the salon are kitted out as the seven dwarves and it looks as if they’ve all started on the festive spirit a bit too early. Consequently it takes her an age to put up my hair and I’m nearly frantic by the time she’s finished. I show my displeasure by just giving her my usual tip and not something more generous as I normally would at Christmas. Being three sheets to the wind, I don’t think she actually notices anyway. I’m only glad that I haven’t booked in for a short-back-and-sides. In fact, I should probably count my blessings that I didn’t get one.

Now, of course, I’m running late. Back at home and in the privacy of my room, I wriggle into my little black dress, which, sadly, is just that bit tighter than the last time I wore it. When I’ve managed to zip myself up, I admire my hair in the mirror. It’s swept up in a very Audrey Hepburn,
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
way and, given the circumstances of its creation, I’m somewhat relieved to say that it looks great.

Mum has lent me her favourite necklace – a triple string of pearls with a pendant in the middle – which adds to the sixties-icon vibe, and I’m wearing pointy black stilettos. It’s so long since I dressed up that I’d actually forgotten I could look like this. Miss Holly Golightly would be proud of me.

Goodness knows what Tyler will think of my outfit, but tonight I don’t care. I want to look glamorous. You can’t go to the Christmas party dressed like a frump. After all, I have Karen from Customer Accounts to compete with. I don’t want to be totally overshadowed by her. Hopefully there will be enough people around that Tyler won’t be a problem.

‘Mummy!’ Mia’s voice comes from her bedroom. It has just the right level of whine in it to tug at my heartstrings. As well she knows. ‘Mummy!’

Grabbing my black patent handbag, I go through to see her. She’s sitting up in her little bed, looking beyond adorable in her pink pyjamas with bunny rabbits on them. Her similarly pink Home Bargains Christmas tree sparkles on top of the tallboy.

‘You must be a good girl and go to sleep now,’ I say. ‘Mummy won’t be gone for long.’

‘Don’t go out.’ A little tear runs down her cheek and I brush it away with my thumb. ‘Stay with me.’

‘Don’t be a silly-billy,’ I chide gently. ‘Gramps and Granny will look after you. Promise me that you’ll be a good girl, or Santa won’t come.’

‘He will,’ she wails. ‘Santa always brings me lots of toys even if I’ve been really naughty. He loves me.’

I can’t help but smile. ‘He does, and so do I, but this is my office Christmas party. It’s work and I have to go. It’s very important for Mummy to be there. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.’

I know why she’s being like this. I hardly ever go out without her now and she doesn’t want to be left behind. She’s also taken to sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night and when I feel her tiny, warm body snuggle in next to mine, I’m not hardhearted enough to take her back to her own room. It’s a rod I’ve made for my own back.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ she complains.

‘No, you haven’t.’ I stroke her hair which frames her perfect, heart-shaped face.

‘Lie down next to me,’ she says.

‘For five minutes.’ I try to sound stern but in truth I’d rather be staying at home too. My eyes are heavy and I’m so tired after a long day at work.

I never seem to have enough time with Mia now. Tyler likes to keep me there till all hours, so it’s often six-thirty or even later by the time I leave the office. Thanks to my dear parents, when I get home Mia has already eaten her tea and is usually ready for bed. Then I’ve just got half an hour to read her a bedtime story and the rest of the evening is spent flaking out in front of the television with my folks.

I’m now an expert on
Midsomer Murders
and
Flog It!
, which they record for me every day because, for some inexplicable reason, they’ve decided I like them. I don’t have the heart to tell them otherwise. So I endure watching people being killed by giant cheeses falling on them and others trying to auction off the most terrible tat that has been hiding in their loft since time began, and smile gratefully because my parents are such very, very kind people. Without their constant support, I don’t know where Mia and I would be.

My childhood home has been decorated for Christmas since the middle of November. My dad likes to grumble about it, but I know he enjoys it too. Now that they’ve got Mia here, they’re like big kids themselves. Some of the Christmas decorations they have were probably among the first invented.

I remember them getting their current tree when I was Mia’s age, so they’ve certainly had their money’s worth out of it. I suspect it came from the long-defunct Woolworths in its heyday. It’s looking a bit moth-eaten and ragged now, but even if they won the lottery I don’t think they’d replace it. ‘Sentimental value’, my mother says. Which usually means it’s fit for the skip. But once it’s all done up in its festive finery – some of the more dubious decorations hand-knitted by Mum – I have to admit that it doesn’t look half bad. Mia certainly doesn’t seem to notice that it’s seen better days. We have to go through a weekly ritual of standing in awe before the tree while Granny tells her where each and every one of the decorations has come from. I’m surprised that my mum even remembers. No, actually, I’m not.

‘Lie down, Mummy,’ Mia cajoles.

‘For two minutes.’ I try to sound stern, but Mia knows she’s on to a winner.

So I turn off her bedside light and the room is filled with a soft golden glow. I risk damaging my fabulous hairdo and snuggle down next to my daughter. Softly I sing her favourite lullaby, ‘Hush Little Baby’. It’s the one I’ve sung to her since she was a baby, the same one my mother used to sing to me at bedtime when I was Mia’s age. Slowly, she drifts off.

It seems like seconds later when my dad is gently shaking my arm. I blink my eyes open, not knowing, for a split second, where I am. It appears, however, that I’ve drooled on the pillow.

‘I don’t like to disturb you, love, but what time are you going to this party?’

That makes me sit bolt upright and, of course, I wake Mia too. Next to me she rubs her eyes.

‘It’s nearly half-past seven,’ he adds.

‘Oh, no.’

‘Should I have woken you earlier, love? I didn’t realise the time.’

‘I’ve missed the coach,’ I tell him, my shoulders sagging.

‘Not to worry, Lou-Lou. If you still want to go, I’ll run you in the car.’

‘You can’t do that, Dad.’

‘It’s no trouble.’

‘But it’s miles.’

‘No, no,’ he says. ‘Not that far.’

‘Don’t go!’ Mia starts again, and she wraps her arms round my waist, clinging like a limpet.

The temptation is very strong to shrug off my dress and Mum’s jewels, ignore the money I’ve spent on my hairdo, mark it down to experience and just stay here with my deliciously cosy daughter. But then I think it would look bad if I didn’t show. I’m sure Tyler Benson would hold it against me and I can’t risk doing anything that would cost me this job.

‘I
have
to go,’ I tell her. To Dad, I say, ‘Duty calls.’

Which is why, ten minutes later, with my hair only slightly askew, my dear dad is backing his Ford Focus out of the garage.

‘Is Mia warm enough?’ Mum says as we stand at the front door waiting for him.

‘Yes. She’ll be fine.’ Of course, my dear child won’t stay in bed and insists on coming with us. I’ve caved in because I’m now in too much of a rush to face a full-on tantrum. She was immediately placated when I agreed that she could come along for the ride. I’m worried that at four years old she knows exactly how to play me. What hope is there for me when she reaches fifteen?

‘You should be in your bed, Little Miss Young. Why don’t you stay here with Granny? It’s cold out here.’ Mum rubs at her arms to convey Arctic temperatures. ‘Brrr.’

My daughter is immovable. All she does is cling to me more tightly. She’s in my arms, wrapped in her fluffy pink dressing gown and bunny slippers. Her favourite teddy, Eric, is coming too and we had to find him a scarf to wear as it’s cold. In fact, Mum’s right, it is bitterly cold. There are slight flakes of snow blowing in the air – nothing substantial yet, but the threat of more is there. Another reason why my dad shouldn’t be getting the car out.

I kiss Mum’s cheek. ‘See you in the morning.
Don’t
wait up.’

‘Be careful, Louise,’ she says. ‘Don’t do anything silly.’

I laugh. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘This job is important to me, Mum. Really important.’ I haven’t told my parents that my boss is a randy old goat. Dad would be marching down to the Fossil Oil offices and demanding to see the person in charge, as he would have done with the headmaster when I was at school. ‘I’m not going to do
anything
to jeopardise that.’

Putting Mia in the back of the car in her booster seat, I get in the front next to Dad. I suspect that my darling daughter will force herself to stay awake until we reach Wadestone Manor even though her head is lolling with tiredness. I’m equally sure that she’ll be fast asleep the minute Dad turns for home.

Mia loves all the show tunes from the musicals, so we’re all singing along to ‘These Are a Few of My Favourite Things’ when, half an hour later, Dad pulls in at the very grand and imposing gates of Wadestone Manor.

‘Oh my word, Lou,’ he breathes. ‘This is a fancy place.’

It is. And that makes me nervous. ‘Are you sure it’s the right one, Dad?’

We’ve only just driven through the gates and already I feel intimidated.

‘I think so, love. Better check your invitation.’ Dad pulls over to the grass verge of the sweeping driveway.

Hurriedly I get the invitation out of my bag and scan the details. I turn to him and nod. ‘This is it.’

‘Good job you had your hair done,’ says my father, who usually notices nothing.

I’m now wishing I’d gone the whole hog and bought a new dress.

Dad puts the Focus into gear again and we make our way towards the house along a driveway lined by beautiful specimen trees.

‘Look, Mia,’ I say, pointing into the trees. ‘Deer.’

She peers out of the car window. ‘Bambi,’ she says.

‘That’s right. Clever girl.’

‘What a sight,’ Dad says, awestruck.

They bound across the road in front of us, an impressive herd with a stag at the head. Dad proceeds even more carefully. ‘You don’t want one of those through your windscreen,’ he says in a doom-laden voice.

We wind through the trees until ahead of us is the most spectacular fountain, all lit up in the darkness. It’s a sea god, surrounded by nymphs and all kinds of mythical creatures.

‘Look at that, Mummy!’ Mia gapes wide-eyed.

‘I wish the neighbours could see this, Lou-Lou, then they’d know my little girl has gone up in the world.’

I think my parents were embarrassed, worried about what the residents of Clonmel Close would think about me coming home, up to the eyeballs in debt, tail between my legs, daughter in tow and one spectacularly failed relationship chalked up. They have something to brag about again, now that I have a fab job and am getting back on my feet.

Dad trundles up to the house, which looms magnificently ahead of us, clearly still uncertain whether we should be here or not. The long, straight gravel drive is flanked by two immense lawns dotted with statues illuminated in the dark. Twinkling lights are strung in the trees around us. Dad’s little car feels somewhat dwarfed by it all. The crunching of his tyres sounds loud and vulgar. The house itself looks as if it’s been modelled on a French chateau, complete with ornate stonework and pretty towers. Lights blaze out from every window and there are two enormous Christmas trees either side of the wide steps that lead up to the front door. Who could possibly own a place such as this?