The Great Christmas Knit Off (23 page)

‘Yes, Sybs. You go girl. I see you, shaking that arse!’ Ruby whistles, and we’re both laughing like a pair of loopers when the bell jangles and the door flies open.

With my pointy finger suspended in mid-air, my backside still sticking right out and my mouth agape, I freeze.

‘Oh, er … sorry. Um, perhaps I should go.’

It’s Dr Ben, aka Dr Darcy, aka Dr Benedict Darcy, aka utterly hot man in a very unassuming way who doesn’t even know it – which just makes him all the more fanciable.
And I’m squatting here like a constipated duck
. Aaarggghhh!

The floor sways.

What the bloody hell is he doing here? Is this some kind of home visit? Because that would never happen in London. Oh no.

I want to evaporate. Right here on the fluffy carpet of Ruby’s lovely little shop. So much for feeling sassy! Right now I just feel like a massive quivering jellyfish. My mouth drains of saliva. I try to swallow but end up doing an impression of a python devouring an egg instead. Whole. This has to be the most embarrassing moment of my whole life – apart from that time in the church, of course. Oh God.

Looking flustered, distracted, who knows what? But most definitely surprised and quite possibly horrified, Dr Darcy turns and walks straight into the Pucci mannequin, making its wig swing furiously from side to side.

‘Ah, Jesus, I’m so sorry, I um,’ he apologises to the mannequin, before pushing a hand through his curly hair and quickly adjusting his glasses. Ruby whips a pashmina out from somewhere and hands it to me. I grab it gratefully and swing it around my shoulders.

‘We, er, were, just, um … testing out a … new costume,’ I splutter, swivelling my head towards a stack of unopened cardboard boxes as some kind of proof, still whirling my pointy finger around like the blade of a helicopter spiralling in for a catastrophic crash landing. ‘Um, yes that’s it.’ I bob from one foot to the other with a crazy cow smile plastered all over my face.

‘I saw you coming in here,’ Dr Darcy tries to explain, doing a half-grin and making big saucer eyes. A mixture of embarrassment and amusement, I think, hope, not … oh, I don’t know. I’m so flustered.

‘Yes. That’s right. I came in here.’ I cringe all over. Of course I bloody did. I gulp. Big mistake, as it makes my neck expand and the choker pings right off. For crying out loud! The choker lands in amongst the tassels at the top of my stockings and then just hangs by the Velcro fastener, like a spare appendage. Basil, not missing a trick, does a running body slam, bringing himself to a halt beside my thigh to play with the tassel. I attempt to shoo him away, but it’s no use, he just gets even more excited and spins in a circle instead, his little fluffy tail batting the tassel back and forth like a pendulum.

‘Yes. Er, well I thought I’d,’ Dr Ben coughs and quickly flicks his eyes to Basil and the bouncing choker, ‘bring this back.’ And he pulls my Kermit green scarf from his duffel coat pocket. Ruby clears her throat.

‘Oh, right. Thank you,’ I say, taking it from him and then, for some utterly inane reason, I wind the super-chunky knitted scarf around my neck. Not once, not twice, but three flaming times, as if I’m about to step outside into the chilly white snow. I stop winding and fold my arms instead.

‘You left it in the surgery. I, um, found it earlier when I was trying to get a head start on sorting through the mountain of files.’ Mirroring my stance, he crosses his arms too and then seems to think better of it, as he quickly unfolds them and shoves his hands in his pockets instead, before changing his mind again and, pulling his left hand out, runs it over his stubbly beard.

‘Er, excuse me you two. I’m really sorry to interrupt,’ Ruby says, leaping up from the chaise, ‘but I just need to dash over to the village store before it closes. To get some, um, milk. Yes, that’s it. Milk.’ She sticks an index finger in the air as if to confirm the perceived sudden urgency. ‘Won’t be long.’ And she practically hurls herself at the shop door, flicking the closed sign over as she scarpers.

T
he sound of a pony whinnying in the distance stirs me and for a blissful moment before the synapses of my brain kick in I’m a nine-year-old again on holiday at Brownie camp. I stretch out like a starfish, relaxed and carefree, happy after another glorious night’s sleep. And without a hangover, which is actually a bit of a miracle – or perhaps I’m just getting used to the merry amounts of alcohol consumed here in the countryside, as I did have rather a lot of deliciously fruity mulled wine last night, with several brandy chasers. Yep, I ended up going to the Duck & Puddle again with Dr Ben; well, not exactly with him, as in just the two of us, but he invited me to join him. And I was very happy to.

After Ruby fled on the pretext of getting milk, Dr Ben said that he planned on having dinner in the pub later, seeing as it was curry-and-quiz night, and that if I wasn’t already booked (hardly!), then I was more than welcome to join him. So I did. And just as it played out on Friday evening, his time was monopolised by several of the villagers wanting advice on a variety of ailments, so we didn’t get any proper time together alone – I spent most of the night helping Clive to facilitate the quiz, which I actually thought was going to end in disaster at one point as Cooper could have sworn blind that the official language of Togo was Dutch, when in fact it’s French. Molly was on the opposing team that got it right, which didn’t help matters at all, especially as she had the ferret with her and it nipped Cooper’s thumb during the debacle.

There’s a knock on the door so I fling back the duvet and get out of bed, much to Basil’s dismay – he does a grumbly growl on having to galvanise himself into action and move from the snuggly nest he’s made at the end of the bed. I pull on a robe and answer the door.

‘So sorry to wake you, Sybs.’ It’s Lawrence.

‘It’s OK, I was just languishing.’ I smile, attempting to smooth my tangled knot of curls into something resembling normal.

‘Jolly good. Only there’s someone here to see you.’

‘Me?’ I instinctively pull the robe in tighter, really hoping it isn’t Ben doing another one of his impromptu home visits – I’m still cringing from him inadvertently witnessing my first-ever burlesque moment, even though he was incredibly polite and didn’t mention it at all when we met up later in the pub.

‘That’s right. Here she is.’ Lawrence steps aside.

‘CHER!’ I scream, flinging my arms around her shoulders, taking care not to squash her magnificent treacle-coloured beehive (she hates it when people do that). And she looks amazing in giraffe-print leggings teamed with black suede knee-high wedge boots and a gorgeous leather and shearling aviator jacket. Very rock chick, as always.

‘I’ll put the breakfast on, will you be joining us?’ Lawrence asks, turning to Cher.

‘Ooh, yes please. I could murder a good breakfast and I’ve heard on the village grapevine that yours are legendary,’ Cher says eagerly, in her cracking cockney accent – still there even though she left London’s East End when she was just a girl, but both her parents are cockneys, her grandparents too. ‘If you’re sure that’s OK?’ she quickly adds, beaming at Lawrence.

‘It most certainly is – the more the merrier. And I’ll take this little fella downstairs with me, he seems eager for his breakfast too,’ he laughs as Basil plonks his bottom on Lawrence’s left shoe, tilts his black whiskery head up and does his usual ‘feed-me-because-I’m-starving’ (not) look.

With Basil under one arm, Lawrence waves a cheery hand over his shoulder and heads off down the corridor, leaving us to it.

‘Babe, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,’ Cher turns to me. ‘How are you? I could have killed Clive when he casually mentioned that you had helped him with the quiz last night. That was the first I even knew you were here.’ She pauses to draw breath and roll her eyes.

‘Oh, never mind. I’ve had a fantastic time, honestly,’ I say, squeezing her hand. ‘Come inside while I get changed.’

‘Thanks, babe. But are you sure you’re OK?’ She twiddles a finger around the inside of her massive gold hoop earring.

‘Absolutely. It’s been brilliant. Just what I needed – to get away, a change of scenery sure puts lots of things into perspective,’ I say, closing the bedroom door behind us while trying not to think about Jennifer Ford and Mr Banerjee and having to face the fallout of all that tomorrow morning at work. I may have eased my broken heart here in Tindledale but there’s still the not-so-small matter of £42,000 of taxpayers’ money to account for.
Eeep
. And the really lovely thing is that being here in Tindledale, I have felt protected, insulated almost, from it all. ‘And it’s like another world here, and everyone is so friendly,’ I say quietly, and then, letting my voice trail off, ‘I really wish I didn’t have to go home.’

‘I wish you didn’t have to either,’ Cher says and I realise that I actually said the words out loud, but before I can tell her all about it, Cher carries on talking.

‘Oh God, come here, and give me another hug. I’m so pleased to see you.’ She gives me a squeeze. ‘As soon as Clive said you were here, and I’d had a go at him for not ringing me the very minute you walked into the bar, I was out of that dump of a hotel – a shack on the side of a dual carriageway, more like. You know, I got woken up at four this morning when one of the druggies in the crack house opposite decided to play silly buggers and call out the fire brigade. And they don’t come quietly!’ She waggles a sparkly tipped finger in the air. ‘Oh no, blues and twos, the works. And then they left the lights on for the whole duration of their visit. Spinning round and round and round and round,’ she loops the finger in a circle to emphasis the spinning motion, ‘for at least an hour! How am I supposed to sleep with all that going on? I’m telling you, it was like a flaming theme park in that shit-hole of a bedroom.’ She shakes her head in disgust and I have to stifle a giggle. Typical Cher, always outraged. And always tells it like it really is. ‘So, have you had any more calls from that sneaky sod of a sister of yours?’

‘No. Well, not since I arrived here. I don’t have a mobile, remember, so I’ve been totally incommunicado which is actually a whole lot better than you might imagine,’ I say, taking a hairband and scooping my curls up into a messy bun, making a mental note to pop in and see how Poppy is when I get home – I’ll call the others too, although I don’t fancy going to Zumba again.

‘Hmm, mobiles don’t work in Tindledale any case,’ Cher shrugs, ‘and a good thing too. Maybe Sasha will have got the message by now and stop with all those “poor me” calls. You’re the injured party here, remember.’ She sniffs in solidarity. ‘No, those two deserve each other. I never liked Luke in any case,’ she adds ominously, whilst flicking a stray lock of hair away from her face.

‘Oh?’ I crease my forehead in surprise. ‘You never said.’

‘Hmm, well, how could I? When we all thought he was going to be your husband. You wouldn’t have wanted to hear it, and I wasn’t going to risk ruining our friendship over it. How would it have been if you had never have spoken to me again? No, I wasn’t taking that chance.’ Cher bounces down on the bed while I wander into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, to get changed into my jeans and the gorgeous cashmere jumper that I bought in Ruby’s shop yesterday.

‘Maybe you have a point. I was a bit oblivious,’ I call out.

‘A bit?’ Cher teases.

‘OK. A lot. But let’s suppose you had said something and I
had
listened like a mature, sensible, grown up adult,’ I do a cross-eyed funny face and Cher giggles, ‘what would you have said to me?’

‘That he didn’t adore you. That you could do better. That I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’ Cher reels the reasons off on her fingers one by one. ‘You know, he came on to me once, and—’

‘He did?’ I jump in, utterly shocked. God, how sordid! My boyfriend trying it on with my own best friend – it’s embarrassing, cringey too. With my jeans half up, I shuffle out of the bathroom until I’m standing square in front of her, hands on hips and jeans dropped around my ankles.

‘Yep. Don’t worry, nothing happened, I’d never do that.’ Cher holds up her palms in protest and shakes her head vigorously, causing a lock of hair to bounce out of her beehive and plop over the left side of her face. She tucks it behind her ear and leans back on the bed. ‘Nice knickers, by the way.’

‘Thanks. They’re real silk.’

‘Classy.’ She nods and I nod back, revelling in the moment of light relief. And why not? Decent knickers are important, even more so when your ex is clearly a proper shit.

‘And?’ I say, keen for her to elaborate on Luke’s tragic inability to understand that cheating is out of order, and especially with sisters and friends of your girlfriend being totally off-limits.

‘Oh, yes, it was ridiculous really – he said that he’d always fancied me and that if I ever wanted to give him a try then to just let him know, or something like that. I just laughed it off as we had all been drinking – it was at that music festival we went to that time. I don’t know where you were, queuing up to use one of the rankest bogs in the universe, I think. I was in the tent when he turned up and creeped me out.’ She grimaces. ‘Clive wanted to batter him.’