Christmas Shopaholic(112)

No way, no way…

I rip off the remaining tissue—and it is! It’s the silver llama! I can’t believe it. Janice had one all the time?

“As I say, it’s not much,” Janice is saying apologetically, “but it did catch my eye….”

“Janice!” I fling my arms around her. “I love it!”

“Well!” she says, looking pleased. “Goodness. Happy Christmas, love!”

I can’t resist hurrying to the sitting room and hanging the llama on the tree that very moment. I put it right at the front, then stand back and regard it admiringly. Our entire tree is transformed!

Then I head into the kitchen, to find Luke standing motionless, staring at his phone.

“How’s the turkey?” I say. “Does it look well rested? Luke?” I add, as he doesn’t seem able to respond. “Luke?”

Finally, Luke raises his head and gazes at me for a few seconds.

“Becky,” he says in an odd voice, “I’ve just had an email from someone called Simon Millett, wishing me happy Christmas and filling me in on a few things.”

What? He emailed Luke? That sneak.

“Oh,” I say hastily. “Well, I wouldn’t listen to him—”

“According to him, you did a bit more than just ‘see my present in a window.’ He’s sent me a link to the London Clubs’ newsletter. Which, actually, I do receive,” he adds, in an even odder voice, “but never bother to read. Because I never expected to see a picture of my wife in it.”

He turns around his phone, and I see a photo of me addressing the ninety-three-year-olds, my hands aloft and my mouth wide open. Who chose that awful shot? I bet it was Sir Peter.

“Oh, right,” I say, as Luke seems to be expecting an answer. “Yes. I’ve joined a club.” I try to sound casual. “I was going to mention it. You can come along as my guest, if you like.”

“Becky…” Luke trails off, appearing almost speechless. “A billiards club?”

“Well, I wanted the portmanteau!” I say defensively. “It had your initials on it.”

“So you changed the laws of one of the oldest clubs in town,” Luke says, gazing at me as though there are a thousand other things he wants to say but doesn’t know where to start. “You swept the floor with them, according to this chap Simon Millett. I wish I’d been there.”

“Well, you know.” I shrug. “I wasn’t just going to get you boring old aftershave—”

And then I can’t speak, because Luke has enveloped me in a tight hug. In fact, so tight I can hardly breathe.

“There’s no one like you, Becky,” he says against my neck, his voice husky. “No one in the whole wide world.”

This is something Luke says to me quite a lot. And sometimes I’m not sure if he means it in a good way or a bad way. But right now I’m fairly sure it’s in a good way.

At last we draw apart and take a few deep breaths and remember what we’re supposed to be doing, which is serving Christmas lunch. Luke carries in the turkey and I follow him with Peppa Pig the vegan turkey. The whole dining room erupts into cheers, and Tarkie exclaims throatily, “And so say all of us!”

The next few minutes are a blur of carving and spooning and passing dishes along. But at last everyone has a plate of food and we’ve pulled the crackers (sustainable, hand-block-printed by Nepalese women) and everyone’s wearing a paper hat—and Christmas lunch is under way. The table looks fab, with its highland ribbons and neon table confetti and Scandi candlesticks. (My theme in the end was “eclectic.”) Martin has piled his plate with sprouts, Suze has piled hers with broccoli, and everyone has taken at least one doughnut. Peppa Pig is a massive hit—I think we might have to have a vegan-doughnut turkey every year now.

“Well!” says Mum, whose word was “Source” and has just revealed to me she thought at first Tom and Jess meant “Sauce” and was quite confused and had to have it explained. “What a wonderful Christmas!” She rises to her feet and bangs her pudding spoon on her plate until there’s quiet around the table. “Everyone! I would like to make a speech. We all know that Becky hasn’t had it easy these last few days, what with one thing and another. But here we are, enjoying a wonderful Christmas, in this beautifully decorated house, and I would like to say to you, Becky and Luke and Minnie: Thank you!” She raises her glass. “To the Brandons!”

“The Brandons!” everyone echoes, rising to their feet, and Suze chimes in, “Née Bloomwood!” and everyone bursts into laughter and then sits down again to dig happily into their food.

I sit back in my chair and watch everyone for a moment, just absorbing the happiness of it all—Mum cutting up Minnie’s turkey, and Suze checking out her paper hat in the mirror, and Jess suspiciously reading the leaflet about the sustainable credentials of the crackers. Christmas is the best. Even if it goes wrong, it’s the best. Then I turn to Luke, who’s sitting on my left, at the head of the table.

“What did you think of the words, by the way?” I say to him, under the cover of conversation. “Tom and Jess’s presents, I mean.”

“Pretty impressive,” says Luke. “Not what I expected, somehow.”

“Me neither.” I nod, before adding in my most casual manner, “So…what word would you give me?”