Christmas Shopaholic(22)

“Yes, a daughter. Minnie.”

“Nice.” He turns to Suze. “One more question. Would it be OK if I hired a hot tub for the garden?”

“A hot tub?” Suze looks taken aback.

“I have a thing for hot tubs.”

He smiles, showing his dazzling new teeth, and I have an immediate vision of him in a hot tub with his hair all wet and glistening and his chest all hairy and Ross Poldark-y.

I mean, he never used to look Ross Poldark-y, but I bet he does now.

“A hot tub,” says Suze, sounding utterly flustered. “Gosh. Of course! I mean, we don’t usually, but…if you want…”

“Cool.” He nods again. “And I’ll be having a Christmas party, I should think. I’ll send you both invites.”

“Oh!” says Suze. “Thanks!”

“Well, see you.” He lifts a hand in farewell and heads out of the shop with a lope. He didn’t used to walk like that. He’s picked it up from somewhere.

I look at Suze, who breathes out.

“Wow,” she says again.

“Yes,” I say, still feeling a bit flabbergasted. “Well, there you go. That’s my ex.”

“He’s really cool.” She eyes me suspiciously. “Bex, were you really cool at uni?”

I’m tempted to say, “What are you talking about? I’m really cool now!” But this is Suze I’m talking to.

“I was a tiny bit cool,” I say honestly. “Like, for about half a term.”

“Were you in the band too?”

“I…um…”

I clear my throat, trying to decide how to answer. The band is actually a sore point, because I should have been in it. I bought this amazing pink bass guitar and I learned loads of notes, and Craig said I could have a go. But after the first rehearsal the rest of the band ganged up and said I wasn’t good enough. It was so unfair. They wouldn’t even let me play the tambourine.

“I was his creative inspiration,” I say at last. “It was pretty collaborative. Good times,” I add in a careless rock-chick manner.

“So why did you two break up?” says Suze, agog.

“The band got a record deal and they dropped out of uni to make an album.”

“No way!” Suze’s hand flies to her mouth. “That’s amazing! Would I know it?”

“Well, no,” I admit. “What happened was, they all went off to this place in Devon to record it—”

“Did you go too?” interrupts Suze.

“No.” I feel an old flicker of resentment. “Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me drop out. Anyway, they went off to make this album, but they kept fighting about it. And then one of them hit another one and the police got called. So then all their parents drove down and made them stop recording and go back to uni.”

“Oh,” says Suze, looking disappointed. I can tell she was hoping for an ending more along the lines of “And then they sold out Wembley!”

“Craig had a massive row with his parents,” I continue. “He refused to go back to Bristol. And then the band fell apart.”

“What did Craig do?”

“Took a year off and went to Manchester. But by then I’d already broken up with him.”

“Because of the band,” supplies Suze, a little breathlessly. “Because they all thought you were Yoko.”

“Kind of.” I hesitate, feeling I should be honest. “Also, he wasn’t very hot then. In fact, he was a bit annoying.”

We’ve talked quite enough about my old boyfriend, I decide, so I move away to adjust a display of sweaters in a businesslike manner. But Suze follows me, oblivious.

“And now here he is, living in Letherby,” she says wonderingly. “That must be weird for you.”

“No it’s not.”

It is a bit, but I’m not admitting that.

“It must be a little weird,” persists Suze.

“It’s not weird at all,” I say firmly. “Why would it be weird?”

“I mean, he’s quite different from Luke,” muses Suze, ignoring my protestations. “Are you going to go to his Christmas party?”

“Dunno,” I say after a pause. “Are you?”

“Of course!” she says eagerly. “We have to go! I bet it’ll be awesome, all musicians and cool people.”

At that moment there’s a clatter as a customer knocks over a pile of toffee tins, and we abandon the conversation. And as I’m stacking them back up, I try to absorb this strange new fact of my life. Craig Curton is living in Letherby. And he looks so different! His arms. His hair! It’s so swooshy and thick, and that stubble really suits him….

By mistake I knock over the toffee tins again, and as Suze looks round I hastily say, “Oops!”

“Distracted, Bex?” says Suze, lifting her eyebrows meaningfully, and I lift my chin in dignity. Of course I’m not distracted. At least I’m not admitting it to Suze.

But, oh God, I can’t help it—I feel as though seeing Craig has opened up a window into the past. Memories of uni are piling into my head. Those jeans I used to wear. And that lipstick. What was I thinking?

I was quite awestruck by Craig when we first got together. I thought he was really intellectual because he talked about Schopenhauer and drank a brand of gin I’d never heard of. But now, from my position of maturity, I can see that I shouldn’t have been so impressed. I mean, anyone can drink gin and talk about German celebrities. I was talking about Heidi Klum just the other day.