Christmas Shopaholic(74)

“Oh that’s right.” She swivels her gaze to focus on me. “Your precious family and friends.”

“Yes,” I say robustly. “My precious family and friends.”

Nadine surveys each of us in turn with her scary eyes—then seems to give up.

“Well, I’m sorry to disturb the happy occasion,” she says, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Have a super day. Have a super life.”

She turns and picks her way back down the garden path, while Luke and I watch in silence. I feel quite shaken.

“Wow,” says Luke as she disappears from view, and I feel my whole body sag.

“Bloody hell.”

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says thoughtfully.

“How could anyone see that coming?” I exhale, then turn to Luke, feeling hot with mortification. “Oh God, Luke, I’m so sorry. I should never have introduced you to Craig; I should never have brought them into our lives….”

I should never have dressed up in edgy clothes to impress my old boyfriend, I silently add.

“Don’t be silly!” Luke looks surprised. “You couldn’t have predicted any of this. And she’s gone now. No harm done.”

He’s so reasonable and fair and calm, I feel an immense surge of love for him. Our marriage is Sellotaped down and it’s never going to unstick, ever. I put my arms around Luke, gazing up at the man I adore, and, with a fresh wave of emotion, hear myself saying, “I love your mustache.”

Wait. Where did that come from?

“Really?” Luke looks supremely taken aback and touched. “Oh, darling.”

He kisses me and I clasp him even more tightly, while my brain says, Hang on. Why did I say that?

He’ll never get rid of it now. What was I thinking? I was just feeling so generally loving, the words came out of my mouth.

We draw apart and Luke gazes at me, his face softened with affection.

“My darling Becky,” he says, running a finger gently down my cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, a bit breathlessly.

Shall I quickly add, “Except I didn’t mean the bit about the mustache”?

No. No. Not a good idea.

At last Luke turns back toward the front door.

“We’d better rejoin the party,” he says. “Shall we keep this little exchange between ourselves? If anyone asks, we’ll say it was someone collecting for charity.”

“Yes,” I agree fervently. “Good idea. Everything’s quite tense in there already.”

I want to add, “What do you think of Flo?” but we need to get back, and anyway, I’m sure I know the answer.

Luke picks up the tray of cake splodges, eyes them for a moment, then says, “Well, they look delicious, anyway.”

Instantly my heart melts. Oh God, he’s so kind. He’s such a good husband. I’m never going to tell him the truth about the mustache, I resolve. What I’ll do is…I’ll get hypnotized to like mustaches. Yes! Excellent plan. I’ll google it.

I’m just opening the door to the sitting room when my phone rings. Honestly. Can’t I have a birthday tea party in peace? I’m considering ignoring it, but I glance at the display in case—and see Edwin.

Hmm. Maybe I’d better take this.

“I’ll be two secs,” I say apologetically. “It’s a…a Christmas-related thing.”

As Luke takes the cake into the sitting room, I hurry back into the kitchen and shut the door.

“Hello, Edwin,” I say quietly. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you!” come Edwin’s well-modulated tones. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks!”

“Just a quick one, my dear: Unfortunately, I’ve been called away to the south of France—terrible bore—and it means I won’t have time to write your speech for the meeting after all. Can you rustle it up?”

I stare at the phone in dismay. Do what? The whole point was, he was going to write the speech.

“Right.” I clear my throat. “Well…I suppose so. What should I say?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know the sort of thing,” says Edwin airily. “Your enthusiasm for billiards, how shut out you feel as a woman, that kind of thing. Social justice. Discrimination. Make the blighters squirm with guilt. I never asked, did you have a deprived childhood?”

“Er, well…” I prevaricate, thinking guiltily that Mum and Dad are sitting only yards away and you can’t really call a detached house in Oxshott “deprived.” “I mean, I suppose some of it was a bit deprived….”

“Splendid! Lay that on thickly too. Now I must go, my dear, but I’ll see you there?”

“Absolutely!” I say. And I’m about to add, “What shall I say about billiards, exactly?” when he rings off.

I stand motionless for a few seconds, thinking this through. A speech about billiards. Can I make a speech about billiards? Oh God. Is this all getting a bit much? Shall I just get Luke his normal old aftershave, which will take thirty seconds online, and forget all about the portmanteau?

But then my determination hardens. Come on. I can do this. I will do it. For Luke. How hard can it be to talk about billiards? It’s only a game with six balls.