Christmas Shopaholic(91)

“I do!” says Suze warily. “Of course I do, Bex! We can absolutely do that if you want. I just—”

“Good,” I cut her off, a little shrilly. “Because if you really want to know, everything’s fine. It’s all on track, and I’m super relaxed, and it’s going to be an amazing Christmas Day.” I drain my mulled wine. “So there’s no need for anyone to worry.”





CHATS





Christmas!


                     Becky

      Dear all, I cordially invite you to come and make gingerbread houses on Christmas Eve. Let us bond as friends and family, forget all disagreements, drink mulled wine, and be merry. Dress: Christmas sweaters! Love, Becky xxx





From: [email protected] To: Becky Brandon Subject: UNAVAILABLE ITEM




Dear Mrs. Brandon:

We apologize that the following item Free-range turkey is unavailable.

We have endeavored to substitute an item as close as possible to the original order. We hope you are happy with our choice of substitution.

Yours sincerely,

Customer Services Team Ramblesons Online Groceries Ltd.





ORDER: TSK67468675


               Unavailable item: Quantity

           Free-range turkey 7kg 1

           Substituted item: Quantity

           Reconstituted Turkey Slices Pack 200g 35





I was lying. Everything is not fine, and everything is not on track.

I haven’t got a turkey and I haven’t got a present for Luke and yesterday needles started dropping off the Christmas tree (why?) and I still don’t know what I’m giving Suze and I keep bumping into the new chest freezer in the kitchen, so I’ve got a massive bruise on my thigh.

Thank God I made a backup online order. Thank God. I’ve added turkey to that list, so it’ll arrive tomorrow. But it hasn’t made me feel any calmer. What if I hadn’t booked two deliveries? How can they substitute turkey slices for turkey on December 23? How? Are they sadists?

My Christmas stress keeps spiking, like one of those machines in medical dramas that start bleeping and everyone runs around madly. Only there’s no one to run around madly here, because Luke is away on business until tomorrow afternoon, and Minnie is at a playdate. It’s just me and six pounds of mushrooms. As a last resort, I’ve decided to make a vegan turkey. I’ve found instructions online and this is my third go, only it’s collapsed again.

I peer in mounting despair at the construction in front of me. It looks nothing like a turkey; it looks like a pile of mushrooms and chickpea flour. I rewind the YouTube video—and watch in frustration for the tenth time as the lady says cheerily, “Now mold your mixture into drumsticks.” I’ve tried. But my drumsticks won’t stay as bloody drumsticks.

I stare at my gloopy mess, thinking desperately. Maybe I could use…cardboard? I know vegans don’t usually eat cardboard, but it could be like bones, couldn’t it? I could say casually, “Watch out for the cardboard!” like you say, “Watch out for the fish bones!”

I grab an empty loo roll from Minnie’s craft box and stuff it full of mushroom mixture. It doesn’t look anything like a turkey drumstick, but I could…paint it, maybe? I reach for Minnie’s bottle of brown poster paint (nontoxic) and a paintbrush. I briskly slather on some paint, then put the “drumstick” on a plate and stare at it.

No. I cannot serve painted loo rolls as my Christmas vegan option.

My head is all fuzzy from staring at the same YouTube video over and over, and I decide I need some fresh air. I’ll go to the supermarket. Maybe I’ll suddenly find a brand-new range of vegan turkeys for sale, I think in a burst of optimism. I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it?

The supermarket is only ten minutes’ drive away, and I head through the glass doors to see a big display of wrapping paper beneath a sign: GIFT WRAP ALL 50% OFF. Which is annoying, because I bought wrapping paper last week but this is much nicer. It’s got red and green glittery candy stripes, and it’s reduced. In fact, I can’t tear myself away. Maybe I need some more wrapping paper? (I don’t. I really don’t.)

Wait! I have the answer: I’ll buy some for next Christmas. And the Christmas after. Yes. It makes absolute financial sense. I mean, we’ll always need Christmas wrapping paper, won’t we?

Feeling better already, I fill my trolley with twelve glittery rolls and six reels of reduced holly-printed ribbon and some festive pom-pom decorations. And I’m just deciding whether I should buy a bumper pack of five hundred snowflake gift tags (they’ll always come in handy) when I hear a voice greeting me: “Hi, Becky.”

My head jerks up and I stiffen in shock. It’s Craig, coming toward me with a trolley full of shopping bags, smiling easily at me. Smiling. As though we’re best friends and everything’s fab. What an absolute nerve.

“Hi, Craig,” I say coldly. “So, your girlfriend came round to our house unexpectedly the other day.”