The Perfect Christmas. Georgie Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ talk with a man who once had you in positions that yoga teachers baulk at? Fortunately I’ve been anticipating this encounter ever since I noticed that Patrick was on the guest list, and I’ve had weeks to psych myself up for it. I’m determined to look gorgeous and be every bit the successful business woman. I don’t want Patrick back, but there’s no harm in showing him exactly what he’s missing, is there? And I know that I’m looking good today. My vintage 1950s prom-style dress nips my waist in to a hand’s span and flares out over my hips, the black netting underneath holding the skirt out ballerina style and drawing attention to my legs, which are actually looking slender as they taper into delicate strappy sandals. The bodice of the dress is strapless and boned and pushes up my boobs in a frankly amazing manner, and it’s all topped off with a cashmere shrug which magically hides my upper arms. Wow! I must patent these optical illusions.

      ‘Is there a Merry Man with you, Miss Hood?’ asks Patrick. He always did love to play on the fact that my name is Robyn Hood. Yes, that’s right, as in green tights, Sherwood Forest and the Sheriff of Nottingham. School was a right barrel of laughs, saddled with this moniker. Another thing to thank Mum and Dad for.

      ‘I’m working, Pat,’ I point out coolly. ‘I’m not here to socialise.’

      ‘Jo’s with me,’ continues Pat, gesturing towards the redhead who is hovering by the stack of pink iced fairy cakes.

      My mouth drops open.

      ‘Jo?’ I parrot. ‘That’s the Jo?’

      Pat nods. ‘You must remember Jo, Robs?’

      Duh. Of course I do. Only Pat could be this tactless. Thank God I don’t have an open wound; he’d be shovelling salt into it by now. ‘She was worried about introducing herself; worried about your reaction,’ he continues. ‘I told her not to be a sissy, that everything between us is fine now, but she still isn’t sure. Come and say hello.’

      Patrick has all the sensitivity of a bull rampaging through the china department of Liberty’s. Since Jo is the Comedy Store groupie that he was shagging behind my back, presumably while the ink was drying on our wedding invitations, it wouldn’t take Einstein to suss out that we are not destined to be best friends. Does the man really have such little self-awareness? I refrain from throttling him since that would ruin the whole ‘over him by Christmas’ thing. Part of me wishes that he was on his knees pleading for a second chance just so that I could have the pleasure of turning him down.

      Hmm. In my dreams. If Pat had groupies before he was famous then I dread to imagine what it’s like now. He hardly needs to beg girls to be with him. I stare at Jo, who looks so pale and worried, and feel nothing but relief that I’m not in her Jimmy Choos.

      ‘Sure,’ I say airily, even though just thinking about the engagement-wrecking woman makes me feel as though crocodiles are having a good old munch on my intestines. ‘Why not?’

      Patrick drains his champagne and leads me towards Jo. Her pale skin blanches as we approach, and I wonder quite what Pat has told her about me.

      ‘Hi, Jo.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Good to meet you. Finally.’

      ‘Robyn, hi.’ Jo’s green eyes can hardly bear to meet mine and instead she seems to find her scarlet toenails fascinating. ‘Er, you too.’

      ‘Thanks for taking Patrick off my hands,’ I add. ‘I owe you.’

      Patrick puts his arm around Jo and pulls her close, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. ‘See!’ he laughs. ‘I told you that Robyn was fine about us. She knows what a lucky escape she’s had. You did her a favour, darlin’!’

      ‘You certainly did,’ I agree, suddenly realising that I mean it. Much as I adored Pat, dashing around after him was shattering. For most of the time we were together I wasn’t self-employed and gave so much energy to my demanding boss, Hester Dunnaway, that there wasn’t much left for shoring up Pat’s ego. Once I had to fold one thousand paper cranes for a Chinese-themed wedding, a job which would have made even Sisyphus tremble. Pat had moaned constantly because I wasn’t able to come out with him. I was ignoring him, he’d said sulkily, as though I’d preferred wrestling with endless fiddly sheets of paper to watching him perform. When I did eventually set up on my own Pat mistakenly believed that I was just dossing round the house all day, watching Jeremy Kyle and Homes Under the Hammer, and was therefore free to follow him around the country with a baby balanced on each hip. I actually lost count of the rows we had about this. I used to grind my teeth so hard each time he airily implied Perfect Day was just a hobby that it’s a miracle I’m not left with stumps.

      Jo looks like a girl whose sole aim in life is to please her man, exactly what Pat has always dreamt of. He made no secret of the fact that he wanted his wife to give him babies and stay dutifully at home while he went out to hunt and gather. Looking back, maybe I really did have a lucky escape.

      ‘Actually, Robs, I’m glad we bumped into you today,’ Pat is saying. Is it me or does he look a little bit shifty? The way he always did when he came home three hours late and told me some long and involved yarn about his whereabouts. Instantly, I’m on red alert. ‘There’s something I – we – wanted to tell you. We thought it was better if you heard it from us first.’

      ‘I’m intrigued.’ I raise my eyebrow too. It always annoyed Pat that I could out-Roger-Moore him. ‘Go on then, what is it? A new show?’

      But Pat is shaking his glossy head and pulling Jo against him. One of his big, and now beautifully manicured, hands rests protectively on her stomach. Her gently rounded stomach …

      ‘It’s a million times better than a new show. Jo and I are having a baby!’ Pat says, and his voice brims with excitement and pride. ‘Can you believe it, Robs? I’m going to be a daddy, so I am! Isn’t it fantastic?’

      ‘Fantastic,’ I echo dutifully, but my entire blood supply feels as though it’s taken a really fast elevator to my feet and for a hideous moment I feel faint. ‘And we’re getting married too, before this little one puts in an appearance,’ he adds.

      I stare at him. ‘Really?’

      ‘Jaysus, Mammy would throttle me otherwise! What would the priest think?’ Pat laughs, his peat brown eyes sparkling down at Jo and belying the casual words. He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it gallantly. ‘Aren’t I lucky that this lovely woman’s agreed to take me on?’

      ‘Very,’ I say, but Pat’s too busy telling me his plans for an August wedding in Ireland to notice that my smile is a little stiff and that I’m clutching my clutch so hard it might pop. Finally, though, he runs out of steam and turns his attention back to a much less exciting topic – namely me.

      ‘So, Robyn Hood,’ grins Pat, ‘why were you skulking behind a pot plant? Was it the nearest thing to Sherwood Forest you could find?’

      ‘I wasn’t skulking.’

      Up goes the famous eyebrow. ‘Not planning to shoot me with your bow and arrows then?’

      ‘No,’ I say, ‘Bows and arrows are far too good for you. I thought I’d just rip your head off and hit you with the soggy end.’

      Actually I don’t say this but I’d like to. What I actually say is, ‘No. I was … err … distance wedding planning.’

      ‘Distance wedding planning?’

      ‘Yes,’ СКАЧАТЬ