Under The Mistletoe: Mistletoe Mansion / The Mince Pie Mix-Up / Baby It's Cold Outside. Kerry Barrett

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СКАЧАТЬ be my friends. We’d laugh together and I’d hand them cups of tea. In the press I’d be known as ‘The Paps’ Sweetheart’.

      Not long later, I lay on my bed, apron off and bun undone. The photographer’s silver card was on my bedside table. It had an oily fingerprint on it. Ugh. Jess was out. The house was quiet. It was just me and Groucho, cocking his head and looking all cute, cos he knew it was his dinnertime. On the little table next to me was the empty blue and gold tin of caviar. How decadent was that, me eating the food of the gods in bed? Clearly I was made for the celebrity lifestyle, as not everyone could enjoy raw fish eggs.

      I gagged slightly and rushed to change the subject in my head. Now was my chance to try speaking to Walter again. I mean there were no rules, were there, that said ghosts only communicated at night? First things first though. Relaxed and calm, it was time to unfold that cheque. I took a deep breath. Fifty quid perhaps? My cakes were worth that. I squealed as my eyes scanned Melissa’s fancy writing. Surely there was some mistake? Hands shaking I reached for my phone. For a few hours’ work, I’d just earned three hundred pounds. An amount like that would blow Adam away!

Chapter 14

      ‘Take that!’ I said, not referring to Auntie Sharon’s favourite pop group. I glanced at the clock: nine already. Deborah and the prospective buyers would be here in two hours. My arms ached, my palms stung and my chest heaved up and down. Had I just had a fight with that arrogant Luke or Jess’s Ex or that obnoxious photographer outside? No. The target of my aggression was some butter and a few innocent-looking eggs.

      The reason? My lip quivered as I flexed my weapon (a silver hand whisk). It was Adam’s fault. He’d eventually answered his phone yesterday evening, after I’d spent the afternoon tidying up the house. I’d hardly stopped for breath to tell him about Melissa’s cheque and the other bookings, namely Saffron’s hen night, the cakes for Kate’s niece’s birthday and Vivian’s bridge club. His reaction? On the positive side, his first words were:

      ‘You okay then, babe? Where are you staying?’

      On the negative side? Where to start? I’d gone on to tell him about Mistletoe Mansion – you know, hot tub, fancy neighbours, micro-pig called Frazzle. He didn’t think I’d taken on board his plea for me to keep my feet on the ground; didn’t give so much as a grunt of interest when I’d babbled on about how my business was taking off.

      ‘So, when does this holiday come to an end?’ he’d muttered.

      ‘Holiday? Hardly, what with running this house, keeping it clean and tomorrow I’m showing potential buyers around as well as baking my (fake designer) socks off.’

      ‘And what happens when you move back to Luton? You still don’t get it, do you? It’s an unworkable dream. These people you’re mixing with are giving you fanciful ideas.’

      ‘Three hundred pounds, Adam – for a few hours’ work – plus half a tin of caviar!’

      A sigh whooshed down the phone. ‘Look, gotta go.’ He rang off.

      I poured the batter into the silicone moulds. These were the vanilla and strawberry ladybird cupcakes I’d promised to make Deborah. The front doorbell rang and I closed the oven door, before heading into the hallway. I pulled out my scrunchie and hoped my hair didn’t look too much of a mess.

      Eyes alert, Groucho sat under the table in the hallway, as I opened the door to… a red-nosed, shivering Terry. He wore orange and brown checked plus fours and an apricot anorak. I loved his colourful ensembles.

      ‘Not stopping long! I just came over to see how yesterday went.’ He stared at my face. ‘Did you get any Botox?’ He put Frazzle on the ground and Groucho scooted over for a sniff.

      ‘Poor Melissa,’ I said. ‘No one was impressed. When they found out the coffee morning wasn’t for charity, they all left, wrinkles intact.’ I gave him a run-down of the details.

      ‘Poor Melissa. What’s her house like?’ he asked.

      ‘There’s a massive birdcage in the lounge and the kitchen’s done out in black and gold. You should see this cabinet full of trophies. And the décor was co-ordinated down to the last thread of cotton and shelf bracket…’ On and on I went, Terry lapping up every detail. ‘Then there’s the carpet – it’s higher than Jedward’s quiffs. And I counted at least three Christmas trees.’

      His eyes widened. ‘Ooh, wonder if I can get the name of her interior designer. By the way, why all the paparazzi outside Melissa’s place? The last time they had that much attention was when Jonny made that joke about the Scottish, whilst up there playing the Open. Remember that picture of him in Starchat?’

      ‘How could I forget!’ It was of Jonny in a sporran (sexy legs or what), telling some offensive joke about Glaswegians and bagpipes. I shrugged my shoulders. Who cares why the cameras were there? All that attention was exciting.

      ‘Got to fly,’ said Terry, and picked up the pig, ‘if I want to get nine holes in, without freezing my fingers off. The weather’s decidedly chilly today. By the way, do you watch Celebrity Snippets? It’s on tomorrow at seven. There’s supposed to be new revelations about Zac Efron.’

      ‘I love that programme! Look…Why don’t you come here to watch it? We’ll have something to eat. Maybe go in the hot tub?’

      ‘Sure you young girls want me around?’

      ‘Who else can I talk to about what Melissa’s house and clothes are like? And you won’t believe how the Winsfords have landscaped their back garden. Jess isn’t interested and Groucho isn’t really one to gossip.’

      Terry grinned. ‘It’s a deal. I’ll bring my costume and something fizzy to drink.’

      I closed the door. It was awesome to finally find someone who could match my fascination for celebrities. The girls at Best Buns bakery bought the magazines to glance through at lunch, but didn’t pore over the outfits and accessories like me. Sure, they’d daydream about living like Cheryl Cole, but I actually worked on how I could achieve that by myself. A bit like Mum, my colleagues just hoped one day Mr Right would come along and simply hand them a perfect life. They didn’t even collect and categorise the magazines like me and Terry. I mean, what could be more inspiring than flicking back a few years to remember just how far your fave celeb has come?

      I dashed into the kitchen to take out and check the cupcakes. Pressing them gently, I found that each sponge sprung back exactly the right amount. So, I left them to cool whilst I prepared the topping, with butter, icing sugar and thawed out mini frozen strawberries. The icing blushed just the right shade of pink and smelt all sweet and summery, despite the time of year.

      Twenty minutes later, the cakes were iced and crowned with marzipan ladybirds. I put them in a Tupperware box, before wiping up the mess from the black and red food colouring. I didn’t want to provoke one of Jess’s hormonal rages again. It had gone ten and I pulled off my apron. It was time to check the house one last time, before Deborah got here.

      The lounge, despite Walter’s clutter, actually looked tidy. The Games Room was immaculate. So were my and Jess’s bedrooms. The bathrooms sparkled, even the doortops were dusted. I slipped into the office. Pristine. There was nothing left to do so I just had time to log onto the laptop and check Facebook.

      Oh my God! Leah’s new profile photo made her look like a vampire with that СКАЧАТЬ