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

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СКАЧАТЬ like. Let’s pray it’s not an Ali G sling bikini!’ I shuddered. ‘Or one of those new one-sided thong swimsuits…’

      Melissa caught my eye and despite herself, half-smiled back. ‘Suppose I could pop over for an hour.’

      ‘And the cupcakes?’

      She sniffed. ‘How about a Christmas one, to get me in the festive mood? I’ve had to do all the decorating at home… Jonny’s not interested.’ Melissa bit her lip. ‘Christmas… Really it’s about kids, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes – us big kids as well,’ I said, gently. ‘How about… ooh… gingerbread ones, with nut and chocolate buttercream icing on top – a skinny recipe, of course?’

      Melissa licked her lips and nodded.

      ‘Vivian rang for your number, by the way,’ she said, as we headed back to the patio doors. ‘I gave her your mobile number. If you really want your business to do well, though, you should enter the cake competition at the Harpenden Christmas Market. Jonny was the guest of honour last year. It’s not as big as the July Highland Gathering, or Christmas lights’ switch-on, but still, lots of local companies and farmers get involved – it’s a last-minute chance to buy food and gifts for Christmas. There are various craft-makers demonstrating their art, a big raffle, lots of festive food to buy… Mulled wine on sale, and lots of ideas for presents.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not a bad afternoon out, as long as the weather holds. The guy who owned this house, Walter, his wife won the cake competition several times. And apparently a few years back, someone trying to launch their own cake-icing company entered and on the back of winning got loads of orders.’ She yawned. ‘The wives at the golf club were going on and on about it at the last dinner we went to.’

      ‘When is it?’

      ‘Saturday after next. The twenty-third, the day before Christmas Eve. Jonny’s agreed to launch the balloons that kick it off.’

      That gave me, ooh… ten days, to think of a winning idea, practice it and… ‘Aren’t I too late to enter?’

      ‘Guess I could swing a late registration for you, if you like.’

      At that moment the front door clicked open and I nipped into the hallway.

      ‘Jess? You’re home early. What’s happened?’

      Chest heaving, Jess darted into the downstairs loo. I hadn’t heard retching like that since the time macho Adam tried to show off that he could stomach a Vindaloo curry.

      I dashed in after her and held her hair away from her face as she bent over the sink, but she pushed me away.

      ‘I can manage,’ she croaked.

      ‘At least let me get you a glass of water.’ Minutes later, I returned with a tumbler-full. Melissa was in the kitchen, scrutinising her reflection in the patio door windows before following me. She waited in the hallway as I went into the loo.

      ‘Kimmy? Are you ready?’ she called moments later.

      Jess raised her eyebrows as I passed her a sheet of loo roll to wipe her nose. It was the pleated stuff, with flowers on and softer than a powder puff.

      ‘It’s Melissa. I just need to see her back to her house. Don’t ask!’ I whispered. ‘I won’t be long and then I’ll tell you all about Deborah’s visit. You get yourself to bed. How on earth did you cycle home? You should have called me to pick you up and–’

      ‘Stop fussing,’ she said, in clipped tones.

      ‘I’m only trying to help.’ What was it, with her?

      ‘Someone got a bit of a hangover?’ said velvet tones. ‘I know just how you feel… Nessie, isn’t it? Cheap champagne. That always does it for me. What’s your poison?’

      ‘Human Chorionic Gonadotropin, if you must know,’ Jess barked as she met Melissa in the hallway. ‘And the name’s Jess. Not Nessie, nor Bessie, nor Tess.’

      ‘Oh, um, okay, Jess,’ said Melissa. ‘Not sure I’ve heard of that cocktail.’

      Jess shook her head, and muttered something about an airhead. Although to be fair, not many would know HCG was the pregnancy hormone. Jess was clever like that and shone at pub quizzes. She knew what DNA stood for and could even spell that place in Wales with the longest name in Europe.

      ‘I’m shattered; going to lie down,’ mumbled the brainbox. She kicked off her trainers and with heavy footsteps made her way upstairs. Her bedroom door slammed. I shrugged at Melissa and we headed back to the patio doors.

      ‘Take this,’ said Melissa, after staring at her wedding finger for a moment. She slid off her famous yellow diamond ring. My stomach tingled as she passed it to me.

      ‘You’re not serious?’ I muttered and held it in the air, tilting it from side to side. The pear shape gem twinkled like the insides of a golden kaleidoscope.

      ‘I dropped hints to Jonny after seeing the film…’

      ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s,’ I said.

      Melissa half-smiled. ‘You really do read all the magazines. Yes. As soon as I saw that yellow Tiffany diamond on Audrey Hepburn, normal diamonds never quite looked the same. Put it on. Flaunt it at those cameras.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Look after it for me.’

      Wow. This rock was worth more than… than the average semi in Luton. I curled my fingers tight so that it couldn’t possibly fall off. Melissa glanced sideways at me.

      I grinned. ‘Worried I’ll run off?’

      ‘Like to see you try, with all the paparazzi’s motorbikes waiting outside!’ She smiled. ‘See you soon. Ciao.’

      I left the kitchen for the hallway, shoulders back, head high. Now I felt like a real celebrity – special, different, somehow taller. I put on her trainers (ooh, weird sole, they looked like those fancy weight loss ones), grabbed my big bug sunglasses from the kitchen table, picked up a magazine from the hallway table and stepped out of the front door. I hoped no one saw me briefly stumble. In the weird trainers, I felt like I was walking on a wobble board. Plus it was hard to resist the urge to pull down the tracksuit bottoms. They’d wedged right up in between my legs. I held my lips in a “blowing up a balloon” position, in the hope that they’d look more plump.

      ‘Melissa! Woo hoo! Over ‘ere love! We thought we saw you leg it to your neighbour’s a while back.’

      ‘Yo! Melissa!’ yelled a man’s voice. ‘Look up, love! Give us a nice smile! Where’s Jonny?’

      Sexy walk? Check. Flaunting ring? Check. Superior celebrity expression on face? Hmm, perhaps I should lose the balloon lips. Even though it had virtually stopped raining, I put up my umbrella and ducked underneath. Yikes, if only Melissa had been wearing a coat, it was freezing. And to match the winter temperatures, I must have looked extremely cool, as I sashayed down the drive, as if on a red carpet, approaching the clicking cameras and shouts. So what if they didn’t know who I really was? At least I might finally get my picture in Infamous.

      Talking of which, I held the magazine over my modest B cup chest. The sound of snapping shutters and pong of cigarette smoke overwhelmed СКАЧАТЬ