Mistletoe and Mayhem: A cosy, chaotic Christmas read!. Catherine Ferguson

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СКАЧАТЬ awkward shrug tells me all I need to know.

      I’m beginning to get the picture. And it’s not a pretty one.

      ‘So basically, I’ve been dumped because I don’t want to take my fitness to the next level?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Well, that’s how it looks.’

      He sighs. ‘Look, when we met, you’d just joined the gym and you seemed really keen on getting fit. And I thought if I could turn an unfit woman like you into an athlete, I could – well …’

      ‘Well what?’

      He shrugs. ‘Have what it takes to be a good personal trainer.’

      My mouth drops open.

      ‘I mean, you weren’t that unfit,’ he says, back-tracking hastily. ‘Not at all. You just needed – well, someone like me.’

      He smiles and kisses my nose.

      I do not smile back. ‘So let me get this straight. I was an experiment?’

      Nathan looks confused.

      ‘I was a bloody experiment!’

      He laughs nervously. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

      ‘No, come on, admit it!’ The realisation is making me feel quite sick. ‘I was your guinea pig.’

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘You wanted to see if you had the skill to turn a couch potato like me into a marathon runner!’

      ‘I wouldn’t put it quite—’

      ‘Well, I would. Face it, Nathan, I was the sporting bloody equivalent of Eliza Fucking Doolittle.’ I march to the front door and hold it wide. ‘If I were you, I’d leave immediately—’

      He hesitates so I hit him with the ultimate threat. ‘Before Barb gets back and puts a curse on you.’

      He’s out of the door in a flash.

      ‘One more thing. If you’re with Crystal now, what the hell were you doing kissing me?’

      He raises a lascivious eyebrow. ‘Ever heard of friends with benefits?’

      ‘Never gonna happen.’

      ‘You’ll just go to seed now.’ He shakes his head regretfully. ‘Without me to keep an eye on your weight, you’ll start to balloon.’

      As I slam the door, I hear him shouting, ‘And believe me, that’s not an attractive look!’

      I lean back against the door, trembling with hurt and fury. How could I have been so stupid? Imagining Nathan truly cared about me. If Barb was able to see through his charm, why couldn’t I?

      Self-disgust trickles through me. I know exactly why. I’ve been completely blind to Nathan’s faults. The thought that someone as attractive as him would actually want to be with me felt amazing. And he’d seemed to believe in me, far more than I believed in myself.

      But it had all been a mirage.

      I’d seen personal trainers on TV boosting their clients’ self-esteem and motivation by talking them up, telling them how fantastic they were and what an incredible amount they’d already achieved.

      That’s what Nathan was doing with me. And stupidly, I’d thought it meant he loved me.

      I swallow on the painful lump in my throat.

      Clock Patience.

       Where are the playing cards?

      I rake through my bedroom drawers. Not there.

      But there’s sure to be a pack in our chaotic, walk-in cupboard off the kitchen (also known as the Crap Closet). I clamber past the Hoover and the ironing board and step over a bucket containing used paint tins and stiffened brushes – and finally, I find the brown cardboard box I’m looking for.

      Yes, there they are, nestled among an assortment of belongings I haven’t bothered to unpack since I moved in. I draw the cards out of their carton. They’re a little tatty but perfectly useable.

      I haven’t played for a long time.

      Back in my room, I sit on the bed and shuffle them carefully, enjoying the feel and the sound of the cards sliding together. Then I begin the game, turning them over, one by one, placing them carefully in the shape of a clock face.

      And after a while, a familiar sense of calm settles over me.

      I play game after game.

      There’s a comfort in the rhythm of laying down the cards, and while I’m concentrating on the game, everything else drifts away.

      When I hear Barb’s key in the lock, I feel oddly disorientated.

      It’s grown dark outside and, glancing at my watch, I see to my surprise that it’s almost six-thirty.

      I’ve been playing Clock Patience for nearly three hours.

      Barb knocks softly on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

      I blow my nose and open the door.

      Her face falls when she sees the state of me. ‘That horrible bastard,’ she mutters angrily and my heart sinks. The last thing I want to do right now is go over it all again.

      ‘I’m really tired,’ I tell her truthfully. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’

      She peers at me. ‘Talking helps. You shouldn’t just bottle it all up.’

      ‘I’m not.’

      She shrugs but doesn’t object when I gently close the door and get back to my card game.

      Five minutes later, she’s back.

      ‘Lola?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve made your favourite. Peanut butter and jam on crusty white.’

      ‘I’m not hungry, thanks.’ It’s the truth.

      ‘Why won’t you come out?’ she calls despairingly.

      I slap down a two of hearts and a six of spades.

      ‘Erm, because there’s an unexploded bomb in my pants and if I move, the whole place goes up.’

      ‘Okay, look, I won’t pester you to talk about it.’

      ‘Yeah, right.’

      ‘Honestly, I won’t.’ A pause. ‘We can watch Bargain Hunt on catch-up?’

      I СКАЧАТЬ