Three Words: A Novella Collection (26 page)

Fur? In
summer? I groaned inwardly. Honestly, when Kirby started gushing
over ‘cute this’ and ‘divine that,’ I questioned our friendship —
especially if said gushing occurred in the same sentence as ‘themed
apparel’. Sane people didn’t do Christmas wear in public unless it
was hidden away as underwear and even that was stretching the
friendship. Yes, I could cope with the odd tree shaped brooch or
some ridiculous light-up Santa-shaped earrings but a whole outfit
with bells?

Give me
strength.

Kirby looked
questioningly across the table at me. “Mel?”

I took a long
slow sip of my coffee and tried to temper the words that were about
to fall from my mouth. Kirby was such a darling — despite making me
mental most of the time — I couldn’t hurt her feelings. Not about
this anyway. Her opinion on most other things was always open to
being put right. Especially when she spoke about
One
Direction
or
5 Seconds of Summer
. We weren’t exactly
teenagers.

“
Do we have to?” I asked. “I’d be just as happy with a bottle
of red and some nibbles. It’ll still be a catch-up. Secret Santa is
for children.”

Kirby put down
her double decaf frappuccino. Her eyes grew so big I thought her
eyelash extensions might pop off. Across the table, Sasha and
Millie appeared equally flabbergasted. Sasha had stopped mid-bite
of her sandwich and was looking at me like I’d declared I was going
to streak down Hay Street if the Western Force didn’t win the Super
15 next year and Millie was shaking her head and tutting. These
were my friends, and they all loved Christmas. To say one didn’t
wish to be involved in the hoo-ha was tantamount to treason.
Especially where Kirby was concerned. Next to shopping and knowing
the brand name of every piece of clothing on the planet, Christmas
was Kirby’s favourite hobby — if a holiday could be classed as a
hobby. She had an entire shelf in her linen cupboard filled with
decorations that only appeared once a year. Mine, conversely, was
filled with wine. And that got used on a daily basis, especially
when people started talking about Christmas.

“
Honestly, you’re such a Grinch, Mel. We can do drinks and
nibbles any time. We, like, do it every Friday as it is.” Kirby
pouted. “Just because you don’t like Christmas doesn’t mean we,
like, have to suffer. And Millie can’t go plonking on now she’s
pregnant. We, totally, have to make this special for her, too. It’s
her last Christmas as a childless person.”

She made it
sound like Millie was about to become homeless or something. Which
in turn made me feel like a bitch, an unusual occurrence, given I
felt little about anybody or anything.

I gave a
sidelong glance to Millie. There was no way she’d think Secret
Santa was special, would she? Out of all of us, Millie was the one
who understood me best, despite our rather rocky start at
friendship. She got that I didn’t like to have my personal space
invaded, that I couldn’t suffer fools at the best of times. Millie
was the only person able to make me see reason when I wanted to go
on a rant about the injustice of one thing or another. She’d have
to get why I didn’t go in for this Christmas carry on.

“
What do you think, Mil?” I asked.

“
I think it’ll be fun. Everyone can come to ours. I’ll cook a
traditional dinner. In my new oven. In my new house. With my
gorgeous husband.” Millie puffed out her chest proudly. It seemed
the nesting bug had invaded my one possible ally. Next she’d be
suggesting we wear reindeer jumpers in the middle of summer heat so
we could co-ordinate with Kirby’s outfit.

I should have
known better than to ask, of course. Millie had been behaving oddly
ever since she got back from her wedding in Bali. Her burbling and
cooing was most uncharacteristic, not to mention nauseating. I’d
put it down to the insane rush of hormones that must have overrun
her body now she was pregnant with twins. It couldn’t be that
Millie had joined the dark side. Hopefully, after the babies were
born in eight weeks time she’d return to her sensible, sane self.
The one I knew probably thought Secret Santa was a silly idea, too.
But for now, I guessed I’d have to suck it up.

“
But it’s such a lot of effort and the boys won’t appreciate
it anyway,” I said. Which was code for ‘your cooking sucks’. Millie
had serious issues with cooking.

“
But I want to do it. It’ll be a chance for me to try out my
grandma’s pudding recipe.”

“
I bet it’s one those ones where the fruit’s drowning in
alcohol.” Sasha gave a little sigh. “All the old time recipes are
like that. You could get pissed just eating dessert.”

“
Oohhh
. I, like, totally adore Christmas pudding,”
Kirby said. “Do you do brandy custard?”

Millie
nodded.

Were they
listening to themselves? Firstly, Millie couldn’t have pudding
laced with booze, being pregnant and everything, and secondly, she
couldn’t cook to save herself. “Ah, steaming chicken and vegetables
for three children doesn’t exactly prepare you for preparation of a
full on Christmas feast, Mil. Besides, I’m positive you have to
soak the fruit for weeks beforehand. What about if I donate one of
those yummy homemade ones from Fresh Prov?”

“
But I want to do something for everyone.” Millie gave a blasé
wave of her hand. “It’ll be fine. How hard can a pudding
be?”

That was like
asking how long a piece of tinsel was.

“
Do it then, if you really want to but it’s a big ask,
especially when the boys eat like a famine’s about to be announced.
It means you’ll effectively be making food for twenty, not six or
eight. Have you ever even cooked a turkey?”

Millie
appeared affronted. “I most certainly have! Well, I sort of have.
I’ve watched Mum and I know how to make stuffing. And I can do
gravy from the packet. It’s easy.”

Let’s hope we
weren’t going to have a dinner of stuffing, gravy and bread rolls.
I wondered if I should have a caterer on standby, just in case. It
wasn’t wise to leave the menfolk without food for too long. Not
when red wine was involved. And if Millie was cooking, the odds of
the feast being ready prior to New Year’s Eve were slim. Sam would
have been better off buying her a chef, not a house.

“
I can go food shopping with you,” Sasha said. “We don’t want
you lifting too many heavy things in your condition.”

“
And I can do the decorations and the table and everything,”
Kirby added. “I need the practise for the business. Who knows when
wedding planning might, like, totally morph into me being the event
co-ordinator of the year?” She expelled an excited
giggle.

“
Thanks Kirbs,” Millie replied, “Just as an aside I will be
paying you this time. You did enough at the wedding without
payment. If you want your business to be a success you have to
start charging.”

At least,
Millie hadn’t lost all her senses. Kirby did need the money. Her
severance package from David Jones wouldn’t last forever.

“
Can I do whatever theme I, like, want then?” Kirby asked.
“‘Cause I have this totally awesome idea that I saw on
Kirstie’s
Handmade Christmas
.”

Sasha
straightened, putting her coffee cup back in its saucer. Her eyes
began to sparkle like it already was Christmas. “Was that the
episode with the mince pies and the jewel-encrusted Christmas
crackers?”

“
No, the card episode.”

“
Oh yes, yes.” Millie gushed. “I loved those invites, not that
we have time for them or the cake, I’ll just send out a text to
everyone. But the tree…I haven’t done a tree yet. We could do that!
And those cute decorations Kirstie did.”

“
It’ll be glorious.”

“
Like, totally magical. I have the picture in my head already.
Have you considered like, fake snow? A snow machine?”

Baffled. That
was the only word to describe my feelings at what I was hearing
from my three best friends. Baffled. When had they turned into
women who watched inane TV shows about making stuff? When did they
even have time for that?

I had to put a
stop to this before we became the laughing stock of, well, the
entire world. “Stop. Stop Now.”

There was
silence.

“
Listen to yourselves. You can’t be fucking
serious.”

Yes, I know I
was sounding more and more like a party pooper but, honestly, it
was bad enough they were making me do Christmas. Did I have to
suffer talk about craft as well? And snow machines?

“
Have you forgotten that there’s a perfectly good Christmas
shop in David Jones which has perfectly acceptable Christmas items?
Jesus, Kirby. It’s twenty metres from where you used to
work!”

“
I love the handmade touch. And I totally have the time.”
Kirby exclaimed. “It’ll be, like, awesome fun!”

“
As would helping Millie pick out crystal snowdrops from David
Jones. Tasteful, classy snowdrops.”

Three sets of
eyes turned in my direction, their glares giving me the impression
that the only thing they’d be doing with crystal Christmas
ornaments would involve my chest and a couple of stabbing
motions.

Shit. Even I
knew when it was time to back down and being confronted by a
pregnant woman, a girl who’d almost stabbed her husband with a BBQ
fork and one who looked more innocent than Barbie but clearly
wasn’t, was definitely that time. I held up my hands in defeat.

“
Okay. Okay. So when’s this fabulous night going to be
then?”

“
Friday’s good for me,” Sasha replied, her face breaking into
a grin.

“
Me too,” said Millie. “That gives me a few days to get the
food organised. It can be a practise for Christmas day. We’re
having the family over.”

Kirby nodded.
“I’ll, like, email everyone about who to buy their Secret Santa
gift for. I can draw them out of a hat. And I’ll get started on the
decorations, like, straight away. Is Thursday okay for the set up,
Millie? I’m free in the afternoon. Ohmigod, this is like going to
be so much fun—”

About as much
fun as having Womble trying to shag you. Though at this point,
sleeping with Womble was a more favourable option than attending a
Christmas party with homemade touches.

“—
Shall we say fifty for the gift?”

“
Let’s make it a hundred,” Millie said.

“
A hundred!” I spluttered. Now, they were being insane. “What
happens if I get Womble as my recipient? I can’t spend a hundred
dollars on him. He’s an imbecile. He’d think I was trying to get
into his pants. You know how obsessed he becomes if he gets any
form of positive attention.”

“
Hmm. I could rig it so Millie gets him, I s’pose. She’s
married now. He can’t think she’s after him now she has Sam.” Kirby
whipped out her Smartphone and made a note for herself.

“
I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“
Speaking of lowlife, we’re not inviting that slut Courtney,
are we?” Sasha asked. “Because I’m not having her ruining my
Christmas.”

The entire
table groaned.

The
Sasha-slash-Courtney-slash-Simmo love triangle saga had begun to
wear thin. While I loved Sasha and absolutely supported her in the
divorce — mostly because Alan was an utter knob and Courtney
was
a slut — I was getting a little tired of having it
brought up in every conversation.

Kirby packed
her Smartphone in her handbag, turning to Sasha. “You know Courtney
will, like, totally show up whether we invite her or not.”

“
And it is Christmas,” Millie justified.

“
And if we invite her she might, like, keep Simmo away from
you.”

Sasha bit the
corner of her lip. “I guess. He has been rather annoying since the
divorce papers were served. He won’t be able to beg for mercy if
she’s clinging to him like a limpet.”

“
We can, totally sit them at the other end of the
table.”

“
But not next to Sam,” Millie announced rather emphatically.
“If that cow goes within twenty feet of Sam, I’ll be the one in
jail for murder.”

Which didn’t
leave a whole number of options for seating arrangements.

I wonder if
Millie ever considered doing a ‘kiddie table’?

*****

On my way back
to the office, I stopped for the first time ever in the David Jones
Christmas shop. I don’t know why I did, seeing that I was allergic
to the thought and would most likely break out in hives, but I did
it anyway.

As I wandered
through the glittered cave, ducking my head to avoid the crystal
icicles suspended above me, and flicking my eyes over the rows and
rows of shiny things I’d never paid attention to before, I began to
think about why my friends — or the populace in general — liked
Christmas so much. It was a chance to be with family they didn’t
see often, I guess, to do special things for their friends, to show
how much they cared by spending huge amounts of money on gifts and
witnessing the delight, or otherwise, as they were unwrapped.

For me,
Christmas held no such allure. For me, it represented years of
family fights culminating in the day my father had left the house
to buy cigarettes, never to be seen again. My mother had been
carving turkey and serving potatoes for the fifteen guests at the
time. She carried on for the entire afternoon as if he was sitting
at the other end of the table, which was most awkward, and at age
nine, I’d not only felt embarrassed by the display but also
extremely hurt. I’d always been daddy’s girl. His leaving felt like
a personal rejection, one that led to a lifetime mistrust of
men.