The Perfect Christmas. Georgie Carter

hardly wait to get started.’

      ‘Nor can I,’ I say, as we shake hands. ‘Nor can I!’

       CHAPTER TEN

      June

      ‘You know what you need to do with this car?’ the AA patrolman says from beneath the bonnet.

      ‘What?’ I ask, hoping it’ll be something quick and inexpensive.

      ‘Scrap it and get something new.’ He smiles at his little joke. ‘My missus has got a lovely Fiesta.’

      ‘Right,’ I say, fighting the impulse to ram his head into the engine. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

      ‘Besides, we’ve been called out for this car too many times and we’re within our rights to refuse to give you any more assistance.’

      ‘Maybe I should join the RAC instead?’

      ‘They’ll only tell you the same. Get rid of this monstrosity and find yourself a car that works.’

      ‘I love my car!’ I protest. ‘Dolly the Mercedes is a design classic!’

      He snorts. ‘If you say so. But you’d be better off with a Fiesta. You’ll never get a baby seat in that contraption. You know, when the time comes.’

      I roll my eyes. I’m more likely to grow another head than I am to have a baby. Call me old fashioned but I’d quite like to find a man first and that is proving easier said than done. Thirty-four, single, and with no hope of finding a decent man. It’s a problem that even Stephen Hawking couldn’t solve. Unless he knows the address of the parallel universe where they all live.

      Anyway, here I am, a woman on her own at the side of the A4, and my knight of the road turns out to be the same grumpy git who’s attended Dolly the Mercedes’ previous two hissy fits. And I literally mean hissy fits. I haven’t seen this much steam since I last went to the Sanctuary Spa.

      While the patrolman delves under the bonnet I fan my face and wish I had my emergency wedding kit with me: sunscreen and a bottle of Evian would be very handy right now.

      My ancient Mercedes can be a little temperamental but Dolly’s over twenty years old and probably feels she’s earned the right to have a senior moment from time to time. I’d have sympathy except I wish she’d chosen a better time. A beautiful June evening like this should be spent on the Heath drinking wine, not sitting at the roadside being lectured about my car and the lack of children I have borne.

      Am I some kind of bad luck magnet? This morning I had a phone call telling me the beautiful country house hotel Saffron’s had her heart set on for the wedding venue is booked for Christmas Eve, a stern letter arrived from the Inland Revenue, and then Faye cancelled lunch. Add to this realising that it’s a year to the day since Pat and I split and there you have it – a totally crap day.

      If my life was a Mills & Boon novel the patrolman attending this breakdown would be some Brad Pitt lookalike, all rippling muscles and six pack under his yellow overalls, working part-time as he studies for his PhD. He’d climb from the cab and we’d take one look at each other before he’d scoop me into his arms and carry me into his low loader. Then he’ll turn out to be the love of my life and we’ll live happily ever after …

      Hmm, just my luck that I live in the real world where AA men are bald and grumpy.

      And gorgeous, thoughtful men like Jonathan are married.

      Maybe I should look on the bright side. After all, there is one sunbeam on an otherwise gloomy horizon and a pretty impressive sunbeam it is too. I can still hardly believe that I’m going to be planning Saffron’s wedding! I’m still pinching myself because I’ve been given the green light to source fabulous designers and tasteful Christmas accessories. I haven’t seen Hester since Saffron made her decision but I know she won’t forgive me in a hurry. She’s furious that Perfect Day has won the tender and, according to Saffron, turned white with disbelief at being pipped at the post by such an amateur outfit. If it was anyone else I’d almost feel sorry for her but this is payback for all the hideous jobs she gave me, especially the time she made me clean up after three vomiting bridesmaids.

      I turn my attention back to the car. I wouldn’t put it past Hester to have sabotaged it.

      ‘Can you fix it?’ I ask the AA man.

      ‘It looks like the radiator. I’ll do my best to patch it up so you can get home but you’ll probably need to replace it.’

      ‘Is that expensive?’

      ‘About two hundred quid.’

      Great. My bank manager will need Valium if I go any more overdrawn this month.

      ‘Don’t look so worried,’ the AA man says, wiping his hands on a rag before delving into the back of his truck. ‘Worse things happen at sea.’

      ‘I’m not at sea. I’m on the A4,’ I point out.

      When my phone buzzes, I take a look at the screen. There’s no name, but the number is ingrained into my memory from repeated and persistent use. Patrick. What do I have to do to get rid of this man?

      I flip my phone open.

      ‘What do you want?’

      ‘And hello to you too,’ says Patrick cheerfully. ‘Sure, isn’t that a lovely way to greet your friends?’

      ‘What makes you think you’re my friend?’

      Pat laughs. ‘I love your dry sense of humour, so I do.’

      I’m not joking.

      ‘This really isn’t a good time for a social call. Dolly’s broken down.’

      ‘Jaysus! Not again? How many times is it now? Eight?’

      ‘No!’ I retort hotly. ‘Only six actually.’

      ‘Only six?’ Although I can’t see him, I know that Pat’s eyes will be twinkling with mirth. ‘Oh, that’s OK then. Honestly, Robs, it’s time you gave up with that old car and got yourself a newer model.’

      ‘Like you did?’ I nearly say, and only just stop myself in time. Instead I say, ‘You never did like Dolly, did you?’

      ‘Robyn, what sort of man wants to be seen in a Barbie car?’

      ‘Ken?’

      Pat laughs. ‘A man with no dick! I rest my case. Anyways, Robs, I haven’t called just to talk dirty, fun though that is. I was wondering if you fancied coming out for lunch sometime? Maybe Wednesday?’

      I’ve always known he’s tactless but this doesn’t so much take the biscuit as the entire McVities factory. Our first wedding anniversary would have been next Wednesday. What’s going on? I hope he’s not about to suggest we have sex for old time’s sake or something equally ridiculous. I wouldn’t put anything past Patrick. I barely trusted him when we were together – rightly, as it turned out – and I certainly don’t trust him now.

      ‘I’m really busy next week. I’ve lots of weddings.’

      Weddings. Hint. Hint.

      ‘Ah, feck,’ Pat sighs. ‘I really wanted to see you. There’s something I need to ask you.’

      ‘Everything’s OK, isn’t it?’

      Pat is silent.

      ‘Pat? You’re not ill or anything, are you?’

      ‘Sure, we’re fine!’ he says swiftly. ‘Especially Jo. She’s blooming. Jaysus, Robs! I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted to be a da!’

      ‘I know you have. You’ll be brilliant, so congratulations.’

      And he will be brilliant too. Pat’s always wanted kids