Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection: Three Cosy Christmas Romances. Lindsey Kelk
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holds up a cake stand bulging with red velvet cupcakes smothered in butter cream icing with miniature snowflakes scattered on top. Striped candy canes are hooked around the edges of the cake stand and Mariah Carey is singing ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ in the background. This is amazing. I just about manage to resist the overwhelming urge to blurt out, ‘Hey, look everyone, it’s Mary Berry.’ Now, that would be so uncool. And it’s true then, Kelly really does know all the famous people. Wow!
I flash Sam a ‘what’s going on’ look? But there’s no time. A camera moves in as a guy counts down – three two one with his fingers – before Millie appears, sweeping an enormous blusher brush over my cheeks, flicking a lock of hair away from my face and straightening the wrap. She gives me a quick wink and mouths, ‘Break a leg.’ Eddie and Ciaran are sitting in a booth, laughing and chatting as if it’s just any other day in the café, seemingly oblivious to the cameras, Mary the Ledge, and the crowd all around us. And I feel so excited.
Eddie catches my eye and smooths his already immaculate hair. Now he’s fiddling with his cuff links as if he’s nervous, which is extremely unusual for him. I know he’s about to propose, but I thought he couldn’t wait … he’s that keen to get to Vegas and have his moment in the spotlight.
In the space behind my head, I sense Kelly clicking her fingers.
‘Her date! Her date! Where is he?’ she whispers furiously. A girl with a clipboard and a blank face appears. ‘Oh never mind. If you want something doing … ’ Kelly puffs, before shooing the girl away. ‘Get ready to grab his hand and walk towards the gays,’ she hisses in my ear. ‘And look happy.’ She disappears.
My heart sinks. I don’t really want to grab Leo’s hand and look happy with him, but I guess it’s only show business, and if it’s OK for Tom … I inhale sharply through my nose.
‘Go. Go. Go.’ Kelly is back. I spin around, but I can’t see Leo. An arm reaches out through the crowd. Kelly pushes the crew guys out of the way. And then I see him. My fake date.
Oh my God.
Oh my actual God. It’s not the actor. It’s not Leo.
It’s Dan Kilby.
Singing star. Sexy and soulful. Proper famous. But there’s no time to react. He takes my hand. His fingers feel warm against mine as he leads me over to join the others. My pulse quickens, not because of Dan (I don’t think so, well, maybe a bit – he is utterly gorge with his messy brown hair and soft grey eyes) but because all can I fathom is: what will Tom think when he sees this?
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ I’m on the bus and Dad’s on the phone. He sounds delighted. Nancy has just started on the silver surfers’ course and was messing around on her new iPad mini when she spotted a picture of me plastered across the front page of an online gossip magazine above a caption saying:
Recently heartbroken Georgie Girl, star of new reality show, Kelly Cooper Come Instore, finds love with sexy singer …
I want the ground to open up and drag me in. It’s not true – I haven’t found new love. It’s surreal having my private life dissected in the media. I’m mortified. And where did they get the picture? Dad says it’s of me standing outside Carrington’s chatting on my phone, so I can only assume I was on a tea break and that I’m being stalked by paparazzi. Oh God. And they don’t hang around, these sleb hunters – the scene with Dan Kilby was only this morning, which just goes to show how quickly they pounce. I’m not sure I can keep up with it all. Not so long ago I was ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea, looking forward to spending Christmas with my new boyfriend, and now … well, it seems I’m a reality TV star linked to one of the most famous singers in the country.
‘Dad, you know how the media make things up, embellish the facts,’ I say quietly, turning towards the window, conscious of the other passengers all whispering and nudging each other before glancing in my direction. Dad should know more than anyone what it feels like to be suddenly thrust into the limelight. From the moment he was arrested back then, the newspapers wouldn’t leave him alone. Mum used to get so upset on reading lies about him having had secret women on the side, or how he’d ‘been fiddling the books’ at the bank where he worked for years – I guess that bit is sort of true, but not the rest, I’m sure of it. Even after Dad went to prison, he still sent Mum cards saying how much he loved her. And Mum still loved him – right up to the day she died. She told me so at the end.
‘Yes, of course,’ Dad says. ‘But this is different, darling. If you’re on the telly, then you’re a celebrity, famous, and we all love celebrities. Everyone here is so chuffed. The curtain-twitchers are all saying they could tell right away, just from your movie-star hair and stylish clothes. We all knew there was something going on in town, but nobody guessed it would involve Carrington’s department store. You know, Georgie, one of the old dears even wants me to get your autograph for her niece.’
‘Oh stop it, Dad,’ I chide, and then smile at how he always refers to people his own age as ‘old’, as if he’s a mere boy.
‘Enjoy it, Georgie. A bit of the high life doesn’t come around very often,’ he replies, echoing Mrs Grace’s words. ‘And who is this “sexy singer”?’
‘Um, he’s called Dan. I’ll tell you about it later. But it was all set up for the cameras, Dad.’
‘Phew. I was worried it might be that no-good what’s-his-name, Brett. He liked singing; didn’t you meet him in one of those karaoke bars?’ Dad sighs.
‘Yes. But don’t worry, he’s definitely history.’ I pause. ‘Dad, sorry, I’ll have to call you back.’ I quickly shove the phone in my pocket as a group of teenage girls run down the bus and occupy all the seats around me.
‘Are you Georgie from Carrington’s?’ A girl with a pierced eyebrow and a red Santa hat over dodgy hair extensions asks me.
‘Why do you want to know?’ I reply cautiously, just in case she’s some kind of crazeee looper about to happy-slap me in front of her crew.
‘Don’t be anxious babe, it’s me, Madison.’ She grins as if we’re BFFs and grabs my arm, making my heart speed up. ‘Me and the girls saw you on the telly. Can Leanne take a picture of us?’
‘Err, sure … who’s Leanne?’ Madison points to a pretty girl with a seriously extreme Ronseal tan wearing a neon pink Juicy tracksuit under a faux fur gilet. She legs it down the bus clutching her smartphone and, before I can say ‘cheese’, Madison has flung her arm around my shoulders, pulled me in tight, and several pictures have been taken.
‘Thanks babe.’ Madison jumps up. ‘Nice to see you keeping it real.’ I raise one eyebrow and smile vaguely, wondering what she means.
‘The bus!’ She points a long acrylic fingernail around the top deck. ‘Thought you’d have a driver, now you’re a sleb.’
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I grin. Talk about surreal – a few weeks ago, celebrities were just people I read about in magazines, and now I’m one of them.
The bus stops and the girls leave, so I call Dad back and he tactfully chats about the weather and his neighbours, before asking if there’s anything special he can get me for Christmas. Yes, Tom! Preferably naked, lying on a sheepskin rug in that log cabin we mused about before he went weird and dumped me … Hmmm, I suggest a woolly hat and scarf gift set instead, and Dad seems happy with that.
‘So when will we see you again?’ The twitchy, uneasy feeling from that day in Nancy’s flat returns. I’m not used to Dad saying ‘we’. I feel as if I’m betraying Mum somehow. Even though she’s not here any more. ‘Nancy is going to cook her outstandingly delicious beef stew and dumplings,’ he adds. ‘So make sure you come hungry. I’m still full after last Sunday’s feast,’