My stomach lurched, as I recalled myself Rocking around the Christmas Tree and screeching through Mariah Carey’s All I Want… “Someone please kill me now,” I said, shamed by the memory.
It was after that sing-along that events got a bit hazy. I’d consumed more alcohol than intended come that point, let alone than was good for me. Then again, as I dreaded to think how the rest of the night had panned out, I supposed a spate of amnesia was for the best.
I should have known better than to drink so much, but a part of me refused to feel bad. After learning that my holiday of a lifetime had gone down the toilet, I deserved a bit of fun. Admittedly, it would have been nice to remember what that fun entailed; especially when for all I knew it could have involved a Charlie Hunnam look-alike. I scoffed, thinking about the Christmas jumper-clad specimens of manhood who had been on offer. “You’d be bloody lucky.”
My cranium throbbed again and switching off from the previous night altogether I carried my coffee into the lounge. From the rear window I looked out into the distance, taking in the snow-capped mountain standing proud against a pale grey sky, wondering how long it would be before the village got its first flurry. While I couldn’t deny the Yorkshire Dales’ natural beauty at any time of the year, I’d always loved its wintery scenes the most. And who knew? Maybe that flurry would turn into a snowstorm and I’d have an excuse to lock myself away until the New Year.
My gaze turned to the numerous walkers, all striding along the well-worn path that cut through the fields leading towards the higher ground. I couldn’t help but think them a bit mad considering how cold it must be up there. Although it was the same every weekend; whatever the weather and no matter the season, men, women, and children donned their hiking boots and backpacks and flocked to the village with the sole purpose of reaching that craggy summit. I would have shaken my head if it didn’t hurt so much. I’d never understood why anyone would choose to walk all that way to the top, only to turn around and walk straight back down. Then again, I reasoned, they’d no doubt question why I’d pour copious amounts of wine down my neck only to end up fit for nothing the next day – something I had to question too.
Feeling a tad nauseous, I dragged myself away from the window and needing to sit down, I eased my bum onto the sofa, careful to avoid causing myself any more pain. Relishing the quiet, I could have sat there all day, but the silence was broken when my mobile began to bleep. Its flashing light signalled a text had come through. I wanted to ignore it but knew I couldn’t, not with Vee almost ready to give birth.
Leaning forward, painfully aware of my every move, I placed my cup down on the coffee table and picked up the phone to see who it was from. Relieved to see Annie’s name on the screen rather than my sister’s or brother-in-law’s, I thanked goodness Vee hadn’t gone into early labour. I had enough to think about with regards to my own physical discomfort, let alone anyone else’s. My eyes narrowed and squinting as I read, I prepared myself for the teasing Annie was, no doubt, about to give.
Thank you so much for stepping in. You’re an absolute life saver. I owe you one.
With no clue as to what Annie was talking about, I stared at her words, trying and failing to figure them out. “You owe me one for what?” I asked. Again, I thought about the previous evening. However, the wine must have been really flowing by the time any need for assistance was mentioned as my mind drew a complete blank. What had I agreed to do?
Mystified, I dreaded to think. I had form for acceding to things when drunk. Like the time I promised to steal the local bobby’s police car and drive it through the village, blues flashing and twos blaring. And the occasion I said I’d go scuba diving in Aruba with some German backpacker after he’d finished touring the length and breadth of Britain. Much to my embarrassment, it was a list that went on. Not that I ever made good on such alcohol-fuelled engagements. While everything seemed a good idea after one too many beverages, sober me wasn’t that stupid.
I consoled myself in the knowledge that whatever I had said yes to couldn’t be that bad. Annie wasn’t just kind and thoughtful; from her easy-to-maintain haircut to the practical shoes on her feet, everything about the woman shouted sensible. She probably wanted me to have a word with her daughter, Emma, in the hope that I could persuade the girl to forget all about her sauce-less pasta disaster and return home to her boyfriend in time for Christmas.
I took a deep breath, supposing there was only one way to find out, but as my thumb hovered ready to press the call button, the doorbell rang. I cocked my head in response, an action I quickly regretted as it caused my cranium to throb all over again. However, feeling inquisitive as to who my unexpected visitor could be, I disregarded the pain and stuffing my mobile into my dressing gown pocket, I hauled myself back onto my feet and went to investigate.
6
Opening the door, my eyes lit up thanks to the gorgeous chap staring back at me. He was taking off a pair of sunglasses – of all things – in December. The man was obviously a bit of a poser. I put him at about forty years old. He wore a big smile and his wavy blond hair was brushed back off his face. He had a rucksack slung over one shoulder, a guitar over the other and a battered suitcase sat at his feet. Dressed in a fitted jacket, a shirt, and jeans, he cut a smart yet casual figure and forgetting about both my headache and non-event yuletide for a moment, I found myself asking if Christmas had come early.
It was just my luck that a tall handsome stranger would appear at my door when I looked like the angel of death. Suddenly self-conscious, I pulled my dressing gown tight across my chest. I put a hand up and discreetly tried to tame my bedhead hair, with no choice but to accept the fact that the previous night’s mascara was, no doubt, smudged down my cheeks. I fixed him with my best smile, hoping his sparkling blue eyes couldn’t see that well, hence the sunglasses. “Can I help you?” I asked, curious as to what he was doing there.
He looked confused for a moment, before pulling himself together. “Holly?” he said.
My smile froze at hearing my name. While he seemed to know me, I didn’t have a clue who he was. I racked my brains in the hope of figuring out where our paths might have crossed, but try as I might, I still couldn’t place him. Oh, Lordy, I thought, my tummy doing a little summersault. Maybe I’d met my Charlie Hunnam look-alike the previous night after all. I tried to rein in my excitement, an inner voice reminding me that even if I had met the man of my dreams, I’d never give out something as personal as my address at first contact. “And you are?” I asked, opting to neither confirm nor deny my identity.
“A sense of humour. I like that.”
Well-spoken and good-looking, I noted, even if I wasn’t trying to be funny.
The man’s grin grew wider, his smile befitting of any Hollywood star as he dropped his rucksack and guitar at his feet. “You’re an absolute saviour,” he said, before, much to my surprise, suddenly stepping forward and throwing his arms around me.
Under normal circumstances I’d have quite enjoyed finding myself wrapped in the arms of an attractive gentleman. Particularly when the chap concerned not only looked good but, breathing in his fresh clean scent, smelt good too. However, on that occasion rather than succumb to the embrace, my body stiffened, and I stood there motionless, keeping my arms firmly by my side. Waiting for him to let go of me, I struggled to get my throbbing head around what was happening. As if grappling with the man’s identity wasn’t enough, he’d given me the added challenge of figuring out what or who I’d saved him from.