Weight Till Christmas (12 page)

It’s very unfortunate that Drake chooses this exact moment to return with our drinks.  The red mist descends…

Chapter 12

Drake pauses in the doorway, a glass of mulled wine in each hand, and smiles at me.

“There you are!  I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

I stare at him.  Honestly, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.  I feel a bit like Titania when Puck takes the love potion away from her eyes. ‘Methought I was enamoured of an ass!’
 
Or in this case, a total arse.  Why haven’t I noticed before that those blue eyes aren’t so much denim in hue, but rather as bright and warm as arctic seas?  And has his chin always been this weak?

“Have you, Drake?” I say, and it’s amazing that my voice doesn’t come out all trembly because inside I am quaking with rage. “Why’s that then?  Did you want to pull a pig?  Snog a dog?  Or maybe stuff a big bird for Christmas?”

Drake blanches.  The guys sitting on the sofas turn around, their eyes out on stalks when they see their boss frozen in the doorway.  Drake
should
be frozen.  My voice is so icy I hope his cock gets frostbite.

“Oh shit!” I hear Scotty say. “That’s her!”

“I thought you said she was a munter?” Hisses another, and is instantly shushed by his cronies.

“Yes, Drake,” I say sweetly.  “What about that charming comment?  It’s right up there with ‘fat girls are more grateful’, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ellie, I can explain everything!” He says frantically, his eyes darting to his white faced colleagues. “That was before – before you looked like this!”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the window and for a second I hardly register that the tall red-haired woman in flowing green, curvy in all the right places and with boobs that Katie Price would envy, is really me.  Inside I’m still the same Ellie Summers who shared doughnuts with Sam and adored Drake from afar.  I might look different on the outside, but I’m still the same person!  Nothing has changed.

Nothing, that is, apart from the adoring Drake part.  Now I see him for exactly what he really is: a shallow, egotistical used car salesman.  And he isn’t even very good at that.  If his sales figures are as bad as it seems they are, Charlie will have him out by Easter.

I look him slowly up and down and then I start to laugh.  I went to all this effort for
Drake
?  What an idiot I’ve been!  He doesn’t deserve so much as a nano second of my time.

The only person I should have been doing it for is myself.

“Sorry Drake,” I say sweetly, “but I won’t be coming to work with you up west.  And I certainly won’t be playing ‘pull the sexist pig’ either.  The only turkey getting stuffed this year will be you when Charlie sees your next set of sales figures.  Have a merry Christmas, because I don’t think the New Year will be particularly happy!”

And with this parting shot, I push past him.  Mulled wine sloshes all over his shirt like a blood stain and even though he calls after me, apologizing and begging to be allowed an explanation I find that I really couldn’t give a hoot.  As I stomp across the hall, past the Christmas tree and through the dancers, I replay the hurtful conversation I overheard and test my feeling gingerly for damage, a bit like you’d prod the sore bit where a tooth has been removed.

‘I thought you said she was a munter?’  Prod.  Nothing.

‘Fat birds are more grateful.’  Prod.  Nope.  Still nothing.

‘He’d be sure to stuff a fat bird this Christmas and he didn’t mean a turkey!’ Another prod and, yet again, nothing.

To discover, after all those months of agonizing over Drake and dreaming of tonight, that I don’t actually give a toss about him feels really strange and, to be quite honest, extremely liberating.  Drake Owen is an idiot.  He used me and I’ve been far too stupid to see it.  My own lack of self-esteem got right in the way of the truth.  Well, that’s not going to happen again.  No way.  It might be dark in here with only candles and fairy lights to illuminate the hotel, but I’m suddenly seeing a lot of things more clearly.  Now I need to find Sam.  I owe him a massive apology.

The great hall is filled to bursting point now with partygoers dancing of standing in groups to chat and laugh.  There must be over a hundred people in the room and even though I’m not short it’s hard to see who is present.  Bunching my skirts up into my fists, I climb up the stairs to the gallery where I can peer down on the scene and try to spot Sam’s curly blond head in the crowd.  The last time I looked he was dancing with Vicky but now there’s no sign of him.  And, now I come to think of it, there’s no sign of Vicky either.

Oh my God.  What if they’ve left together?

My stomach lurches and for a hideous minute I think I might hurl my mulled wine down onto the unfortunate guests.  Heart thudding, I step back from railings and try to take a deep breath.  The scene shimmers dangerously, candle flames flickering and dancing as my eyes fill with tears.

I am at a wonderful Christmas party in a beautiful country house.  I am slimmer, I am successful and I could have taken the job of my dreams.  I no longer care what Drake thinks and I am free to have fun.  All my Christmas wishes are coming true, so why am I so bloody miserable?

The answer, when it comes, hits me between the eyes like a mallet and is so glaringly obvious that I could howl.  I am unhappy because I’m not being true to myself.  This girl in the green dress, with the elaborate hair do and size fourteen body isn’t the real Ellie Summers.  The real Ellie Summers likes Maccy Ds, and going to the Coach
and sometimes she even likes to go running in the park.

But most of all she likes to be with Sam.

I am unhappy because I miss Sam.  When I’m with Sam I’m always happy…

And then it all falls into place.  It’s Sam, my doughnut-eating, partner in fitness, dress-buying buddy.  Of course it is!  It always has been.  It’s Sam.

Sam’s the one.

I fly down the stairs and fight my way through the press of bodies, colliding with elbows, treading on toes and gasping out apologies.  I scarcely notice whom I’m trampling on because all I can think about is finding Sam.  I tear through the hall, the dining room, the music room and even the terrace, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.  Close to tears and breathless, I’m just on my third circuit of the hall when I slam straight into Vicky, swaying drunkenly in the doorway.

“Slow down!” Vicky says as I narrowly escape a lethal hipbone injury.   Peering up at me through eyes that are practically crossing with drink, she adds, “What’s the matter with you?  You look terrible.”

I’ve had my appearance dissected quite enough for one evening.  Besides, I’m in no mood to play social chess.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask.  “Come on, Vicky!  He was with you just now.”

Vicky catches hold of my arm to steady herself.   She’s plastered.  Mind you, she’s so tiny one glass usually sends her over the edge.

“He’s gone,” she says mournfully. “Lovely, lovely Sam has gone.  I haven’t seen him for ages.”  She hiccups.  “We’ll probably never, ever see him again.”

I stare at her.  For a second I’m so relieved that he isn’t snogging Vicky’s face off somewhere that it takes a while to register that he’s vanished. “What do you mean, he’s gone?  Why would he leave?”

Vicky looks at me as though I’m stupid.  OK, so she always looks at me like this but tonight the look is even more critical.

“Like duh!  Because he saw you dancing with Drake,” she says, rolling her eyes like a dying horse. “Honestly, Ellie, that was really quite cruel.  He’s devastated.  I’ve had to listen to him going on about it all evening.”

I stare at her.

“And he’s so yummy,” Vicky continues, getting into her stride now. “I don’t know why you don’t give him a chance.  You must know how he feels about you?  You don’t?” Her eyes widen when I fail to respond. “Bloody Hell, Ellie.  Sam’s crazy about you.  Has been for ages.  How come you don’t know?  Everybody else does.”

They do?  I’m staggered.  Sam is crazy about me and they all knew?  Thanks a bundle for not telling me, everybody!  Suddenly everything starts to make sense, a bit like staring at one of those magic eye pictures for yonks and then suddenly seeing the pattern.

“I’m crazy about him too,” I whisper.

“Well, of course you are.  Duh!” says Vicky. “Oh sod it, it’s Christmas and it’s not like Sam’s interested in me anyway.  He’s just called a cab.  If you hurry maybe you’ll catch him?”

I don’t need to be told twice.  With a speed that the ducks on Ickenham pond wouldn’t believe, I tear out of the dining room and race through the Great Hall, past the beautiful Christmas tree, out of the enormous doors and into the night.  Snow is falling now, big fat flakes that dance and whirl from a dark midnight sky, mingling with the strains of Silent Night
floating from the terrace.  The minor key is achingly sad and I shiver, partly from this and partly from the snowflakes drifting against my bare shoulders.  I couldn’t care less about being cold though.  All I care about is finding Sam.

I run down the steps, past the trees freckled with white fairy lights, and out into the darkness.  My breath clouds in front of me as I pause on the drive, peering into the flurries and darkness.  Has he left?  Surely not.  The snow has fallen on the drive and there are no tell tale tyre marks.  Sam has to be here still.  He has to be!

Then, as though pure longing magics him to me, I spot a familiar figure at the far end of the drive, leaning against curly wrought iron gates topped with small Christmas trees.  Suddenly all the training and running makes sense as I kick off my sandals and hurtle down the drive, not caring at all that the gravel digs into my bare soles or that the snow freezes my toes.  All I care about is reaching Sam as quickly as I can.  As I sprint, I know that every counted calorie and every missed burger has been worth it because it’s led me to this moment.  Nothing else matters.  I only care about Sam.

“Ellie?” Sam gasps, staggering backwards as I hurl myself at him.  His arms tighten around my waist as he steadies me. “Are you OK?  What’s happened?”

I don’t answer.   I can’t answer because I don’t have the words and anyway I have something far more important to do.  I place my hands either side of his face, his dear smiley face, and then I kiss him.  His lips are cold and frozen with surprise at first but not for long, because within seconds Sam is kissing me back, questioningly at first but then longer and deeper as his arms tighten and he pulls me close.  I feel the racing of his heart against my chest and I kiss him as though he’s the oxygen I need to stay alive, which in a way I guess he always has been.

Finally we break apart, smiling shyly at each other as the snow flakes settle on our eyelashes, so close together that they are touching.  We don’t need to speak: our kiss says more than words ever could.

Sam rubs his nose against mine.  A Christmas Eskimo kiss that makes me melt just like the snow that falls against our lips.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers.

I nod. “You can tell me anything.”

Sam’s green eyes sparkle down at me, brighter and twinklier than any fairy lights could ever be.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly. “This really is a terrible confession.  Kevin and Diet Lou would be shocked.”

I laugh at the memory of these two and touch his cheek tenderly.  Sam.  My best friend, my diet buddy, my colleague and all along so much more.  Always so much more.

 “You can tell me anything,” I promise.

Sam smiles and drops a kiss onto the tip of my nose.

“I’m absolutely dying for a burger! Fancy getting out of here and going to Maccy D’s?”

I laugh and nod while my stomach rumbles in agreement.  Hand in hand we race towards the taxi that is sweeping up the road towards us, smiling as the snow flurries dust our faces before snatching kisses all the way home. 

The End

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Weight Till Christmas
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Rearranged

Parents know best, but sometimes daughters know better…
Mills Ali has her dream job writing for an Asian magazine and a social life busier than the London rush hour. Everything's pretty good except for the husband sized shadow looming on the horizon. With a year’s countdown to her arranged marriage, Mills is on a mission.  A firm believer in true love, she's determined to choose her own husband.  Just how hard can it be to find the perfect suitor?  Surely London’s Muslim dating scene is teeming with eligible young men? She's bound to find her soul mate. Isn't she?

With a fast encroaching deadline, Mills can't waste time. As she embarks on the search to find him, she's convinced her soul mate can't be too far away.

But is he closer than she thinks?  Or do her parents know best after all?