A Beginner's Guide To Christmas: A festive romantic comedy short story
Author: Joyce, Jennifer
Date: 2014-01-08

A Beginner’s Guide To Christmas

Jennifer Joyce

About The Author

Jennifer Joyce is a writer of romantic comedies. She's been scribbling down bits of stories for as long as she can remember, graduating from a pen to a typewriter and then an electronic typewriter. And she felt like the bee's knees typing on THAT. She now writes her books on a laptop (which has a proper delete button and everything).

Jennifer lives in Oldham, Greater Manchester with her husband Chris and their two daughters, Rianne and Isobel, plus their bunny Cinnamon and Jack Russell Luna.

Find out more about Jennifer and her books at

Blog: www.jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk

Twitter/Instagram: @writer_jenn

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites

Newsletter: http://www.jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk/p/newsletter.html

Also by Jennifer Joyce

A Beginner’s Guide To Saying I Do

The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea

The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts

The Wedding Date

The Mince Pie Mix-Up

Everything Changes But You

A Beginner’s Guide To Salad

CONTENTS

About The Author

The Unofficial Office Party

Last-Minute Shopping – Part I

Baking

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part I

Last-Minute Shopping – Part II

Shit! The Presents!

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part II

Turkey

Homemade Crackers

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part III

The Boxing Day Buffet

Guests

Extract: A Beginner’s Guide To Salad

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

CHRISTMAS EVE EVE:

The Unofficial Office Party

We’d already had our official Christmas party three weeks ago, but this felt like the real thing, the chance to let our hair down and get pissed before Santa dropped down the chimney. It helped that the party was ‘impromptu’ (though I don’t know how you can label a party that happens at the same time every year as impromptu) so partners weren’t invited. The workers of H Wood Vehicles all downed tools at five on the dot on the day before Christmas Eve and gathered in the rotting cave that was The Bonnie Dundee, a grimy pub on the outskirts of the business park where we worked. The plan was to get hammered and the wisest amongst us had booked Christmas Eve off long ago so our reckless drinking would have little consequence.

‘Is that all you’re drinking?’ My friend – and also the receptionist at H. Woods – was drinking what appeared to be orange juice. At a party! And she wasn’t even pregnant.

‘Alex booked the day off before me so I have to cover reception all day.’ Quinn pulled a face as she took a sip of the child’s drink.

Rookie mistake. I’d fallen for that the first year I’d worked at H. Woods, before I knew of the infamous Unofficial Office Party. As a long-suffering member of H. Woods, Quinn should have known better.

‘Make sure you book Christmas Eve off for next year. Do it as soon as you’re back in after Christmas.’ That’s what I did. That way Kelvin Shuttleworth, my pain in the arse boss, would have no excuse not to authorise the holiday.

Lesson 1: Book Christmas Eve off on 2nd January. Do it quick, before you’ve even removed your jacket.

‘Ladies!’ Phil Gunner, Production Manager and owner of the tightest jeans known to man, approached us, bellowing over Wizzard’s ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘I’m okay, thank you.’ He was clearly talking to Quinn – and trying to have an ogle down her top, filthy beggar – but I answered anyway.

‘Quinn?’ Phil leant in towards her, sloshing his pint over her shoes. Quinn stepped back, shaking her foot and examining the damage.

Lessons 2 & 3: Pace yourself and never wear your best shoes to office Christmas parties. If beer doesn’t ruin them, vomit probably will.

‘I’m alright, Phil. But thanks anyway.’ Quinn flashed a tight smile before stomping off towards the ladies to try and salvage her suede boots. I was about to follow – not necessarily because I wanted to help but more to get away from Phil and his skin-tight jeans – when the sight of an approaching slutty Mrs Claus stopped me in my tracks. Angelina Littleman tottered towards Phil in what I guessed was a child’s costume, her gusset practically on view below the white fur trim of the so-called skirt. She whispered in Phil’s ear and he responded by grabbing her arse – in full view of the entire pub – while Angelina giggled and bit her glossy red lip. They disappeared out of the pub together, Phil’s jeans now even tighter at the front.

Lesson 4: Don’t let your partner go to a Christmas office party alone if Angelina Littleman will be there. Yes, Mrs Gunner, I’m talking to you.

Alone now, I fought my way to the bar before going in search of my best friend, Erin. I’d last seen her flirting with the guys from the IT department for sport, but they were now sat in a corner, probably discussing hard drives and video games, without her. I may be stereotyping here but I’m only speaking from experience, having lived with a couple of IT guys for years.

Pushing my way through the crowds, I passed the buffet table and grabbed a couple of sausage rolls and a handful of crisps – well, it was Christmas so why not? – before continuing my search. I checked the ladies but Erin wasn’t there.

‘Have you seen the state of these?’ Quinn thrust her boot, which was in her hand and not still on her foot, in my face before resuming her attempt to scrub off the alcohol. I left her to it and pushed my way back out into the pub, checking the bar, the buffet again (goodbye, pork pie) before finally finding Erin tucked away in a dark recess, snogging the face off Stuart from Accounts. Honestly, she was my best friend and everything but Erin was as bad as Angelina at times. Still, at least Stuart from Accounts wasn’t married.

I left them to it – they hadn’t noticed me gawping at them anyway – and returned to the buffet. I’d just stuffed half an egg and cress sandwich into my gob when, typically, my phone started to vibrate in my handbag. Chomping quickly, I rummaged in my bag and grabbed it, spotting ‘Mum – mobile’ on the display. I assumed she’d be checking what time I’d be arriving at her house the following day. If only.

‘Ruthie, can you hear me?’

‘Just a minute, Mum. I’m in the pub. I’ll go outside.’

I fought my way through the pack, phone held up in the air as though the sight of it would part the crowds, and eventually made it to the doors. A wall of freezing cold air hit me as soon as I stepped outside and I fought the urge to hop back inside and tell Mum I’d phone her back later.

‘Right, I’m outside. What is it?’ I turned away as I spotted Angelina and Phil Gunner going at it against some poor sod’s car, Angelina’s Santa hat jingling with each thrust.

Lesson 5: Don’t eat too many sausage rolls at your office Christmas party. You’ll probably end up seeing them again later.

‘I’m at the hospital, love.’

I’d been hunched over in the cold but I stood up straighter. ‘Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay. You’re at the hospital. Or is it Dad?’

Mum barked out a laugh. ‘It should be your bloody father. It’s his fault I’m in here.’ Cripes, what had he done? ‘You know he’s been converting the loft into a bedroom?’ Yes, I’d heard about it many times. Mum never shut up about it, griping as though Dad was being a complete bastard by converting the dusty old loft into a useful space. ‘The daft sod left his tool box in the hall, right outside the bathroom door. I only went flying over it after my bath.’

I tried not to laugh. It wasn’t funny. Not at all.

‘Luckily my wrist’s not broken. I’ve had it x-rayed and everything. It’s just a bad sprain and I’ve got a great big graze on my shin.’

‘That’s good then.’ Well, compared with broken bones.

‘Yes, I suppose so. The thing is, I won’t be able to cook Christmas lunch this year. I’m all bandaged up and will be for a few days at least. So you’ll have to do it.’

CHRISTMAS EVE:

Last-Minute Shopping – Part I

Lesson 6 should be never ever leave Christmas shopping until the last minute, but everybody knows this (and yet still does it) so I won’t waste a lesson on that. Instead, I’ll ignore my own advice year after year and grumble about the crowds and end up buying crap in a panic five minutes before the shops close.

I don’t shop in Manchester very often, usually sticking to Woodgate town centre, but as I was on my way to Mum and Dad’s and I’d have to pass through anyway, it made sense to make a dash into The Arndale.

The Real Lesson 6: You can’t dash anywhere on Christmas Eve. The crowds are so dense, you have no choice but to go with the flow, even if the flow is in the wrong bloody direction.

‘Why do we do this every year?’ I asked Erin as we were pushed and shoved in every direction but the one we needed to go in. ‘Next year, I’m going to start my Christmas shopping in June.’

Erin grinned at me, which was a feat considering her raging hangover. ‘No you won’t. We’ll be here again next year. And the year after that.’

‘I know. Oh, look! The Body Shop. I want to get Mum and Aubrey some smellies.’

Erin grasped my arm and yanked me out of the flowing crowd and into the relative sanctuary of the shop. It was still packed but at least I could breathe a little. I bought hampers for my mum and sister-in-law and then the reprieve was over and we had to join the crowds once more. We somehow managed to complete our shopping trip unscathed and headed back out to Piccadilly Gardens where we would part ways, Erin going back to Woodgate while I caught the bus to Oldham.

‘Have a brilliant Christmas and I want to hear everything about Stuart from Accounts when I get back.’ I gave Erin a hug, our shopping bags clashing and tangling in the process.

‘I promise not to spare any details,’ Erin replied and I believed her. Erin wasn’t one for shying away. ‘Have fun and give that handsome brother of yours a kiss from me.’ Erin gave a wink while I gagged.

By some miracle, the bus wasn’t too packed and I was granted half of the back seat to myself, which I made use of by spreading out my array of shopping bags. Getting on the bus had been quite easy but I wasn’t so fortunate when it came to getting back off again. My bags seemed to have doubled during the twenty-minute journey and they almost took a little old lady’s head off as I raced down the aisle of the bus, afraid the driver wouldn’t see the mass of bags jostling his way and set off again.

‘Sorry, excuse me, Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Sorry, excuse me. Thank you.’ I stumbled off the bus and, after untangling the jumble of shopping bags that were cutting off the circulation to my fingers, I made my way to Mum and Dad’s house, teeth chattering in the cold.

‘Ruthie, love. You’re here.’ Mum sounded surprised when she opened the door and found me on the doorstep and I couldn’t blame her. I’d been far from impressed when she’d informed me I’d have to sort out Christmas lunch that year and had considered not turning up at all.

‘But I can’t cook. I’ll poison us or something,’ I’d wailed down the phone to the soundtrack of Angelina and Phil Gunner having a jolly old time.

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll get your dad to write out some instructions for you. It’s the least he can do. And you won’t be on your own. Stephen, Aubrey and Gideon can all chip in too.’

Ha! I’d pay to see Gideon in a kitchen. At least I attempted to cook, even if the results were inedible. Gideon was just plain lazy.

‘Of course I’m here.’ Mum stepped aside while I squeezed into the hallway with my bags. Where else would I be? At home with a tin of beans? Gosh, that was a tempting thought. ‘Are Stephen and Aubrey here yet?’

‘No, not yet. Their flight’s been delayed but they should be here by about three o clock. Gideon not with you?’

I dumped the bags on the hallway floor and shrugged off my coat. ‘He was working until lunchtime but he should be here soon.’

‘Grand.’ Mum smiled but I could take a wild guess that she thought the appearance of my boyfriend was anything but grand. I thought Gideon being there was anything but grand.

‘Dad up in the loft then?’ I looked up at the ceiling, where the thumping was drowning out the Christmas songs Mum had on in the sitting room. If I strained my ears enough, I could just about make out Michael Bublé.

Mum narrowed her eyes and stroked her bandaged wrist. ‘Yes, unfortunately. Do you think you could take him a cup of tea up before you start the baking?’

‘Yeah, course – wait a minute. Start the what?’ I’d started to follow Mum through to the kitchen but stopped as her words dawned on me. I couldn’t cook – beans on toast was a task – and I certainly didn’t bake. Not even Paul Hollywood’s sparkling blue eyes could entice me into the kitchen.

‘I was planning on making gingerbread snowmen for the kids. So you’ll have to do it. If you get started now, they’ll be ready by the time they get here.’

‘But I can’t bake.’ I wanted to wail and you can’t make me but I wasn’t sure that was true.

‘Course you can. Come on. I got your dad to cut a recipe out of a magazine and it looks easy enough.’

I trudged through to the kitchen and shuddered when I saw the array of ingredients and equipment lying in wait on the counter.

‘I thought you could help the kids decorate them later, but don’t worry, I’ve bought some of the pre-made icing in tubes and they can stick Smarties on.’ Hadn’t Mum thought to buy some pre-made gingerbread men too? ‘You’d better hurry though. They’ll be landing soon and the biscuits will need time to cool.’ Mum handed me an apron and made to leave the room.

‘Aren’t you going to supervise?’

‘No, love. I’m not. I’ve spent the last thirty years running around after you kids at Christmas. This year, thanks to your dad, I’m going to sit back and relax.’ Mum saw my aghast face and laughed. ‘I’m sure even you can manage a bit of gingerbread.’

I wish I had Mum’s confidence.

Baking

Trying not to slosh Dad’s tea over my hand, I climbed the stairs and gazed up at the black hole that was the loft. A ladder was propped up against the opening and the sounds of DIY could be heard from within. I prayed Dad wouldn’t ask me to help – I was more use in the kitchen than I was at hammering and stuff.

‘Dad? There’s a cup of tea here for you.’

The banging ceased and Dad peered down at me, his face grimy with sweat and dust. ‘Ruth, love. I didn’t know you were here. Gideon with you? I could do with a hand up here.’

Ha! Keep dreaming, Dad. ‘He’ll be here in a bit.’ But I doubted very much he’d get stuck in. It wasn’t in his nature to be helpful. ‘Shall I pass this up to you?’ My eyes followed the rungs of the ladder up to the loft and I swayed slightly, feeling dizzy.

‘Wait there, love. I’ll come down. About time I had a break anyway.’

‘You don’t fancy doing a bit of baking, do you?’

Dad chuckled as he descended the ladder. It had been worth a shot, however slim.

Leaving Dad to slurp his tea, I returned to the kitchen, pausing on the threshold as I took in the ingredients and equipment once again. Mum had left the recipe on the counter and I edged towards it as though it were an unexploded bomb and not an innocent page torn out of a magazine. I didn’t dare pick it up as I scanned the instructions.

Oh. It actually looked simple enough. I was being ridiculous. I was baking a few biscuits, not the royal wedding cake.

Lesson 7: Never underestimate a recipe, no matter how basic it appears.

‘Oh, bollocks.’

I was wearing Mum’s union jack apron, my sleeves were rolled up and my fingers were full of clumps of flour and butter. Gloopy golden syrup had pooled on the counter and I’d spilled half a bottle of ground cinnamon, but at least the kitchen had a real Christmassy smell.

And then there was the bag of sugar, untouched as I’d forgotten to add it.

Lesson 8: Read recipes really carefully and don’t skip any steps.

Did it really matter? How important was the sugar and would anybody really notice if it was missing?

‘How’s it going in here?’

I jumped in front of the counter, shielding the mess I’d made as Mum appeared in the doorway.

‘Yeah, fine. Good actually. It’s easy, this baking malarkey, isn’t it?’ I laughed but turned away as it morphed into a whimper. Of course the sugar was important.

‘Good, because Stephen’s just phoned. They’ve landed and will be here soon.’

Yes! At least I’d have someone to share the burden of Christmas with now.

Mum left me to work out how to get the sugar into the mixture when I’d already kneaded it into a ball of dough. I didn’t have the time or inclination to start again so I weighed the sugar, dumped it into the bowl and resumed kneading, hoping the sugar would be incorporated in the process. By some miracle, most of it ended up in the dough and I referred to the recipe once more.

Lesson 9: Seriously, read the recipe thoroughly before you begin.

The dough was to be wrapped in cling film and put in the fridge for at least an hour. I didn’t have an hour so I shoved it in the fridge long enough to have a cup of coffee before I tackled the rolling out. I thought this would be the fun bit. I’d always loved playing with play dough and plasticine when I was a kid and this was pretty much the same but with the added bonus of being able to eat it afterwards.

I was wrong. It was a bloody nightmare with the dough alternating with sticking to the rolling pin and the counter top, and crumbling into tiny unusable bits. I managed to clump together enough to make half a dozen snowmen before I gave up and dumped the rest of the dough in the bin.

‘Bastard biscuits,’ I muttered as I nudged the oven door shut and began clearing up. I’d finished washing up and was drying my hands on a tea towel when I heard chaos erupt in the hallway. Stephen was here! Forgetting I was still wearing a butter-encrusted apron, I flung myself into the cramped hallway where my brother, his family and an array of suitcases were squeezed. Stephen, Aubrey and the kids lived in New York so we didn’t get to see them very often. This would be the first Christmas we’d spent together in years. And it was all in my disastrous hands.

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part I

Mum made a huge fuss of the grandchildren, which was natural as she usually had to make do with Skype and emails, so seeing them in the flesh was a treat. Dad came down from the loft and tried roping first Stephen and then seven-year-old Austin into helping out.

‘They’ve just got off an eight-hour flight and Austin doesn’t want to be cooped up in the loft.’ Mum gave a tut while Dad sulked in his armchair. ‘Besides, I’ve got a very special job for Austin and Riley.’

‘What is it? What is it?’ Riley jumped up and down, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. Had she really been on an eight-hour flight? Whenever I flew anywhere, even if it was a two-hour flight to Mallorca, I was comatose for the next day or so.

‘Do you see that tree?’ Mum pointed to the bare Christmas tree in the corner of the sitting room. ‘It’s your job to decorate it and make it look fabulous. Do you think you can do that?’ Austin and Riley jumped up and down a bit more. ‘Brilliant. Aunty Ruth will help you to reach the branches at the top.’

What?

‘Me? What about Stephen? He’s taller than me.’ And father to the kids. It was his job to entertain them.

‘He’s just been on an eight-hour flight. Give him a chance to rest a bit.’

Lesson 10: After being on an eight-hour flight, you will be absolved of all tasks.

‘Fine. Come on then. Let’s get this over with.’

Lesson 11: Never allow children within twelve feet of a Christmas tree.

The tree was a shambles. One half was still bare while the other half was cluttered, with one branch containing seven ornaments, courtesy of Riley. It also transpired that Stephen’s youngest, the adorably chubby Ryder, was spawned from the devil himself and decided to make my life hell by pulling over the tree at every opportunity.

‘Can’t you stop him?’ I asked Stephen after the millionth time.

My brother simply shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’s fifteen months. They’re into everything at that age.’

I was sure strapping him down to a chair would help but apparently that was a ‘barbaric’ idea.

‘Oh, fuck!’ The smell of burning reached my nostrils and I tore into the kitchen, pulling the ruined biscuits out of the oven. They were unsalvageable and no amount of icing could mask the fact that they were burnt to smithereens. Still, at least we’d have some (char)coal to put in the children’s stockings if they misbehaved.

I returned to the sitting room where I found the tree upturned yet again and three grown up faces glaring at me. Jeez, they were only biscuits and everybody makes mistakes.

Ryder toddled towards me, gummy grin in place. ‘Fuck!’

Lesson 12: Christmas or not, you have to be really careful with what you say in front of kids.

Last-Minute Shopping – Part II

The tree was righted, I apologised to Stephen and Aubrey – repeatedly – and then Mum gave me a shopping list.

‘You’ll have to hurry. The shops will be closing soon.’

‘You could have sent Stephen while I was helping the kids with the tree.’

Mum gasped, actually gasped, the great big drama queen. ‘Your brother has just been on an eight-hour flight. The last thing he needs is to be traipsing around the supermarket.’

‘Fine.’ I snatched the list and gave it a glance. Potatoes, sprouts, carrots, parsnips and crackers. I could manage that.

Stephen stretched and stifled a yawn. ‘Do you think that you could take the kids with you? We could do with a rest for half an hour.’

Was he taking the piss? ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. The shop will be packed with people who have left it to the last minute.’ I glared at Mum. ‘And you want me to tackle that with three kids in tow?’

‘Your brother has been on an eight-hour flight,’ Mum pointed out, as though I didn’t already know.

‘They’re really good. They won’t wander off or anything,’ Aubrey piped up, but then she would say that, wouldn’t she? She was desperate to pawn them off on the first available sucker.

‘Fine. Whatever.’ I didn’t have the energy to fight.

Lesson 13: Never ever venture into a supermarket on Christmas Eve.

Lesson 14: Never ever venture into a supermarket with kids in tow at any time of the year, but especially not at Christmas.

‘Aunty Ruth, can I have these?’

‘No, Austin. Grandma will have loads of sweets at the house and we’ll be having tea soon.’

‘Aunty Ruth, can I have one of these?’

‘No, Riley. You’ll be getting loads of presents tomorrow. You don’t need a new doll today.’

‘Aunty Ruth, can I have these?’

‘No, Austin. I don’t know if you’re allowed bubble gum.’

‘Aunty Ruth, can I have this?’

‘Really? You want an onion? Ryder, can you stop putting stuff in the trolley please?’

‘Aunty –’

‘No.’

‘Can –’

‘No. Seriously, Ryder. Stop grabbing things off the shelf.’

‘Aunty Ruth, can I have these?’

‘No, Riley. You don’t need tampons.’

‘But they’re pink.’

‘Where did that olive loaf come from?’

‘Aunty Ruth?’

‘I’ve changed my name.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’m deaf.’

‘Aunty Deaf?’

‘Hey, Ryder. Can you say “Daddy is a big piece of poo”?’

I was ready for screaming by the time we made it back home. And I mean a good old they’re-going-to-section-me-if-I-don’t-stop-right-now screaming session. How did parents manage this on a regular basis?

‘What are these?’ Instead of kissing my feet in gratitude, Mum was inspecting the shopping bags and had pulled out an item, thrusting it at me.

‘It’s a packet of crackers.’ Obviously.

‘I meant crackers you pull, not a packet of bloody Jacob’s.’

Lesson 15: Always make sure you know exactly what you’re shopping for, even if you have a list.

‘I thought they were for the Boxing Day buffet. To go with cheese.’

‘You’ll have to go back.’

‘I can’t.’ I’d end up in a strait-jacket if I had to step foot in the supermarket again today. We’d had to queue for forty-five minutes at the checkout (partly because Riley needed a wee and we’d had to join the back of the queue again afterwards). Forty-five minutes trapped with kids is an awfully long time and I never wanted to see the inside of a supermarket again. ‘It’s closed now. They were telling people to pay for their items over the tannoy when we left.’

‘Well then.’ Mum shoved the packet of crackers in the cupboard. They’d be reduced to dust if she carried on like that. And then what would we have with our cheese? ‘You’ll have to make some. You can’t have Christmas without a cracker to pull and it’ll be a nice activity for the kids. Pop next door and ask Mrs Jeffries if she’s got any toilet roll tubes. I bet she has, she hoards everything.’

Unfortunately, Mrs Jeffries had a whole carrier bag full of toilet roll tubes (you never know when they’ll come in handy, apparently) so Austin, Riley and I made the crackers with leftover wrapping paper and small items I found around the house as novelty gifts. When we’d finished, Mum helpfully provided us with Christmas colouring books and a pack of felt tips as we were ‘feeling creative’. Ryder managed to toddle over and swipe a felt tip without me noticing and his mouth was bright blue before he was found sucking it under the table.

‘Why weren’t you watching him?’ Stephen demanded while Aubrey scrubbed at their son’s tongue with a wet tea towel.

‘Why weren’t you watching him? He’s your son.’

‘Your brother is supposed to be resting,’ Mum chipped in. ‘He’s been on an eight-hour flight.’

I wanted to take that eight-hour flight and kick it up its arse.

Shit! The Presents!

I was exhausted and flagging before the kids who, despite their infamous eight-hour flight, had bags of energy. They were eventually coaxed into bed after leaving milk and a burnt gingerbread snowman by the fireplace for Santa. The novelty of being in a strange house and country was proving to be too much and they were in and out of bed, giggling on the landing and asking if Santa had been yet for the next hour. Just as they were giving in and settling down to sleep, Gideon finally turned up and chaos ensued with the novelty of a new person to pester. Austin and Riley wanted to meet Gideon and demanded he read them The Night Before Christmas for the third time that evening.

Yeah, good luck with that, little ones. Gideon was even less interested in kids than I was.

Two hours later, they finally drifted off to sleep and it wasn’t long before the grown-ups followed.

‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ I whispered as Gideon and I squeezed into my old childhood bed. The last thing I wanted to do was wake the kids up who were sleeping next door.

‘I had to work late.’

I knew that was a lie. Gideon never worked late, citing it wasn’t in his contract to do so. And he reeked of beer. ‘Never mind. You’re here now.’ Despite the long, tiring day, I cuddled up to Gideon, kissing his collar bone, knowing it would get him in the mood. But Gideon was already snoring.

Great.

Turning over, I closed my eyes and was gently drifting off when a thought struck me.

‘Shit! The presents!’

Lesson 16: Do not forget to wrap the presents.

CHRISTMAS DAY:

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part II

It was difficult to explain my relationship with Gideon. We met in the pub and though I wasn’t bowled over by his looks or wit (which I had yet to discover), we somehow ended up together. Gideon was lazy, unreliable and as attentive as a dirty dishcloth but I had never disliked him as much as that night, as I gave him a prod and asked him to help me wrap the neglected presents.

‘What’s the point? They’ll only be unwrapped in a few hours.’

I was about to argue my point but Gideon was already snoring so I left him to it, slipping out of the warm bed and creeping down the stairs. I couldn’t leave the presents unwrapped, the bloody Scrooge, especially not the children’s. Bah Humbug to that idle sod.

I wrapped the gifts, leaving them under the appallingly decorated tree before creeping back up to bed where The Grinch had snatched all the covers and was still snoring away. I managed to prise an inch of duvet and had clamped my eyes shut for what seemed to be a matter of moments before I was wrenched from sleep by two small bodies bouncing up and down on the bed.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Gideon growled from beneath the covers and for once, I agreed with him.

‘Austin, Riley. Go back to bed.’ Please.

‘But it’s Chriiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaaaas!’ Since when had Riley turned into Noddy Holder? ‘Get up, Aunty Ruth. Get up.’

‘Yeah, get up Aunty Ruth.’ Austin punctuated his demand with a bounce for each word.

‘But it’s only…’ I reached out for my phone to check the time. Jesus. What time? ‘Quarter to six. It’s not morning yet. Go back to bed.’

‘But it is morning,’ Riley insisted, tugging at the covers.

Lesson 17: If there are kids in the house, even if they aren’t yours, put a lock on your bedroom door.

‘Riley, Austin. Get out of there.’ Aubrey was in the doorway, squinting eyes trying to throw an apologetic look my way. A wide-awake Ryder was on her hip, gummy grin already in place. ‘I told you not to disturb Aunty Ruth and Uncle Gideon.’

‘I’m not their fucking uncle,’ I heard Gideon mumble from beneath the covers. I gave him a kick.

‘Come on, let’s go downstairs for breakfast.’ Aubrey motioned for the kids to get off the bed and follow her but they remained where they were, Austin squashing my feet while Riley perched on my bladder.

‘I want pancakes and I want Aunty Ruth to make them,’ Riley said.

No chance, kiddo. Had she not seen yesterday’s charred gingerbread? And it was quarter to six in the morning.

‘I’ll make you pancakes.’ Aubrey motioned for the kids to follow her again but they didn’t budge, even when I gave them an encouraging nudge. ‘Downstairs now otherwise I’ll phone Santa and tell him you don’t deserve your gifts.’

‘Will he take them back?’ Riley’s bottom lip was trembling as she asked.

Aubrey hesitated before answering, wavering between getting the children to do what she asked and devastating them. ‘Yes, he’ll take them all back to the North Pole.’ Good girl.

Austin and Riley leapt from the bed, Riley’s knee giving me one last jab in the bladder before they scarpered.

Lesson 18: The threat of Santa works wonders. If only it could be used all year round.

Of course I couldn’t go back to sleep. I could hear the kids downstairs, excited at seeing that Santa had been but whining because they couldn’t touch their presents yet. Plus, thanks to Riley, I needed a wee.

Mum, Dad and Stephen had joined Aubrey and the children in the kitchen by the time I admitted defeat and trudged down the stairs. Aubrey had made thick, fluffy pancakes for everyone so it was almost worth the early wake up call.

‘Should I make some for Gideon?’

Poor naïve Aubrey. ‘I wouldn’t bother. He probably won’t even be awake for the Queen’s speech.’

Despite her demand for pancakes, Riley had yet to touch her breakfast, her excitement at Christmas having taken her hunger away. Stephen and Aubrey spent an agonising half an hour trying to coax the kid to eat, offering alternatives to the pancakes, but she refused. I’d have thrown the towel in and let her open the presents – anything to stop the charade – but they were determined and Riley finally ate half a banana. I thought that would be it and the whining could finally cease.

Poor naïve Ruth.

‘One more minute, Riley. I need to set up the camcorder.’ Stephen was rifling through his carry-on case for more batteries while Austin and Riley wailed about their presents. Even Ryder joined in, though he didn’t know what the fuss was all about.

Lesson 19: Have camcorders/cameras/batteries ready. Don’t dangle the carrot of presents in front of kids and then make them wait. It isn’t fair on the kids – or any bystander’s ears.

Turkey

Mum tried to pull the whole ‘eight-hour flight’ crap on me again but I refused to make lunch by myself. Yes, Mum, I was willing to ruin Christmas for the whole family.

Lesson 20: Just because it’s Christmas, it doesn’t mean you have to take any shit or fall for emotional blackmail.

So Stephen, Aubrey and I huddled in the kitchen, trying to decipher Dad’s instructions that Mum had dictated to him.

‘Why isn’t Dad in here helping?’ I grumbled as Stephen and Aubrey debated over the oven temperature. ‘It’s his house and I bet he’s a better cook than I am.’

‘We’ll be alright.’ Aubrey flashed me an irritatingly encouraging smile. ‘We’ll divide the tasks between the three of us and it won’t seem so daunting then.’

That was true. And Mum’s sherry was taking the edge off my panic. ‘So what are my jobs then?’

Aubrey took over the turkey while I was in charge of potatoes and gravy, and Stephen was to manage the vegetables and stuffing. That seemed simple enough and I didn’t have to do anything with the potatoes or gravy yet so I had another drop of sherry and took myself off for a nap.

Lesson 21: Don’t get too complacent when it comes to Christmas lunch.

‘Where’s Stephen?’ My potatoes were doing wonderfully, with one lot roasting in the oven and the other boiling on the stove. I’d returned to the kitchen to turn the roast potatoes and was quite pleased with how golden they looked.

‘He had to pop out to find a shop for more batteries.’

Lesson 22: If you’ve got kids, always have a vast supply of batteries ready for the big day.

‘The turkey’s been resting long enough, I think. Are the potatoes nearly ready?’

I gave the boiling potatoes a prick with a fork and beamed back at Aubrey. ‘Ready. I just need to mash these.’

Aubrey checked Stephen’s vegetables. ‘Brilliant. This wasn’t so bad, was it?’

See Lesson 21.

‘We’ve done a fantastic job.’ After mashing the potatoes, all I had to do was make the gravy. ‘Oh, balls.’ En route to the potato masher, I spotted an oven dish filled with stuffing balls. Stuffing balls that Stephen had forgotten to put in the oven before swanning off to the shop. ‘Do we have time to cook these?’

Aubrey shook her head. ‘We don’t have another twenty minutes. Everything else will be cold by then. We’ll just have to face your mom’s wrath, I guess.’

Mum’s wrath? We’d made an entire Christmas lunch. If she had a problem with it, I’d show Mum what she could do with the stuffing balls.

‘It’ll be fine.’ I poured myself another glass of sherry before I began mashing the potatoes with gusto. I was exhausted thirty seconds later but it would do and I moved onto the gravy.

‘Is she having a laugh?’ I re-read Dad’s instructions but I’d been right the first time. Mum wanted me to make the gravy using the juices from the turkey. Sod that. Bisto would have to do.

‘Is that everything?’ Aubrey asked, surveying our work. The turkey was golden and the veg was, well, veg but they looked edible. We’d done a bloody good job, stuffing balls aside.

‘What’s that smell?’ Stephen asked as he stepped into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from the cold.

‘What smell?’ I asked but I’d already got a whiff of it and turned towards the oven with a yelp. Yanking the door open, thick smoke billowed and I took a step back. My lovely roast potatoes were ruined.

See Lesson 21, again.

Homemade Crackers

‘This looks nice,’ Mum lied as we all squeezed around the table. She’d already spotted the missing stuffing balls and roast potatoes, and I was pretty sure she knew on sight that I’d cheated with the gravy.

‘It looks grand.’ Dad, bless him, was being honest. He didn’t really care what was put in front of him, as long as he could shovel it into his mouth.

‘The mash is lumpy.’

I glared at Gideon across the table. He was damn lucky he wasn’t within reach of my fork. ‘It isn’t lumpy. It’s textured.’

Gideon ate the mash anyway, though everybody else left it after a polite taste, even Dad, which hurt.

‘Shall we pull the crackers before we have the trifle?’ Mum asked.

Aubrey, Stephen and I looked at each other with wide eyes. What trifle? There hadn’t been any instructions for a trifle.

Had there?

‘Don’t worry. I bought a ready-made one.’ Mum tittered at our aghast faces as she got up to grab the homemade crackers. She distributed them and we turned to our cracker partner to pull them.

‘It didn’t bang,’ Stephen complained. Well, what did he expect?

‘I got a spoon.’ Gideon held up one of Mum’s teaspoons that I’d borrowed for the occasion.

‘I got half a packet of Polos.’ Mum held up the tube, a frown on her face. ‘And they were already my Polos. From my handbag.’

What the hell had they expected? I’d done my best. Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them.

BOXING DAY:

Christmas Is (Unfortunately) All About The Kids – Part III

My plan for Boxing Day was to enjoy the longest lie-in known to man before collapsing in a chair to eat, drink and rest after the exertions of the previous two days.

Fat chance.

In reality, I was woken at the crack of dawn by the Perky Twins, who bounced on my bladder until I gave in and followed them downstairs. I tried to sneak off back to bed as they shovelled cereal into their chops in front of the telly, but they were on to me and whined until I stayed, resentment steaming from every pore.

And the day only grew worse.

‘Not like that, Aunty Ruth. Like this.’

I was sitting on the floor, which caused my legs to cramp every thirty seconds or so, playing dolls with perfectionist Riley. Every action my doll did was wrong and she would tell me so, demonstrating how it should be done. I felt like throwing the doll on the ground and telling her to play by herself if I was so crap at it. But I’d already tried that once and it only made her whinge until I picked the doll up again.

‘Aunty Ruth, will you play this with me?’

My heart sank when I saw Austin holding the Mouse Trap box. Why had I thought it would be a good idea to buy that?

‘Later, kiddo.’

‘But I want to play now.’

And I wanted to sleep. Shit happens. ‘I’m playing dolls with Riley at the moment. You can join in if you want.’

‘Nah, dolls are for girls.’ Austin sloped off, lucky little bastard, while I was forced to remain in my uncomfortable position on the floor.

‘No, Aunty Ruth. Like this.’

Lesson 23: Avoid kids and their toys at all cost.

The Boxing Day Buffet

‘Ruth, love, can you come here for a few minutes?’

Yes! Yes! Yes! I’d been playing with the kids all morning so it was a relief when Mum called me into the kitchen. Though once I arrived, I knew I’d be stuck in there for more than a few minutes.

‘Can you butter that pile of bread for me? I can’t manage with one hand.’

Oh, you mean that mountain of bread over there? How many people was she expecting? Still, it was better than playing Mouse Trap and princesses and dumper trucks.

Mum always hosted a buffet on Boxing Day, inviting what seemed like the whole street as well as Uncle Ray and Aunty Pat and the Demon Twins. My young cousins, Philip and Lesley, weren’t actually twins but they had definite demon tendencies.

Lesson 24: Never leave your phone unattended while your delinquent cousins are visiting. They will read out every X-rated text message on there. And enjoy your humiliation.

‘Not like that, Ruth. You’re putting way too much butter on. Like this.’ I could see where Riley had got her perfectionist gene from. And I could also see Mum’s wrist was getting better.

I made a million sandwiches and set out the buffet practically single-handedly. Dad was supposed to be giving me a hand but he spent more time scoffing pork pies than he did helping.

‘How’s the loft coming on?’ I asked as I made a start on the crisps and cakes.

Dad dusted the pie crumbs from his fingers. ‘Grand, love. Your mum won’t let me work on it today but I tell you, I’ll be hiding up there as soon as your Aunty Pat gets here.’

‘Can I join you?’

Dad chuckled and grabbed a mini sausage roll. There would be nothing left of the buffet by the time the guests arrived.

Guests

After another game of Mouse Trap, which I roped Stephen and Aubrey into joining in with (I don’t care about the eight-hour flight, Mum), the guests started to arrive. Mr and Mrs Jeffries from next door were first (they do have first names but, despite being in my late twenties, I’m not allowed to use them). They brought a box of Belgium chocolates (unwanted Christmas gift?) and made a huge fuss of the kids so they were quite welcome in my book. Uncle Ray, Aunty Pat and the Demon Twins not so much.

‘Have you put more weight on, Ruth?’ Aunty Pat enveloped me in a tight hug, choking me with both the squeeze and the half-bottle of perfume she was wearing so I couldn’t answer the cheeky bitch. ‘Still, that’s a very pretty top. Lovely and bright.’ She patted my arm and moved on to her next victim, which happened to be Dad as he hadn’t moved quickly enough.

‘That bloody woman,’ he muttered when she wafted off to poison somebody else with her tongue and fumes. ‘I’m not going thin on top, am I?’ He dipped his head at me so I could inspect his hair.

‘Nope, your hair’s lovely and thick up there, Dad.’

‘Thanks, love.’ Dad narrowed his eyes at Aunty Pat, who was now criticising Aubrey’s ‘nasally’ accent. ‘I’m off up to the loft. Don’t tell your mum or her where I am.’

Lesson 25: Try to find a secret hideaway for when annoying guests arrive.

‘Where’s your dad?’ Mum hissed in my ear, fake smile plastered on her face and a large glass of sherry in her good hand. ‘She’s his sister-in-law. Why do I have to put up with her while he hides?’ She lowered her voice and attempted to indicate her boobs in a subtle fashion. ‘Am I drooping? She says I could do with a lift.’

‘Don’t be daft. You look great. I only hope I look as good as you when I’m in my fifties.’

Mum’s cheeks turned pink and the smile became genuine. ‘Really?’

Lesson 26: Lying through your teeth isn’t always a bad thing.

Mum gasped. ‘Oh dear god, she’s playing with your great-grandma’s vase.’ Mum dashed across the room, sherry splashing onto the carpet. ‘Lesley, sweetie, don’t play with that. It’s very old.’

Good luck, Mum.

The doorbell chimed, signalling the arrival of more neighbours and more chocolate. I led them through to the sitting room and snaffled a box of chocolates, squirrelling it away for later.

‘Remind me to stay at home next year,’ Stephen said as I flopped down next to him on the sofa.

‘I think I’ll do the same.’ My housemates would be with their families for Christmas so I’d have the house to myself, and that sounded blissful as I watched the room filling with even more people. A couple of Dad’s workmates had arrived with their wives and yet more chocolate. Couldn’t they have brought booze with them?

‘Has anybody seen Louie?’ Mum asked, laughing to mask her irritation at Dad’s disappearance.

‘I could always come to New York next year. Stay with you and Aubrey.’

‘As long as you don’t offer to cook.’

I elbowed Stephen in the ribs. ‘Hey, you weren’t much better than me. At least I put my food in the oven.’

‘And burnt it to smithereens.’

I stuck my tongue out at Stephen while he laughed. He stopped suddenly and I followed his gaze, my jaw dropping at the sight. The room began to titter while I felt my face start to burn as the Demon Twins waddled into the room, a cup of one of my bras on each of their heads. The little shits had been rifling through the drawers in my bedroom.

Lesson 27: Get. A. Lock.

‘Get that thing off your head.’ Aunty Pat strode towards them, plucking the bra from their heads and dumping it on my lap. ‘I believe this belongs to you. Interesting choice of colour, darling.’

‘Aunty Ruth?’ Riley asked from across the room. ‘Why is your bra so big?’

I wanted to die as the room began to titter even louder, including Stephen who was vibrating beside me. Bastards, the lot of them.

‘I need a drink. A big one.’

With my face on fire, I made my way to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. Aubrey followed me and apologised, which I appreciated far more than Stephen’s girlish giggling. The buffet was set out on the kitchen table, still wrapped in cling film, and I decided to make an early start on it. If I covered it all again, Mum wouldn’t notice.

Lesson 28: Food and alcohol is never the answer. But it is satisfying, albeit temporarily.

I’d only managed a couple of sausage rolls when the kitchen door opened. I shoved the last piece into my mouth and did my best to throw the cling film back over the plate. Mum eyed my bulging hamster cheeks with suspicion but Aunty Pat was on her heels.

‘What a delightful buffet, Vee. Very eighties. Is it supposed to be retro?’

Mum shot me a look, saying I’m going to kill your aunt. I stepped away, turning a blind eye to her murderous intent. I’d leave them alone in the kitchen. Where plenty of weapons lay.

Not satisfied with the little I’d eaten, I decided to unearth my chocolate stash and sneak upstairs with it. But when I looked behind the giant plant pot in the hallway, the box of chocolates had gone.

Lesson 29: If you’re going to hide chocolate, do it well.

The missing chocolate was the final straw. This Christmas sucked. Not only had I been made to cook and bake and play nanny to a bunch of kids, I had to put up with Aunty Pat, the Demon Twins and a chocolate thief. I couldn’t wait to return to my annoying housemates and go back to working for my lazy pig of a boss. Christmas was officially shit. I was going to go and pack, ready to leave first thing in the morning.

Stomping up the stairs, I flung the bedroom door open and stopped in the doorway. I’d forgotten all about Gideon being here but there he was, the lazy bugger, still snoring in bed. I slumped on the bed, hoping the movement would wake him. It didn’t.

‘Are you two going to shag?’

Demon Philip was standing in the doorway, leering at me. Brown gloop encircled his grin and shiny wrappers were tumbling out of the pockets of his trousers.

‘You!’ I leapt from the bed, my finger jabbing in his direction. ‘You nicked my chocolate.’

‘No I didn’t.’ Philip yelped as I grasped his arm and yanked him into the room. ‘Get off me, you fat cow.’

That was it. I’d really had enough.

‘Ow! Ow! Get off, you fucking psycho! Owwww!’

‘What’s going on?’ Gideon sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

‘Yes, Ruth. What is going on?’

I released Philip’s wrist at the sound of Aunty Pat’s voice. She stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, lips puckered and eyebrows arched as she awaited an explanation.

(Final) Lesson 30: If you’re going to give a kid a Chinese burn, make sure you don’t get caught in the act.

Extract: A Beginner’s Guide To Salad

Keep reading for a sneak peek of Jennifer Joyce’s novel, A Beginner’s Guide To Salad. Out now.

Ruth loves nothing more than curling up in front of the telly with a family-sized bar of chocolate. She doesn’t do diets and she certainly doesn’t do exercise. But all that changes when she’s invited to her school reunion.

Bullied at school for being overweight, Ruth’s first reaction is to rip the invitation into a million pieces. But then Ruth hatches a plan. She’ll lose the weight and arrive at the reunion looking gorgeous and glamorous, leaving her old classmates in awe. Especially her former crush, Zack O’Connell.

With the help of her friends and a new, unbelievably hot colleague, Ruth begins her transformation. With six months until the reunion, losing weight will be a piece of cake, right?

PROLOGUE

Ten years ago

Ruth’s hand shook as she applied a coat of the lipstick she’d swiped from her mother’s dressing table. She should have asked to borrow it, really but she never wore make-up and didn’t want anyone to know why she needed to tonight. Vera would have been thrilled her eighteen-year-old daughter was finally going on a date – and that was the problem. It was Ruth’s first date and she wasn’t entirely sure he would show up.

Imagine the humiliation of being stood up and everybody knowing about it!

How did the date go, love? It didn’t. I sat in the restaurant with your too-bright pink lipstick zigzagged across my gob and waited on my own until closing time. Thanks for asking, Mum. Goodnight.

Ruth paused, lipstick hovering in front of her face while she gave her reflection a good talking to. Zack would show up. They had a connection, a real connection, and it didn’t matter that he’d been cruel towards her throughout their school lives. It wasn’t Zack’s fault – everyone had been cruel to her. It was what happened when you were the fat kid. People teased you, they called you names – and inventive ones like Fat Twat (rhyming), The Jelly Green Giant (word play) and Mrs Blobby (Noel Edmonds had a lot to answer for) – and they excluded you from absolutely everything. School had been hell for Ruth. She’d never been physically bullied, but the name-calling had been relentless. She didn’t have any friends, unless you counted her older brother, Stephen and his best friend. Stephen and Billy had always stuck up for Ruth as best as they could, but they were older than Ruth and had moved away to the other side of Manchester for university so she didn’t see them very often anymore.

And they didn’t really count as friends. Ruth knew that deep down.

She wished she had a friend more than anything, even more than she wanted a boyfriend. A real friend to share secrets with, to joke with and to swap make-up tips with. She could use a friend right now, judging by the mess she’d made of her lips. Lipstick was smeared beyond her lip line and was it… yes, it was on her teeth. Panic bubbled from her gut and spread throughout her body. She lifted her wrist to check the time. Relax, relax, relax. Deep breaths. She wasn’t due to meet Zack at the restaurant for another twenty minutes and, as she was already camped out in the restaurant’s loo, she had plenty of time to sort her face out.

After removing the lipstick with a damp tissue, Ruth took a chest-achingly deep breath and tried again, this time smoothing the lipstick over her puckered lips almost perfectly. It needed a touch up here and there, but all in all it was a vast improvement. Shame about the colour, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that.

Ruth blew her reflection a kiss before she headed back into the restaurant and to the table the waitress had already seated her at. The restaurant was quiet, with only three other tables occupied, but that could have been down to a number of factors: the restaurant being way out of town, the questionable décor and mismatched furniture, or the unidentifiable whiff about the place, which was somewhere between cat piss and BO. But to Ruth it was perfect. This was the setting of her first date and with Zack O’Connell too. Zack had been the most popular boy in her year and she’d always had an (obviously unrequited) crush on him. Zack had mostly ignored her during their fourteen-year acquaintance and when he had spoken to her, it was only to throw jibes her way. It had been only a few weeks ago that he’d snarled ‘fuck off, fatso’ when she’d asked him to sign her shirt on their last day of school, but here she was, waiting for him to wine and dine her.

Wasn’t it funny how life worked out? How a simple walk through the park with your elderly neighbour’s dog could change your life. Ruth hadn’t expected to run into Zack and his friends in the park and when she had, she’d turned and stumbled away in the opposite direction. But Zack had caught up with her and asked if they could talk.

Talk? Zack wanted to talk to her?

Of course she’d been suspicious. She wasn’t stupid. But it turned out Zack had been dumped by his beautiful and equally popular girlfriend and he couldn’t talk to his friends about it. They were all idiots. They didn’t have feelings, not mature ones that didn’t involve their dicks anyway.

‘Sasha dumped you? But why?’ Sasha Bloom had been the most popular girl at school and she and Zack made an obscenely gorgeous couple. Ruth had always known she was a superficial bitch, but she’d never suspected Sasha could be so dumb. Why on earth would any girl dump Zack?

‘She’s going away to uni and doesn’t want to be tied down to a boyfriend.’ Zack’s head was hung low and Ruth wanted to reach out to touch him, to offer him some sort of comfort. But she didn’t dare. ‘Can we meet up and talk properly? Tomorrow?’

She’d said yes. She wasn’t a fool. They’d met and talked – not only about Sasha but about everything. It had been amazing, like having a real friend, and the afternoon flew by too quickly. Suddenly meeting up with Zack seemed cruel. It had given her a taste of what friendship was like, but was now being snatched away.

But then he’d asked her out. On a date. In a restaurant and everything.

Ruth prayed he’d turn up.

Not normally a fiddler, Ruth found herself toying with the condiments on the table, reading the sticky, faded label on the bottle of vinegar and spinning the pepper pot on its rounded top. It seemed her stomach was having a bit of a party, twisting and jiving as she waited on her wobbly chair. She doubted she’d be able to eat a thing when Zack did arrive – both minor miracles as far as Ruth was concerned.

The door opened and Ruth turned in her seat, her sickly-pink mouth gaping as she saw Zack striding towards her. He was wearing the leather jacket she’d always thought he looked hot in and she gave her thigh a good pinch to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

‘Zack, hi!’ What did she do now? Did she stand up to greet him? Before she could make a decision, Zack had thrown himself into the seat opposite.

‘Hey. You look nice.’

Ruth’s cheeks turned as pink as her lipstick at the compliment. She was beginning to believe he really did like her. That was the second compliment he’d given her since they’d struck up their friendship, having already told her she’d be beautiful if she lost the weight. Nobody had ever told her she was beautiful, unless you counted her parents, which Ruth did not.

‘Thanks. So do you. I like your jacket.’ Ruth wanted to reach out and stroke the leather, to throw her face into its collar and smell it. She sat on her hands to take away the temptation.

‘Shall we order then?’

Ruth nodded, though her appetite had deserted her. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling hunger again. Although, when her pizza arrived, oozing with extra cheese, it did smell divine. Zack had no qualms about eating and immediately set about shovelling his food into his mouth. Ruth watched him for a moment, wondering whether he would pause long enough to chat. Or even chew.

‘How do you think you’ve done in your exams?’ It was an inane question, but Ruth couldn’t think of anything else to say and their date was turning out to be more like feeding time at the zoo. They’d recently sat their A Level exams and would be picking up their results in less than a week.

‘Dunno.’ Ruth looked away as Zack flashed his food as he spoke.

‘I think I’ve done alright. No As or anything, but I think I’ve done enough to get on my course.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I hope so.’ Nervous laughter seeped from her lips. It was true that she was in no way experienced when it came to dates but she had imagined it would be different to this. More romantic. And with more conversation. ‘Zack, are you really over Sasha?’ The question was out of Ruth’s mouth seemingly before she’d even thought it and she took a huge bite of pizza to keep her from saying anything else moronic.

‘Yeah, course I am. Why?’

Ruth chewed and chewed at the pizza, wishing she hadn’t shoved quite so much into her mouth. Unlike Zack, she couldn’t bring herself to talk with her mouth full.

‘It’s just that I like you. I have for ages.’ Ruth suspected she was in love with Zack O’Connell, but then most girls in her year had been and so she kept it to herself.

‘I like you too.’

Ruth’s mouth spread into a wide smile until half of her face was made up of Barbie-pink lipstick. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Still chewing, Zack dropped his cutlery with a clang. ‘Come here and I’ll prove it.’

Ruth leant across the table, eyes squeezed shut and lips puckered. Her first kiss was heavenly and she only wished she had a friend she could gush over the details with later. She wasn’t quite sure about Zack’s tongue swirling round and round her mouth like a washing machine on a fast spin, but she was sure she’d get used to it with a bit of practice.

Ruth was so busy savouring the sensation of Zack’s warm lips on hers that she wasn’t aware of the commotion as half a dozen teenagers clattered into the restaurant, pointing and jeering.

‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you actually did it!’

‘You’re a sick bastard.’

‘That’s fucking gross, man.’

Zack’s lips wrenched away from hers and as his body slumped back into his seat, Ruth took in the scene around her. Zack’s friends were heading towards them, led by Sasha Bloom.

‘Oi, fat bitch. Who said you could touch my boyfriend?’ She cackled as Brad, Zack’s best friend, stepped closer and slapped Zack on the back.

‘What was it like?’

Zack swiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his lovely leather jacket. ‘Like sucking a marshmallow.’

‘I bet you enjoyed it really,’ Ryan, another friend, jeered from within the crowd. ‘You looked well into it.’

‘Was I fuck.’ Zack jumped out of his seat, grabbed a fistful of chips and turned to face his mates. ‘You all owe me fifty quid. Each.’

And then they were gone, Zack and Sasha arm in arm, everybody laughing and ribbing Zack. Ruth watched them leave, refusing to move from her seat even as she realised Zack had left her with the bill. It had all been a joke. Nothing but a prank and the opportunity for Zack to make a bit of cash. He didn’t like Ruth. She was nothing but a freak show.

Ruth took a bite of her pizza but it lodged in her throat, a great big clump that refused to go down. Ruth’s lips became a thin pink line and she squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late and a tidal wave of tears poured down her cheeks and plopped onto her stuffed crust.

ONE

Ruth

Is there anything more joyous than glancing at the clock and realising you have a mere five minutes until you can go home? My mood shifted up a gear as I clicked print and swivelled in my chair to scoop up the document. There wasn’t much point in starting anything new this late in the day so I stapled the document, slipped it into its file and shut down my computer. Freedom was just four minutes away.

I was preparing for the journey home, touching up my lipstick, running a brush through my hair (you never know who you’re going to run into on the bus), when the phone shrilled beside me, the sudden noise almost causing a catastrophic smear of fuchsia up to my ear. Snapping the lid back onto my lipstick, I snatched up the receiver, knowing exactly who was phoning me at three minutes to five. Gideon. Cancelling our date tonight. At the last minute, yet again.

‘Good afternoon, Kelvin Shuttleworth’s office, how may I help you?’

Of course I’d wanted to snap at my useless, unreliable boyfriend but I had to be professional. At least until I knew for certain that it was Gideon. I’d fallen into that trap once too often. The last time it had happened, I’d roared ‘what the bum fluff do you want this time?’ into the receiver after he’d phoned me seven times in six minutes. Seriously, if you have a memory like a goldfish, make a list of the topics you want to cover and then phone me. Did he think I sat at my desk doing nothing all day (I did mostly, but that’s not the point here), waiting for his scintillating calls? By this, the eighth call, I was pretty narked.

‘It had better be urgent or I swear I’m going to twist your bollocks until they ping off.’

Luckily it had only been Glenn from Accounts on the other end and not somebody really important, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting at my desk right now. I’d be in the dole queue. So I answered politely now, just in case.

‘You can help me by getting your arse in my office. Pronto.’

The phone call ended abruptly and I checked the time. Three minutes to go and Kelvin was calling me into his office? Why was I even surprised? I’d worked for Kelvin Shuttleworth, General Manager, General Lazy Bastard and General Sleaze of H. Wood Vehicles for long enough to know he didn’t give a toss about my free time. I’m sure he was under the impression I continually camped out under my desk awaiting new and exciting tasks.

‘Yes, Kelvin?’ I stood on the brink of the threshold, still on my side of the door, still ready to flee home.

‘I want four copies of this.’ He stabbed a thick wad of paper on his desk with a finger, not even bothering to pass it to me, lest he wear out his fat sausage fingers in the process. ‘And I’ll have a coffee.’

I flicked my eyes up to the clock on the opposite wall. Yes, it displayed the same time as the clock in my own office next door and it was in full view of Kelvin. ‘But it’s three minutes to five.’ Not even that. More like two minutes and twenty-nine seconds. ‘May I remind you that I finish at five?’

‘May I remind you that you don’t clock in and out?’ I’d have to remind him of that fact when I rocked up at half past nine the following morning. ‘May I also remind you that I have not forgotten your mishap with the photocopier?’

No, I didn’t photocopy my arse. It would have been beyond repair if I’d somehow managed to perch my fat derrière on top of the photocopier and, as it turned out, it only took the repair man a couple of hours to fix it after I booted the hell out of it. You’d have done the same, I’m sure. It had been taking the piss all morning and then decided to chew up the pages in the middle of a 100-page document I was photocopying for an important meeting that afternoon. Not only did the pages refuse to come loose from the mechanism inside, I broke two nails while trying to free them. That had been the final straw.

‘Do I need to show you the repair bill?’ Kelvin made to reach into his desk drawer, even though I knew it wasn’t kept in there. I did his filing for him, after all. The only things Kelvin kept in his desk drawer were a bottle of whiskey, an emergency Mars bar and an envelope containing several saucy photos of a woman half his age, who definitely wasn’t his wife.

‘That won’t be necessary.’ I grabbed the wad of papers, which must have been at least fifty pages. The photocopier had better be on its best behaviour otherwise it’d be me cancelling my date with Gideon for a change.

‘Don’t forget the coffee.’

Of course not, sir. We wouldn’t want you dying of thirst. Or getting off your arse and making it yourself.

Dumping the document on my desk, I headed over to the staff kitchen. I say ‘kitchen’ but it was little more than a walk-in cupboard with a kettle, tiny sink and a fridge squeezed inside. I made Kelvin’s usual coffee with full-fat milk, three sugars and four chocolate digestives on the side.

‘There you are. Ooh, biccies.’ Erin reached her slender fingers towards the saucer and grabbed one of the biscuits. ‘Are you ready to go?’

I shook my head as I replaced the biscuit and explained the situation. I’d known Erin for as long as I’d worked at H. Woods, which was three years but felt like twelve. We couldn’t have been more different, with Erin being slim and gorgeous with a dark and sleek Cleopatra sweep of hair, while I was house-sized, okay-looking if you squinted enough, and with short blonde curls. Erin was also a bit of a goer while I was chaste (not by choice, I should add. It’s quite a challenge to be a slut when you’re house-sized).

‘You should have told him to piss off. It’s after five.’ Erin swiped another biscuit and I swallowed the urge to stab her with a teaspoon.

‘I can’t. He brought up the photocopier.’

‘That was weeks ago. Is he going to hold you to ransom forever?’

‘Probably.’ I batted Erin’s hand away as she lunged for another biscuit. How the hell did she stay rake-thin?

‘Do you want me to stay behind with you?’

‘Nah.’ There was no point in us both losing part of our evening.

‘Good, because I’ve got a date with Christian.’ I gave Erin a blank look. I honestly couldn’t keep up with all the men she dated. ‘The gorgeous bloke from my salsa class.’ Of which there were many, according to Erin, and therefore failed to narrow it down. ‘He brings his girlfriend every week? The red-head bitch who kicked my ankle a few weeks ago?’ Ah, yes. Salsa was an extreme sport where Erin was concerned, what with her flirting with every man under the age of sixty. ‘Well, he turned up alone last week. His girlfriend broke her ankle – how’s that for irony? – and I talked him into taking me out.’

‘You’ve no shame.’

‘Nope.’ Erin grinned and swiped another biscuit before sauntering towards the staircase, waving a hand as she went.

Not bothering to replace yet another biscuit (it was nearly tea time and, well, I just couldn’t be bothered), I carried the coffee through to an ungracious Kelvin before making a start on the photocopying. Luckily for both the photocopier and me, all went smoothly until I handed Kelvin the four documents. He didn’t take them, simply nodded at his in-tray.

‘Stick them in there. It’s getting late. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.’

I can’t tell you how much I wanted to stick the documents in a far more unpleasant orifice than Kelvin’s in-tray, but I restrained myself. Violence towards the photocopier was one thing, violence towards the general manager was another, however justified.

‘Couldn’t I have photocopied them in the morning?’ I really couldn’t help myself. My gob had a mind of its own at times.

‘I suppose you could have, yes.’ Kelvin glanced up from his computer screen. I could tell he’d been playing solitaire by the frantic clicking of his mouse. ‘But I didn’t realise how long it would take you to complete a simple task.’

I clasped my hands behind my back and clamped my lips together, determined to neither throttle my employer nor say something I wouldn’t regret but would certainly lose my job over.

‘I’ll see you in the morning then.’

‘Hmm.’ Click, click, click. He was back to losing at solitaire.

The bus was late as usual, packed and sweaty with disgruntled commuters (of which I was most definitely one), meaning I had to stand for the entire journey in heels. I always wore heels, whatever the occasion. I’d already been cursed with being fat – I didn’t want to be fat and stumpy, resembling a Weeble, and so my feet had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Still, my shoes were pretty fab that day – grey leopard-print lace-up ankle boots with a massive heel. They went perfectly with my knee-length charcoal dress overlaid with paler grey lace. To brighten the look (I did like to be bright, to show off my curves, rather than hide them away), I wore a pair of canary yellow cable and rib tights and chunky yellow beads around my throat and wrists.

The bus ride seemed to take forever, pausing at every stop to pile yet more disgruntled commuters on board, upping the sweaty, stuffy atmosphere. The others were already settled at home by the time I arrived. The ‘others’ being my housemates, Billy and Theo, and by ‘settled’, I mean they were camped out in the sitting room, eyes glued to the television screen while they hammered at the Playstation pads in their hands.

‘Theo?’ I remained in the doorway, afraid to enter. ‘Why are you nearly naked?’

Theo, wearing just a pair of boxers and holey socks, didn’t tear his eyes away from the TV. ‘I’ve got no clean clothes.’

‘What about the clothes you wore to work?’ Please let him have worn clothes to work.

‘They’re in the washing basket. I spilled a pint over them at lunchtime.’

Ah. ‘Spilled’ in the case of Theo translated as ‘propositioned a lady and was impolitely turned down’.

‘Do you mind sticking the washing on for me?’

I told Theo where he could stick his washing. I’d had enough of being a skivvy for one day.

‘There’s some post for you. I’ve left it in the hall,’ Billy called after me as I stalked away, muttering to myself about lazy bastard men.

By some miracle, Gideon didn’t cancel our date and so I met him at Cosmo’s, a restaurant around the corner from my house. I’d been seeing Gideon for about eight months and, while he was a bit of a slob and a bit of a moron, he’d do. At least he wanted me and what was the alternative? Sitting on my own night after night?

‘Ruthie! Ciao dolcezza.’ It wasn’t Gideon who greeted me so enthusiastically, kissing me on each cheek, but Cosmo, the owner of the restaurant. Don’t worry. He wasn’t some sort of sleaze who pounced on all his female clientele. I’d known Cosmo for about ten years, even living with him for the briefest time (though not in any sort of sexual context).

‘Is he here?’ I asked as I removed my jacket.

Cosmo tried not to pull a face but it was difficult and he was forced to turn his grimace into a smile, purely for my benefit. ‘He’s at the bar.’

‘Pissed, I presume.’

‘Getting there. Shall I show you to your table?’

We picked Gideon up en route, sitting at a table in a cosy corner of the restaurant. I ordered quickly, eager to tell Gideon my news. I’d taken my post upstairs with me so I could read it while I was getting ready and discovered an invitation to the Ultimate Highmoor Reunion. Highmoor was my old school, a great big building of misery for me, but soon it would be no more. Highmoor was being bulldozed to make way for a shiny new academy and so a reunion was being held during the summer for all pupils who had attended during its sixty-year lifespan.

I was horrified to begin with and felt a bit queasy at the thought of having to face all the people who had made my life so depressing, all the people who had jibed and poked fun at me and were truly horrible and nasty, dismissing me purely because I was fat. The worst part would be facing Zack, my first crush. I hadn’t seen Zack in ten years, since he’d pretended to like me for a practical joke and shattered my delicate, teenage heart into a million pieces.

My first instinct was to tear up the invitation but something stopped me. I could go to the reunion with my head held high, my boyfriend on my arm, and show them all that I wasn’t the same loser I once was. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had a boyfriend – even if it was Gideon. I phoned the number on the invitation before I could change my mind and purchased two tickets. Now all I had to do was tell Gideon about the reunion and somehow talk him into wearing a suit, or a clean shirt at the very least.

‘It’s not working out, is it?’ Gideon asked before our starter had arrived and before I had the chance to bring up the reunion.

‘What isn’t?’

‘You and me. Us.’

Oh, God. I was being dumped. By Gideon.

What about the reunion?

TWO

Billy

Billy and Theo had barely moved from their positions on the sofa since Ruth arrived home from work, the only difference being the pink T-shirt Theo had found drying on the bathroom radiator when he’d been forced to leave the room to pee. It belonged to Ruth so it buried his smaller frame, but at least it stopped his nips from freezing off his chest.

‘Shit! Quick!’

‘Balls!’

‘Fucking hell, Bill.’

‘Sor -’

‘Over there! Kill it this fucking time.’

Billy and Theo’s conversation was far from intellectual as their characters trundled along the screen, hiding behind barrels and abandoned buildings, waiting to pounce and shoot the hell out of the enemy.

‘Nice one, mate. Shit, move it. Move it.’

‘I am. Give me chance to -’

‘Fuck!’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it.’

Billy didn’t have it. Taking his eyes off the screen to check the time as he heard the front door opening and then slamming shut, his character was done for.

‘Ruth’s back early,’ he noted as Theo ranted about Billy’s untimely death. It had been less than an hour since Ruth left the house with a cheery ‘see you later, losers’ to meet Gideon, who didn’t even have the courtesy to pick her up. Not that he ever picked Ruth up for their dates. Or showed her any scrap of respect.

The sitting room door was flung open and Ruth stomped inside, kicking off her shoes and shrinking five inches.

‘Why aren’t you on your date with Giddy-up?’ Theo had started the game again but he could talk and hammer the buttons on the Playstation controller at the same time. And people say men can’t multitask. ‘Did he stand you up? Or has his flea-infested beard taken over his entire face and he can’t be seen in public anymore?’ Or had Ruth finally seen sense and dumped the wanker?

‘Leave it,’ Billy muttered. There was clearly something going on, something that was upsetting Ruth so much she couldn’t even bring herself to yell at Theo for wearing her T-shirt. ‘Why don’t you go and sort your washing out?’

Theo was about to protest. His washing could wait – his game couldn’t. But then he noticed Ruth’s eyes pool with tears and her lip started to wobble so he moved from the sitting room sharpish.

‘Is it the reunion?’ Billy and Ruth were alone now, Ruth perched on the edge of the sofa, her jacket still on. Billy wasn’t sure if she’d opened the letter. He’d told her about it but she’d taken the envelope upstairs and only emerged when it was time to leave for her date. Billy couldn’t wait to catch up with everyone from school – Dom, Smithy, Tuck. Maybe Stephen would even fly over from New York. He wouldn’t normally as it was too expensive to travel over for just a party, but he might this time, it being their last chance to see their old school before it was flattened.

But Billy knew it was different for Ruth. Her school days had been horrific and he couldn’t blame her for being upset at the prospect of seeing the bastards from her year again.

‘I’m not going.’ Ruth lifted her chin, decisive and determined, despite feeling like jelly inside. ‘I can’t go. Not without a boyfriend.’

‘But Gideon…’

‘… is not my boyfriend any more.’

Oh. That explained the moodiness. Billy would be pretty miffed if he’d been binned by someone as repellent as Gideon too.

‘What happened?’

Ruth pulled off her jacket and slung it on the back of the sofa before making herself more comfortable. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Billy was relieved. He didn’t particularly want to talk about Gideon either. That he was no longer a part of Ruth’s life was enough for him.

‘Do you want to watch A Beginner’s Guide?’

‘But we’ve already seen it.’ A Beginner’s Guide To You was their favourite sitcom and they never missed an episode, watching it together every Thursday evening with some variety of giant confectionery.

‘When has that ever stopped us?’ Now on its third season, Billy and Ruth knew the first two seasons word for word. ‘And there’s a massive fruit and nut in the fridge.’

‘I’m not really in the mood. I’m having an early night.’

As Ruth heaved herself off the sofa, Billy realised how bad she must be feeling. Ruth never turned down an opportunity to watch A Beginner’s Guide, and she never ever rejected chocolate.

Billy had known Ruth from as far back as his memory could take him. They’d grown up on the same street and Billy was best friends with her older brother, Stephen. The Lynch’s household became his second home and he spent the majority of his teenage years there, either holed up in Stephen’s bedroom or sitting at the table eating Mrs Lynch’s home-cooked food, which was far superior to the ready meals his father provided him with.

After completing their A Levels, Billy and Stephen enrolled in the same university and moved into a house share in Woodgate, a ten-minute train ride away. 184 Oak Road was already occupied by Cosmo, a trainee chef with aspirations of opening his own restaurant one day. The three hit it off immediately and the house was constantly filled with fun, laughter, good food and beautiful women. The beautiful women flocked to the house because of Cosmo but Billy and Stephen got to eat amazing food night after night so they couldn’t grumble.

When Ruth turned up on the doorstep, her face pink and scrunched up with tears because she’d been dumped by some boy (Ruth had always been vague on the details), Billy and Stephen had offered to beat the boy in question up, and the idea was so ludicrous – Zack being sporty and well-built and Billy and Stephen being your typical computer geeks – it cheered Ruth up enough to smile and dry her eyes with her sleeve. She’d been crashing on the sofa for a few days when Ruth learned Cosmo was moving out in a week to live with his latest girlfriend. She begged, literally begged, Billy and Stephen to let her move into the third bedroom and because they couldn’t be bothered advertising for a new housemate, they agreed. Ruth applied for college in Woodgate and Cosmo helped her get a waitressing job at Café Katerina, the restaurant he was learning his trade in. The three lived together for a while until Stephen was offered a work experience position in New York and had shown such promise while over there that they offered him a twelve-month contract. Six years and several housemates later, Stephen was still in New York with his American wife and their three children.

Numerous occupants had taken Stephen’s bedroom over the years, the first being Sindi, who lasted two months, as it transpired 184 Oak Road wasn’t nearly glamorous enough for her. Ray lasted three years until he got married, moved to Wrexham and now just exchanged Christmas cards with Ruth and Billy. Leah lived with them for a year, but she never really gelled with her housemates and as soon as she was promoted at work she moved into her own flat. Christmas cards were never exchanged. Polly was next, living with them for eighteen months until she went on holiday to Cyprus and was never seen again. Jess was the shortest occupant, lasting a mere three weeks before she caught Billy ‘fondling’ her underwear, an accusation Billy hotly denies to this day. Louise was a classic tale: moved in, got together with Billy, broke up, moved out.

Billy and Theo worked together, and while they were complete opposites in both looks and personalities, if you put them in front of a computer, they were as nerdy as each other, so when Louise moved out and Theo was looking for a new place it was the obvious solution for Theo to take the third bedroom. Theo had been living with Ruth and Billy for almost two years now, mainly because they had no idea how to get rid of him.

To: s.lynch

From: billy.worth

Subject: Reunion baby!

Hi mate,

How’s everything in NY? Have you heard about the reunion? Highmoor is getting ripped down so they’re having a massive reunion in August. Will you be able to make it? I’m looking forward to it, but obviously Ruth isn’t so much.

Speaking of Ruth – great news. She isn’t with the prick Gideon any more. She’s upset about it (not good) but she’s better off without him. He’s a tosser and Ruth deserves better.

Let me know about the reunion, yeah?

To: billy.worth

From: s.lynch

Subject: Re: Reunion baby!

Yep, heard about the reunion. Someone from the committee emailed me yesterday. Think I’m going to be able to make it. We were planning a trip during the summer anyway so works out well.

Give Ruth a big hug from me. I only met Gideon once, when I was home last Christmas. You’re right – he is a tosser. Spoke to Ruth like shit and was so rude to Mum. Was going to say something, but Mum said not to, that I’d only make matters worse.

Look after Ruth for me, will you?

To: s.lynch

From: billy.worth

Subject: Re: Re: Reunion baby!

You know I’ll look after her. She’s like a little sister to me.

I hope you enjoyed reading A Beginner’s Guide To Christmas. If you’d like to keep up to date with my new releases, you can subscribe to my newsletter at http://www.jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk/p/newsletter.html

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A Beginner’s Guide To Christmas

Jennifer Joyce

© Jennifer Joyce 2013

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First published in 2013

Cover design: Jennifer Joyce
Cover images: Jennifer Joyce & Vector Stock

Find out more about the author at www.jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk