I’m not Spiderman, though, I haven’t got great power, just responsibility. I wish I was Spiderman, actually, I’m sure he could sort this out in a jiffy. He could whizz over and truss up Mr Armstrong in a super-strong web, and he wouldn’t care a fig that the one person he loves isn’t going to spend Christmas with him.
‘You’re frowning.’ Sam has stopped pounding.
‘No, I’m not.’ I force my face into what I hope is a chilled expression. But is probably just looking down my nose pop-eyed. ‘What’s up?’
‘I just accidentally booked my mum on a non-refundable last-minute deal to Kenya.’
‘And she doesn’t want it?’ Sam’s mum is funny. She’s one of those mothers who is so well-meaning it gets embarrassing, if you know what I mean. But she is lovely, and totally means well. Like mother, like daughter.
‘Does she buggery.’ Which figures. She is more big-hat hunter than big-game hunter. ‘She wants to go to Lapland, not bloody Kenya.’ Sam goes back to abusing my assets.
‘You can’t actually undo what you’ve done just by typing fast you know.’ I sit down and push her wheelie chair, and her, to one side. You see? This is what I meant when I thought it was weird Aunt Lynn leaving Sam on her own. At least this is a family booking cock-up, and not a customer. ‘Pressing delete doesn’t work when it isn’t on the screen any more.’
‘I know that.’ She suddenly smiles. ‘Actually, maybe that’s the best idea I’ve ever had, and my brain just hasn’t realised. Sending Mum off on her own would solve all kinds of problems.’ The frantic typing stops. ‘Christmas can be such hard work if we’re all together. A few days with just me and Jake on our own would be ace.’
She’s got a dreamy look in her eyes, and for a moment I feel a pang of jealousy. Sam has got a lovely boyfriend, a wonderful family and she’s all set for the perfect Christmas. Unlike me. I’m just about to book a ticket to hell. This was not a good idea at all. Me and my big mouth. Why can’t I think before I speak? Just once would be nice. I think they call it ‘filtered’, whereas I’m more another f word.
And I so like Christmas. What have I done?
Sam frowns. ‘Unless she gets eaten by a giraffe or something.’
‘What?’
‘Mum, in Kenya!’
‘Aren’t they vegetarian? They eat leaves and stuff.’
‘Well, a lion. Or what if a rhino tramples them? I mean, you know how she likes to be centre stage, she’ll be throwing her arms around and projecting!’ Sam’s mum is into amateur dramatics and sees herself as the next Dame Judi Dench. ‘How good is the health and safety at these places? They must do risk assessments, yeah?’
‘Yeah, of course they do! They have to, and you don’t often hear of tourists getting chewed up or trampled to death, do you?’
‘Well no, not often but there was that alligator—’
‘That was in the swamps, and that drunken twat decided to use it as a paddleboard. I don’t think your mum will be trying anything like that, will she?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘They’ll be far more careful than Will Armstrong, anyway; he probably wouldn’t know a risk assessment if he fell over one.’ Oh God, I can’t get that stupid man out of my head. All roads lead to Will. Literally. Sam looks alarmed – even though she doesn’t know the chaos that’s going around in my head at the moment. Honestly, I’d rather be in Kenya being trampled by wildebeest, right now.
My face must have done something it wasn’t supposed to, because her attention zooms in on me.
‘Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you had the day off?’
‘I just thought I’d check you were okay.’ Maybe popping into work, on the pretence of checking everything was okay, was a mistake. But the truth of the matter is I couldn’t face being at home on my own today. I now have no Callum, and no Christmas. ‘And I need to stalk Will Armstrong.’
‘You’ve already googled him.’ Sam grins. ‘You just want to stare at that photo don’t you? Go on, admit it, you think he’s cute.’
‘It doesn’t matter how cute he is—’
‘Ha! I knew you did!’
‘This is business, I need to google him better. The Wi-Fi is better here than at home, and,’ I pull out my chair and do a quick spin on it, cracking my knuckles as I go to show I mean business, ‘I also need to book my Christmas break.’
‘Christmas break?’ Sam is frowning and has stopped her attempts to unbook her mother’s wildlife trip. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Canada.’ I watch while it sinks in. ‘To see Will Armstrong.’
‘But I thought . . .’
‘There’s been a change of plan.’
‘Christmas! Wow, you’re going for actual Christmas with Lynn? Is that what she suggested when you told her about what’s been going on? Gosh, the pair of you together will soon sort him out.’ Sam claps her hands, looking so happy it seems a shame to put a downer on things.
‘Not the pair of us, just me.’ I stop my googling and look at Sam. I think it might be time to mention the cakes, and Ralph. And the business. Which is the really awkward one. I mean, we’re mates, we work together and in the new year it could all turn a bit weird if I’ve kind of become her boss, and don’t do this properly.
‘And Callum?’
‘No, not Callum. Callum and his buttock-clenching gladioli have gone.’
‘Buttock clenching?’
‘Later. But it was a good job he hadn’t decided to say it with roses.’ Thorns do not bear thinking about.
‘So why are you going to Canada for Christmas, then? I don’t get it.’
Nor do I.
‘Tell.’
‘Pass the Hobnobs first, my stomach needs reminding what food should taste like. Lynn’s cakes were a bit . . .’ I pull a face and rub my stomach, and Sam laughs. ‘Lemon curd and marmalade.’
‘They sound okay; my mum does lemon curd tarts, sometimes.’
‘Lemon curd and marmalade together.’
‘I think you need a Jaffa cake.’
Sam plunders the supplies, then she watches intently as I nibble the chocolate off, then remove the sponge, and finally savour the orange bit.
‘Wow, I needed that.’ This could be the closest I get to orgasm for a while. I take another. Sam can’t bear the suspense and snatches the box away.
‘So, what was so urgent? She’s okay is she? Not ill or . . .’
‘She’s fine. More than fine.’
‘Oh God, she didn’t find out about that nasty email you sent to Shooting Star?’ She clasps her hand to her mouth.
I shake my head. ‘Not quite.’
‘What do you mean, not quite? Tell me, woman!’
I haven’t quite worked out how I feel about this yet, which is why I suppose I’ve been reluctant to say it. Because once