It was about nine o’clock on Christmas Eve that did it.
The last few days had passed by in a haze of last-minute shopping and frequent texts from Evan – I’m sharing a table with this guy who’s bought his wife a blender for Christmas and Wish you could see this man, he looks like Father Christmas – were two of my favourites I’d received whilst I was shopping, killing myself slowly and painfully in the crowds of morons that inhabited my home town. Finally, there we were, settling ourselves down to The Night Before Christmas, waiting to sit through the annual old faithful of “It’s a Wonderful Life” whilst eating the day’s purchase of cheese nibbles with Sam sipping a hot chocolate with marsh mallows and me somewhere between my third large whiskey and diet coke. Earlier on, I had surrendered my outdoor clothing in favour of my best, most well-worn pair of pyjamas: rather unsexy cowhide patterned bottoms with a white t-shirt top that had ‘lazy cow’ stitched across the middle. Rather apt, but then again I had no intention of doing anything other than sitting on my cowhide arse for at least the next two days. On my feet were my large white furry yeti boot slippers. Yes. I was a picture of sophistication and beauty. Not to mention the idea of luxury. I could live like this all the time. Attractive it may not be, but the warming sensation felt by a pair of manky old pyjamas could never be equalled by the presence of another human.
Evening like these were rare, but definitely my favourite. Sam and I loved each other’s company and my child-like mentality meant that silly games were always on the agenda. Tonight’s special was ‘Orifice Twiglet’, where you have to stick twiglets in as many visible orifices as possible and then persuade the other person to eat them. No, I hear you cry, definitely not the sort of game a single person should really be playing to make herself look attractive (particularly with what I was wearing anyway), but nevertheless Sam loved it and the photo opportunities were endless.
Just as I was retrieving a rather awkward shaped twiglet from Sam’s ear, my mobile text alert sounded.
Thinking I should remove the twiglets currently standing to attention up my nasal passages, I leaned over the table and grabbed my phone. Instantly thinking I should perhaps straighten myself out by brushing the creases out of my clothes (why? A belief that the other person had a video phone, and that I found it almost impossible to conduct sensible conversations knowing full well I was dressed in novelty nightwear), slowly, and as if on autopilot, my left hand scrolled down the message displayed on my screen whilst my right hand fished out the larger of the two twiglets.
It was Evan.
Hey. Just sitting here on the kerb looking up at the stars thinking about a stunning red fox.
Aware of the cryptic connotations of the message, I stopped to think what the message could possibly mean before I launched into a reply. Absent-mindedly, my right hand reached up to the last remaining twiglet sticking out of my nostril. It was slightly soggy.
My fingers hovered over the buttons for what seemed an age before I finally responded. Needless to say, it was rather obvious.
Who do you mean? Janey?
Janey, or Janet as she was christened, was a feisty lady who believed she owned the ground she walked on. She wasn’t overly popular (with me, anyway) and she had previously had her wicked way with Evan before dropping him like a hot potato. Of course, she expected him to go back to her. Often. Which of course he did. Often. Oh, and she had red hair. Hence the connection: red fox. It had to be her.
No. You. You are everything I’ve ever wanted – funny, sexy…
I checked my phone. This was clearly a mis-sent message and he wasn’t talking about me. Sexy was definitely not a word that could be used alongside a girl wearing cowhide pyjamas after all.
…gorgeous and I can’t stop thinking about you x
My eyes read and re-read the last six words. Hastily I began re-living the past few days of conversation: where was the sign? How could I have missed it? It’s here, on a plate with a side order of watercress and rocket salad, staring me in the face without any pre-warning and somehow, maybe not surprising but currently surprising enough, I had missed it. Not just missed it, but obliviously walked straight through any of its neon signs and screamingly obvious hints.
“Mum, can I remove these twiglets please? They’re starting to get uncomfortable.”
In a flash, reality brought me back to Christmas Eve, Orifice Twiglet and to my life.
“Sorry darling. Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Thank God,” Sam muttered as the soggy ends of twiglets emerged from his nose and corners of his mouth.
“Go and get a drink, babe,” I laughed, trying desperately hard at the same time to appear normal all the while an emotional tidal wave was washing over my insides. All too suddenly I could taste a familiar cheesiness in the back of my throat.
What the fuck was I going to do? How did I feel? I’d had no preparation time for this and now I’d been caught totally off-guard. More importantly, what about Kerry?
Thinking time was clearly not an option as the house phone made me jump out of my skin. Horrified and terribly nervous at the same time, I reached for the offending article which I now inwardly referred to as a plastic tarot card. My mobile, with the message of doom still on show on its screen, remained glued to my terrified hand.
“Hello?” I sounded wary, as if I was about to be given some terrible news. In some ways I was. There was no doubt who was going to be on the other end of the phone. At any other time, I would have pretended not to be in, and actually hidden behind the sofa until the nasty ringing had stopped.
“Well? What d’you say?”
Evan sounded stupid; like he was grinning for the first time since his mouth had become unstapled.
“Er,” I stumbled. I hadn’t considered any response; what did he expect? I was hardly about to run manically into his virtual telephonic arms, was I?
“What is it you want, Mary? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.”[1]
My ears began to ring with his words. The whiskey I could no longer taste, and my head jumbled with thoughts, panic, fear and speculation. Nothing had ever been this easy. Or was it difficult? Now, though, I started to realise that perhaps I was actually glad of not knowing. I was afraid of this situation and was about to run a mile.
“Er…oh.” Yes. That really was the best I could muster. Pathetic really. And now you can clearly see how and why I’ve remained single for so long. Somewhere, though, I thought about how crap that had sounded. Did I want him to pick up on negative vibes, realise that the red fox was actually doing a feeble impression of an M20 Road Kill, mutter an apology and snap the phone shut quicker than Wall Street did the Stock Market? Or did I really seriously believe I could take this somewhere?
I settled for another attempt at a reply.
“Er…oh.” Marvellous.
It only then occurred to me that Evan had been talking to himself since my first moment of terror because I caught odd words floating down the telecommunication line, like ‘morning’, ‘meet up’, ‘think’ and ‘talk then’. I snapped violently out of my terror.
“Sorry, what was that?” I couldn’t possibly; it was Christmas Day in less than two hours.
“I’m meeting Kerry on the morning of the twenty-seventh. I’m going to talk to her then about everything that’s going on. Including you.”
“No. You mustn’t. You have to give her a chance, Evan. Don’t tell her anything yet; it wouldn’t be right.” I sighed, believing wholeheartedly I’d bought myself some time. Oh, how the stupid are brought quickly crashing down to earth.
“But you’re happy for me to tell her, right?” Evan was clearly enjoying this; if not seeing me squirm, but hearing me squirm. “Look,” he said, finally, when I still hadn’t answered, “you know how I feel. I’m crazy about you, not Kerry. And I think you could be the one.” His voice tailed off slightly at this point and I reached for my glass and stole the moment to savour the fiery amber liquid of the Gods. This was not happening, I kept telling myself.
The truth was, I hadn’t even given myself time to think about the possibility of ever fancying Evan. Why would I? The thought hadn’t even been entertained by my mind and here I was, being told by some bloke I’d only ever exchanged three hours’ worth of conversation with was telling me that I could be the o…
What?! How the fuck did I miss that?! This was worse than ever.
“Evan, I’m going to have to go; it’s getting late. How about I phone you tomorrow?” I said this, knowing certainly of two things: 1) I wouldn’t be around, and 2) he would be pissed and passed out.
“I love that,” he replied, scarily dreamy-sounding. I cringed. The sooner I could put the phone down the better.
“Great. Well I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well and hope Father Christmas brings you everything you want.” In hindsight, that was really stupid.
“He already has,” he slurred, and hung up.
Shit shit bollocks fuck.
“Webster, it’s me. I really need to talk to you.”
“Hi. A bit early for Christmas morning, even by your standards. I take it you haven’t phoned to wish me Yuletide greetings?”
His voice was rather merry, absorbing all the clichés this time of year brought with it. But I was most definitely not in the mood to be seasonably sociable. I thought for a moment that he may have been on the gin.
“Ha. Webster, I have an issue. A big one.”
“Anna, I’ve told you about buying stuff from the homeless. It may be charitable and all that, but it contains little or no relevant information.”
“Can’t you just be – normal for once? Please?” The phone felt heavy in my hand, heavier than my eyelids. Webster was almost certified nocturnal. He seemed abnormally bouncy and cheerful. I was definitely not in the mood for hilarity or joviality.
Sensing that I hadn’t phoned up to crack jokes or mock someone on the television, Webster suddenly straightened and sat up. The tone in his voice became serious.
“Okay, what’s up?” It was surprising that he never sounded dismissive, despite the fact that I was just about to rain on his one-man carnival.
“I’ve just experienced the worst moment of my life.” Okay, it sounded dramatic, but this was genuinely how I was feeling.
“I’m all ears,” he replied. In any other situation I would have made a crass point about the size of Webster’s ears, or his ‘flappy wassters’ as I constantly referred to them (both behind his back and to his face), but, as it was a silly hour on the eve of Christmas Day, I decided that that would probably be rather counter-productive.
“Evan has pretty much just – confessed? Admitted? – undying love for me,” I murmured, hating the sound each syllable made as it came out of my mouth. I paused, waiting for Webster to laugh, say that Evan was: a) mad; b) blind; c) stupid or d) all three, but he didn’t. Instead, the silence caused by Webster was deafening. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.
“So, what do you want to do about it? Do you like him?” I hadn’t considered this option. I was so hell-bent on everything being a bad idea that I wanted Webster to be on my side completely and confirm Evan’s status as a mentalist.
“Well, he’s all right, I suppose. But that’s not the point. He’s with Kerry.”
[1] From, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’, 1946.
Copyright gingerbread house
jowilliams11 
Evan! What about Kerry!? :O