Humbugs and Heartstrings: A gorgeous festive read full of the joys of Christmas!

Fez is watching me.

‘And?’ I drop the leaflet on the table and fold my arms.

He shrugs. ‘Thought you might be interested.’

For a few seconds, a glimmer of excitement flares in my belly. Real butterflies at the thought of getting back to the work I love; the thrill of turning an idea for a painting or a glass vase into something real.

Then I bring myself to heel.

I’ve already proved that being creative doesn’t pay the rent.

I have to be practical and focus on saving all the money I can for Tim’s operation.

I will not let Mum and Tim down.

Chapter Nine (#ulink_328210d8-e249-5a07-855b-d3b7f44bc980)

On Monday morning, there’s a jewel among the junk mail:

Dear Ms Blatchett

You’ve convinced me. Glass-blowing sounds incredible. I’d like to see your work.

Sorry I took so long to reply but I was out of the country – and now I’m late for a meeting, but I’ll be in touch later.

Ronald

I make myself hold off replying till after lunch:

Dear Mr McDonald

Hope your meeting went well. You sound very grand for a reservations guy. ‘Out of the country’ indeed! I expect your Jag is waiting outside. Are penthouses all they’re cracked up to be?

I send it off, then a minute later wish I’d remembered to press him on the hotel deal.

There’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to send him another message.

I’m only doing my job.

Mr McDonald

Have you got me that great deal yet? The Boss might murder me if I don’t come up trumps soon and you wouldn’t want blood on your hands, would you?

Actually, Carol hasn’t even mentioned it. But just in case she does, I need to keep the lines of communication open. And besides, I’m enjoying my banter with Ronald McDonald. It’s the most fun I’ve had at work since – well, ever, actually.

Next day, when I get back from lunch, Shona says, ‘Someone phoned while you were out. A Mr McDonald?’

‘He phoned?’ I blurt out.

Shona looks over curiously. ‘Yes. About ten minutes ago. Why? Who is he?’

‘Oh, no one important.’ I adopt a casual, ‘I’m not really bothered but I suppose I’d better phone him back’ sort of expression. ‘What did he say?’

‘Just that he’d email you. And he – er – hopes your goldfish is okay?’

I laugh.

‘Is that a euphemism?’ asks Shona.

‘Sorry?’ I’m trying to open up my emails but the damn computer is being so slow today.

‘I just wondered if the goldfish is a euphemism,’ she says, with a sly grin. ‘You know, a word that’s code for something else. You’re looking very flushed.’

‘I know what a euphemism is,’ I snap, as a new wave of heat ramps up my under-blouse temperature.

‘So is it?’

‘No, of course it’s not a euphemism. It’s a goldfish.’

She gives me an arch look. ‘I didn’t know you had a goldfish.’

‘Well, I don’t have to tell you everything, do I?’ I laugh.

‘I suppose not. So do you?’

‘What?’

‘Have a goldfish?’

Aha! At last I’m in. And yes, there is indeed a new email from Ronald McDonald.

‘Well?’

‘No, I do not have a goldfish, okay?’ I say incredulously. ‘Now can we stop this nonsense? I’ve got a … a thing to attend to.’

She smirks. ‘Now that’s definitely a euphemism.’

Dear Bobbie

How did you know about the Jag and the penthouse? You’re obviously much cleverer than you sound. I hope your boss appreciates that fine intellect.

P.S. Penthouses are great but they get a bit boring after a while – you know, same-old, same-old …

I reply straight away, trying not to smile while I’m typing so as not to enflame Shona’s over-active imagination.

A boring penthouse? My heart bleeds for you. Expect you also have a boring holiday home in the Caribbean and a boring yacht moored in the south of France.

P.S. The closest I ever came to experiencing a penthouse was vicariously, through my hamster. He had a teeny-tiny top storey to his little hamster house …