Mistletoe & Bastards by Lindy Dale

Mistletoe
& Bastards
A Christmas
Novella
    Lindy Dale
    © Secret Creek
Press 2014
     
     
     
     
~1~
    If there’s one
thing that drives me to drink about Christmas, it’s over the top
friends who believe the entire world should feel the way they do in
regards to the festive season. And right at that moment three of
them were sitting across the table, doing their best to make me gag
into my lunch.
    “Five sleeps
till Christmas,” Kirby chirruped, her blonde waves bouncing with
enthusiasm as she addressed us. “Are we, like, getting together or
what?”
    I stared at my
ditzy friend, feeling my body sag in despair at the very thought of
having to sit and play nice over a Christmas-themed tablecloth. I
was sure we’d put a veto on mentioning the C word in my presence.
Had she forgotten?
    “Time’s running
out,” Kirby continued, “and I sooo want to do that Secret
Santa thing. Plus, I have a totally cute Christmas dress to wear.
It has jingle bells sewn around the hem. It’s, like, red— of course
— with fur trim on the collar.”
    Fur? In summer?
I groaned inwardly. Honestly, when Kirby started gushing over ‘cute
this’ and ‘divine that,’ I questioned our friendship — especially
if said gushing occurred in the same sentence as ‘themed apparel’.
Sane people didn’t do Christmas wear in public unless it was hidden
away as underwear and even that was stretching the friendship. Yes,
I could cope with the odd tree shaped brooch or some ridiculous
light-up Santa-shaped earrings but a whole outfit with bells?
    Give me
strength.
    Kirby looked
questioningly across the table at me. “Mel?”
    I took a long
slow sip of my coffee and tried to temper the words that were about
to fall from my mouth. Kirby was such a darling — despite making me
mental most of the time — I couldn’t hurt her feelings. Not about
this anyway. Her opinion on most other things was always open to
being put right. Especially when she spoke about One
Direction or 5 Seconds of Summer . We weren’t exactly
teenagers.
    “Do we have
to?” I asked. “I’d be just as happy with a bottle of red and some
nibbles. It’ll still be a catch-up. Secret Santa is for
children.”
    Kirby put down
her double decaf frappuccino. Her eyes grew so big I thought her
eyelash extensions might pop off. Across the table, Sasha and
Millie appeared equally flabbergasted. Sasha had stopped mid-bite
of her sandwich and was looking at me like I’d declared I was going
to streak down Hay Street if the Western Force didn’t win the Super
15 next year and Millie was shaking her head and tutting. These
were my friends, and they all loved Christmas. To say one didn’t
wish to be involved in the hoo-ha was tantamount to treason.
Especially where Kirby was concerned. Next to shopping and knowing
the brand name of every piece of clothing on the planet, Christmas
was Kirby’s favourite hobby — if a holiday could be classed as a
hobby. She had an entire shelf in her linen cupboard filled with
decorations that only appeared once a year. Mine, conversely, was
filled with wine. And that got used on a daily basis, especially
when people started talking about Christmas.
    “Honestly,
you’re such a Grinch, Mel. We can do drinks and nibbles any time.
We, like, do it every Friday as it is.” Kirby pouted. “Just because
you don’t like Christmas doesn’t mean we, like, have to suffer. And
Millie can’t go plonking on now she’s pregnant. We, totally, have
to make this special for her, too. It’s her last Christmas as a
childless person.”
    She made it
sound like Millie was about to become homeless or something. Which
in turn made me feel like a bitch, an unusual occurrence, given I
felt little about anybody or anything.
    I gave a
sidelong glance to Millie. There was no way she’d think Secret
Santa was special, would she? Out of all of us, Millie was the one
who understood me best, despite our rather rocky start at
friendship. She got that I didn’t like to