As I open the front door, I feel more optimistic than I’ve been for a while. Maybe Suze is right, maybe I need to relax. Do positive visualizations. I’m just picturing a perfect Christmas table, with all my friends and family gathered around a spectacular turkey and saying, “Becky, this Christmas is the best ever,” when a noise from the sitting room draws my attention. I head in and stop dead. My happy thoughts vanish and I stand, breathing fast, consumed by Christmas rage.
My bloody garlands have fallen down again. Again. That noise was the sound of my lovely twiggy one flopping down into the hearth, bringing the gold one with it. It slipped out yet again from under my gym dumbbells. How?
I mean, what does it take to make a Christmas garland stay up? Concrete? Steel bloody girders?
Next time I buy a house, I’m buying one with built-in garlands, I tell myself feverishly, as I grab the golden twiggy mess out of the hearth. I don’t care if it looks weird. I’m not doing this every December.
I shove the garlands on the sofa to be dealt with later—then try to regain my calm, optimistic mood. It’s OK. I’ll find a solution. I’m just googling garland stay up device never fails when my phone rings and I jump.
“Hello?” I answer it, madly wondering if it’s a garland company that somehow saw my googling and has the answer.
“Oh, hello,” comes a woman’s voice down the line. “Is that Mrs. Brandon? It’s Ve-Gen Foods here, with a courtesy call to let you know that unfortunately the vegan turkey you ordered is unavailable. Would you like to order another product instead or would you prefer a refund?”
It takes me a moment to digest the horror of what she’s telling me. She’s canceling my vegan turkey? She can’t do that!
“But I need a vegan turkey!” I say. “My sister’s vegan and I’ve promised her a vegan turkey for Christmas.”
“A lot of customers have opted for the mushroom risotto,” replies the woman blandly. “It contains similar ingredients and is equally festive.”
I stare at the phone, my Christmas rage rising again. What kind of travesty is this? Mushroom risotto is not equally festive.
“Why isn’t the vegan turkey available?” I say. “Because I really, really need one.”
“I can’t say, I’m afraid,” says the woman. “Was that a refund, then?”
“Do you have maybe one vegan turkey?” I say, unwilling to give up. “Like, just one, around the place, that nobody needs?”
“No,” says the woman flatly. “I’ll be refunding your card, then. Sorry for the inconvenience and have a merry Christmas.”
“Merry?” I retort, hoping she can detect my sarcasm, but she’s already gone.
My chest is rising and falling, but there’s no point feeling bitter, vengeful hatred, even though I do. I’m just starting another Google search—vegan turkey last minute available no shortage next day—when the doorbell rings and I peer out of the window. There’s a delivery van outside. Well, at least something’s arrived on schedule.
“Hello!” I say as I swing open the front door to a beaming man in white overalls.
“Good afternoon!” he returns cheerily. “I’m here with your fish.”
I stare at him blankly. Fish?
“Smoked salmon,” he clarifies, consulting his clipboard. “Bundle order. Rebecca Brandon.”
Of course. The smoked salmon from the Christmas Style Fair. I’d forgotten about that.
“Great!” I say, smiling back. “Perfect! Right in time for Christmas.”
“Absolutely! Where do you want it?” he adds, and I peer at him, a bit puzzled. Where do I want it?
“What do you mean?” I hold out my hands. “Can’t you just, you know, give it to me?”
The man shoots me an amused look. “Fifteen sides of salmon? Not likely.”
“Fifteen sides?” I echo blankly.
“Thirty pounds.” He nods. “I’ll go and get my trolley,” he adds over his shoulder as he heads back to the van. “Show me where the freezer is; I’ll load it in for you.”
I can’t quite speak. Thirty pounds? As in weight? What’s he talking about? This has to be a mistake.
Frantically, I summon up my Visa bill on my phone and scan down the entries, trying not to look too carefully (£49.99 in M&S? I so did not spend that; it must have been Luke) until I suddenly see it. Whitson Fish—£460.
I feel a bit cold. Janice spent £460 on smoked salmon?
Desperately, I try to recall her asking me all those random questions as I was chasing after the silver llama. Maybe she did say something about “thirty pounds.” But