All I Want Series Boxset, Books 1-3: All I Want for Christmas, All I Want for Valentine's, All I Want for Spring (7 page)

Neither one of us spoke.

Then Nicola broke the silence. “It’s good to see you again, Victoria.”

Victoria. Nobody called me that apart from my mum. And of course, Nicola. She’d once told me she loved the name and to shorten it would be a crime, so Victoria it was. When it came out of my mum’s mouth, I hated it. But when it came out of her mouth — it still made me wilt. It had back then, and it did now. She was smiling at me again now, but I couldn’t read her expression. Did Nicola have any regrets? I would love to have known.

I pressed the green button so that Nicola had my number, then when the call connected, I handed back her phone.

She gave me a small salute. “See you soon.”

Then she sprinted back to her vehicle, cracked the engine and ploughed back into the London morning traffic.

I watched her go and managed not to wave in a pathetic fashion.

I tried not to believe in fate and destiny, but sometimes, it had a way of making you sit up and take notice.

***

“Nicola Sheen is a firefighter? You’re kidding me!”

Holly was cooking dinner for us — fish tacos, which was one of my favourites from her repertoire. She was hunched over the frying pan as usual, her long, lean frame dealing with life from a high vantage point.

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter as I grinned at her. “I was as surprised as you when she jumped off the fire engine, believe me.” I paused. “Meanwhile, Maureen was less than pleased with me.”

Holly cleared her throat. “I can’t say I blame her.” She moved the cod around the pan, before adding the seasoning mix. “So I take it you were cool, calm and collected and didn’t blush like a school girl?” She didn’t look over to see my reaction.

“I was as a matter of fact, cool as a cucumber. She told me off, we had a chat about how I should eat porridge and then she went on her way. End of story.” Holly didn’t need to know all the facts, she’d just disapprove. She’s not so hot on fate or destiny.

Holly turned her head. “Really? You didn’t ask her if she still loves you like you love her?”

I wafted a hand nonchalantly through the air. “Nope. I was the picture of maturity. Well, as mature as you can be after you’ve burnt toast and managed to evacuate your building.”

Holly glanced my way as she cooked, and I could see she was wondering whether to believe me, and also how far she should probe.

“Well good, if that’s the case,” she said, slotting the tacos in the hot oven. “I’m proud of you.” She turned and looked me in the eye, a hint of something I couldn’t quite place held in her gaze. “Maybe you were listening to me the other day.” She paused. “Although, I can’t see how you managed to contain yourself. Especially if she was in her fire gear — you’re gaga for a woman in uniform at the best of times.”

I rummaged in the cutlery drawer to set the table. “Who isn’t? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be interested if your first love strode out of a fire truck and into your life?”

Holly tilted her head and grinned. “I guess it would have a certain
je ne sais quoi
.” She paused. “A hot firefighter turning up at my work would have been very welcome today. A little light relief from the stresses of modern life.”

“Who was it who was lecturing me on love the other day? Perhaps you need to start a little fire at your work and see who turns up.”

“If it’s Nicola Sheen, that would be
way
too complex,” she said, laughing. “Besides, I heard a rumour she’s engaged.”

I swiped at Holly with a tea towel. “Ha ha — you know what I mean. You need to be ready for love when it comes along and that might be tomorrow. Romance and self-help books make me open to it.” I pointed to my chest. “When love comes knocking, I’m going to have the flat ship-shape, I’ll have flossed and my hair will be perfect. I’m going to be ready.”

Holly turned off the pan, lifted the fish on to a plate and squeezed lime juice over the top. “I’ll be perfectly ready, thanks.” She didn’t look up. “And I won’t be the one searching through my pile of exes for someone to love.” She retrieved the taco shells and carried the tomatoes, lettuce and guacamole to our small dining table, pushed up against the left wall of our lounge.

I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and followed her to the table.

“But I’m not going to argue with you now — not after I’ve cooked this lovely dinner. In the meantime, while you’re dusting off and updating your Nicola Sheen fantasies, what’s in store for the rest of this week? Any more dates in the pipeline?” Holly bit into her taco and the crunch may well have been heard in Yorkshire.

“I do. Tomorrow I have Jenny, an Australian web designer. And then on Thursday, I have a woman called Spanish_Vixen89. I’m holding out high hopes for her.”

Holly nodded, swallowing her food before replying. “She sounds like she might be a sultry Mediterranean lady. Or she sounds like she might be 89.”

“I’ve seen her picture, so I’m assuming she was born in 1989.”

“And if she turns out to be 89?”

“Then she’s looking really good and it makes a fantastic story to tell. Plus, don’t be so ageist — she might be absolutely lovely.” I crunched into my tacos and savoured the flavours — fish, lime, coriander, avocado and spices — they were delicious. Holly was going to make someone a perfect wife. “So you see, I’m getting on with life and I am not at all focused on Nicola Sheen who is marrying Melanie Taylor. In fact, I couldn’t be happier for them.”

Holly nodded her head slowly. “If you say it enough times, you might actually believe it.”

I stuck out my tongue at her.

“So, I have a question.” Holly was holding up one finger to demonstrate that fact.

“Shoot,” I replied, licking my bottom lip to rescue some stray guacamole.

“What happens if you hit it off with both Jenny
and
Spanish Vixen? How will you choose?”

I chewed my mouthful and wrinkled my nose. “I’ll worry about that when it happens. If it does, it would be a miracle.”

Holly laughed. “And did you get the Dixie Chicks tickets in all the excitement you had at work?” Her face told me she had absolutely zero faith I’d remembered to do it.

I nodded. “I did — two tickets booked. You shall go to the ball.”

Holly gave me a dazzling grin, showing off her seriously perfect teeth. “This is going to be the best Christmas run-up ever — Dixie Chicks playing so close to my birthday. I cannot wait!”

CHAPTER 9

Tuesday December 6th

I wasn’t messing Holly around — I was still on a quest for a Christmas girlfriend. And to prove it, tonight I was turning my attention to Jenny, who was not from the block, but rather from West London.

Jenny was a web designer in a corporate bank, but apart from that, she fitted the Aussie label to a tee. She had smooth, treacle-toned skin that went on for days, freckles across her nose and shoulder-length fair hair that was conditioned to within an inch of its life — I didn’t spot one solitary split end. Her sentences still went up at the end even though she’d lived in London for three years, and she had a habit of shortening words, Aussie style. Afternoon became arvo, ambulance became ambo. It was an endearing quality that made me smile.

We met near Liverpool Street at a pop-up food park — one of those London peculiarities that people from outside the city would scoff at. A disused car park, it was now stuffed with food trucks, drinks stands and punters, with hundreds of multi-coloured Christmas lights strung all around, along with an abundance of metal umbrella heaters to ward off the cold. We stood near a burrito van with our mugs of mulled cider, our breath writing messages in the air around us. The speakers were blaring out a procession of Christmas hits, currently a personal favourite, The Pogues And Kirsty MacColl’s ‘Fairytale Of New York’. I sung the last chorus out loud, swaying my cider back and forth.

“You’ve got a good voice,” Jenny said.

I smiled modestly. “Thanks.” Ten points to Jenny.

“Have you been on many dates through the app?” She shivered as she spoke, which I found cute. I’ve no idea why she was shivering though as she appeared to be dressed in what I can only describe as a duvet — her coat honestly seemed to be 100-tog all the way around.

“A few,” I said. “But this is definitely the most Christmassy one yet. I mean, Santa statues, Christmas tunes and fake snow. You could almost forget you were in a car park in London and believe you were in Lapland, couldn’t you?”

Jenny laughed. “Very nearly.” She paused, looking around. “I still love this though, you know? The Christmas lights, the cold, the snow — even if it is fake. That’s what drew me to your ad — the Christmas theme.”

I smiled. “I’m glad. Christmas has always been my favourite time of year, hands down.” An image of my dad in a Santa hat popped into my head. I pushed it away. 

“I love Christmas in Oz too, with the barbies on the beach in your shorts and thongs,” Jenny added. “But Christmas as depicted in all the films and songs is cold, so it’s great to experience it. When I go back to Oz, I plan to buy some fake snow.”

“Do you have plans to move back soon?”

She nodded. “Not imminent, but I only have a five-year visa. So it’s going to be in the next couple of years.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Unless I find a gorgeous English wife to persuade me otherwise, of course. I’m open to offers.”

Jenny gave me a lazy smile, and then before I could think of an appropriate riposte, she kissed me. Her lips were moist and she tasted of alcoholic apples and cinnamon.

When she pulled away a few seconds later, I opened my eyes, surprise radiating from them. I’d only had one drink but the car park spun with possibility. I grinned. “That’s what I like about Aussies — never shy about coming forward.”

She licked her lips, then dropped her gaze to my lips once more before replying. “I always figure if you find someone you like, you shouldn’t leave it ambiguous, or wait till you’re both too drunk to remember. You should let them know straight off the bat — no messing. And I like you, you’re cute. Plus, you’re very English, and I
love
English.”

My smile grew wider. “Is that right?” I replied. “Well I couldn’t be more English if I tried, so you’re in luck!” I skipped over my dad’s Spanish roots for the purpose of story-telling for tonight. My mum was from Croydon, so I was sure that tipped the balance.

I poured the contents of my mug down my throat and held it up. “You want some more?” I asked.

Jenny smirked at me before pressing her lips to mine once more. I could get used to this.

After a few seconds she pulled back, her breath still on my face, her eyelids fluttering wildly.

“Yes, please,” she replied.

I’d never heard a woman purr before, but there was a first time for everything. 

***

After drinks and an incredible burrito from the food truck of the moment, we’d decamped to the outdoor pop-up disco nextdoor, bumping and grinding in our coats and hats, breath circling above us, mulled cider cooling in our mugs. The air was rich with the smell of hot, sugary drinks and pine ferns, and we were on a magical Christmas journey that ended with a Tube back to Jenny’s place.

We re-emerged to street level just after 10.30pm, the night air holding an extra chill now. Jenny’s house was only five minutes’ walk away, but it wasn’t until we got inside that I realised how much she was living the Aussie London dream, sharing the house with nine other people.

Our magical Christmas date bubble burst with a loud bang when we walked into the lounge and found a slew of bodies on the sofas and floor watching
The Big Bang Theory
. The room smelt of cheap deodorant and beer.

“Hey everyone — this is Tori.” Jenny twirled me around as if she’d just bought me in a shop.

There was a general murmur of hello from the group.

“Okay, see ya later!”

Jenny took my hand once more and led me into the kitchen, which reminded me of student days gone by. The counters were stacked with dirty dishes, the sink full too, and overhead, an old-fashioned washing line was full of someone’s off-white underwear. I wasn’t sure the kitchen was the best place to be drying laundry.

Jenny, however, took it all in her stride. “Hazards of living with so many people!”

She smiled, handed me a glass of water and led me up two flights of stairs to her room, which was compact to say the least. Squeezed into the space was her unmade double bed shoved against a wall, an Ikea wardrobe and a small desk which was overflowing with empty water bottles and jewellery — rings, necklaces and bracelets. Plus, lying on the small slice of floor running down the right of her double bed was a pink sleeping bag, scrunched up and lying on top of a yoga mat.

I pointed towards it. “You expecting company?”

She nodded. “Yeah — my friend Edie is staying at the moment. She’s over from Sydney for a month, but we’ve got too many people in the lounge so she’s taking my floor.” Jenny paused, then kissed me again. Her lips were dry. “Don’t worry though,” she added. “Edie knows the score, so she won’t disturb us. If I bring someone back, she knows to give me some space.”

Thump — another blow to my ego. I was just another in a long line of Jenny hook-ups. Even Edie was in on the secret, and she’d been here less than a month. I’d fallen for Jenny’s lines and now here I was, about to have sex with her. Or I could leave.
Should I leave?
Then again, Jenny was attractive and I’d always been taught never to look a gift horse in the mouth. I wasn’t about to start now.

It turned out that Jenny was a one-woman sexual whirlwind — she hadn’t waited to kiss me, and she didn’t stand on ceremony in the bedroom either. Within minutes, my shirt was off and she was sucking my breasts between her teeth, her hands roaming my back. This was a well-rehearsed routine. Another five minutes and I was naked, lying flat on my back on her bed, Jenny looming above me. Her hair fell on to my breasts and all this without shedding a single stitch of clothing. Jenny was
such
a top.