Louisa stared back at me, a challenge in her eyes that I knew well. When you’d been bickering with someone for the best part of thirty years, you got to know their ‘you’re not the boss of me’ expression. But I wasn’t backing down. Instead, I countered with my hands stuck to my hips, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. Rather than say anything, Lou raised the cigarette to her lips and took a drag. She then erupted into an epic coughing fit and threw the cigarette onto the floor while she doubled over. I stamped out the amber tip and placed a hand on her back, rubbing gently and shaking my head. The other smokers looked over for a moment before deciding they were far more interesting than us and turning back to their conversation.
‘Nicely done,’ I commented once Lou had her breath back. ‘Very sexy. You should definitely take up smoking as your new hobby.’
‘Oh, piss off,’ she replied, catching her breath. ‘That tastes like shit. Why do people do it?’
‘Why don’t I go and get us a drink and you can sit there and think about the answer to that question?’ I suggested. ‘You silly cow.’
A couple of minutes later, I was back with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. I really couldn’t cope going up and down in these shoes and there was no way I was taking them off outside – patio heaters or no patio heaters, it was still bloody December.
‘Before you start,’ Louisa said, holding out her glass as I filled it up to the brim. ‘I wasn’t doing anything, I was just talking to him. And I took my rings off because I didn’t want to spend the night explaining to people why my husband isn’t here.’
‘Couldn’t you just lie?’ I asked, topping off my own glass.
‘Ooh, that sounds like fun,’ she replied with a stern look.
‘Fair enough. I’ll give you that this isn’t an ideal situation.’
She sipped her champagne, shaking her head.
‘But you are going to have to deal with it sooner or later.’
Louisa sighed, looked up at the sky, an inky black smudged with hazy greys and yellows from the nearby skyscrapers of downtown.
‘Can it be later?’ she asked. ‘Or at least tomorrow?’
I looked at my friend and saw the sadness in her eyes. She looked frustrated and tired.
‘I just don’t know what to do,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t think any of us do,’ I replied. ‘Ever.’
‘In that case,’ she raised her glass and took a deep breath, pasting a smile on her face, ‘there’s only one thing to do. Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ I replied with a smile. ‘And merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ she said with a grin. ‘Let’s show these people how we do a party.’
It was difficult to say exactly how or when the party stopped being a civilised get-together and became a sixth form piss-up of epic proportions but I do know things escalated very quickly. One minute the main reception room was full of grown-ups talking about their holiday plans, their 401ks and assorted other topics I couldn’t even start to follow. The next, Jenny had stormed the liquor cabinet and was playing shot girl, encouraging the head of mergers and acquisitions at Merryll Lynch to do a body show from the coffee table and Louisa had found the stereo, replacing the delightful Bing Crosby CD with
Now That’s What I Call Christmas
. Most importantly, after two shots of tequila, my feet didn’t hurt anymore and that was in itself a Christmas miracle. Douchenozzle took a shot and started the dancing, tossing his tie across the room and even Sadie stood on the side of the makeshift dance floor and swung her hips moodily, entirely out of time with the music. I figured it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t grown up listening to Noddy Holder screaming ‘It’s Christmas!’, she didn’t understand.
‘Ange, babe, I’m so happy.’ Louisa bopped over to me, her blonde hair tied up in a quick ponytail on top of her head. She flung her arms round my neck and began to spin me around in a circle. ‘This is awesome. Totally what I needed.’
‘Me too,’ I shouted over the music. Alex was in the corner, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, playing DJ with my iPod. ‘I’m having the best time.’
‘This is what Christmas should be,’ she called back. ‘Just friends and fun and not stressing out about stuff.’
‘Who’s stressing?’ Jenny jumped into the middle of our dance hug, sending us all into shrieks and squeals. ‘Hey ladies!’
‘Angela’s stressed about everything,’ Louisa slurred, still shimmying from side to side. ‘And I’m stressed about Tim. Except I’m not because I’m dancing.’
‘So, you don’t be stressed about Tim and you don’t be stressed about everything,’ Jenny declared, a bottle of Patron in her hand. ‘S’totally cool. This is what we’ll do Christmas Day. It’ll be awesome.’
‘But my mum,’ I whined, feeling and sounding just like a teenager. ‘I totally can’t cope with her coming out.’
‘Gimme your phone.’ Jenny took a swig from the bottle and then placed it behind her on a table that didn’t exist. Ignoring the thud as the empty bottle hit the carpet, she made beckoning motions with her hands, demanding my phone. Pawing through my evening bag, I pulled out the phone and handed it over. ‘Ew, Angie,’ she wrinkled her adorable nose at my ancient technology. ‘OK, so you just call and you say …’
She scatter-tapped the screen of my phone before holding it to her ear, twirling a curl around her index finger.
‘Hey, Mom and Dad, this is Angela. I’m really, really freaking out about everything ever right now because, like, I have shit going on, you know? I have a job and I’m moving house and I have to get Jenny an awesome Christmas gift for being so awesome, so you can’t come over for the holidays. So don’t come. OK, I love you. Bye!’ she tossed the phone back in my handbag and snapped it shut with a flourish. ‘And that’s how we deal with parents.’
‘Oh my God.’ Louisa was doubled over again but this time with laughter. ‘I so want to be there when you make that call to your parents.’
‘So this is where the party’s at?’
‘James!’ Throwing my bag onto the sofa behind me, I ran across the room and leapt into James Jacobs’ arms. ‘You came!’
‘You texted me and told me to,’ he replied. ‘You know I always do as I’m told.’
‘Did you get the job?’ I asked as he swung me around in a tight circle. ‘Did you?’
‘I got the job!’ he sang at the top of his lungs. ‘Are you excited?’
I had no words and so instead I hugged him so tightly he began to choke. So I let go.
‘Where’s the hostess?’ James coughed. ‘I should say hello.’
‘Of course. Erin, where are you?’ I slithered out of James’s arms until I was on the floor, clutching his hand tightly in mine and pulling him across the room. But it seemed that the party had been all too much for the host. Erin was curled up on the sofa, seemingly fast asleep, my beaded evening bag resting against her legs where it had landed. ‘It’s OK, isn’t it Erin? I invited James.’
‘The more the merrier,’ she whispered. She looked genuinely peaceful and entirely at rest. Motherhood truly was a miracle. ‘Hi, James.’
‘Hi.’ He raised a hand but she was asleep again, or at least pretending to be. It was understandable that he might be confused about what was going on. Before he made it into our private party, James had come through at least two rooms full of bankers, stockbrokers and women who hadn’t danced since their first facelift. The rest of the original guest list was nearly as into the revised agenda for Erin’s tree trimming as the rest of us. But perplexed as he might be, when we hugged again, I detected a distinct whiff of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath and so it didn’t take him long to get into the party spirit.
‘We should take Gracie home soon,’ Louisa hiccupped as we all pogoed to Cliff Richard. ‘I am so drunk, it’s disgusting.’
‘Alex is sober, he’ll look after us,’ I replied, pointing over to his DIY DJ booth, or rather where Jenny had fenced him in behind three dining chairs. ‘And he’s totally obsessed with your baby. Not in a Jimmy Savile way, though.’
‘I know, he loves her,’ Louisa shouted back. ‘He wants you to have a baby.’
‘I know,’ I panted. I could not stop bouncing or, I was quite sure, my feet would fall off. ‘Eurgh.’
‘Slow dance,’ Jenny screeched, leaning over one of the dining chairs and pawing at the iPod, shoving Alex out of the way. Too sober for his own good, Alex held his hands up and stepped away. ‘We need a slow dance.’
‘Fine,’ he said, clearly miffed. ‘But it totally doesn’t fit with the rest of the set.’
It was heartwarming to know he was even a super muso nerd when it came to DJing for a bunch of drunk girls in a living room dance party, no matter how fancy that living room might be. But there was no time to feel that sorry for him as the music started up.
‘Now, I’ve … had …’ Jenny took to the middle of the floor and pressed her hands to her heart, making sure we all knew just how much she was feeling the music. ‘… the time of my liiiiiife.’
‘Oh.’ Erin suddenly opened her eyes and perked up. ‘
Dirty Dancing
?’
It was only when she was upright that I realised she was wearing a Santa hat. I wondered whether or not I’d put that on her. In true end-of-sixth-form-disco style, the girls and their gay gathered in a group hug, ambling around the room, singing every word straight into each other’s faces. It was reassuring to know that some things translated. No matter where I might find myself, no one ever put baby in a corner.
‘Do the lift!’ Jenny shouted as James began to strut up and down the room, plucking the Santa hat from Erin’s head and giving it his best Johnny Castle. ‘Do the lift!’
‘Yeah!’ I was hopeless when it came to mob mentality. ‘Do the lift!’
‘No, Angie, you do the lift,’ Jenny explained with a sigh. ‘Jesus, woman.’
‘Oh no.’ I shook my head, padding my feet up and down, fighting off the burn that had returned now I’d stopped running around like a mad woman. ‘I can’t do the lift.’
‘Do the lift.’ Jenny, Erin, Louisa, Sadie, Douchnozzle and some random woman I’d never seen before in my life all stood behind James, chanting and clapping ‘Do the lift.’
‘Even Baby didn’t do the lift,’ I yelled as they made room. James bent down and prepared himself. ‘I’m not that bloody heavy,’ I muttered as he flexed his knees.
I looked around, waiting for Alex to rush in and stop me, to save me somehow. But instead, he was leaning against one of the dining chairs, clapping along with the others. This was definitely something I was saving for any future divorce papers.
‘But I don’t want to,’ I wailed, even as I tottered across the room to make enough space for my run. ‘Seriously.’
‘Do the goddamn lift!’ Jenny screamed.
Before I could second-guess myself, I focused my eyes on James and started to run across the plush carpeting of the West Village townhouse. Seconds later, I felt myself soaring up into the air, high over the handsome head of my six-foot-something buddy, arms aloft.
‘I’m flying, Jack!’ I shouted, ecstatically happy.
‘Wrong movie,’ Louisa replied. ‘You amazing, daft mare.’
‘Ready to come down?’ James asked as the room exploded into applause. ‘My arms are killing me.’
‘Yes, please,’ I nodded, slightly out of breath and gazing at the top of the Christmas tree. Eye to eye with the angel, I gave her a wink and silently apologised for judging her tree earlier in the evening. It was a beautiful tree, magnificent even. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real, it was still awesome.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Angela Clark.’ James placed me carefully on the floor as the song came to an end and held my arm aloft, victorious. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t drop you.’
‘I can’t believe I didn’t fall over,’ I said, rubbing his back. ‘Amazing.’
I wasn’t quite sure how but it seemed that someone had replaced my shoes with stilts while I was up in the air. As soon as James let go of my arm, I felt my ankles give way. Reaching forwards, I stumbled backwards, falling arse first into the Christmas tree. For a second, I thought it was all over, that my epic spill was karmic punishment enough for the lift going so well, but no, the universe wasn’t quite done with me yet. The branches of the tree gathered around me, obscuring the frozen faces of my friends as the tree wavered, swaying from side to side for a moment before settling upright again. And then promptly collapsing on top of me. For the first time that evening, I was actually happy that Erin had opted for a piece of plastic crap that might leave a bruise rather than send me to the hospital. There was nothing Christmassy about a coma.
‘Um, is anyone out there?’ I called, waving one useless leg at the assembled masses. ‘Alex? Help?’
‘Well, I guess you will need to come over and help decorate it now,’ Erin said as my tinsel blinkers were lifted and Jenny and Louisa dragged me out from underneath the tree. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I assured her, struggling to my knees and then my feet. Before promptly falling right back onto my arse.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ James sighed. I spun my entire body round to see him and Alex holding the tree in the air. ‘I say we just leave her under it until New Year’s.’
Lying back, I closed my eyes and waited for someone to hoist me upright. It wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever heard.
It was safe to say, the following morning was not my finest. It had been months since I’d had a genuine hangover in the office and now I was on my second inside a week. Unfortunately, this was not an area where experience made things easier. This hangover made the last one feel like I’d been for a spa treatment. We had left the party (to be entirely accurate, I had been carried out of the party over James’s shoulder, while Jenny propped Louisa up and Alex took care of the actual baby amongst us) and I had spent most of the evening throwing up tequila while Alex held back my hair and fed me Advil and dry toast. When my alarm went off at seven a.m., I seriously considered actually chopping off my own legs rather than getting up to go to work but instead I threw up once more, downed a strong, black coffee and called a cab.
‘Hey, boss!’
Standing outside my office door, Starbucks in hand and a smile on her face, still, was Cici.
‘I can’t,’ I croaked, my throat sore from all the attractive puking. ‘Not today. I just can’t.’