The Christmas Cupid by Jennifer Joyce

Author:Jennifer Joyce [Joyce, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-08-16T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

11th December

The bus is late, jam-packed, and at a temperature nearing that of the sun. The windows are completely fogged up, but they’re not much use to me anyway when I’m standing in the middle of the aisle, crushed between a very tall, extremely broad-shouldered bloke and a woman in a fake fur coat that doubles her width, and my only views are armpits, coat lapels and the brown synthetic fur that keeps tickling my nose every time the bus sends me lurching forward. There’s a kid screaming somewhere towards the back of the bus, which would be annoying if I wasn’t desperate to throw my head back and join in the howling.

It’s Saturday morning, around fifteen hours since I made the connection between The Bake House branding and the stunning girl I saw Scott with on Christmas Eve – and I’ve thought of nothing else since. Scott probably already knows the girl he’s going to replace me with in nanoseconds of our break up, and I can see – in sickening technicolour – how it will all play out: Scott will lumber into The Bake House, looking suitably miserable after the termination of his three-year relationship. Red-eyed, shoulders slouched, chin down. Maybe even on the verge of tears.

‘OMG, Scott.’ (The girl looked the sort who would actually say ‘OMG’.) ‘You look terrible. What’s happened?’

And he’ll tell her everything; how I’m such a rubbish girlfriend I can’t even remember to iron his shirt for his work night out, how I nag him about silly little things – teabags being left on the worktop, his collection of mugs on the bedside table that are starting to grow new life forms, that kind of thing – and she’ll listen intently, her face solemn, her hand resting lightly on his knee as the sorry tale comes spilling out. They’ve moved out of the shop by now, and are sitting in some sort of room at the back, where there are chairs placed conveniently close together. The Bake House Girl has brought cakes through with her to cheer Scott up even though his appetite has completely vanished and he can’t imagine putting the red velvet cupcake anywhere near his mouth. She’ll inch forward, the pressure of her hand on his knee increasing just enough, and she’ll sigh and say, ‘Oh, Scott. You poor baby.’ (She looked like the kind of person who could say ‘poor baby’ without sounding like a complete dork.) ‘Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?’

And if that isn’t an invitation for some really, really dirty sex, I don’t know what is.

The bus turns sharply and I stumble (as much as I can in the tiny amount of space I have) and end up with my nose stuffed into the fake animal pelt.

‘Sorry.’ I mumble my apology while trying to ward off a sneeze with the back of my hand. I didn’t sleep at all last night. Firstly, because I was waiting for Scott to come

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