Nuts At Christmas: A Christmas Calamity Caper: A funny, hilarious, laugh out loud, Christmas book! (The Shooting Star Series) by Simon Northouse

Author:Simon Northouse [Northouse, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flabbergasted Publishing
Published: 2020-11-06T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

The three of us retire to the safety of the recording studio with a plate of sausage rolls. I splash whisky into three glasses and hand them out.

'I'm running out of ideas, fast,' I say, as I light a cigarette and sip on my drink. Geordie is busy hoeing into the rolls at a rate of knots.

'Not a problem,' he mumbles as bits of pastry fall to the floor. 'Give Lord Cumberfutch a call and explain the situation. He may have sobered up by now. I'm sure he'll drive the car over.'

'Maybe. I don't even have his number. I'll have to look it up.'

'It will be on the business card he handed you,' he says as he rams another roll into his mouth.

I'm puzzled. 'I can't remember him handing me a business card,' I say.

'Yes, he did. When we were in the study. It was not long after you invited him for Christmas dinner tomorrow,' he replies nonchalantly.

'I WHAT?'

'Invited him for dinner.' A hazy, unwelcome recollection drifts through my mind. I shoot a glance at Robbo.

'It's true. You and he were like best pals, backslapping and complimenting each other,' Robbo adds.

'And what did he say?' I'm praying for the right answer.

'He declined.'

'Phew! Thank God for that.'

'At first,' Robbo continues. 'But you were so insistent, he finally agreed. "My home is your home, Stanley. Meet our lovely children and beautiful wives, Stanley. You'll be welcomed with open arms, Lord Cumberfutch. The more the merrier. No, of course my wife won't mind, she'll be delighted." You were like two long-lost army buddies.' My heart has dropped into my bowels.

'I'm a walking dead man. What's Fiona going to say when I tell her I've invited a complete stranger to our family dinner?'

'Use your imagination,' Geordie says, appearing oblivious to my internal anguish. 'And it won't be pretty. Anyway, don't worry about that now. We have more pressing matters, such as the presents in the boot of your bloody car.' I search my trouser pockets and pull out his Lordship's business card. I quickly tap in the numbers on my phone.

'Hello, Stanley Cumberfutch speaking.'

'Stanley, it's Will Harding, here.'

'Will Harding?'

'Yes. I was round at your gaff this afternoon, drinking brandy with you. The Christmas tree saga?'

'Ah! Will, how are you? Did you get home safely?'

'Yes, thanks. We have a bit of a dilemma, though. The car we left in your driveway has all the kids' presents in the boot.'

'Oh, I see your problem. I'd love to help you out and drop the car off for you, but regrettably, I got rather a taste for the peach brandy and I'd be way over the limit. Are any of you sober enough to drive out here?'

'No. We would have been sober by now if it hadn't been for someone's insistence we have a refreshing ale to gird our loins. Unfortunately, that opened the floodgates again,' I explain, glaring at Geordie, who has devoured the last of the sausage rolls. Greedy get!

'Hmm… let me think.

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