Feeling dazed, I slammed my hand down on the alarm clock, but it didn’t make the noise stop. It took a few more seconds for my brain to work out that it wasn’t a weekday morning and the cacophony I was being subjected to was coming from my phone, not my bedside clock. Groaning, I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to drift off again, but it was no good. Nell was pawing at the duvet, needing to go out and I was awake just enough to register that my head was pounding.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ I groaned, catching sight of myself in the wardrobe mirror as I pulled on my dressing gown and shuffled to the bathroom.
My hair was absolutely wild and I had no idea what I was going to do to tame it. I was supposed to be helping Poppy and Mark with their Winterfest session, but there was no way I’d be able to do that with the unruly mop on my head. I was a health and safety nightmare and I would need to sort it before I could go anywhere near the Prosperous Place kitchen.
‘Come on then,’ I said to Nell, letting her down the stairs ahead of me, for fear of tripping over her.
I let her into the garden, checked over the plants from Broad-Meadows which were thriving in the porch, flicked on the kettle (the boiling of which was an assault on my eardrums), rammed bread into the toaster and swallowed down two painkillers.
Accusingly, I stared at the empty bottle of champagne which was the cause of my hangover, but then I remembered kissing Finn and some of the pain in my skull receded and the heavy weight of my hair lifted a little. I wondered if he was feeling as rough as I was? Probably not, given the size of him and certainly not yet, because he didn’t have a Nell to tend to and was doubtless still asleep.
I could hear my phone ringing upstairs again and knew it would be Mum. Rather than rush to answer it, I forced down a few mouthfuls of toast to stave off the nausea and waited for her to call again.
‘Morning, Mum,’ I said brightly, determined not to give her even the merest hint that anything was amiss when she rang the third time. ‘How are you?’
‘It’s Peter, actually and I’m really, really good.’
‘Peter,’ I laughed, reminding myself that checking caller ID was never a bad idea. ‘You sound very merry.’
‘I’m a little tipsy,’ he hiccupped.
I checked the clock on the wall.
‘At six in the evening? Have I got the time difference, right?’
‘You have,’ he told me and I could image him woozily nodding, ‘we had a very long lunch and we’re celebrating.’
‘Celebrating what exactly?’
‘I asked Rebecca to marry me and she said yes! She was the beautiful woman I was wining and dining when you called me before, remember?’
‘That’s fantastic news,’ I smiled, hoping I hadn’t interrupted more than just a meal out. It would have been awful if he had been gearing up to propose then and was halted by a call from an ex. ‘Congratulations to you both. I’m truly thrilled for you.’
‘You will come out for the wedding, won’t you?’
‘I’ll try my best,’ I promised. ‘Where’s Rebecca now?’
‘She’s phoning her parents. I told mine a little while ago.’
I was flattered that I featured so high up on his list of folk to call.
‘And what about you?’ he asked. ‘Any joy with that Finn fella?’
‘Lots,’ I grinned, thinking of the evening before.
‘Oh, really?’ said Peter, sounding deservedly smug. ‘So, I was right then?’
‘As it turns out.’
‘I knew it!’
‘I know you did,’ I said, shaking my head and regretting it, ‘now, go and find your fiancée. We’ll chat again soon, okay?’
‘All right,’ he agreed.
‘Congratulations,’ I said again, but the tipsy fool had already hung up.
I had barely put the phone down before it buzzed again. This time I checked and it was Mum.
‘Morning, Mum,’ I said, feeling genuinely brighter than before, buoyed up as I was by Peter’s wonderful news. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Freya,’ she said, ‘but what’s wrong with you? You sound all croaky?’
‘I’ve had a cold,’ I told her, amused that Peter hadn’t noticed and grateful that she was miles away and couldn’t see my hungover state. ‘It’s almost gone now,’ I sniffed to prove the point, as I rifled through my drawer of hair accessories. ‘I’ve just been left with a bit of a croak. How are things with you and Dad?’
‘Busy,’ she said, just as I knew she would.
She and Dad were always busy.
‘And I have news,’ she added.
‘If it’s about Jackson and Broad-Meadows, I don’t want to hear it,’ I interrupted.
‘There’s no need to be rude,’ Mum tutted. ‘I do have news about Broad-Meadows, and lots of it, because you wouldn’t let me tell you the last time we spoke, but I’m actually calling about Peter.’
‘Peter,’ I repeated, trying to keep the smile out of my voice, because I already knew what she was going to say.
‘It’s a bit delicate,’ Mum carried on, ‘especially if you still have feelings for him. You don’t, do you, darling?’
‘Not the sort you’re implying,’ I said. ‘And you know I never did. I thought we’d established that a long time ago.’
‘Well, as long as you really mean it and you aren’t just saying it,’ she went on, making me bristle a little, ‘then that’s something I suppose.’
‘Oh, just spit it out, Mum, for heaven’s sake,’ I goaded, spurred on by the bedside clock which seemed to have fast-forwarded at least half an hour.
‘He’s engaged.’
She accompanied the two words with a sigh of such magnitude that she must have sucked in every last drop of air in her orbit in order to release it so dramatically.
‘Well, that’s wonderful news,’ I said happily.
I had no intention of telling her that I already knew. Had in fact heard the words from the man himself, because that would only lead to a barrage of questions.
‘If you say so.’
‘Of course, I say so,’ I said, with a very genuine smile, ‘I’m absolutely delighted for him. Do you know his fiancée’s name? I’ll have to send a card.’
‘It’s Rebecca,’ Mum said airily. ‘No idea what her last name is. Peter’s parents called earlier with the news, but they didn’t say who she was. She’s no one significant, I’m sure.’
‘Well,’ I said, bristling again, ‘she’s pretty significant to Peter, isn’t she? Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her to marry him. And that’s all that matters.’
‘I suppose.’
I was quiet for a moment, imagining Peter happy and drunk in New Zealand and my pounding head stilled a little. I wasn’t sure if it was the painkillers kicking in, or if I was still drunk too – on love, that is – but whatever it was, I was happy for him and for me. The year was going to end on a high for both of us. If someone had told me that just a few months ago, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Unfortunately, Mum misconstrued my momentary quiet for disappointment.
‘Oh, you are upset,’ she sympathised. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
Her voice drifted away and I knew she was saying something to Dad who, as always during these Sunday morning calls, was lingering in the background.
‘Freya?’ came his voice.
He sounded concerned and I daresay Mum had told him I’d collapsed and was having a crisis.
‘Hey, Dad,’ I smiled, ‘I’m guessing Mum’s—’
‘We’ve just put you on speakerphone,’ he cut in, saving my blushes. ‘We’re sorry about, Peter,’ he carried on.
‘Well, don’t be,’ I said, my mind full of Finn, ‘because I’m not. I’m happy for him. Truly delighted.’
If Peter was as love-struck as I was, then he was feeling very content indeed and I couldn’t have wished the feeling on a lovelier bloke. We might not have been right for each other, but I was genuinely thrilled that he had found the right fit with Rebecca.
‘That’s good then,’ said Dad, sounding relieved. ‘And don’t you worry, you’ll find someone. You won’t be on your own forever.’
‘I’ll tell her about Jackson’s plans,’ I heard Mum loudly whisper, ‘that might help.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said, then, in a desperate bid to put her off, blurted out, ‘but actually, I’m not on my own. I have found someone.’
Mum shrieked and there was scuffling as she unnecessarily took back control of the handset.
‘What was that, Freya?’ she pounced. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I said, I’ve met someone,’ I smiled. ‘I’m in a relationship, Mum. A wonderful one with a man I’m very much in love with.’
I knew I should have mentioned that to Finn before my parents but, bursting with bonhomie for Peter, I wanted to shout about my own feelings. That said, I knew I was going to regret shouting them to Mum because she was bound to keep pestering me for details.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘that’s lovely news.’
She didn’t make it sound like it was lovely news.
‘So, when do we get to meet this man you’re so besotted with?’
That wouldn’t be happening any time soon.
‘Will he be at the Winter Garden opening?’
I’d forgotten she and Dad were coming to that.
‘No,’ I lied, crossing my fingers, ‘he’s nothing to do with the garden.’
‘Is he not?’
‘No,’ I lied again as my head started to thump. ‘Look, Mum, I’m ever so sorry to cut you off, but I’m working today, so—’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘Yes, with a Winterfest event in Prosperous Place so I need to get ready.’
‘But I haven’t told you about Broad-Meadows yet,’ she said, sounding disappointed.
‘You know I don’t want to hear about Broad-Meadows,’ I tersely reminded her. ‘But I do need to get on. We’ll speak again soon.’
And with Dad shouting goodbye in the background, I ended the call.
Channelling Helena Bonham Carter circa 1985, I managed to pin my hair into submission, settle Nell and arrive at Prosperous Place just as Poppy and Mark were welcoming everyone to a day of ‘seasonal and fulfilling foodie heaven’.
‘You all right?’ Poppy asked as I helped distribute the ingredients which were going to be transformed into her chuck-it-all-in chutney.
I had felt fine, out in the fresh bracing air, but the vinegary tang which was already filling the kitchen, made my stomach roll a little.
‘You do look a bit peaky,’ Mark chimed in, arching an eyebrow from his side of the table.
‘I’m all right,’ I told them both.
‘Saturday-night hangover,’ they said together, with a little chuckle.
‘How do you know that?’ I tutted, knowing denial was futile.
‘You’re displaying all the classic signs,’ quipped Mark, clearly delighted that his and Poppy’s observation skills were up to scratch. ‘This vinegar must be playing havoc with—’
‘Don’t,’ I swallowed, cutting him off.
‘Funnily enough,’ Poppy carried on where Mark had left off, ‘I saw Finn earlier and he was looking a little green around the gills too. Coincidence?’
‘Must be,’ I sniffed.
‘Talk of the devil,’ said Mark, with a nod to the door.
‘Finn,’ I sighed, his name escaping my lips before I could stop it. ‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I told the terrible two as Finn beckoned me over.
‘Take your time,’ they said, again in perfect synchronicity.
Finn reached for my hand and led me back into the corridor next to the kitchen.
‘I had a great time last night,’ he said, pulling me gently into his arms, once he’d checked there was no one else around.
‘Me too,’ I said, laying my head against his broad chest and feeling thrilled that, thanks to a timely intervention, some secret sharing and a hefty dollop of honesty our relationship had been totally transformed. ‘Did we only drink one bottle of fizz, though?’ I asked, looking up at him, ‘because I’ve got one hell of a hangover this morning.’
‘We did,’ he laughed, the sound resonating through his chest, ‘and I’m feeling it a bit too.’
Given the size of him, that was a surprise. I had assumed his physical bulk would have made him immune to the thumping head and churning tummy I was enduring.
‘Which is not what I need today,’ he added. ‘I’ve got to be on top form.’
‘Why? What have you got planned?’
‘Sunday dinner with the family.’
‘You’re going back?’
The last I’d heard; he had sworn off Sundays with the family for good.
‘Yep,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks. ‘Zak’s talked me into it. But I’ve told him, if Dad even hints that he’s starting on me, then I’m out of there.’
‘Well, good luck,’ I smiled, reaching up to kiss him and hoping that Zak’s personality change would ensure he’d take Finn’s side if there was any trouble. ‘I’ve had my weekly dose of family this morning. Trying to find the right thing to say to Mum is exhausting!’
‘Poor you,’ he said, kissing me back. ‘Did you hit on the right thing to say?’
Given that he was already stressed about the prospect of dinner with his dad, I didn’t think it was quite the right moment to tell him that I’d told my parents I was in love with him.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said. I’d fill him in on Peter’s news then too. ‘I better get back to the kitchen. Mark’s preparing some dough that he wants me to bash about.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Finn grimaced. ‘I’ll come and see you in the garden tomorrow, shall I?’
‘Oh, I won’t be there,’ I said, only just remembering. ‘I’ve got tomorrow and Tuesday off.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘how about we spend it together? I could take you to the cathedral like I suggested before and there’s a Christmas market in the city centre. We can look around that too, if you fancy it?’
I fancied it very much indeed and went back to the kitchen light of step, with my hangover practically forgotten and feeling buoyed up for the chutney- and bread-making marathon.