She told him briefly about her guests, but it was only a minute before Brody was called away. Almost immediately he was replaced by his mother brandishing a bottle of prosecco.
‘Sophie!’ Louise said brightly. ‘I’ve been trying to talk to you all evening. Can I give you a top-up?
‘Er, yes, please.’ She held out her glass, sensing that Louise’s multitasking meant she never spent time with anyone without an ulterior motive, however well intended.
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Louise asked, expertly judging the level of fizz required to fill the glass, but not foam over the brim. ‘Even if this isn’t really your thing?’
Sophie’s enthusiasm waned a little, but she had honed her own set of skills by dealing with difficult customers and guests.
‘Thank you again for inviting me. It’s been great to meet so many people from the local community,’ she replied diplomatically. ‘I’ve been made very welcome.’
‘Oh?’ Louise’s eyebrows lifted.
‘Yes, and the food is delicious.’
‘The caterers are brilliant, and I have so many friends to help out with serving and clearing away … Brody tells me you’ll be managing on your own over Christmas, you poor thing.’
‘Vee’s been helping me and we’re well prepared. The guests don’t arrive until three tomorrow and they leave on the twenty-seventh.’
‘Still, that’s a long time to manage alone.’ Louise shuddered. ‘Rather you than me.’
‘Itwillbe hard work, but I’m very ready for it,’ Sophie said firmly.
‘I’m sure you are. You’re not having a traditional turkey and Christmas pud, I assume?’
‘No. Actually I’m making a giant paella. With king prawns and chorizo and chicken.’
‘Paella,’ Louise echoed, as horrified as if Sophie had said she was serving mealworm curry.
‘Yes, it’s a Spanish theme,’ Sophie went on, sensing other guests listening in and an undercurrent of unspoken pity and amazement. ‘And afterwards we’re having pavlova,’ she continued, before Louise could comment further. ‘Which is Australian, as you probably know. I absolutelylovepavlova. Maybe a few of the guests will even make it into the hot tub. I’ve booked a flamenco group too.’
‘A flamenco group?’ The bottle wobbled in Louise’s hand. ‘And sangria and paella in the hot tub. Oh, well. That’s very … different.’ She smiled tightly.
‘We won’t be eating the paella in the hot tub. That could block the filters,’ Sophie said in her best jokey tone. ‘However, as for enjoying a different kind of Christmas, that’s the whole idea. My guests are coming specifically to escape from the traditional festive celebrations.’
‘Are there many of them?’ Louise asked.
‘Yes. I’m fully booked.’
‘Wow! Good for you. Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose.’
‘It does,’ Sophie replied, as the wide-eyed guests listenedin. Anyone would think she was holding a naked foam party at Sunnyside, by the way some mouths gaped in shock.
‘Makes our plans sound rather dull. Although there’s a lot to be said for tradition.’ Louise rolled her eyes. ‘Brody would probably faint if I served up a paella instead of turkey and all the trimmings. He’s a traditional sort of chap, as you’ve probably found out, even if he didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.’ With a wistful pause, she politely excused herself. ‘Well, I must leave you to enjoy the party. I’m needed to help plate up the mini-puddings’. She scurried off, still with the bottle, leaving Sophie on her own again.
The other guests had turned their backs. Whether that was a coincidence or because they really did think Sophie and her guests would be enjoying more than paella in the hot tub, Sophie wasn’t sure. However, she suddenly felt adrift in an ocean of sequin-clad strangers, with Louise’s comments stuck in her mind.
She was amused by the idea of Brody being a ‘traditional sort of chap’. That made him sound like some tweedy 1950s bore, when he was the complete opposite. Plus, being a vet was an important job – a vocation – and his mother ought to be proud of him.
Sophie took a glug of her prosecco and regretted it. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, and how hot the room had become in the past few minutes. She wanted to take off her jumper, but was too embarrassed to stand there in her old T-shirt.
The lights from the tree seemed to blind her and the fire felt very hot. Her throat was dry from talking, and her jawached from trying to keep forcing a smile to her face. Everything became loud and oppressive, and she felt a sense of claustrophobia in this room full of strangers.
The vicar’s wife approached her, a young woman called Jo, not much older than Sophie. She was wearing black from head to toe, apart from gold sparkly Doc Martens. Sophie had actually first been introduced to her at the farm shop and had immediately liked Jo’s humour and warmth.
‘Are you OK?’ Jo asked. ‘These parties can be a bit of an ordeal, if I’m honest, and it’s easy to get worn down by all the bonhomie. And,’ she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, ‘you won’t be the only person in Bannerdale who’ll be secretly relieved when it’s all over for another year. My husband is absolutely knackered already, from all the nativities and events he has to attend at this time of year. In fact we’ve booked a break to Tenerife straight after Epiphany to recover from it all.’
Sophie had to smile. ‘You must both be desperate for a holiday,’ she said, grateful to Jo for being the one person who seemed to understand how exhausting the season could be, for various reasons. ‘And it’s so hot in here – I think I’ll go out for some fresh air for a bit.’
