Margot couldn’t imagine what the surprise was. Will wasn’t the type to like or do surprises. But then she thought of how in the past few weeks, Will had become much better both at the giving and receiving of text messages, and despite her despondency, she felt a little better. Will was thinking about her. Planning a surprise for her. Like, they were becoming friends. Kind of.
Sarah and Jess were arguing over the bill as they always did. ‘But I didn’t have a cocktail, though I did have a coffee and you didn’t . . .’ Until Tracy chimed in with, ‘For fuck’s sake, just split it four ways like we usually do.’
Then it was a flurry of coats and kisses, and Jess had to rush off to pick up her daughter from a birthday party, and Sarah had Bertie back in his sling and a determined glint in her eye as she prepared to do battle in Tiger.
‘You’re all coming to me New Year’s Eve, right?’ Margot checked because even if Christmas plumbed the pits of despair, she always rocked New Year’s Eve. She held an open house that started at eleven with a rolling, child-friendly brunch buffet and lasted until the last bottle of Prosecco had been drunk and the last firework had lit up the London sky.
‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ Tracy said, brushing Margot’s cheek with her lips. ‘We’ll come for the evening and stay to the bitter end.’
‘You really don’t mind if I bring my horrible kids?’ Sarah checked, and Margot nodded and said that of course she didn’t mind. She’d been wearing a smile for two hours now and it was making her face ache as much as her heart.
20
Will
Although the various women in his life, both family members and more fleeting female companions, always claimed that Will could be at best oblivious, and at worst insensitive, he could tell that there was something troubling Margot.
As they spent their Sunday morning training session walking with a stooge dog, Lady Violet, a very dignified basset hound, Margot was quiet. Normally, she’d be nattering away to Violet’s owner, demanding to know Violet’s antecedents, what she was fed and where she slept, but today she was monosyllabic. Even her curls seemed to have lost their usual bounce.
Will regretted having asked her back to Muswell Hill, which would involve at least a coffee before he could send her on her way. Then he remembered the surprise and couldn’t help but smile.
‘Blossom’s appalling behaviour is nothing to laugh about,’ Margot said primly. ‘Neither is my wrenched shoulder. I’m booked to see an osteopath this week.’
‘Well, let’s swap then,’ Will said, gesturing at Blossom who was tugging away on her lead and mouthing at the supremely unbothered Violet.
‘No, it’s all right.’ Margot’s tone was sharp, and on the way to Muswell Hill on the W7 bus, she sat and stared out of the window. It was left to Will to grimly keep the ball of conversation up in the air.
He told Margot about Sage’s cunning plan to evade doing a law degree, which involved expanding the flower crown side of the business to include festivals and Women’s Institute classes.
‘She says it’s the millennial version of flower arranging,’ Will said as the bus chugged up the very steep hill that gave Muswell Hill its name. ‘I think it has potential, but no ifs or buts, she’s still doing a law degree.’
‘We made flower crowns at the last hen weekend I went on,’ Margot offered.
‘Noted,’ Will said, they hadn’t even thought about the hen-do market.
‘A twig got stuck in my hair and they had to cut it out,’ Margot said glumly, and after that Will decided that maybe the five-minute walk to the surprise should be a time of quiet reflection.
For once, he wasn’t riddled with self-doubt and uncertainty because this surprise was so, dare he even think it, adorable, that whatever was bothering Margot would drift away like the flimsy, striped convenience-store carrier bag that was being buffeted by the sharp breeze.
‘Is the surprise in your flat?’ Margot asked as they walked along the Broadway.
‘Just across the road,’ Will said, pausing as Blossom’s pulling was increasing exponentially the closer they got to home. ‘Shall we turn her round?’
‘Let’s not,’ Margot sighed. ‘We’ve been turning her round for weeks and it hasn’t made the least bit of difference.’
She folded her arms – a difficult move in her bulky anorak – for the last two hundred metres until they came to a stop outside Woof! Will had spent more money in Woof! these last two months buying Blossom everything from organic food and treats to Staffy-proof chew toys (none of which turned out to be that Staffy-proof) than he’d spent on himself all year.
Margot didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love buying things for Blossom, but it’s hardly a surprise.’
Will took a gentle hold of Margot’s puffy sleeve so he could steer her a couple of crucial metres. He gestured clumsily at the window. ‘This is the surprise!’
Margot stared at the festive window display for a few seconds that were far too long for Will’s liking.
‘Oh! Oh, my!’ She pursed her lips, blinked, then rooted in her pocket to pull out a pack of tissues.
‘Is that the wind making your eyes water?’ he asked hopefully; this was meant to be a good surprise.
‘No, this window is making me cry,’ Margot choked out. ‘Blossom! I love your funny, furry face so much.’
Woof! had put out a call to find the 12 Dogs of Christmas to star in their festive window display. Mary had picked up the flyer, come up with the initial concept, and then Sage, well, Sage had really run with the idea.
They’d made Blossom a floral crown of holly (‘But plastic holly, we don’t want her precious head to get scratched’) and mistletoe, then while Mary had thrown treats at her, Sage had snapped away with her camera. The result was a picture of Blossom making her finest derp face: crazy eyes going in different directions, and open mouth, pink tongue lolling out, while wearing the most festive of headpieces.
It was a foregone conclusion that Blossom would take centre stage in the window, with the eleven other dogs (their pictures much, much smaller) arranged around her full-length portrait.
Underneath each picture, was the question, ‘Have you been a naughty or nice doggy?’
Blossom (or Sage, to be more accurate) had answered: ‘Don’t puppreciate you asking if I’m naughty. Am always the goodest of girls.’
‘I love it,’ Margot exclaimed, gloved hands clasped in rapture even though tears were still pouring down her cheeks. ‘Can I get a copy of the picture?’
‘It will be your Christmas present,’ Will promised, though he hadn’t been planning on getting Margot one. He didn’t even do Christmas cards. ‘Do you want to get a coffee?’
Margot’s hands were twisting now. ‘Coffee would be great.’
‘There’s a café across the road—’
‘I know it’s your week, but can I have Blossom for Christmas?’ Margot burst out. ‘It’s a big ask but it would mean the world to me.’
‘Let’s get coffee.’ Will could tell that Margot was in an agony of suspense, but this was a conversation that he didn’t want to have standing in the middle of the street. He felt even crueller for making her wait while he bought coffee and bagels from the café. It wasn’t until they were back at his flat and she was sitting on his sofa, still in her coat, that he could reply.