The Twelve Dates of Christmas Read online

  Lisa Dickenson was born in the wrong body. She was definitely meant to be Beyoncé. Despite this hardship, she grew up in Devon attempting to write her own, completely copyright-infringing versions of Sweet Valley High, before giving Wales a go for university, and then London a go for the celeb-spotting potential. She’s now back in Devon, living beside the seaside with her husband and forcing cream teas down the mouths of anyone who’ll visit. She is sadly still not Beyoncé.

  The Twelve Dates of Christmas is Lisa’s first novel and was the winner of the Novelicious Debut of the Year Award in 2013. Follow her on Twitter for all her book news and Beyoncé-related chatter: @LisaWritesStuff.

  Praise for The Twelve Dates of Christmas:

  ‘Filled with sweet romance, clever and hilarious dialogue and a heroine you’d definitely want to root for. A fabulously written Christmas read you wouldn’t want to miss. 10/10’

  iheart-chicklit.blogspot.co.uk

  ‘I bloody loved it! I laughed so hard that people were staring at me! I cried, I got a little hot under the collar … and then I laughed some more … The biggest, most sparkly, snow-dusted 5/5!

  Tishy Lou, tishylou.wordpress.com

  ‘A fun read full of wit and comedic moments that will have you chuckling away as you read. Reading about the journey home on the tube had me in stitches’

  Shaz’s Book Blog

  ‘Fresh and hilarious … I can’t remember the last time a book made me laugh like this … If you buy one Christmas book this year, it has to be this one. You will laugh, you will cry, you will go awwww and then you’ll laugh all over again 5/5’

  Holly Martin, hollymartinwriter.wordpress.com

  Also by Lisa Dickenson

  You Had Me at Merlot

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 9780751557305

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Lisa Dickenson 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  100 Victoria Embankment

  London, EC4Y 0DY

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa Dickenson

  Copyright

  Date One

  The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

  Date Two

  Starbucks, Holborn

  Date Three

  The Royal Ballet’s Christmas party, Covent Garden

  Date Four

  Winter Wonderland, Hyde Park

  Date Five

  The South Bank

  Date Six

  The Shard, London Bridge Quarter

  Date Seven

  The Ice Rink at the Natural History Museum, Kensington

  Date Eight

  St Paul’s Cathedral, City of London

  Date Nine

  Claudia’s flat, West Kensington

  Date Ten

  Hummingbird Bakery, South Kensington

  Date Eleven

  The Wedding, Frostwood

  Date Twelve

  Christmas Day at Claudia’s dad’s house, Frostwood

  Date One

  The Royal Opera House, Covent Garden

  Claudia’s underwear was evil and it was going to ruin everything. She fanned herself, one eye on the clock. She would not cry over a stupid cheap corset she’d got off the internet, even if it was completely locked to her body, upside down, and she had to leave in three minutes’ time for her first really posh date in years.

  ‘Get – off – me.’ She gripped the material and pulled down with all her might, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Online, the corset had looked far more Agent Provocateur than Moulin Rouge fancy dress, but it would still be a treat for Seth at the end of their enchanting evening. Only when she’d done it all the way up the front to find her bosoms still page-three-free did she realise her error. Then it wouldn’t undo. The damned hook-and-eyes had become ensnared in the fabric and the more she pulled and tugged the more it gripped hold of her.

  Tonight had to go well. If everything was perfect and romantic they could do this more often and things wouldn’t seem so … flat. Their relationship was fine, but watching other people’s lives on TV together every night and cooking the same old dinners in their PJs was making Claudia worry life was passing them by. She was not going to be stuck in a rut at thirty, so it was time to do something about it.

  She heard his footsteps coming toward their bedroom.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘What?’ Seth called through the door. ‘We’ve got to go.’

  This corset would not derail their big night. With a shot of strength to rival the Incredible Hulk, Claudia struggled, tore and ripped the corset off her body, releasing her pink skin. Panting, she allowed herself a five-second victory dance before grabbing the first undies that came to hand.

  ‘Just wait there a minute.’ She sat down in front of her dresser and twisted a handful of diamantés into her dark hair, then ripped the cellophane wrapper off a second packet and went to town with them, too. You can’t have too many sparkles at Christmas. She pouted flirtatiously at her reflection. This was the first time she’d ever worn red lipstick and she thought it worked – hopefully it was more Taylor Swift than Joan Collins. Leaning into the mirror, she bared her teeth. The whitening toothpaste was definitely making a difference. ‘You’re a FOX – oops,’ she whispered, dabbing the spit from over-pronouncing the word ‘fox’ off the mirror.

  She pulled on her brand new dress. Scarlet, no less. Tonight she would be dazzling and witty, and Seth would see her as his beautiful girlfriend – and not his glorified roommate – once more.

  ‘I’m ready. No – wait,’ she smiled to herself. ‘This is our first date: you have to pick me up.’ Why she was mimicking Katharine Hepburn’s accent she had no idea, it just seemed to fit with ‘dazzling and witty’.

  There was silence behind the door. ‘What are you on about, “first date”?’

  ‘Well, our first date in a really long time. It’s special. Knock on the door.’

  Claudia heard him sigh, but he banged on the doorframe. ‘Hellooooo, I’m here for our date.’

  She flung open the door and grinned. After a moment he looked up from his phone. ‘You look nice. You ready?’

  Claudia shimmied like she’d learned in Zumba. It probably didn’t look as hot as she hoped, since she nearly toppled out of her heels. ‘Do you like my dress?’ she prompted. Please like my dress. It’s for you.

  ‘Yep, it’s nice,’ he said, hitting send on his phone and stuffing it into his suit jacket. ‘Come on then.’

  ‘It’s red. Like LOVE.’

  ‘Yep.’

  For crying out loud, Seth, meet me half way. He couldn’t have sounded more lacklustre if he’d tried. But this evening was about more than a red dress, so she brushed it aside and thought with excitement of their evening to come.

  Claudia slipped her arm into his as she tottered out of the flat. It was a cold but clear night, and the strings of Christmas lights across the street blended into the starry sky.

  This was the best Christmas present she could ask for, the perfect start to the season. This
date, hopefully the first of many, was a new beginning for her and Seth, a rekindling of their romance. She was just brimming with anticipation.

  ‘I love our first date so far.’ She beamed up at Seth, treating him to her megawatt combo of scarlet lips and Hollywood-white gnashers, Marilyn-style. He looked down at her, amused.

  ‘What’s with all this “first date” stuff? We go on dates—’

  ‘Not proper dates; the pub with friends doesn’t count. This is a proper date.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘It’s romantic.’

  Seth flung an arm around Claudia’s neck and sighed. ‘All right, fusspot, let’s romance you up. There’s nowhere I feel more romantic than at a bloody ballet!’ He winked and pulled her in close.

  Urgh, Claudia didn’t want to see his willy. Not here, in a toilet cubicle of the Royal Opera House, in the middle of The Nutcracker. But there it was, gazing up at her. She scowled back.

  ‘I really do need a wee. I wasn’t expecting you to follow me in here.’ Her eyes shifted to the smug face of the willy’s owner.

  ‘Bet you’re glad I did though, eh?’ Seth twitched his penis so it gave a jaunty bow like the head of a nodding dog. He flexed his fingers thoughtfully in front of her chest then put his hands on his hips. ‘Why are you in a huff?’

  ‘This was supposed to be a romantic date—’

  ‘Well what do you call this?’ He shook his willy back and forth. ‘Mr Romance is ready for you!’

  Claudia put her face in her hands, blocking her eyes from the unblinking one-eyed stare and hoping it would go away. It was very off-putting. It also made her want to laugh, but from experience she knew that wouldn’t go down well. ‘We’re at the ballet, at the Royal Opera House, on our first date in ages, and you’re in the toilets showing me your own penis ballet. Please can we just go back to our seats?’

  ‘And, once again, you don’t want to have sex.’ Ouch. He’d noticed? Of course he had – she knew he would have – but the less frequent things got, the more often she was able to push it to the back of her mind and act like nothing had changed. Busted.

  Claudia emerged from her hands. Seth looked down at her coldly and she felt herself turning as red as her dress; her new ‘reignite the passion’ dress.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, I love … that … I just … ’ She hated confrontation and now was so not the place. ‘I just think we need a bit of romance back in our relationship.’

  Seth zipped himself back up, furiously. ‘I try to romance you every bloody day! And most of the time you’re having none of it. When we first got together you’d do it with me anywhere—’

  Nice. It wasn’t anywhere.

  ‘You were sexy and exciting. But I guess you’re not that person any more. You’re the problem here. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.’

  Claudia wanted to say so much, to voice every frustration and all the pain she’d felt. She knew she needed to put more effort into the relationship, but so did he. They were in a rut because of both of them. But it seemed like every time she tried to make things a bit more special, to make their lives more fun, he interpreted that as ‘have more sex’. She wanted to tell him, preferably in a profound, witty and indisputable way, how she wanted to feel loved and desired and wooed. She wanted to feel like The Nutcracker’s leading lady, Clara, pirouetting out there on the stage, the lucky cow, and to be taken on out-of-this-world adventures. But her brain refused to engage in such thoughts, being completely preoccupied by his words instead. You WERE sexy and exciting …

  ‘Sometimes it just doesn’t feel like you love me that much any more.’ Her voice broke and at that moment she loathed herself. Stop crying. No. ‘Like it’s only about the sex.’

  He didn’t move towards her or wipe her tears. Touch my face! she screamed silently.

  ‘Well it’s definitely not about the sex now, is it?’ His words hung in the air.

  She heard her heart thudding, her quiet breathing. She studied the collar of his shirt.

  ‘Five years, Claudia. It’s a long time to hold the interest, especially when you’re turning me down left, right and centre.’

  What was happening? Oh God …

  She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he flung open the door of the cubicle. He turned back, his face impassive. ‘Let’s not force this. Sounds like we’re both a bit bored. I guess we’re done here.’

  We’re done here? We’re done here? Had she been dismissed?

  As he stormed from the bathroom she stood frozen, staring at her face in the mirror. She looked at her green eyes, her dark hair, her stupid red dress. It was a flared, fifties-style one – not sexy or exciting.

  Five years. We’re done here.

  A tornado had just blown through her life and ripped it in half in the space of five minutes. Why didn’t she just have sex with him more often? Silly dates didn’t matter. Dressing up, going out, adventures didn’t matter. What had she done?

  No! Adventures do matter! It was her life too, her relationship too, and what she wanted out of it damn well mattered. He was such a dick. She grabbed a pretty carved soap and mashed it in her fist. Mashed it really hard. Like it was his stupid, pig-headed face.

  Claudia washed the mess off her hands and tried to calm down. She walked out of the toilets, half expecting, a tiny bit hoping, to see Seth waiting outside.

  No one.

  She ascended the plush red-carpeted stairs like a zombie. At the top she bought a packet of wine gums – an attempt to realign her universe – and slipped back into the auditorium.

  Let’s not force this … we’re done here.

  On stage, the Sugar Plum Fairy twinkled like starlit snow as she danced in front of the ice castle. Her tutu trembled like a bauble on a Christmas tree. The Opera House was a winter wonderland that night, with beautiful sets in glittering creams and ice whites, dancers in pale, delicately embroidered costumes, and a mesmerised audience draped in their best velvets, cashmeres and silks.

  And up there, a part of this magical world, were her two best friends in the world: Penny, dancing as part of the ensemble, and Nick, creating this Christmas dreamland backstage. I should have been part of this.

  Penny’s pretty, spot-lit face was turned to the audience and Claudia knew she was looking straight at her. Penny twitched her head just a fraction, asking ‘What’s up?’ That’s when the tears came. Luckily the ballet was so beautiful she wasn’t the only one crying. She’d never see his niece again.

  He wouldn’t be coming to Ellie and Emma’s wedding in three weeks’ time. His absence would mess up their seating plan.

  How would they divide the saucepan set? She’d take the two smaller ones, she supposed, being a girl. But the smallest didn’t even have a lid; it was just a milk pan. I don’t need a milk pan, I need a lid! She stuffed four wine gums into her mouth in indignation.

  On stage, Clara was sighing in the arms of her soldier in front of the magnificent Christmas tree. The music swelled and Claudia’s heart sank. She wished it didn’t have to end; she wasn’t ready to leave this cocoon of music and darkness.

  But the lights came up and Claudia stood with the two thousand other patrons to applaud. She clapped and clapped until her hands stung and until everyone else from her row had filtered out. Claudia picked up her bag, wiped the mascara off her face and headed backstage.

  Claudia stood for a moment, her hand resting on the heavy, black-painted door leading backstage. She let out a stray choking sob that desperately didn’t want to be taken in there with her. And then she pulled herself together. It was a big fat fake pulling-herself-together, but it was a start. She pushed open the door and entered the lion’s den.

  Noise and chaos enveloped her into the centre of post-performance buzz. Margie, the hard-nut security guard, waved her through, recognising her as the frequent groupie who was always hanging around the dancer and the stagehand.

  Racks of tiny-waisted costumes, enormous bunches of flowers, towering sets shifting back to their Act One positions … Claudia made her wa
y through the corridors, wishing she were invisible and avoiding the eyebrows being raised in her direction. Once she’d been part of this world, back in amateur hour. Now she was painfully aware of how out of place and awkward she was in the big leagues.

  It wasn’t that anyone was ever outwardly mean, it was just that feeling of being way out of your depth. Penny and she had grown up dancing; mostly ballet, but they would try any class they could get their hands on: jazz, hip hop, salsa.

  Then Claudia had stupidly, stupidly fallen in the middle of a breakdancing class, tearing ligaments in her ankle and putting her out of action for close to four months. She missed the audition that elevated Penny into a prestigious London ballet academy. Penny was euphoric. Along with their other good friend, Nick, who’d been accepted into his dream theatre production course, they celebrated hard. She couldn’t be happier for them, but Claudia was left behind.

  She eventually recovered from her injury, but she’d lost the drive. Whether it was fear, or bitterness, Claudia wasn’t even sure she knew. So here she found herself, twelve years out of the game, the outsider.

  But Penny and Nick were her family, and that meant battling her way through the maze of tutus, wigs and lighting, squashing down her crap, falling-apart life and congratulating them on being awesome.

  Rounding the corner, mumbling ‘Oops, sorry, I’m sorry,’ to a stretching ballerina whose legs she tripped over, she saw her life-lines.

  Nick and Penny were deep in conversation, their brows furrowed. Nick’s brown hair was a tousled mess of sweat and dust, his eyes full of concern for what Penny was saying, and he stood in his thinking stance – legs wide apart and his arms folded across his chest. They saw her at the same time and lunged forward, wrapping her in hugs of sawdust and feathers.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Penny muffled into her ear.

  Claudia pulled back, but Nick kept a big hand on her back, holding her close. ‘Nothing much – Seth and I had a bit of a fall-out – but you guys were great. Penny, you were the best one on stage, and Nick, you created masterpieces out there.’ This was their night; the Seth drama had to wait.