Christmas for commitment.., p.1
Christmas for Commitmentphobes, page 1
Dedication
To my family. Always.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Christmas for Commitmentphobes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Preview of chapter 1 of That Holiday in France.
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Christmas for Commitmentphobes
By Rhoda Baxter
© Rhoda Baxter, 2019. All rights reserved.
The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual places, incidents or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Enjoy Christmas for Commitmentphobes. ☺
Chapter 1
Lara clicked onto the last slide. “In conclusion,” she said. “I think we would be able to provide you with a bespoke logistics solution that would cut your fuel costs and reduce downtime between stages, saving you both time and money.” She smiled at the room.
Her audience, four men, did not respond for a moment. They caught each other’s eyes.
“Have you got any questions?”
One of the men leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumb in his belt. “I have a few questions about the software,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “No offence love, but it’s quite technical.”
Lara forced down her instinctive response. “The research the software is based on is, is mine. I often instruct the technical guys. I should be able to help.” She drew a breath. “If I can’t answer, I can certainly get you the information from someone who can.”
He exchanged a glance with his colleague, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s about the way it tracks how long the boys have been driving and logs it. How do you ensure it’s secure and compliant with GDPR? You know, the general data protection rules.”
She knew what GDPR was. She also knew that the software was processing the data only for the purposes of allowing the drivers to carry out their jobs. She had already explained their data safety protocols. There was no real conflict here. The fact that these people assumed she would be confused by any of this annoyed her beyond measure. She had helped design this software. Technically, her role was fundraising and coordination, but as a co-founder, this was as much her product at her colleague Toby’s.
Still, sexist clients were part and parcel of this business. She stuck on a smile and launched into an explanation. It might have been a tiny bit more technical than necessary, but he had wanted technical.
“Does that allay your fears?” she said at the end.
“Er...” The first guy looked at his colleagues, one of them was nodding, while the other two seemed to have glazed over.
“Basically,” she said. “We don’t interfere with your employee management software. The limited amount of information that comes to our system is kept secure. There is no issue with GDPR.”
There was a silence in the room. Lara could tell how this was going to go. They were interested in the results, but would feel more comfortable if a man had delivered it. There was nothing wrong with the product. If Toby had delivered the pitch, they’d be shaking hands and inviting him to the pub by now, but Toby was off on paternity leave and the new sales person didn’t start until January, so she had to do it by herself. She could tell that she wasn’t going to be able to swing the decision now, so she went for plan B.
“It’s a fairly big decision, so why don’t I email you the information and the quotation and you can take a bit of time to think about it. Get back to me next week?” It took effort not to grit her teeth. “You’ll probably have to talk to my colleague Toby, rather than me, but I’m sure he’ll be able to process this for you.”
It was nearly Christmas. These guys would probably leave it until after the holiday anyway, so she’d chase them next month. By which time, Toby would be back from pat leave and he could do that thing where he made the client laugh and then somehow closed the deal.
The shift in the mood of the room was subtle, but they seemed happy with that. It was only a little white lie. She opened her folder and extracted a few sheets. “I’ll just leave you copies of the projections.” She slid the papers to each of the men, then quietly packed up her laptop.
“Have you got far to go to get home, love?” said another man. They had all called her ‘love’ so far. It was so irritating.
“London,” she said. “So a few hours on the train.”
“Doesn’t look nice out there,” he nodded towards the window. It was already getting dark, even though it was only four o’clock.
Lara peered out of the window and saw swirling white flakes. “It’s snowing?” Oh great.
Tilly looked out of the window at the motorway signs and wondered how to say no to her friend Diane’s suggestion without being rude.
“Why don’t you take a bit of time to think about it? Get back to me after Christmas,” Diane said, as she took the jeep into the right lane.
“I dunno...” She was sitting in the front of Diane’s dad’s jeep. The back of the vehicle was crammed full of Diane’s Christmas stuff, one small Christmas tree and Tilly’s backpack. “It’s not really the sort of thing I do. I do more painting than sculpting. Anyway, I feel uncomfortable working to a brief you wrote specifically for someone else’s skillset.”
Diane sighed. “I know, I know. But you could make it your own. All it said on the proposal was that it would be a landscape sculpture. We submitted the brief with Don’s drawings, but given the exceptional circumstances, they’ll let us substitute the artist, so we should be able to substitute your style for his. I’ve seen your stuff. It would work.” Diane threw a glance across to her. “And you did say that your mum complained that she hasn’t seen much of you. You’d be based in England. You could go home more often.”
Tilly laughed. “Yeah. Mum would like that. Not sure how well I’d cope though.”
“Aw. Your mum’s lovely,” said Laine. She scowled out of the window. “Bugger. It’s snowing or sleeting or something.”
In the yellow motorway glow, white flakes splattered against the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it off. Diane turned them up a notch.
“If the weather is going to slow you down, just drop me off in the next town and I’ll get a train to this place.” Tilly got out her phone and started looking up Trewton Royd.
“Don’t be silly. We’re in a four wheel drive. There’s nothing that we can’t get through in this old girl.” Diane gave the steering wheel a pat. “Besides, I’m not going to abandon you somewhere just because the weather is crap. What kind of a friend would that make me?”
“A ... fair weather friend?”
Diane glanced over at her and laughed. “That’s a terrible joke.”
Tilly grinned.
“I’ve missed you, I really have,” said Diane.
“Missed you too, mate.”
“No, I mean, genuinely. I love that you want to travel the world and stuff, but dear god, I miss having you around.”
Tilly smiled. “Aww. That’s ... nice to know.” The search results popped up on her phone. “This pub looks nice,” She said. “Let’s hope my brother resists the temptation to lecture me about staying in one place.”
Diane didn’t take her eyes off the road. “How’s Vinnie getting there? I hope he’s not driving his little car in this weather.”
“He said he’s taking his girlfriend’s private car or something.” Tilly shook her head. “She’s some sort of internet millionaire person.”
“He always did like his high maintenance girlfriends,” said Diane.
“This one isn’t high maintenance, according to Vinnie. Even if she was, she’d be able to pay for it herself. She can’t drive, though. Hence the car and driver.” Tilly settled back in her seat. “Mum’s hoping he’ll stay with this one. She really likes her.”
“Your mum likes everyone.”
“No she doesn’t. She pretends she likes everyone.” She tilted her head and looked at the darkness sliding past outside. The chances of her mum approving of someone she brought home would be pretty slim. Her parents said they were okay with her being gay, but every time she went home, there were comments about her lifestyle. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the problem was. She had never bothered to take a girlfriend home to meet them. What was the point?
“Tracey, that’s Vinnie’s girlfriend - Her aunt owns the pub we’re going to be staying at over Christmas,” Tilly continued. “I’m really looking forward to this. Not just seeing Vinnie, obviously, but you know, proper English Christmas. I haven’t had a good old fashioned roast dinner in ages. Vinnie says the village is proper idyllic too.”
“And just think, if you took over Don’s part of the arts council grant ... you could see Vinnie all the time,” Diane said. “It’s tied to the ‘northern powerhouse’ region, so you’d be up this way anyway.”
“Diane...”
“Seriously, Tilly. Why not? It’s paid work. You can definitely do a good job of it. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” said Tilly. S
“It’s a job, mate. Not marriage. You do it for a year. It’s not a long term commitment. We all know you don’t get on with those.”
“Don’t you start. I get enough of that from mum... and the big brothers.”
“Maybe they have a point?”
“Hmm.”
For a few minutes there was silence, apart from the hum of the engine and whump, whump of the wipers. Tilly stared sulkily out of the window. This was why she’d stayed away last Christmas. The holiday seemed to bring out the worst in people when it came to judging her. She liked having no ties. What was so wrong with that?
Chapter 2
When Lara arrived at the train station, it was full of angry people.
“What’s going on?” she asked, not really expecting an answer from anyone.
“All the trains have been bloody cancelled, haven’t they?” said a woman with what looked like a million shopping bags. “I just want to get home.” She pointed to the departures boards. All of which said ‘Delays expected’ on them.
Lara looked across the crowded waiting area. There were people everywhere. The platforms were full too. If a train did arrive, there was no way she’d manage to force herself on to it. She pulled the collar up on her coat, stepped back outside into the biting cold and phoned the office.
“There’s been some sort of major accident,” said Katrin, the administrator. “All the trains are suspended.”
Lara shivered. “How long before it gets going again?” Her coat was designed to look good and maybe cope with a slight drizzle. It wasn’t able to cope with snow and wind that seemed to be made of knives.
“I don’t know. I’m trying taxi firms on the other phone, but they’re all ringing out. The weather isn’t helping much,” said Katrin. “I don’t think there will be any trains tonight. Taxi isn’t looking too hopeful either.”
“How am I going to get home?” Lara wailed. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since about eleven o’clock. “Katrin!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” said Katrin. “Let me see if I can book you into a hotel for the night. Things will be better in the morning and at least you’ll be safe and warm in the meantime.”
“Thank you.” Lara hugged her laptop bag to her and waited. She looked around for somewhere to sit, but there wasn’t anywhere. There was a spare bit of wall she could lean on though. She made towards it. A mother with a small child by the hand got to it just as she did. Lara took one look at the child and moved out of the way. The mother gave her a grateful half smile and got the child to sit down, with her back against the wall. Lara shuffled away.
Two men walked past, swearing. “The whole ******* thing’s cancelled ‘cause of the ******* weather,” one of them said. “All we can do is go to the pub, really.” They were both wearing t-shirts with the union flag emblazoned on them. One of them looked up and caught sight of Lara. She hurriedly looked away.
“Katrin? Any luck?”
There was the sound of furious typing at the other end of the line. “Gnh,” said Katrin.
“That doesn’t sound good.” A terrible sense of foreboding was starting to build in Lara’s mind.
“There aren’t any rooms in Huddersfield. It looks like there’s some sort of convention or something and the whole place is full. I’m looking further afield, hang on.”
“Convention,” Lara muttered. The closer she looked at some of the people around her, the more the sense of dread increased. Most of them were regular people, carrying bags. There were quite a lot of heavily tattooed, Union Jack wearing types though. Suddenly, she was very aware of her non-whiteness. She wished she had a hoodie or something she could pull up.
“Gotcha. One second Lara. I think I’ve found somewhere.”
The phone line crackled as Katrin muted the line. Suddenly, Lara felt very very alone. She walked over to the taxi rank. There was a huge queue. Bugger. Her stomach rumbled again. There was a shop a little way down the road. Food. She should get something to eat. She started down the road towards the shop.
As she reached it, Katrin came back on the line. “Okay, got one. There’s a B&B, a few miles away. You’ll have to take a taxi there. I’ve sent the location to your phone. Okay, I’m going to see if I can get you a taxi or a car or something. I’ll call you back.”
“No. Katrin don’t-” Too late, she’d hung up. Lara lowered her phone. “Damn.” The phone had a new map location marker on it. Fine. She’d just have to wait a few moments for Katrin to find her a car. In the meantime, it looked like she was stuck in Yorkshire for the night. Snow settled on her hair and cold slid down her back. She looked further down the road. There were more shops. Although it was dark, it wasn’t exactly late and the shops were still open. Right. She needed to get some stuff for overnight. She hitched up her bag and marched ahead.
Within a few minutes, she’d got herself a toothbrush, some pants and a two pack of t-shirts big enough to sleep in. Katrin still hadn’t called back.
She was standing by the side of the road, still debating whether to call Katrin again, when a taxi pulled up. Two girls, dressed in jeans, cold-shoulder tops and no coats got out. How did they not freeze to death?
Lara leapt in and grabbed the door before anyone else could get in. She slammed the door shut.
The cabbie, who was sorting out his money looked up. “Oh.” He reset the meter. “Where to, love?”
“London?” she said, hopefully.
He laughed. When she didn’t join in, he said, “Can’t do that, love. Have you seen the weather?”
Given that she was damp, hungry and so cold she could barely feel her extremities, she wanted to cry. “I had noticed,” she snapped.
The cabbie was unfazed. “So, unless you’ve got somewhere more realistic you want me to take you, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of my cab. I can do a couple more local trips before I knock off.”
She found the location of the B and B on her phone and showed it to him. “Here. Can you take me here?”
He sucked his teeth. “Trewton Royd. I dunno, love. It’s very steep out there. Not sure the car-”
The tears she’d been holding back, slid out of the corners of her eyes. “Please?” she said. “I’m hungry and I’m cold and I’m not dressed for the weather. There’s nowhere to stay in this town and there seems to be a far right nationalists rally or something happening-”
“Oh. Hey. Don’t cry.” The cabbie turned round so that he could look at her. “I thought the rally had been cancelled, thank god.”
“Yes, but so have the trains. There’s a bunch of thugs wandering around, with nothing to do.” She wiped her face with her sleeve and ended up even more damp than before.
The cabbie seemed to come to a decision. “Right then. I’ll take you as close as I can to Trewton. If the snow starts settling, I might have to drop you off at the top of the hill. I might now be able to get back up the hill if it’s slippery.” He pulled cautiously out.
The relief made her cry even more. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re all right,” he said. “My wife would never forgive me if I left a young girl to be harassed by Nazis.”
Lara didn’t respond. Ordinarily, she hated being called a girl. She was twenty nine, for heaven’s sake. But his comment about Nazis hit home.
The car inched through traffic. “So,” said the cabbie. “You Indian?”
Lara glanced at him. She couldn’t tell much about him in the limited light, but he looked Asian. She weighed up her options. “Mum is,” she said, quietly. “Dad’s English.”
He nodded, like that was exactly the answer he was expecting. “I’m from Pakistan. Well, not me, exactly. My folks are. I’ve never been.”
She nodded, not wanting to get drawn into this conversation. She didn’t want to trade stories of the second generation immigrant experience. “I’m starving. Is it okay if I eat in your cab?” she said.
“Not something eggy is it?” he said. “I can’t stand egg or blue cheese. Anything else, you go for it.”
She took a packet of crisps out of her bag. “It’s crisps. Ready salted.”
