LITMIR.BIZ

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have to be the one to sort it out. Anyway, Mattie’s contribution to the Christmas brainstorm was done.

      She turned to leave but Posy’s voice called her back.

      ‘What about cupcakes?’ she asked in an innocent voice, though she knew full well Mattie’s feelings about cupcakes. ‘Go on. One Christmas-themed cupcake. For me. Because I’m pregnant.’

      ‘I don’t do cupcakes,’ Mattie reminded her, as she’d been reminding Posy at regular intervals ever since she’d first signed the lease on the tearooms. ‘Cupcakes are a triumph of buttercream over bland sponge and they represent everything that is repugnant about a regressive representation of femininity and God, Posy, I’ve given you a whole other selection of Christmas-themed goodies, so stop going on about bloody cupcakes.’

      Posy wilted and rubbed her bump in a forlorn manner – Mattie was a terrible person who said mean things to pregnant ladies. ‘I was only asking,’ Posy said in a tiny voice.

      ‘I know.’ It was no use, Mattie’s blood was up and all this talk about Christmas and now cupcakes was making the red mist descend in a way that it hadn’t for ages. ‘It’s just, you know, I hate cupcakes and I really don’t like Christmas either, so can we just drop it, please?’

      ‘Consider it dropped,’ Posy said, though she was sounding rather sulky now.

      ‘Sorry,’ Mattie offered weakly.

      ‘You’re such an Eeyore,’ Verity said, her face red with the effort it took to confront someone. ‘Honestly, Mattie, you seem to hate so many things, but I’m at a loss to know what you really love.’

      ‘I love lots of things,’ Mattie protested, though she couldn’t think of a single one when she was put on the spot like this. ‘Lots and lots of things.’

      ‘Very’s right,’ Posy said, abandoning her flipchart to sink gratefully onto the sofa next to Verity. ‘You’re so negative about everything. You don’t like romance, you don’t like Paris, or Christmas, or cupcakes. What else is there in life but romance and Paris and Christmas and cupcakes?’

      ‘I have my reasons,’ Mattie said, because she did, and they were no business of anyone gathered on the sofas in front of her. Also, though she was proud to proclaim the tearooms as a sovereign state within the Happy Ever After continent, Mattie often felt like she was speaking a foreign language when she was dealing with the Happy Ever After staff. They always made her welcome, invited her along to the pub, but they’d all known each other for years, had a deep, complex, shared history and a love of romantic novels, so it was no wonder that Mattie sometimes felt as if she was on the outside looking in.

      But at this precise moment in time she felt like an enemy alien. Misunderstood and mistrusted.

      ‘Come on, people, let’s not fight,’ Nina said in a jolly, very un-Nina-like voice. ‘It’s meant to be the season of goodwill and all that, so let’s not fall out over the fact that Mattie hates the season of goodwill.’

      Tom had been silent, for which Mattie was grateful, if somewhat surprised that he wasn’t chiming in with his own observations on how she was a Christmas killjoy who despised all that was good in the world. Now he stretched out his legs again. ‘I think you’ll find that I hated the season of goodwill first and Mattie is just jumping on my bandwagon.’

      Was that … was Tom actually attempting to take Mattie out of the line of fire, or was he genuinely cross that Mattie’s Christmas-hating was getting all the attention? As usual with Tom, it was impossible to tell.

      ‘I have that dough proving,’ Mattie said stiffly, though that mythical dough would have proved so much by now that it would have colonised most of the kitchen. ‘And FYI, I like lots of things, including kneading dough.’ Mostly because she could work out all her aggression about the many things she hated while she was kneading it.

      There was nothing left to say and the atmosphere was so deflated and awkward that Mattie couldn’t wait to hurry back to the safe space of her kitchen. She was just stepping through from Classics to Regency when she heard Nina, who didn’t possess an indoor voice, say, ‘I don’t know why you and Mattie are at each other’s throats all the time, Tom, when you have so much in common.’

      ‘We have nothing in common,’ Tom said, though Mattie had to strain to hear him.

      ‘You both hate Christmas and romantic novels,’ Posy piped up.

      ‘I don’t hate romantic novels, I just never ever want to read one …’

      ‘Tom and Mattie sitting in a tree, talking about how much they hate Christmas and K.I.S.S.I.N.G.,’ Nina chanted, and there were giggles and snorts from the cheap seats.

      Tom huffed with great disdain. ‘The day I K.I.S.S. Mattie is the day that Satan goes to work on ice skates.’

      

      With the brainstorm over, and Noah returned from his business trip, it was time to move Nina out. Noah arrived with a rent-a-van and a triumphant toot of its horn as soon as the brainstorm was over.

      ‘Can’t wait to get me on his own again,’ Nina said with great satisfaction and another wink as Noah and her brother carried her mini bar shaped like a ship’s prow down the stairs. With all the winking, it was a wonder that Nina hadn’t irreparably damaged an eyelid.

      With Nina moving out of the largest room, Tom moved in. To give him some credit, he asked Mattie if she wanted to toss a coin for it.

      ‘I’m more than happy for you to have it because I never want to move my stuff again,’ Mattie said, as she helped Nina pack up her staggering collection of skincare and beauty products. She even had an old-fashioned hood-dryer at the back of her wardrobe.

      ‘If you’re sure.’ Tom didn’t even bother to wait but was out of the room like a greyhound. ‘We can use the box room for storage. The flat’s not really big enough for three people, is it?’

      Mattie thought back to her eight-woman, four-bedroom student house-share but now they had a truce over the room allocation, she couldn’t bear to be at loggerheads again. Besides, they’d never be able to agree on a flatmate and more to the point, Mattie had a whole Le Creuset set, a collection of vintage enamelware, a slow cooker and a bread machine back in Hackney, which her mother kept threatening to donate to charity.

      ‘Anyway, a third flatmate would just complicate things,’ Nina insisted, as they all took a break from packing and moving and re-moving for a restorative cup of tea and a piece of the festive cranberry and orange shortbread. ‘Whatever flavour, boy or girl, it’s going to lead to sexual tension.’

      ‘I don’t see why it would,’ Mattie said, giving Tom a flinty look, which he returned. ‘If a girl moved in and she and Tom fell in love, then why would I care?’

      Tom didn’t blink. ‘Exactly. If some man with the patience of a saint moved in and fell in love with Mattie and she felt the same way, I’d be amazed, astounded, but I wouldn’t care.’

      ‘You would when the shagging started,’ Nina said imperturbably as everyone else choked on their shortbread. ‘Believe me, you’ll be able to hear everything and I mean everything. There was the time that Verity—’

      Noah clapped a hand over his new bride’s mouth even as Tom said, ‘Stop! I’m begging you. Whatever you’re about to say, I know that I’ll never be able to look at Verity ever again if you get to the end of that sentence.’

      ‘Anyway, we’re not taking on a flatmate,’ Mattie said quickly. ‘We’re going to use the box room for storage.’

      Nina pulled a face as if using the box room for storage was a wasted opportunity when one of them could be having sex with an imaginary third

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