“Guys,” she says, embracing Luke, then me. “Welcome!”
“Hi,” says Luke. “We brought a little something.”
Nadine takes the bottle and our coats and ushers us into a nice big room with a fire blazing in the hearth and fairy lights decorating the mantelpiece. The look is kind of half country cottage, half music studio. There are linen-covered sofas and chairs, but there are also three guitars on stands and a couple of massive amps.
“Guys!” Craig comes striding in, wearing his usual ripped jeans and clutching what looks like an expensive bottle of wine. (The label’s really old and torn, that’s how I know.)
He kisses me and shakes Luke’s hand warmly. Soon we’re sitting on the linen sofas, listening to the fire crackle, and watching the fairy lights on the mantelpiece flash on and off. Nadine passes round olives and nuts and Craig puts on some music and I start to relax a bit. It doesn’t feel like a sex party. Not that I’ve ever been to one.
“What do you think of the wine, Luke?” Craig asks. “Can I pour you some more?”
“Luke, come nearer the fire,” chimes in Nadine. “Is that sofa comfortable for you? Can I get you another cushion? More olives?”
Instantly my radar starts to prickle. They’re both all over Luke, like they were in the pub. But maybe they’re just trying to be friendly.
“The house looks amazing!” I say, to make conversation. “All the fairy lights! Beautiful!”
“I made Craig do those,” says Nadine with satisfaction. “I was like, babe, get up on your ladder, now.”
“She’s the boss,” agrees Craig with a chuckle. “You should see her manage her team at work. More wine, Luke? What are you up to for Christmas?”
“We’re hosting for the first time,” says Luke. “Becky’s the mastermind.”
“Hosting Christmas for the first time!” says Nadine, with a sympathetic eye roll. “I remember doing that. I nearly went mad. All my family were like, ‘Can we have this, can we have that?’ In the end, I was like, ‘Enough! We’re doing it my way!’ ”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, feeling a bond with Nadine for the first time. “Same! I’ve started a Christmas WhatsApp group, and it’s sending me demented. Everyone wants different chocolates and mince pies and traditions. My sister’s vegan and my best friend wants to do children’s crafts and her husband wants to watch opera and our neighbor Janice wants a piñata. You can’t make everyone happy.”
“How many did you invite?” asks Nadine sympathetically, refreshing my wineglass.
“Well, actually, they all kind of invited themselves,” I reply, after a moment’s thought.
“Invited themselves?” Nadine opens her eyes wide.
“I mean, I wanted them to come,” I explain hurriedly. “I love them all to bits. It’ll be great! It’s just…you know. Quite a lot to do.”
“I hear you,” says Nadine, nodding. “Believe you me, Becky, you have to put your foot down.”
“It’s just so full-on.” I take a gulp of wine. “And now my mum’s fallen out with Janice, and they’re both supposed to be coming….”
“Oh no!” exclaims Nadine, wrinkling her nose. “That’s not ideal.”
“No. It’s not.” I emit a gusty sigh. I hadn’t realized how much all this Christmas business has been stressing me out. It’s quite a relief, sharing it with someone on the outside. “All I want is a lovely day, you know? Everyone enjoying being with one another and not caring about how we cook the brussels sprouts.”
“Don’t have brussels sprouts, that’s what I say,” says Nadine briskly. “Brussels sprouts can fuck off.”
“Christmas isn’t about sprouts,” says Craig seriously. His voice sounds so raspy and rock-star-ish, it’s like he’s quoting a lyric from a bad Christmas song, and I can’t help laughing.
“I keep telling myself that,” I agree. “None of the details really matter, do they? All that matters is that we have everyone gathered round the table. Friends. Family. That’s what Christmas is all about.”
“Here’s to that,” says Craig, raising his glass.
“Hear, hear,” agrees Luke.
“I couldn’t agree more,” says Nadine. And she sounds so warm and friendly, I find myself unbending toward her even more.
“We’ve adopted this motto,” I confide. “ ‘Whatever the Grinch can steal, that’s not Christmas.’ ”
“I like that,” says Craig, nodding sagely. “Yeah, I like that. Plus, you know, sprouts are rank.”
I can’t help giggling again, and Nadine pats my knee.
“You’ll get your Christmas with your family and friends, Becky,” she says soothingly. “Just make sure you enjoy the day too.”
Enjoy the day? I hadn’t even thought about enjoying it, just making sure it wasn’t a total catastrophe. But I smile at her and say, “Yes, I will, thanks.”
There’s a pause while we all munch some olives and Craig turns down the lights a little. I’m enjoying this, I realize. I’m starting to relax.
“And now…” He sits down on the sofa, stretching out his legs. He shoots a raised-eyebrows look at Nadine, then turns to Luke. “Well. You guys have probably guessed. There’s a bit of an…agenda tonight.”
At once I stiffen all over. Agenda?
Slowly, Craig leans forward, gazing seriously at Luke, and so does Nadine. The atmosphere is suddenly charged and my head starts prickling. It’s real. They’re coming on to us. I should never have relaxed; I should never have let down my guard….
“Agenda?” says Luke casually. “I thought this was a social engagement.”
“Yeah, well.” Craig laughs again. “You get into bed with someone, you want to know them socially first, don’t you?”
Get into bed. Oh God…
“I don’t know how open you are to this kind of thing…?” puts in Nadine huskily, swishing her hair back and looking at Luke directly. The light is shining on her lip gloss and her cleavage and her sheeny shirt, and she looks pretty spectacular.
My heart’s thudding frantically, but I don’t seem able to speak. I feel surreal. Also: What’s Luke going to say?
“I’m not, I’m afraid,” says Luke flatly, and I feel a whoosh of relief.
(I mean, obviously I knew he would say that.)
“Right,” says Nadine, without missing a beat. “That’s disappointing. But maybe we can persuade you to another view.”
“I learned a new word today,” I say, finding my voice. “Sprygge. It’s Norwegian. Sprygge.” I gaze desperately at Luke. “Sprygge!”
But no one even turns their head.
“I thought you were open-minded, Luke,” Nadine says huskily, leaning even farther toward him, her breasts gleaming. “And I’m going to be honest with you, OK? I really want this. I really want to pitch you.”
I stare at her, aghast. Pitch? What does that mean? Is “pitch” some weird sexual fetish slang I’ve never even—
Then my thoughts break off abruptly as I see the word “pitch” on a printed-out document at Nadine’s feet, half under the sofa.
Hang on. Pitch as in…pitch?
OK, wait, what is going on here?
“I can give you advice,” Luke is saying smoothly to Nadine. “But I’m not an investor.”
“You’ve got funds, though,” says Nadine, batting her eyelids at him. “You’ve got a company that could expand. You’ve got the experience; I’ve got the talent.”
“You want money?” I say in astonishment, and Nadine swivels her head, looking annoyed.
“I want a partnership,” she says. “It’s not about money; it’s about meshing talent and ideas. It’s about channeling my energy and drive into greater pathways.” Then her eyes narrow at me. “What did you think I wanted?”
“Sex!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
There’s a startled silence. Craig’s eyes have widened. Luke has turned to look at me with an expression I’m too flustered to read.
“Sex?” says Nadine at last. She’s staring at me with such an amused gaze, I feel nettled. She needn’t act like I’m a moron for even thinking it.
“My friend read online that you’re into sex parties,” I say defensively to Craig. “In Moscow and stuff. Threesomes and…things.” If Nadine didn’t know about the sex parties in Moscow, then too bad. Welcome to the sisterhood.
But she doesn’t even flicker. In fact, she rolls her eyes impatiently, as though I’m distracting her from the task at hand.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re into that.” Craig shrugs, as though he’s saying he likes a bit of golf at the weekends. “But that’s not what tonight is about.”
“What we get up to is our own affair,” says Nadine, a bit snippily. “But if you think that’s why we invited you—” She breaks off and runs her eyes over my high-necked top as though enjoying a private joke. “Let’s say…you’re not the type.”
Not the type? At once I feel offended to my core. They’re rejecting us? On what grounds? Why aren’t I the type?
“I’m brilliant in bed,” I retort indignantly. “And Luke’s even better!”
“Sweetheart,” says Luke, his mouth twitching, “thanks for the recommendation. But…too much information? It’s been a great evening,” he continues politely, putting his wineglass down. “And thank you both. But maybe—”
“You’re not leaving?” Nadine’s voice has tightened. “You’re not even giving me a chance! Why do you think—” She stops herself midstream and smiles again. “I’ve got the pitch ready. I’ve prepared it all. I think I deserve this opportunity.”