A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

A Series of Unwanted Close Ups

"Eric!"

He was reading the label on the bag, his lips moving silently; and something snapped in Billie's bedraggled psyche.

"Federico! Do not dare ignore me!"

The realisation of how loud and piercing her shriek was and how everyone in the house must have heard her, dawned. Also, she was pretty sure she had never, never, NEVER in her life been that assertive. Dair slowly lifted his eyes at her.

"S-sorry," he said. "That was r-rude. As f-for the f-family, it's easier to just g-go with it."

"Go with what?!" Billie hissed. "With your family thinking I'm your short-term squeeze while you're here on vaccy?"

Oh that's not good. Not good at all.

Billie asked herself what exactly got her knickers in the knot: him kissing her so that it properly didn't feel like 'speech therapy,' especially considering he didn't seem to be particularly concerned that it was decisively not working? Or was it his family treating her like an actual human being? Or maybe, it was because of Rhys 'Fleckney's Vito Corleone' Holyoake listening and hearing her precipitant pro-library monologue?

Or was it the fact that December 24th was the expiration date for all of the above - all the good things that had been happening to her since Eric Dair had reappeared in her life?

The lines of his face hardened, his jaw jutting. She suddenly could see the reasoning behind his type casting. Comparing his normal disposition to the lowered head and the cold stare, she wondered if he routinely softened his expression and purposefully assumed a less intimidating posture in his everyday behaviour.

"That's what you wanted. F-friends who k-kiss. N-nothing more."

Even if Billie hadn't deflated by now, she'd have had nothing to refute that with. Also, it was as if they were leading two slightly disjointed conversations.

"Yeah. But that's not what it looks like to them," she mumbled. "I just don't like lying to people."

Dair turned his back to her and fished the scale out of the cabinet.

"And when you leave, what will it look like? Like you just played around?" Billie continued her griping. "And I bought into it. And I'm going to be 'poor Sybil' again, whom you should only try it on with, if you're looking for a spot of copping off."

That was definitely his excellent Cianti talking. Also, she probably should've omitted that adverb 'again' there. After all, that story had happened in Bristol and, proverbially, should stay in Bristol.

"C-coping off," he repeated in a flat voice. Coffee beans poured into a bowl on the scale with melodious clinking. "You s-said you d-didn't... That you d-didn't go f-further than kissing."

Billie gave his wide back a taken aback glare.

"I'm talking about what it'll look like afterwards," she said. "My factual intimate history or my preferences are of no importance here."

He made some sort of a coarse noise; but since she couldn't see his face, it was impossible to interpret it. The beans travelled into a grinder; he pressed a button; and for a few seconds the only sound in the kitchen was the screeching and wrenching of the machine.

Clementine walked into the kitchen and froze, her gaze jumping between Dar and Billie.

"Nana said there's dessert in the fridge," the writer said.

"There's a box of pesche di Prato," Dair answered without turning. "And a platter of torta samples. And the paperbag there." 

He pointed behind him with a tea spoon he was loading his magical pot with.

"Oh buccellato di Lucca!" Clem exclaimed, peering into the bag. "Oh and brigidini! You grew up in Lucca, didn't you? We went to Tuscany for our honeymoon," she explained to Billie. "These bring back memories. Are these gluten-free, from that small bakery where your Nonna took us?"

Dair confirmed with a small hum.

"Let me give you a hand," Billie offered.

Her mood was dark. Meeting his Nonna - the Esther Spruce - was yet another of the perks of being his plus-one that she was not going to ever enjoy.

They arranged the pudding on several plates and took them to to the sitting room, where the Reverend was now surrounded by five little'uns: two sets of twin girls, and a boy, who looked like Will Holyoake's mini-copy; accompanied by a tall teen. Billie recognised Lily, the daughter of Sam, Rhys' younger brother. Billie had quite forgotten that there were children in this house, despite her run-in with them and Vulcan the Bloody Mutt earlier in the evening. The dog was probably locked up somewhere.

The children whipped their heads - and revere adoration spilled onto their faces. For the umpteenth time in her life, Billie wished for any other Harewicke gift instead of hers. She'd even take her Aunt Hazel's Mathematically Improbable Luck at Cards, Except on Thursdays and in November.

"Good evening, Ms. Harewicke," Lily said shyly.

The other children had already abandoned their clerical Uncle and stood in a row in front of Billie. One of the girls was panting just like her canine friend earlier, her blue eyes roaming Billie. All five were radiating ardent love and undying devotion. Billie sighed in resignation. Lily introduced her cousins.

"Oh and I've got a message for you from your sister," the girl added. "I saw her earlier today, at the fashion show rehearsal."

"Uh-huh," Billie answered, suppressing a wave of panic. "Tell me about it later."

"She told me you'd say that," Lily said, blushing. "And that I was still supposed to deliver it."

"What's that?" Nana asked from her tall Victorian armchair.

Oh god, please no.

"Billie's sister has passed a message to her through Lily," Ulla said from her spot next to the piano, where she was leaning against the instrument, ogling her partner.

"Oh which one?" Fiona asked with curiosity.

"Delia," Lily answered - and then shrank under Billie's glare. "Sorry, was I not supposed to tell?" the girl whispered.

It's too late for that, innit? Billie screamed internally.

"Is she the one who does readings at the Harvest Festival and writes the tickets for the fortune teller machine during the May Dance?" Nana asked.

"Yes, she is."

Billie considered fleeing back to the kitchen, no matter how awkward it felt being around Dair right now.

"And what is your other sister's gift?" Fiona continued her investigation.

"She makes teas," Billie muttered grudgingly.

Technically, the full description of Phee's ability was Preparing Infusions to Cure Any Non-Fatal Ailment, Except for Common Cold and Ache in One's Left Ear; but Billie never fancied to elaborate on that.

"So she's a herbalist! Or is it a herbologist?" Fiona scrunched her nose in a charming pensive pout.

"She's got a degree in botany and nutrition sciences," Billie said defensively. "All my Aunts and sisters have proper education in what they practise. The whole witchcraft thing is proper hogwash! There's no magic!" she exclaimed and flailed her hands.

"I beg to differ," Rhys said with a low chortle and pointed at the children in front of Billie who were following her every movement with their eyes.

Billie hid her hands behind her back.

"I remember your mother," Nana Holyoake said. "You inherited her gift, didn't you?" Billie's heart clenched, and she swallowed hard. "She was wonderful with children and animals," the matriarch continued. "She used to run a soft play place in Fleckney Woulds and volunteered in the hospital, in the children's wing. Don't you remember her, Rhys? You were the last Holyoake who spent time there. She passed away about twenty-five years ago."

The woman's soft and grave "I'm sorry for your loss, dear" was the last straw. Tears burst out of Billie's eyes, and she dashed out of the room.