A Very Coco Christmas Read online

  A Very Coco Christmas

  A sparkling, feel-good Christmas short story

  Robert Bryndza

  Also by Robert Bryndza

  KATE MARSHALL CRIME THRILLER SERIES

  Nine Elms

  * * *

  ERIKA FOSTER CRIME THRILLER SERIES

  The Girl in the Ice

  The Night Stalker

  Dark Water

  Last Breath

  Cold Blood

  Deadly Secrets

  * * *

  ROMANTIC COMEDIES

  The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard

  Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding

  Coco Pinchard, The Consequences of Love and Sex

  A Very Coco Christmas

  Coco Pinchard’s Must-Have Toy Story

  Miss Wrong and Mr Right

  Raven Street Publishing

  www.ravenstreetpublishing.com

  * * *

  Copyright © Robert Bryndza 2013, 2019

  * * *

  Robert Bryndza has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  * * *

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the publishers.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-9161539-4-3

  Print ISBN: 978-1-9161482-7-7

  Large Print ISBN: 978-1-9161482-8-4

  ALSO AVAILABLE AS AN AUDIOBOOK

  For Ricky and Lola, I know you can’t read this, because you‘re dogs, but you make our lives complete.

  Contents

  December 1985

  Saturday 21st December

  Sunday 22nd December

  Monday 23rd December

  Tuesday 24th December – Christmas Eve

  Wednesday 25th December - Christmas Day

  A Note From Robert

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  December 1985

  Saturday 21st December

  I never thought I would grow to love Aberystwyth so quickly. I thought I was a London girl through and through, but the dark beauty of Wales by the sea has captivated my heart. So too has Daniel Pinchard.

  We woke up entwined this morning in my high little attic room, with its rather precipitous view of the paved seafront promenade below. A storm had raged all night, the waves smashing into the concrete wall of the prom throwing up giant jets of seawater that slapped against my window. The Christmas lights strung on wires along the street lamps swung and clinked and as the green, red and blue shone through the rippling water coursing down my window, they gave it a deliciously romantic feel. All through this my dark and gorgeous Daniel was naked in my bed. He sleeps naked, which is something quite thrilling. He has a lithe muscular body with a smattering of hair on his beautiful chest and stomach, and he has long chestnut hair, almost to his shoulders. His eyes are a warm caramel colour, his lips full, his nose strong and he always has a dark line of stubble on his square jaw. I’m hopelessly in love.

  When I was preparing to come away to University my mother took me to buy ‘a suitable nightie’. This wasn’t because she wanted me to look good in bed for future lovers.

  ‘You’ll be sharing a house with other girls, and it’s Wales.’ She shuddered, thumbing through the racks of button-up-to-the-neck long nightgowns. ‘You need to show you're cosmopolitan, but not easy… Now do you want flame proof?’

  ‘In case some amorous suitor attacks me with a blow torch?’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous…’ she snapped, marching off to the till with something long and frilly.

  * * *

  As I lay in only my knickers and no bra, watching Daniel sleep, I laughed at what my mother would think. The sea was now calm and there was just the caw of seagulls picking over the spoils thrown up by the storm and the drag of the waves on the shingle. I sat up and lit a cigarette. Daniel opened his eyes.

  ‘Morning Coco,’ he said stretching out his long, agile body.

  ‘It’s so romantic, after a storm,’ I said, as the sun began to shine through the window. ‘Look at the sea reaching out to the horizon glittering and smooth… infinite.’

  ‘You have the most excellent tits,’ said Daniel sitting up and taking a drag of my cigarette.

  ‘Daniel!’ I said. ‘I was being romantic.’

  ‘So was I,’ he grinned. ‘We’ve got three hours until we have to get the train back to London, let’s make the most of it…’ He leant over with a twinkle in his eye and stubbed out my cigarette, then pulled me on top of him.

  An hour later we had dragged ourselves out of bed and I was packing my suitcase.

  ‘Are the Bananas still here?’ asked Daniel pulling on his drainpipe jeans. I opened my door onto the landing and there was silence. The Bananas are my housemates Tania, Tanya and Claire. They’d already caught trains home for Christmas. The smell of them lingered though, a stench of hairspray, catching in the back of my throat with a sting. They’re all Bananarama mad, and have their hair done accordingly which involves discharging a whole can of Aquanet Super Hold on their wet hair whilst blow-drying furiously. I’ve asked Daniel if I should try mine this way, but he says he loves my blonde hair long and natural.

  Anyway, which Banana would you be?' he asked. 'Tania is Keren, Tanya is Sara and Claire is Siobhan. There’s nothing worse than being second banana, let alone fourth.'

  He had a point.

  * * *

  We left my flat with a suitcase each and Daniel had his battered guitar case slung over his shoulder. We walked hand in hand along the prom, and made a beeline for our favourite café, Dai’s, a small squat building sandwiched between the amusement arcade and video shop on the pier. It used to be a serious rock-and-heavy-metal bar, until Dai bought it, a thin and wan Welshman with huge milky blue eyes. During term time it’s home to most of the arts faculty and Dai plays pop music. We grabbed a seat by the window looking out to sea. The café was full of people chattering and smoking above the hiss of the coffee machine.

  ‘Hello loves,’ said Dai listlessly wandering over with his pad. ‘I thought you’d be back in the smoke by now?’

  ‘No, our train is at two-thirty,’ I said sadly.

  ‘Yes, Christmas again,’ said Dai mournfully in his soft Welsh lilt. ‘It’ll just be me and mother, if I don’t strangle the old bag during The Two Ronnies… so, what will it be for the lovebirds?’

  I looked at Daniel.

  ‘I’m going to treat us. We’ll have two of your big breakfasts please,’ I said.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea.’

  He wrote it down and took our menus,

  ‘Won’t be a mo, loves,’ he said then wandered off to the kitchen.

  ‘Coco,’ said Daniel frowning. ‘I was just going to have a cuppa.’

  ‘You need the energy after last night,’ I said trying to keep my voice light.

  ‘You always treat me,’ he said lowering his voice.

  ‘Because I love you,’ I said, my heart sinking that the subject of money had arisen, again. I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and offered him one, but he shook his head and began rolling his own with the minuscule amount of tobacco he had left.

  We sat in silence looking out at the s
ea, Daniel sucking determinedly at his darning needle sized roll-up as it kept going out. Our breakfasts came soon after and he gobbled his down as the radio played Merry Christmas Everyone.

  ‘Slow down, we’ve got time,’ I said. Then I noticed him eyeing his guitar propped by the table.

  ‘I'm gonna go and busk for an hour or so, then I’m going to pay for both our breakfasts,’ said Daniel leaping up enthusiastically as soon as he’d finished his last mouthful.

  ‘Don’t… it’s freezing, and…’

  ‘And what? Not worth it for the few pence I get!’

  ‘You get more than that,’ I said but he’d grabbed his guitar and stalked out.

  ‘He’s a heartbreaker, that one,’ said Dai wistfully, appearing at the table and staring at Daniel’s angry wake. 'The bad boys always break your heart… Another cuppa love?'

  'Go on then,' I said. I sat and smoked a cigarette with a fresh cup of tea, looking out at the sea and the gorgeous Edwardian houses lining the promenade. I would kill to just stay here with Daniel for Christmas, walking on the beach, lying in bed, whiling away hours with a cuppa and a fag in Dai’s cosy little cafe. Daniel returned an hour later, thrilled.

  ‘Look Coco!’ he said. He tipped out the contents of his busking hat onto the table.

  ‘You made sixteen pounds!' I said counting it out.

  'I barely make a quid usually. Look, someone even gave me a fiver! A fiver for my playing! I can’t believe it.’ he said grinning broadly.

  ‘I can.’ I said. ‘You’re a brilliant musician.’

  When Daniel went to pay at the counter, however, Dai was having none of it.

  ‘It’s on the house loves,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas!’

  ‘But I wanted to pay…’ said Daniel.

  ’Treat ‘er to somewhere nicer than this.’ said Dai.

  ‘No, I want to…’

  ‘Hush those sweet lips,’ grinned Dai putting his hand over Daniel’s indignant mouth. 'Now bugger off home for Christmas.'

  'Thanks, Dai, merry Christmas,’ I said giving him a huge hug.

  'Yeah, thanks, merry Christmas,’ said Daniel begrudgingly. We suddenly realised our train was about to leave so grabbed our luggage and ran for it. I looked back at the sea front as we rounded the corner to the station. Then the sun went in and we were on the train and moving off towards London.

  * * *

  The journey was long and crowded. Daniel got into a row with the old man running the buffet car when he went to order us two cups of coffee (which were a rip-off at 49p each). He proudly went to pay with the five-pound note he’d earned, but the stupid old git refused to take it!

  'Ow do I know thas’ yours?’ he asked, squinting at it as if it was a block of gold stolen from Fort Knox.

  'Why wouldn’t it be mine?' said Daniel. The old man looked at him sceptically in his tatty brown leather jacket. 'This is the fashion,' said Daniel, hurt.

  ‘No, thas’ the fashion,’ said the old man, pointing at a boy standing behind us dressed in expensive Adam Ant gear.

  I quickly rummaged in my handbag for some change, but Daniel told the old man and the Adam Ant boy to sod it and stormed off. I glared at the old man and followed Daniel. He’d had to eke out his tiny grant throughout the term, and now, the one time he was flush, that stupid old fool embarrassed him. He locked himself in the train toilet. (Daniel, not the Old Man) and when I finally persuaded him to come out around Swindon, his eyes were red from crying.

  ‘You can buy me a coffee in London,’ I said but it only made things worse.

  It was dark when the train pulled into Euston. The station was dirty and smelly and everything seemed to be bathed in a dim fluorescent yellow. We fought our way through the crowds hand in hand and down to the northern line at Kings Cross. Then we had to say goodbye. We stood on the platform, trying to hear each other through the crowds of people surging past and the wind roaring along the tunnel.

  ‘I love you Coco,’ he shouted, wiping a tear from my cheek. ‘Don’t forget that, and it’s only two weeks.’

  ‘I’m going to miss you so much, I already miss you and you’re here…’ I shouted as his train clattered and roared up beside us.

  ‘We’re going to meet up and I’m going to take you to the cinema and for pie and mash… and let’s phone each other every day,’ he shouted leaning closer.

  He pulled out a strip of photos we’d had taken at an instant photo booth in Boots a few days ago. He carefully tore the four pictures across the middle so that we had two each, and wrote his phone number on the back of his. I did the same and we swapped. Then his train was about to leave. He kissed me and jumped inside just as the doors closed. He looked at me through the door as the train slowly moved off. I stayed and watched until the back of it had vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, then I took the stairs up to the circle line and found a train to Baker Street.

  It was so embarrassing to cry on the tube. It wasn’t very busy. Sitting across from me was a girl with black lipstick and bright red hair in a huge spike three feet high. I thought she must use more hairspray than Tania, Tanya and Claire combined. She was sitting with a boy who was dressed like Boy George – he was even wearing eye shadow! They both had Christmas baubles on their ears and tinsel strung around their necks.

  ‘You alright?’ said the girl. She smiled and her black lipstick stretched and cracked showing pale lips underneath. She leaned across pressing a green paper towel into my hand that she must have got from a public toilet.

  ‘Thanks.’ I said dabbing my eyes politely with it.

  ‘You got any fags?’ demanded the boy sharply.

  ‘Oh, um, yes…’ I said. He stared at me, white eyes surrounded by black smudged eyeliner. I opened my handbag, pulled out my packet of cigarettes and offered him one.

  ‘What about me?’ said the girl, her voice hardening. ‘I was just nice to you. I gave you a hanky…’

  I felt like telling her that free bog paper was not a hanky but they’d both turned menacing.

  ‘She’s got a load of pound notes in her handbag too,’ said the boy. Looking round I could see the train was pretty empty. My end of the carriage was sparse. A group of bored-looking commuters were sitting up the other end, engrossed in their broadsheets. I started to feel panicky.

  ‘She thinks she’s better than us, don’t you think Mike?’ said the girl licking the corner of her black-lipsticked mouth. Her tongue was fat and ripe and covered in white fur.

  ‘Yeah. She could afford to give us the rest of her fags, she could just buy more…’ said Mike.

  Suddenly the train pulled into a station. I grabbed my suitcase, got up and ran off the train. I found myself on the platform under the fluorescent lights and kept running until I reached the stairs. I glanced back and saw that the train was now moving away and the platform was empty. I stopped, panting, and with a jolt of horror realised I’d left my handbag on the seat of the train. It had my cigarettes, ten pounds, and the photos of me and Daniel, with his phone number written on the back. In tears, I waited for the next train as it got colder and a thin fog began to fill the air.

  * * *

  When I arrived at Baker Street Station it was busy and warm. Christmas lights hung above the escalator and people were flooding past me in the opposite direction laughing and laden down with Christmas shopping. Office workers wore tinsel in their hair and at the top of the stairs a long-haired busker was playing an upbeat punk version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen on his guitar. He made me think of Daniel.

  Dad was waiting for me in his hat and coat by a cobbler’s booth with droopy Christmas decorations hanging off the sign.

  ‘Hello darling,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He gave me a big hug and I pressed my face against the scratchy material of his winter coat, still a little cold from outside. I suddenly felt like a child again and embarrassed. Could he tell I was no longer a virgin? Only a few hours ago my head had been lying against Daniel’s naked chest… I blushed.

&nbs
p; ‘Where’s Mum?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘She’s getting ready for Christmas. We’ve got Yvonne and Adrian Rosebury coming over with Kenneth on Christmas Day.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Now come on Karen,’ he said.

  It was so strange to be called Karen again. It felt like I had been Coco forever…I realised Dad was still rabbiting on.

  'I’m sure they’re keen to hear all about your time at university… and Kenneth is studying French at Keele so you’ll have lots to talk about.’

  ‘Will I? I’m studying English at the other end of the country.’

  Dad let that slide as we continued walking, past the Clarence Gate entrance to Regent’s Park. I could see the edge of the lake where it was frozen and a man in a threadbare suit was shivering next to a vat of roasting chestnuts.

  I opened my mouth to say that I wanted to buy some chestnuts, but then remembered I’d lost my handbag.

  * * *

  I felt suffocated as we came through the front door. The central heating was on full blast, there was a strong smell of furniture polish and everything had a dull gleam to it. Mum was standing by the hall table, with the phone to her ear and adjusting her jet-black curls in the mirror. She looked ready to go into battle with Christmas, in an expensive red nylon blouse with huge shoulder pads, a tight black pencil skirt, and perilously high black stilettos. She mouthed dramatically that she was on the phone, and switched the receiver to the other ear so I could lean in for a hug.