The Reluctant Elf (Kindle Single) by Michele Gorman

Danny is getting on so that I can set the table for lunch. With a few pine boughs woven between the candles and the sparkling glasses and silverware, it looks quite festive by the time I’m finished. I just need the Christmas crackers.
    There are about a hundred in the cabinet under the stairs in the hall, but I have to crawl in to get them.
    ‘Do you need a hand?’
    Hugo stands behind me, making me very aware that my head is in the cabinet and my arse is in the hall.
    ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
    ‘You look fine from here.’
    I back out, shuffling the boxes of crackers as I go. ‘How are Amanda and Oliver? Happy again?’
    Reminding him that he’s fathered two children with Prunella should dampen his lust.
    ‘There’s no long-term damage. Here, let me help you with those.’ He takes the boxes from me.
    Fine, whatever. ‘Thanks. I’ll just set the table and then we’re nearly ready for…’
    He stops in the middle of the hall.
    ‘Is something wrong?’
    I stop too.
    He shifts the boxes to one hand and points at the ceiling. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he says.
    You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re standing under the mistletoe that Danny hung to add a festive finishing touch for our guests’ first impression. Clearly it’s made an impression on Hugo.
    ‘I have to finish laying the table,’ I say. ‘I’ll take those. Thanks.’
    And I’ll get Danny to take the mistletoe down too. If I had a ladder I’d snatch it from the ceiling there and then.
     
    The beef stew actually smells delicious. It might not win Danny any culinary awards for presentation, and is maybe an odd choice for Christmas lunch, but at least we’ve got something to serve Rupert.
    They’ve downed a pitcher of cocktails by the time they pull their Christmas crackers. Maybe keeping the guests drunk is the way to garner positive reviews.
    I’m standing slumped against the fridge watching Danny microwave the Christmas pudding.
    ‘Are you sure it’s all right to do that?’ I ask.
    ‘There isn’t much choice. It would need to steam for an hour and I forgot to start it before we served lunch. Besides, I looked it up on Google.’
    ‘My Mum never microwaved it.’
    ‘That’s because Celine did the cooking, right?’
    ‘You don’t have to be mean about it, you know.’
    His eyebrows shoot up. ‘I wasn’t trying to be mean. Didn’t Celine do the cooking? That’s what you told me.’
    ‘Mum also cooked.’
    ‘Then I stand corrected. I’m sorry… why are you so sensitive when I mention Celine?’
    ‘I’m not,’ I say, sensitively. ‘I just don’t need anyone judging me, that’s all.’
    ‘The last thing I’d do is judge you, Lottie. Come on. You’re a single mum who’s had a pretty shitty couple of years. If anything I’m jealous that you have Celine. And I admire you.’
    The blush creeps up my cheeks. He admires me!
    ‘Thanks, Danny. You’re pretty admirable yourself, you know, the way you’re devoted to your daughter. A lot of men don’t bother.’
    ‘I’m sorry about Mabel’s father, Lottie, but not all men are shitbags. I hope you do know that.’
    ‘Well I haven’t had much exposure to men, shitbags or otherwise, since Mabel was born, so I’ll have to take your word for it.’
    Danny is beginning to restore my confidence though. If I were Phoebe’s mother, I wouldn’t have moved away.
    The microwave pings and the moment passes.
    I grab the brandy bottle and follow Danny to the dining room for our grand finale.
    ‘Is everyone ready?’ I say, holding the match over the booze-soaked pudding. I always loved this part of Christmas lunch when Dad would set our pudding alight, sending mum into a fit of giggles every time.
    I touch the match to the top of the pudding and it whooshes into blue flames that race down the sides.
    Then they race around the plate.
    Then they begin racing across the linen tablecloth, following the trail of brandy I’ve accidentally sloshed there.
    ‘Look, Mummy, it’s like