‘No but I can smell brandy?’ he replied, licking his lips.
‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ Dad said, turning back to the house. ‘Don’t move, young man!’
‘No need for an ambulance,’ Dev mumbled as the colour started to come back to his face. ‘I’m fine, just surprised. There’s nothing wrong with me other than getting knocked on my arse by whatever-that-was.’
I held the pudding platter out in front of myself, a last line of antique defence.
‘It was a Christmas pudding,’ I explained, picking a chunk of said pudding out of his hair. ‘I threw it.’
‘You threw a Christmas pudding at me?’ he replied with a quizzical look. ‘Why?’
The whole family stared at me, waiting for an answer.
‘B-because there was a rat,’ I stuttered. ‘In the pudding.’
Oh, good one, Gwen. I silently slow-clapped for myself, my shoulders sloping with shame.
‘There was a rat?’
‘Yes.’
‘In your Christmas pudding?’
‘That’s right.’
Considering I was a good lawyer, I had a terrible poker face.
‘When I walked into the dining room, I saw it poke it’s head out,’ I went on, immediately breaking the first rule of how to tell a successful lie. Never give more information than is absolutely necessary. ‘Obviously I didn’t want the kids to see it and be traumatized. They bloody loveRatatouille. So I brought it out here.’
‘All I know is that was a bloody hard rat,’ Dev said as he sat up and looked around at the assembled Baker clan, all of whom were still staring at me.
‘But you’re all right, son?’ Dad held out a hand and hauled him up to his feet with a grunt. ‘No broken bones?’
Dev nodded, rubbing his hip, his gorgeous black hair barely even ruffled. ‘I am. Trust me, I’m a doctor.’
‘You know you could sue her for assault,’ Oliver said, digging around in his pockets for a business card. ‘Oliver Adlington of Adlington & Adlington, we specialize in personal injury claims.’
Dev stared at his outstretched hand, recognition flickering across his face. ‘Oliver Adlington? Did I see one of your adverts in the toilets of a Little Chef?’
‘That’s right!’ Oli cheered. ‘We’re trialling branded loo roll. It’s got our logo and then it says, “We’ll wipe the floor with them.” Turns out there’s a big crossover demographic between service station users and personal injury claimants.’
‘I don’t think we should be encouraging the neighbour to sue my sister on Christmas Day.’ Cerys snatched the card out of his hand. Her eyes skirted over to me as shetucked it away in the pocket of her dress. ‘At least wait until tomorrow.’
Dev scrunched up his face in disbelief, although which part he was struggling with the most was impossible for me to say.
‘I really am sorry,’ I told him, still kneeling on the ground as he dusted off the back of his coat. Sorry for hitting him in the head with a flaming pudding, sorry for snapping at him on the Christmas Day that never was, sorry for not replying to his emails all those years ago …
‘No big deal.’ He rolled his shoulders and turned his head from side to side, wincing just a little. ‘I was having a very boring day until you attacked me with a dessert, but I think I will pop back in and take an ibuprofen just in case.’
‘Perfect, he’s going to tell his mother Gwen lamped him with a pudding and I won’t be able to show my face at aqua-aerobics,’ Mum muttered under her breath.
‘Nice to see you all,’ Dev said. He raised his hand in a wave to everyone but kept his eyes on me. An unexpected shiver of delight ran up and down my spine and I had to bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ we chorused back, slightly out of time with each other and with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Still on the ground, I waved until he retreated out of sight, Dev Jones, gone again. A sensible but stylish slip-on shoe nudged me where I sat and I looked up to see my parents staring down at me.
‘You saw a rat,’ Mum said.
‘Could have been a mouse,’ I replied. ‘Furry grey thing, white whiskers, pink tail. You didn’t see it?’