Page 2 of Christmas, Actually

‘This way.’ Jenny signalled that Liam should follow her up the stairs, which had also been decorated for the season, before leading him into a single room. He lay the sleeping boy carefully in the bed, holding his breath when Charlie snorted and then yawned. Liam started to breathe again when the yawn turned into a low snore. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again and ignored it. He couldn’t risk answering and waking Charlie, but who was calling so insistently?

He stood straighter and looked around. The room was cosy, with blue curtains and a carpet to match. Liam noticed the duvet cover featured a festive Thomas the Tank Engine and wondered if the older woman had bought it specially. She was the closest Charlie had to extended family. Liam’s had either passed away, or, well, he wasn’t going to think about what else had happened. Which was fine because he didn’t want or need anyone else. Getting close to people brought complications and he had enough of those as it was.

‘I won’t be late,’ he said, leaning down to press the edge of his face to the boy’s and breathing in his scent. He smelled of strawberry toothpaste and blueberry bubble bath – Charlie’s current favourites. Ironically, in the manner of all contradictory four-year-olds, he wouldn’t touch either fruit in its natural form. ‘The meeting isn’t meant to take that long. We’re just ironing out a few details.’

Jenny shook her head, her white bouffant barely moving. Liam wasn’t sure whether to admire or fear her immoveable hair. He knew Charlie loved it because he’d found something similar on one of his LEGO Minifigures and had promptly renamed it Granny Jenny before giving it pride of place on the table next to his bed.

‘Take as long as you like and don’t feel like you have to rush back,’ the older woman told him as they slowly made their way back down the stairs. ‘I mean, if you wanted to go out for a drink or something. There are many, many very attractive single women in Hollythorpe.’ She stood in the porch, the bulb above lighting her face. ‘You’re too young – and far too handsome – to be spending every night in alone.’ She flushed, the beam from above accentuating her now luminous cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Liam had heard this. ‘And I’m perfectly happy to babysit whenever you want.’

‘I’m fine,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not looking to have a relationship. I have a very full life with plenty of pulls on my time already.’ As if to confirm it, Figgy let out a bark from the doorway of his house and his mobile simultaneously began to ring. He let it go to voicemail. He’d check the message soon. Someone was clearly very determined to get in touch. ‘See.’ He jerked his chin as he backtracked out of the door, almost forgetting the backpack that was still slung over his shoulder. He slid it off and handed it to her. ‘This has got everything Charlie needs. LEGO, dinosaurs, his blanket. I put in an emergency storybook – although I’ve already read him three.’ He grimaced. ‘If he wakes just⁠—’

She waved a hand. ‘You’re on the end of a mobile and probably only a ten-minute drive away. Relax, love. This isn’t my first rodeo.’ She patted him gently on the arm looking sympathetic, which made him feel pathetic and lonely and a million things he didn’t want to feel.

‘I’m sure that despite my advanced age I can handle a four-year-old. If he wakes, I’ll try to keep the vodka tonics and brownies to a minimum and we’ll only watch the first Final Destination movie, I promise. It is the best one.’ She grinned wickedly and he laughed, perhaps for the first time in weeks.

‘Right, okay, great.’ He backed out onto the pathway that led to her front door and looked up when snow fluttered onto his cheeks. ‘We prefer Peppa Pig, but I guess it’s almost the same.’

She nodded sagely. ‘All those muddy puddles just waiting to swallow you up.’ Her grin grew. ‘Bye, Liam,’ the older woman sang. ‘I’d say please do everything I wouldn’t do, but I’m guessing that’s going to fall on deaf ears.’ She shook her head and then stopped and gave him a long look.

‘But jokes aside, forgive me for overstepping and know I only have the best of intentions.’ Her blue eyes pinned him, and even the Christmas lights twinkling behind her didn’t lighten the intensity of the moment. ‘You’ve buried yourself away in that house for far too long. Mia left two and a half years ago…’

‘I know,’ Liam said softly even as his stomach pitched. He wasn’t grieving the end of their marriage, that had passed a long time ago – and in some ways he’d never had the partnership he’d craved. But he was sad his son had no mother; that the life he’d envisaged hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected it to.

‘Make time for yourself. I’m here and there are plenty of others in the village who would be too.’ Jenny’s mouth pinched. The red lipstick that she always wore had leaked into the tiny creases surrounding her lips making her look older and wiser. ‘We all need someone special – especially at Christmas.’

Liam nodded. He wasn’t going to argue. Especially not with the woman he relied on for his one night off. And he liked Jenny. A lot. She was the kind of person he wished he was related to. Someone kind and warm, someone who would do anything for anyone, someone who understood loyalty. That was the type of person he was trying to be so he could teach Charlie what a good man was.

But after a day of working and helping where he could, or after a day of caring for his son, there wasn’t enough left in the tank for anything else. Flirting was fine and he enjoyed the pure joy of playful banter, the slow roll in the pit of his stomach when someone noticed him and he noticed them right back. But he definitely wasn’t going to get seriously involved with another woman. Not a chance.

He stood on the threshold between the two houses as Jenny shut the door and searched his pocket for his mobile just as it buzzed again, signalling he had a voicemail. He sighed and nodded to Figgy before holding the phone to his ear, expecting to hear from a customer. He sometimes got urgent calls after hours.

Instead, a man’s gravelly voice whispered, ‘Merry Christmas, I hope you’re ready for a big surprise!’ before the message cut off and the phone fell silent.

Liam frowned as Figgy barked. ‘Wrong number I think. At least I hope it was. I don’t like surprises,’ he said before making his way into his house. He was late and didn’t have time to worry about odd messages in the night – even if a part of him was quite worried about exactly what the mysterious ‘surprise’ might be…

3

CLARA

Clara stood on the cobbled pavement of Hollythorpe High Street beside her backpack as a drizzle of light snow fluttered around her head, landing in her hair as she watched the tail lights of the black taxi disappear into the darkness. Wringing her hands against the frigid wind, she took in a deep breath as she turned to stare at the facade of The Cosy Christmas Shop again, admiring the quaint, hand-painted sign and golden Cotswolds-stone brickwork which seemed to shimmer under the stars.

She studied the beautiful building – it had wide arched windows that displayed a charming array of sparkly mini Christmas trees in red, green and white, multiple Santa ornaments, baubles in various colours, festive cards and strings of lights. The lights were on inside the shop, and Clara could see signs of movement, but she couldn’t seem to get herself to move. What if her godmother, Eleanor, said she couldn’t stay? What if she was upset that Clara had been so bad at keeping in touch? Her stomach clutched.

She gulped and then peered again, pressing her nose to the glass window, wondering if she’d even recognise her godmother now. It had been four years since they’d last met up – just before Eleanor had moved to Hollythorpe to open her shop and Clara had headed to New York – and she’d been awful at responding to her messages since. Mostly because Hudson wanted her to put all of her energy into them and, somehow, she’d allowed everything else – including regular contact with her godmother – to slide. She wished again that she’d called ahead. But what would she have said?

I know I’ve been rubbish at replying to your cards, letters and emails, but I’ve just caught my fiancé cheating and had nowhere else to go… I’m not sure why I desperately want to see you and only you. But I’ve never forgotten that you used to call me beautiful when you plaited my hair when I was a child, or how you bought me pretty necklaces and rings and never made comments about my weight, my height, or the size of my ears…

Her godmother had done a lot more than that. She’d listened whenever Clara had a problem and had always taken her side; she’d tucked her into bed whenever she’d visited; had helped with homework and had even made her a pink princess birthday cake for the one party she’d been invited to. They seemed such small things now, but having those kindnesses taken away had left such a void when Eleanor had fallen out with Clara’s mother, Maeve. It had been a silly argument – mostly about how harshly Maeve Frost treated Clara. But instead of taking her comments on board, her mother had barred Eleanor from the house, ending their friendship for good. Suddenly all the things Clara had begun to take for granted had disappeared. She’d never really allowed herself to trust in anything lasting since.

Her mother hadn’t been happy about the two of them staying in touch and had tried her hardest to discourage the relationship – and for about five years she’d got her way. It had been Eleanor who’d somehow managed to contact Clara again. First, it had been via emails and later, after Clara had finished university and left home, they’d met up for lunch regularly. Eleanor had made sure to tell Clara that she’d be there if she ever needed her – and today, after all this time, she did.

Clara gripped her hands into fists, wondering if she was kidding herself. Promises were broken all the time and words – while pretty to hear – often didn’t mean much when the going got tough. Why would her godmother want to have anything to do with her now?

‘There’s only one way to find out – get to it, Frost,’ Clara ordered herself as she grasped the shiny red knob and pushed before frowning when the door didn’t budge. ‘Is it stuck?’ She tried again, shoving it harder, but it didn’t shift. ‘Where is everyone?’ She gazed into the shop searching for someone to signal. The lights were on and the open sign was clearly visible, but she realised the movement she’d seen earlier was a golden cat ornament sitting by the till. It was dressed as Father Christmas and its right arm was waving. And was that bird perched on the fir tree in the centre of the sparkly space breathing? It took off before landing on a shelf of baubles, answering her question.

Clara knocked again, but when no one came, she leaned her back on the door, ignoring the eerie creek it made. She was about to pull her mobile from her pocket so she could google the number of Eleanor’s shop when she heard the sound of tyres splashing. She twisted her head just in time to see the huge black truck screech to an abrupt stop. The impact created a tsunami of slush that flew across the pavement like a squad of synchronised Olympic gymnasts before landing on her face, hair and coat with a splat.

‘That’s just perfect.’ She sighed, jumping away from the doorway and gazing down at herself.