Page 9 of Christmas, Actually

The phone suddenly beeped on the bedside table and Clara flinched before heading across the bedroom.

You’re mistaken. Abigail had something in her eye and I was helping her find it. When are you coming home? H

Clara read the message three times before shaking her head, noticing that her fiancé had signed off with just an ‘H’ – a sure sign that he wanted something. The one letter told of intimacy and connection, it was a powerful reminder that they had a bond – Hudson often used it when he was in the wrong.

Had she imagined they were kissing? Clara’s forehead drew together as she tried to recall, her mind swirling with confusion. Had she got it all wrong? She shook her head, irritated that once again she was doubting herself. She knew exactly what she’d seen. Unsure of how to respond, she put the phone back on the table and went to get dressed as her stomach churned.

Liam was still in the kitchen when Clara found him. There was a mug of hot coffee sitting on the side – in the same Christmas tree mug that Eleanor had given her. He looked relieved when she arrived, perhaps because she was dressed?

‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a sip from the mug, feeling awkward suddenly. ‘Can I offer you anything to eat, some trifle perhaps? It’s very good,’ she blurted.

Did she seriously just offer him trifle? She flushed. ‘Although it’s probably not the right thing to have for breakfast.’

Liam’s body was probably a temple – she suspected he only ate egg whites and sprouted wheat bread, and it certainly looked like he worked out. If Hudson was here, he’d be horrified.

Liam nodded. ‘That sounds perfect, actually, I need some sugar.’ His lips curved, making her insides jump. ‘I’m not sure how you knew trifle was one of my favourite ways to start the day. I’m sensing our festive marriage was meant to be,’ he teased, clearly fully recovered from his discomfort earlier.

Clara smiled back as she went to open the fridge. ‘Seriously?’ she asked because she didn’t know him well enough to know if he was laughing at her. She hoped he wasn’t.

He nodded soberly. ‘I never joke about trifle. Especially not if Eleanor made it.’

He watched as she scooped some into a bowl for him and then decided to have another small scoop for herself.

They ate in silence, until Figgy whined in the other room. ‘I’d better let him out.’ He gave her a quick once-over. ‘You’re wearing denim again.’ His mouth pinched as his eyes travelled to the tight red sweater she’d pulled on. It was pure wool and fluffy. He shook his head. ‘Oh boy.’ He sighed.

Clara laughed. ‘Is there a fabric your dog doesn’t like?’

Liam nodded. ‘Football shirts and anything scratchy. If you’ve got a Brillo-pad outfit in that denim bag of yours, then that will see him off.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Clara said, her grin widening. She put their bowls in the dishwasher. ‘I’ll see you next Tuesday for our first event?’

He gave her a long look. ‘I think we might be meeting up this afternoon – I’m sure Eleanor will explain all.’ The edge of his mouth kicked up. ‘Have a good morning, and I’m sorry about earlier.’ His eyes dipped to where the towel would have been and Clara felt her insides turn over as she watched Liam head out of the kitchen.

That wasn’t going to happen – it was the last thing she needed. She was here to give Hudson time to admit what he’d done and realise that he’d made a huge mistake. Here so that her fiancé understood exactly what life would be like without her in it. She certainly wasn’t here to drool over a gorgeous electrician with a fabric-obsessed dog – even if he did make amazing coffee, eat trifle for breakfast and make her feel like every nerve ending in her body had suddenly come back to life…

7

CLARA

‘What do you mean Mrs Christmas has to sing?’ Clara regarded her godmother with horror as the older woman carefully hung another bauble from her recent delivery onto the large Christmas tree that had been erected in the centre of her festive shop. The store was a joyful ode to Christmas, a series of interconnected, crooked rooms – some small, some large – that teemed with sparkly ornaments and glimmering lights, from the subtle to the garish.

There were wobbly figures dancing to popular festive songs, tinsel, cards, crackers and even a whole section of small gifts. There had been a steady stream of customers popping in and out of the store in the half hour that Clara had been helping her godmother – proving that the locals were as obsessed with Christmas as she was.

‘It’s just one song – and you’ll be asking everyone else to join in,’ Eleanor soothed as she straightened up and gave Clara a questioning look. ‘You used to love singing. You have a gorgeous voice.’

‘Back when I was ten,’ Clara said softly. ‘And I think you’re the only person who’s ever complimented me on it. I don’t even sing in the shower now.’

She had once, but her mother had told her the noise gave her a headache. When she’d tried again in Hudson’s penthouse flat after moving in, he’d put his sound system on so loud that the neighbours had complained. It had been an audible suggestion that she shouldn’t do it again and Clara had taken the hint. It wasn’t like Hudson had been trying to hurt her feelings; it was more of a subtle message that her voice wasn’t great. Clara knew she was good at a lot of things, but singing wasn’t one of them and she was fine with that.

‘What about Liam, does he have to sing?’ She folded her arms, getting ready to argue about the fairness of having to make a fool of herself while he got to watch.

‘Of course he does! You sing together. It’s going to be charming,’ Eleanor said, hanging another bauble onto the overladen tree. This one was blue with silver sparkles. ‘He’s got a lovely voice too.’

Of course he bloody did. Clara sighed. He was almost too perfect to be real. She had no idea why she found that so irritating; perhaps it was because she’d never got within a mile of perfection and he now made her feel like more of a failure than she already was.

‘I’ve got your costume in the stock room. Joe Abbot from the magic shop went to pick it up from Tabitha’s mum this morning. Tabitha is the one on jury service,’ she explained in case Clara didn’t remember their conversation at the meeting. ‘We might need to use a couple of safety pins.’ She eyed Clara’s waist critically. ‘But overall, I think it’s going to work. Then we need to take some photos. Believe it or not, Ebenezer – that’s my special name for him –’ She chuckled. ‘– has offered to do that.’

‘Is there something going on with you and the bookshop owner?’ Clara asked, picking up one of the baubles and hanging it onto a branch. ‘It’s just he’s really cute and there seemed to be some kind of…’ She jiggled her fingers. ‘Tension between you.’ She couldn’t explain it better than that. She hadn’t seen her godmother for so long, suddenly she wanted to catch up on everything that was happening in her life.