Page 13 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

Jen snorted. ‘It was not cute, it looked like a giant elf had vomited tinsel over everything.’ At the time she’d actually loved it. But that was before her Christmas-aversion began.

‘Hey, it was very festive and it was not September, it was almost December, thank you very much!’ Ted protested, laughing. ‘I’m surprised you’re not all just ordering a pile of humbugs, you bunch of Scrooges.’

No humbugs were ordered, but plenty of delicious food; turkey for Ted, nut roast for Lou, chicken for Rich and slow-cooked pork for Jen. It didn’t take long to arrive, and conversation soon dropped to a minimum as they fell on their food. The air was rich with the smell of roasted meat and gravy, woodsmoke from the fire and pine from the large tree in the corner.

Apart from being so close to where her sister lived, The Plough was the perfect village pub, Jen had to admit. Cosy lamps lit up corners and horse brasses gleamed on beams. Red and gold baubles hung from the ceiling, and fairy lights glittered on every wall. The wooden bar was so clean it shone, and the staff smiled and joked with customers as they went about their work.

‘What’s going on out there?’ Lou asked, pointing to the window, as their puddings arrived.

They dragged their attention away from the food – Jen had already taken a bite of her sticky toffee pudding, and was reluctant to think about anything else. But there was definitely some excitement taking place on the village street, where figures in bobble hats could be seen milling around and coloured lights were twinkling in the rapidly gathering darkness. Voices and laughter floated in.

‘Christmas market,’ Ted said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

‘Ooh, lovely,’ Lou said. ‘Let’s check it out after this, I’d love to pick up some bits for presents.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure . . . let’s just go back and hang out at the house, shall we?’ Jen said.

Her friends stared at her. Lou and Rich looked perplexed, but as her eye met Ted’s she knew he understood why she was trying to avoid the market.

‘Come on, Jen,’ he said softly. ‘You have to see them sometime.’

A silence fell over the table. Lou was intently examining her nails while Rich cleared his throat awkwardly and scrolled on his phone. Jen put her spoon down; her appetite had deserted her.

‘She might not even be there. And we’ll be with you.’ Ted reached across the table and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll be OK. If you see her, just say a quick hello. No harm done, eh?’

She stared at him, and at her other friends, who were still studiously ignoring this awkward conversation. Her heart was racing and tears pricked her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to see her sister, and she wondered briefly whether she could play the birthday card and insist they did what she wanted.

But Ted was staring at her earnestly with those big brown eyes. And he was being so annoyingly reasonable.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t spoken to Julia for years. There had been the odd stilted chat at those family gatherings, where she at least got to see the children. Julia had tried consistently to rebuild their relationship, and Jen had steadfastly refused to soften.

Ted was right. If the worst came to the worst she would say hello and move on. And with a bit of luck, Julia and her perfect family would be busy doing something else.

Because Julia was not so perfect, as Jen knew better than anyone. And she wasn’t about to let her forget it.

They wrapped scarves around their necks and pulled on gloves as they stepped out of the warm pub and onto the chilly village street, their breath clouding in the freezing air. Darkness had fallen and even Jen had to admit that the market looked utterly charming, with its rows of stalls on either side of the street adorned with garlands and Christmas wreaths. A choir dressed in Victorian costumes were singing carols and collecting for charity, and the smell of roasting chestnuts drifted through the air. Each market stall was like a little wooden hut, twinkling with lights.

A voice boomed across the general hubbub. ‘Newcomers!’

They all turned to gape at the owner of the voice, who was a woman in a Santa hat and dog collar manning a stall that sold mulled wine by the bottle and glass. She was smiling at them, and they all trooped over, as though drawn by an invisible thread.

‘Well done, Ted, I see you’ve brought some friends to come and spend their money,’ she said, holding out her hand and giving each of them a firm shake. ‘I’m Reverend Pauline. What do you think of our inaugural Babblebrook Christmas Market, eh? Be careful how you answer, I’m the one who organised it!’ She barked a peal of laughter, but Jen had the distinct impression that she was not a woman to be trifled with.

‘Hi Pauline, how’s it going?’ Ted asked.

‘Very good, thank you, Mr Piper, we’ve been very busy, so I think we’ll have done well.’ She glanced around at them all. ‘Lots of good causes we’re raising money for, mostly charities, and then of course there’s the tombola the school are running to raise funds for their Christmas Fair. The children are so excited.’

At this Ted nodded, pulling on his scarf to loosen it, and Jen saw a flash of anxiety in his eyes. ‘Ha, yes, well, I’d better go and see how they’re getting on,’ he said. ‘Hopefully the takings have been elf-y. Better to be affluent than effluent, as they say!’

Jen grimaced at him. She was pretty sure that ‘they’ said no such thing.

He dashed off, and Reverend Pauline turned her attention to them. ‘Can I interest any of you in some mulled wine?’ she asked.

Jen and Lou, full of roast dinner and pudding, shook their heads. But Rich was picking up the bottles and inspecting the labels. ‘Want a taster?’ she asked, already ladling wine into a paper cup. Rich took it from her enthusiastically.

Lou glanced around. ‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘The choir is perfect, makes it feel so Christmassy.’

Reverend Pauline shrugged and pulled a face, glancing towards the choir, who were now singing a beautiful rendition of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. ‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘All a bit traditional, isn’t it? I want some Slade or Cliff Richard before they’re done.’