Page 82 of The Cotswolds Christmas Fair

His expression didn’t change. ‘Jen,’ he said softly. ‘I mean, you’re very creative and kind and – and, believe me, I appreciate your help with it so far. I think you’re an amazing person.’ He held her eye. ‘But this – it’s different now, with the weather like this, and this is important, people are counting on it. You’d need to be reliable, you’d need to take responsibility and . . .’

Jen flushed. ‘I’m reliable!’ She tried not to think of the decorations she’d failed to deliver.

He looked at her, saying nothing, and his doubt was clear. Her blush deepened.

‘I’ve tried everything, but half the people won’t commit with the weather like this, and the half that did are starting to pull out. And it’s so close now . . . I think I’m going to have to cancel.’

He looked so tired, shadows sitting under the long lashes of his dark eyes. ‘Don’t cancel,’ she said. ‘Just – let me prove to you that I can do it. Trust me with it. Please.’

He sat back in the chair, ran a hand through his hair. Sighed.

‘Fine. You know what? I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Like you say, a few stalls in the school hall will do.’

She stared at him, her heart thumping. He was her best friend. Did he really think so little of her? Had she really never been reliable?

Well. She had a lot to prove.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jen was confident to begin with.

She had contacts from the many jobs she’d had over the years, and from the many places she’d spent time socialising. There were several options for a pop-up bar and food trucks, and she had the band sorted already, thankfully.

But it was nearly Christmas. And she was giving them mere days’ notice.

Despondent, she finished up what felt like her hundredth phone call of the day.

‘No luck?’ Julia asked sympathetically, as she came down from reading bedtime stories. She settled onto the sofa next to Dan with a groan.

Jen shook her head. ‘At least this one was apologetic,’ she said. ‘The last guy just laughed in my face.’

Dan grimaced. ‘People are rude. Is there anything we can do to help?’

She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I really want to show Ted I can do this. He seems to think I’m some kind of big kid.’

She looked at them both, expecting them to share her outrage, but they seemed to be suddenly busy inspecting their fingernails.

‘Ah, that’s – that’s harsh, I mean, you’re great with the children,’ Dan said eventually, his tone encouraging. She appreciated his attempt at support, at least.

‘How far have you got?’ Julia asked.

‘Literally nowhere.’ Jen began ticking off on her fingers. ‘No reindeer, no decorations, no party games, no food trucks, no bar.’

‘Bar?’ Julia asked, her eyes wide. ‘It’s a kids’ Christmas fair. In a primary school! They don’t have a licence, you know. Much as the teachers probably wish they did!’ She chuckled at her own joke, and Dan caught her eye, grinning.

‘There are ways around that,’ Jen said, memories of a particular school fête when she was on teaching practice surfacing. ‘You just sell raffle tickets and they get a free drink with them.’

Julia and Dan exchanged a glance, smirking.

‘Sounds dodgy,’ Dan said.

‘We usually just pop into The Plough afterwards,’ Julia said.

‘Hmm,’ Jen said, distracted and barely listening.

She was tempted to head over to The Plough right now. She could use some liquid inspiration. She tapped her fingers on the screen of her phone, bringing to life the list in her notes app, which didn’t have a single item ticked off.

She had to pull this off; Ted was counting on her. The children were counting on her. And she needed to prove, to Ted and to herself, that she was the kind of person he could rely on when he needed to. Just as she could with him.