Page 13 of Christmas All the Way

‘But we’ll speak long before then, so you can fill me in on your existing mailing list and social media accounts,’ he continued, oblivious to her doubtful expression. ‘I’ll need to get to work on those pretty quickly if we’re going to whip them into shape to drive ticket sales effectively.’

‘Of course,’ she said, forcing her negative thoughts aside, although she knew they wouldn’t be sidelined for long. ‘Let me know what you need.’

‘Don’t worry, I will.’ He paused to smile again. ‘I think we’re going to make a fantastic team, Dr C.’

The abbreviation was a step too far, she decided with a wince. ‘You’d better call me Keeley.’

He tapped his espresso cup against her tall latte mug. ‘Keeley, then. But it doesn’t alter the fact that we’re going to be dynamite together.’

Explosive and causing irreparable damage, she almost fired back, but she wasn’t sure there was much point. The trustees had wanted Xander Jones to shake things up and it looked as though they were going to get their wish. Keeley could only hope the cherished career she’d carved out didn’t get obliterated in the process.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Of all the traits a man may possess, I find rudeness the least forgivable.’

The Last Rays of the Sun, ELIZA NORTON

‘Shop work?’ Grace’s mother eyed her in surprise from the other side of the living room on Tuesday afternoon. ‘I understand you’re keen to fill your time, now that Jack has gone, but are you quite sure a job in retail is the answer?’

‘It’s not a normal shop,’ Grace replied, wondering how best to describe Santa’s Secret. ‘I suppose it’s more of a wholesaler.’

Her mother sniffed. ‘But you’ll still be dealing with the public, and over the festive period too. People turn into monsters when Christmas gets near – I once saw two members of my knitting group almost come to blows over the last box of M&S parsnips.’

Grace hid a smile. Orla Murphy was a young and glamorous sixty-something but some of her fellow knitters were octogenarians. ‘I’m sure it was a fierce battle.’

‘It was. Theresa called Honour a very rude name. Security had to be called.’

‘Gosh,’ Grace said, widening her eyes in mock horror. ‘Who got the parsnips?’

Orla pursed her lips. ‘Neither of them. Someone else picked them up while they were arguing with the security guard. They weren’t allowed back in the shop for three months. Theresa said they had to have butternut squash with their turkey.’

It was all Grace could do not to snort in amusement. ‘Well, this is a job in a shop that specialises in Christmas decorations. Not a parsnip in sight, unless someone has designed a range of root vegetable baubles.’

Her mother did not look convinced. ‘But why are you even thinking about it? I love Christmas as much as the next person but I can’t think of anything that would kill my enthusiasm faster than being surrounded by it every day.’

Immediately, the song by Slade began to play in Grace’s head. She shook it away. ‘It’s only part-time. And I don’t think it would ruin my love of Christmas.’ An image of Ivy’s sumptuously decorated tree floated across her mind. ‘If anything, it will only make me appreciate it more. It’s going to be tricky this year, with Jack so far away, and I thought working somewhere Christmassy might restore some of my festive spirit. In a “fake it ’til you make it” kind of way.’

Orla contemplated her in silence for a moment, then sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you’re old enough to make your own mistakes. Where is it?’

Again, Grace tried not to smile. A visit to her mother was never complete without some kind of admonishment. ‘On the site of Ruggles, that garden centre near Freezy Tye. It’s tucked away out of sight – I had no idea it was even there until Keeley drove me.’

‘Ruggles,’ Orla repeated, her eyes narrowing in thought. ‘That’s a good forty minutes away from your house.’

‘I know,’ Grace said patiently, wondering if her mother really thought she was foolish enough not to have factored in the journey she would have to make. ‘But as I said, it’s a part-time position, so I wouldn’t be going every day. And I don’t mind the drive. It’ll give me an excuse to see Keeley more often.’

Not that she had mentioned the fact that she was thinking about applying for the job at Santa’s Secret to her friend. She’d driven home on Sunday evening deep in thought, and spent longer than she should have admiring her purchases and dreaming about where she would display them once December arrived. When she’d finally put them away and gone to bed, the Sugar Plum Fairy had danced in and out of her dreams all night. At various points throughout Monday, she’d visualised herself working at Santa’s Secret and the scene had felt right each time. By the time she awoke on Tuesday, she was almost certain she wanted to apply. She had the experience; twenty years of working in libraries had taught her everything from dealing with irate customers to promoting events on social media, and while she didn’t have provable experience of interior design, she knew how to decorate a Christmas tree. And there was something else – a fear she hadn’t shared with anyone, that she was too old to be taken seriously by a new employer. Didn’t they all want Gen Z, technological whizzes these days? But Ivy was different; reading between the lines, she’d been pushed out of her own job and had reinvented herself at Santa’s Secret. Did that make it more likely she might take a chance on Grace?

‘I suppose you know what you’re doing,’ Orla allowed, although she didn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘And goodness knows you’re not wrong about needing something to distract you from those empty-nest blues.’

Grace nodded. Her home was just too quiet without Jack. She needed to find a reason to be out of the house and if Santa’s Secret wasn’t the answer, she would have to look for something else. But she wouldn’t know until she tried. ‘I know.’

‘You should find a new hobby,’ her mother suggested. ‘I’ve got some spare knitting needles. We could do with some fresh blood at Knit Nurses.’

As usual, the mention of the name of her mother’s knitting group made Grace’s head itch. Orla, on the other hand, considered it a hilarious joke. ‘I’m taking an autumn wreath class,’ she said, hoping some further evidence that she was taking steps to improve her situation would stop her mother from pressing her to start knitting. She had the sinking feeling it might be difficult to extricate herself from the group if she did, despite previous evidence that her knitting was awful.

‘Excellent,’ Orla said approvingly. ‘Honour’s daughter did one of those and it was the making of her. She left her job and retrained as a florist.’

‘Good for her,’ Grace replied, trying not to think uncharitable thoughts about Honour’s unnamed daughter.