Page 37 of The Merry Christmas Project

‘Thanks, Josh.’ He dropped down onto the sofa heavily. ‘How far does the flooding go ?’

‘Difficult to tell from on site, I’m just going to take a walk down through the woods now. But I would think that the water will have reached the houses on World’s End Lane.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Just when he thought this build was going smoothly. Cole closed his eyes. Not only was this going to slow down the build, but if houses towards town were flooded, he might end up having to sort out compensation, or rather that dickhead contractor would. ‘OK. Take plenty of photos, please, Josh, and see how bad the damage is. If anyone asks, treat it like you would a car accident : don’t admit fault. Not yet. We need to establish whether the flooding really was caused by the trees being dumped in the river or whether it would have flooded anyway.’

‘OK, will do.’

‘Oh and Josh,’ Cole put in quickly as his site foreman was about to ring off. ‘Let me know if Holly Cottage is affected ? That’s the one nearest the river at the far end of the lane.’

‘Sure, I’ll check there first.’

‘Shit,’ Cole muttered again.

‘Sorry about this, boss.’

‘There’s no need for you to apologise,’ Cole assured him grimly. ‘But I’ll be having strong words with that cowboy contractor.’

Josh rang off and Cole nipped into the bathroom for a shower. He was pulling on his fleece and jeans when Josh called him back.

‘Well ?’ Cole asked. ‘What’s the story ?’

‘Holly Cottage has definitely been flooded,’ said Josh. ‘I could see it through the trees. Shall I go round ?’

Cole groaned. The property was his, or rather the one he’d bought and put in trust for Harley and Freya. A single woman had taken over the tenancy recently, which meant not only was he responsible for flooding his own property, but he might even have to evacuate his new tenant too.

‘No thanks,’ Cole growled. ‘Leave it with me – I’ll call in myself.’

He’d have to have another coffee first; in fact, he’d make it a double. It was going to be that sort of day.

Chapter 12

Merry

14 NOVEMBER

I was already awake when my phone buzzed with a text message. I ignored it, not quite wanting my day to start just yet. Besides, my head hurt when I moved. I was lying in bed, snug under the duvet, listening to the wind rattling the old window frames and thinking about Daniel. He’d texted me last weekend, reminding me that he wanted to come and see Holly Cottage and we’d fixed on today.

He and Tasha had been occupying my mind a lot since last week’s community meeting. Tasha had been back in Wetherley since September. Had Daniel already been seeing her before I moved out in October ? They were clearly an item now, so when did it start ? Or had I, with the most awful timing, witnessed their first kiss ? Or was it actually good timing, because now I knew with absolute certainty that there was no going back for us. A week on and I was still mulling it over.

The weird thing was that after the initial shock of seeing them in each other’s arms, completely oblivious to the world outside of Daniel’s shop window, and the devastation which followed for the next forty-eight hours, I’d come to terms with it and I was actually OK. I felt a sort of calm, a release. I was no longer clinging to the hope that if Daniel saw me in a different light – Merry the organised businesswoman, mastermind of Wetherley’s Christmas Project, the days of making reckless decisions behind me – he might realise I was the woman for him after all. Now I was free to simply accept that he was a friend and not keep analysing his every look and word for signs that he was still in love with me.

Of course, Daniel’s love life hadn’t been the only thing keeping my mind spinning since last week. There was also the fact that given all the many fans of the festive season who lived in Wetherley, it had fallen to me to deliver the christmassiest Christmas Eve ever in honour of Benny Dunford. And find someone with clout to switch on Wetherley’s Christmas lights in just over two weeks from now.

My stomach twisted with nerves. I should probably have already done something about it by now, but I’d had a flurry of orders for candles and I was working flat out to keep up with demand. Which was a good problem to have, Nell had pointed out last night as we’d propped up the bar at the Bristly Badger and somehow managed to drink them dry of mulled wine. It had been her idea to go out – declaring that my scheme for the Christmas Project was voted the winner by the rest of the group and that every win, no matter how small, should be celebrated. Thankfully, they’d only made two bottles worth, otherwise the pounding in my head would have been even worse than it was right now.

My need for coffee was competing with my reluctance to leave the warmth of my bed so I sat up gingerly and winced as a sharp pain shot through me. I reached for my phone to read the message. It was from Nell.

Hope you’re feeling better than me. My tongue feels like one of my mother’s Afghan rugs. I keep trying to get up, but my head feels too heavy.

I laughed and tapped a reply.

Never, never again. I’m putting the blame for my hangover firmly at your door. I knew there was a reason I don’t drink mulled wine. It is evil.

Haha, sorry. At least I’ve got the day off. The market is closed obviously, no one wants soggy nuts. Olek made me a massive coffee and I’m staying in bed for at least another hour.

Bliss. I felt a pang of longing for coffee and an even larger pang for someone who knew just how I liked it. Hold on, the market was closed ? My brow furrowed, I was still in pre-caffeine mode and my brain was lagging behind. I typed a message back :

No market ? Why ?