Page 34 of Not Just for Christmas

‘So that’s what I could smell. What is it?’

‘Baked oats.’ She set it on the table and got out bowls and spoons. ‘Heather used to make porridge. I don’t have time, so I bung everything in the oven and bake it. Nothing fancy but we like it.’

‘Man, I’m so hungry I’d eat cardboard.’ Dylan drained his coffee and took a seat at the table.

She laughed. ‘Hopefully it’ll taste better than that.’

‘Sorry, that came out wrong.’ He picked up a spoon. ‘What time does Sam get up?’

‘About now,’ she said. ‘I always have to wake him up, he sleeps like a log.’

‘Muuuuum!’ came a strident voice from upstairs. ‘It’s today! I’m going to be Joseph!’

‘But apparently, not today,’ said Lucy, smiling fondly. ‘Morning has officially broken.’

Chapter 18

‘We made it!’ I let out a breath as I inched the Land Rover into the last available space outside Rivendell Primary.

‘Finally,’ my mother-in-law huffed, throwing a look of disdain over her shoulder to where Dylan was poking at his new phone and muttering under his breath with the concentration of someone responsible for diffusing a bomb.

The Nativity was due to start any minute, and we’d been held up because Dylan’s new phone had arrived at precisely the last second of its delivery window. I’d never known a man look so relieved to receive a cardboard box.

‘Sorry, folks.’ He jumped out, pulled his beanie down low over his eyebrows and offered a hand to help Heather down. ‘I’ll buy the coffees once we get inside.’

‘It’s a school hall, not Starbucks,’ Heather tutted, batting him away as if he’d offered to carry her over the threshold. ‘You’ll be lucky if you get tap water.’

‘We’re in luck today, they’re selling coffee and mince pies to raise money for the RNLI,’ I said, brightly, determined to soften the barbs from my mother-in-law who seemed to have got out of bed on the wrong side.

‘Fantastic,’ Dylan said, meeting my eye with a little smile. ‘Big fan of what they do.’

‘If we don’t get good seats, we’ll know who to blame,’ Heather grumbled as we joined the rest of the stragglers through the school gates.

I baulked at the mention of seats. I’d only got two tickets. I’d intended to add an extra ticket onto my original order, but with getting the house ready for Christmas – and Dylan – it had somehow slipped my mind. Never mind, I was sure we could get another one on the door. This was a Nativity show featuring seven-year-olds, not The Phantom of the Opera in the West End.

We went through the school front doors, festooned with tinsel, and joined the queue snaking through to the assembly hall. Heather immediately started to chat with some of the other grandparents.

The place was buzzing. Paper snowflakes dangled at precarious angles, the Christmas tree leaned under the weight of handmade baubles, and Christmas music played loudly enough to wake any sleeping shepherds. The air was crackling with excitement, and not just from the kids. The teachers were rushing around, pink-cheeked, issuing instructions to their young charges, while the audience of parents, grandparents and younger siblings bristled with anticipation.

‘What a cute school,’ Dylan murmured, turning a slow circle.

‘It’s small, but lovely,’ I said. ‘Jack came here too.’

His expression softened. ‘And he turned out more than all right.’

A lump rose in my throat, and I pretended to examine a wonky paper angel.

We shuffled forward until we were beside the RNLI fund-raising stall manned by Malc Penrose. He was the lifeguard supervisor usually based at Craggy Bay beach and had been a friend of Jack’s. He was mid-forties, built like a tank and had hair that stood on end where he’d been tugging it in his usual frazzled manner. Today it was hidden under a jaunty Santa hat.

‘Lucy! Good to see you! You still on for the lifeboat launch?’ Malc pointed to the poster pinned up on the edge of his stall advertising the event, complete with Santa visit and presents for the kids. ‘Craggy Bay lifeguard crew are excited about it. Should be a really special day. Twenty-third of December.’

‘Of course I’ll be there,’ I said reluctantly, stumbling over the words, my throat thick with emotion.

Craggy Bay was getting a new lifeboat, and I had been invited to the launch. I knew I had to go. It would mean a lot to the crew. But the thought of it made me feel sick with nerves; the date clashed with his anniversary. Two years. Twenty-four months. Seven hundred and thirty days. Without Jack. I felt Dylan’s hand on my back, a gesture which told me he understood. I smiled over my shoulder gratefully.

Heather peered at the poster to read the small print. ‘What is a B class lifeboat?’

‘Inflatable, designed to operate closer to shore, ideal where we get big surf, like round here,’ Malc explained. ‘I hope you’ve received your invitation too, Mrs Oakley?’