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CHAPTER1
‘DECEMBER WILL BE MAGIC AGAIN’ – KATE BUSH
Friday 19th November
Violet clouds, shot through with apricot, chased across the wide Dorset sky. The day was nearly done. One day closer to a Christmas none of them wanted to celebrate.
Jago Pengethley opened the attic window and inhaled the salty sea air. The window was a fancy one that opened up onto a balcony, so he went out to stand on it, not quite trusting it to bear his weight. He breathed in the view. This was why he’d agreed to the house. From its position a little way up the hill, he could see across the tumbling roofs to the little town of Charmouth and West Bay beyond, stretching over the sea to Portland in the east. Beyond the raggedy houses snaking down to the sea, he glimpsed one side of the harbour wall curled round and the fishing boats bobbing in the high tide against the walls. The halyards on a few dry-moored yachts clinked wildly; the boats were chained up for the winter on a scrap of yard behind the RNLI station. Thankfully, the station building itself was out of view.
In the bowels of the house he could hear faint noises. His mother was making one last round of tea before the removal men headed back on their long journey to London. His little sister was busy in her new bedroom. She was supposed to be unpacking her overnight case but, from the rhythmic thumping sounds, he suspected she was trampolining on her bed. Merryn had been beside herself with excitement about the move to the coast, but he knew under the excitement lay a febrile anxiety. It was the same with all of them. The sense that, even while grabbing at happiness, there was every chance it would slip away like something intangible in the night. Love for his family surged fierce and hot. He’d love and protect them as long as he lived. That was the promise he’d made to himself. He’d go down and help soon but was content for the moment to contemplate the view and the dying light. A glorious sunset was spreading across the late November afternoon, with the sky crimson over a midnight-blue sea. His fingers tingled to get his sketchbooks out, but they were still all packed up. From here, frustratingly, he wouldn’t be able to see the moment the sun finally sank into the sea in the west, but it was only a short stroll to the seafront, the promenade and the beach. If it was clear tomorrow, he’d do it then. There was too much to do today.
He glanced round at the room behind him. The space was crowded with boxes piled up neatly, but it would soon become his working and living room. The attic flat stretched the length of the house and had been converted for use as a holiday let. It had a small shower room, a kitchenette, a decent-sized bedroom with the rest devoted to a vast living space. With four windows and a balcony facing onto the sea it was full of light, even at this time of day and year. It had influenced his decision to move in with his mother and sister.
With half his equity gone after the divorce, there hadn’t been a great deal of money left. Besides, being self-employed meant a mortgage was difficult. Up here he’d have complete privacy whenever he chose, it was an ideal workspace, but he’d also be near his family. After all they’d been through, he wanted to keep them close.
He was itching to unpack his crafting gear, desperate to get settled at his workstation and get creating again – there was something about this town that set his creative juices going – but he needed to go downstairs. His mother had been keeping herself deliberately and frantically busy over the last few weeks and he knew that, unless he stopped her, she’d be unpacking boxes into the night. Apart from making up the beds there was nothing that needed doing immediately, but his mum wouldn’t see it that way. He’d have to force her to stop ripping open boxes with the promise of fish and chips. At least they wouldn’t need cutlery for those. Opening the door which led to the narrow stairs he glanced around. They would be happy here. It was a new start. Theyneededto be happy here. He ran downstairs.
As the removal van belched diesel with the effort of crawling up the steep hill, Jago waved it goodbye. It was the final link between them and their old life. Feeling foolish, he stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and ignored the heap of unpacked boxes he could see in the hall. He concentrated on gazing at the house, their new home. Although it was called Christmas Tree Cottage, there was little of the cottage about it. Instead, it was a solid square Victorian villa, set sideways onto the road, with a terraced garden behind and a tiny parking space in front. Both rare things to possess this close to the harbour and seafront they’d been told by Ellie, the efficient woman from the estate agents, when she’d shown them around.
The irony that the house was called Christmas Tree Cottage wasn’t lost on him. He didn’t think he’d ever feel the same about Christmas again. He’d make the effort this year for Merryn and his mother, but it would feel hollow. As his glance slid sideways to their immediate neighbours, he could see they already had their Christmas tree up, decorated and festooned with twinkling lights. He swallowed a sigh. That was the trouble with Christmas, it was hard to ignore.
As Avril came out of the house to stand by his side, he slipped an arm around her. ‘No regrets then, Mum?’
He watched as she took a deep breath of sea air, half-closing her eyes in pleasure. Even though it was nudging December, it was still mild. One of the gifts of being in the southwest.
‘None.’
‘Happy we bought here and not in Cornwall? Don’t you think Dad would have wanted us to go back to his hometown?’
‘He might have, I suppose. Your dad and I were happy there when we first married before we went to London, but I needed a fresh start. We all needed a fresh start somewhere new.’
‘I wish I could remember living in Fowey better.’
‘Well, you were tiny when we left.’ She leaned into him.
He sensed her exhaustion. ‘I’m a proper city boy. Definitely lost my Cornish roots.’
‘You are,’ she reproved gently. ‘Living here might be a challenge for you. No Ubers, no Deliveroo, but it’ll suit Merryn and me. I can feel it in my bones. Cornwall was one step too far west. Living here means we can visit the family in Fowey, or what’s left of them, it’s only an hour or so away. And Lullbury Bay’s well-served to get back up to London if any of us need a city fix.’
‘True.’ He contemplated the view again. ‘Although I’m not sure I’ll ever want to leave here.’
‘You might. I think you’ll miss the city more than you realise.’ Avril peered up at her rangy son. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be happy sharing with your old mother and little sis? Won’t it cramp your style?’
Jago laughed. ‘There’s been none of that going on since the divorce.’ He felt his mum’s arm tighten around his waist. She was so tiny, it was the only place she could reach when they were both standing. ‘And it made sense to pool resources so we could buy what we wanted. You and Merryn have the house and the attic flat will suit me absolutely fine. It’s got masses of light so I can work. If I get any done – think I’ll spend all day looking at the view.’ Like his mother he sucked in a lungful of salty air. ‘I think this was the right move, Mum. The right move for all of us.’
CHAPTER2
‘DO THEY KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS?’ – BAND AID
Monday 22nd November
Honor smiled at the line of children impatiently waiting to come into her class. They twitched and bobbed like yachts on the sea, their woolly hats and scarves flying. Now Bonfire Night was done, there was only one thing on their mind: Christmas! She loved her job, challenging though it had been over the last couple of years. And through the exhaustion of a hectic autumn term shone a creeping excitement. She loved Christmas too. With a passion.
‘In you go, folks. Get your reading books out and I’ll be in in a moment.’ She turned to the woman standing to one side clutching the hand of a skinny girl. ‘Hello,’ she said, addressing the little girl. ‘You must be Merryn. Welcome to St Winifred’s Primary School. I’m Miss Martin and you’ll be in my class. We’re delighted to have you with us. We’re just about to start practising for the Advent Service so I hope you’ll enjoy joining in.’
‘I’m Mrs Pengethley, Merryn’s mum. Avril.’ They shook hands.
‘Honor Martin. It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said, over the top of the child’s head. The woman looked anxious and had put emphasis on the wordmum. An older mother, maybe in her late forties? Perhaps she was often mistaken for the grandmother. ‘Welcome both. I understand you’ve just moved here?’
