Christmas for Beginners: Fall in love with the ultimate festive read from the Sunday Times bestseller

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Christmas for Beginners: Fall in love with the ultimate festive read from the Sunday Times bestseller Page 1

by Carole Matthews




  Hello everyone

  Merry Christmas! Thank you for spending time with me on this festive trip to Hope Farm. In these strange times, it’s nice to know that people are turning to heart-warming and uplifting stories to cheer them up and I hope you’ll find that here. There’s more from Molly, Lucas and those naughty alpacas.

  While my novel is entirely fiction, Hope Farm is based on a very real place called Animal Antiks which, like Hope Farm, helps children and young adults with learning difficulties, mental health issues and autism. They do great work and are very gracious in continuing to help me with my research.

  I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and can spend time with your friends and family.

  Carole : ) xx

  If you want to keep up with what’s happening – new books, the occasional Live chat and some fab giveaways – I spend far too much time on social media, especially Facebook and Twitter, so you can always find me there. I have a newsletter which you can sign up to at www.carolematthews.com. I don’t share your information and you can unsubscribe at any time. I’m also on Instagram when I remember.

  www.facebook.com/carolematthewsbooks

  www.twitter.com/@carolematthews

  www.instagram.com/@Matthews.Carole

  www.carolematthews.com

  Also by Carole Matthews

  Let’s Meet on Platform 8

  A Whiff of Scandal

  More to Life Than This

  For Better, For Worse

  A Minor Indiscretion

  A Compromising Position

  The Sweetest Taboo

  With or Without You

  You Drive Me Crazy

  Welcome to the Real World

  It’s a Kind of Magic

  All You Need is Love

  The Difference a Day Makes

  That Loving Feeling

  It’s Now or Never

  The Only Way is Up

  Wrapped Up in You

  Summer Daydreams

  With Love at Christmas

  A Cottage by the Sea

  Calling Mrs Christmas

  A Place to Call Home

  The Christmas Party

  The Cake Shop in the Garden

  Paper Hearts and Summer Kisses

  Million Love Songs

  Christmas Cakes and Mistletoe Nights

  Happiness for Beginners

  Sunny Days and Sea Breezes

  THE CHOCOLATE LOVERS NOVELS

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Club

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Diet

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Christmas

  The Chocolate Lovers’ Wedding

  SPHERE

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Sphere

  Copyright © Carole Matthews 2020

  Poem lyrics © Paul Eccentric 2019, 2020

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-7515-8012-9

  Sphere

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  Carole Matthews is the Sunday Times bestselling author of over thirty novels, including the top ten bestsellers The Cake Shop in the Garden, A Cottage by the Sea, Paper Hearts and Summer Kisses, The Chocolate Lovers’ Christmas, Million Love Songs, Christmas Cakes & Mistletoe Nights and Happiness for Beginners. Carole was awarded the RNA Outstanding Achievement Award. Her novels dazzle and delight readers all over the world and she is published in more than thirty countries.

  For all the latest news from Carole, visit www.carolematthews.com and sign up to her newsletter. You can also follow Carole on Twitter (@carolematthews) and Instagram (matthews.carole) or join the thousands of readers who have become Carole’s friend on Facebook (carolematthewsbooks).

  To have been writing a happy, festive book during lockdown and the strangest of times has been something of a challenge! Thank you to everyone who has helped me through it.

  Yvette and Michelle, friends beyond compare – for all that you do and for all that you are.

  Sharon and Owen for bonkers laughs, as always.

  Our neighbours, Lyn and Martin, for regular takeaway roasty dinners in return for gin.

  My dearest Sheila for embracing Zoom and doing yoga classes online – they have been a saviour.

  To Jean, Lizzie, Hazel and my Tiara Ladies for welcome and much-needed chit-chats.

  To my loyal and lovely readers who cheered me up on social media and joined me for a coffee every morning.

  To my mum for coping so well and, at eighty-six, taking all this in her stride.

  To Sophie Ellis-Bexter and family for the joyous madness of her weekly Kitchen Discos.

  And to Lovely Kev for keeping me sane with our daily long walks, general silliness and for being the best person to be trapped in a house with.

  Hopefully, better times are just around the corner.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapt
er Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  One of the alpacas has eaten the Baby Jesus. I’m not sure which one. Frankly, they all look the picture of innocence, but I know them better.

  ‘I’m going to be watching your poo very closely over the next few days,’ I warn them. The thought troubles our troupe not one jot. Johnny Rotten, Tina Turner and Rod Stewart all stare me down. Rod gives a delicate little burp. Perhaps he was the perpetrator. He looks like the sort who wouldn’t think twice about scoffing down the Messiah. I will find out.

  But, more pressing, what will I now use for the new-born reputed saviour of mankind, destined to be the centrepiece of my nativity tableau? Stupidly, I paid the vast sum of sixty-five pounds on eBay for a lifelike doll which clearly looked tastier than I could ever have imagined. Now all that’s left of him is a few chewed remnants of plastic that provide evidence of his untimely demise.

  ‘Did you see the culprit, Little Dog?’ I ask. But my faithful one-eyed terrier mash-up simply bares his teeth in his usual rictus grin and doesn’t dish any dirt on the alpacas. He knows, though, and he knows that I know he knows.

  While I’m still musing on it, Lucas crosses the yard and comes to stand next to me in the barn. He’s sixteen now and, though he’s not my son, he might as well be, as I harbour all of the same maternal feelings for him.

  ‘You OK?’ he asks.

  I nod towards our troublesome trio. ‘These guys will be the death of me.’ They all give us doe eyes and flutter their long lashes, feigning innocence. I snort at them. ‘Don’t give me that.’

  ‘Butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths,’ Lucas observes.

  But we both know better.

  I acquired these guys when their owners moved abroad. They’re pack animals and came as a job lot. How could I turn them down? I’d never owned alpacas before. I thought they’d be sweet, fun. I was wrong.

  Tina is definitely our diva and rules the boys with a rod of iron. She’s chocolate-brown with an impressive pom-pom of hair which she likes to toss about. Rod is white with skinny legs and knobbly knees. He’s usually to be found humming and gazing into space and is our most contented alpaca. But that’s not saying a lot. Johnny Rotten is definitely channelling the punk rocker he’s named after. He has a tan coat with hair like a Mohican in a shade that’s almost orange. Despite being pampered like the rest of them, Johnny will bite you as soon as look at you. Actually, I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s the one who chowed down Jesus. Hmm.

  Before we go any further, I should also tell you how Lucas came to be under my loving care. Here at Hope Farm, as well as taking in tricky animals, we look after disadvantaged kids too. We’re not your usual farm. Far from it. We don’t have crops or animals that we (whisper) eat. Instead, we offer alternative education for students who can’t cope or are currently excluded from mainstream schools. I set this place up as a charity a few years ago now and we take in kids – mostly teenagers – who have behavioural difficulties, mental health issues or are on the autistic spectrum. That’s how Lucas arrived here too.

  Originally, Lucas was brought to the farm by his father, Shelby Dacre, who was at the end of his tether with his wayward son who had been expelled from his private school for antisocial behaviour. Their relationship had been strained since Shelby had recently lost his wife to cancer. Lucas, understandably, was floundering without his mum and getting any form of communication out of him at all was an uphill struggle. In Lucas’s eyes his father hadn’t mourned his mother sufficiently. Shelby had dealt with his grief by dating much younger actresses and submerging himself in his work. Lucas, at a terrible time, had been largely left to his own devices and had grown angrier which manifested in challenging behaviour. Instead of pulling together, father and son had grown increasingly apart – to the point where Shelby no longer felt able to deal with his disruptive son. That’s where I came in.

  When he arrived here, I hadn’t expected to bond so easily with Lucas. He’s difficult, testing, terse, uncommunicative, moody – all of the usual teenage behaviour – but we connected straightaway. He talked to me when he couldn’t speak to anyone else. We have kids with all kinds of problems here, but I could instantly see that beneath the angry façade, there was a lost and lonely boy just wanting to be loved. And love him I do.

  Equally surprising is the fact that I love his father too. It’s fair to say that love found me later in life. At thirty-several, having lived the life of a loner, this was a new experience for me. The fact that I’m a borderline recluse meant I had no idea who Shelby Dacre was when he first rocked up here. But, yes he’s the Shelby Dacre, star of Flinton’s Farm soap opera and national treasure. In my defence, I don’t even own a telly, so have never watched a soap opera in my life.

  Falling in love wasn’t easy for me, as we’re totally different people. But Shelby is such a confident, outgoing character that he’s brought me out of my shell and I think I offer him something more real than the world that he generally inhabits. They say that opposites attract and it’s certainly the case in our situation. Our lives couldn’t be more different. For Shelby, it’s filming, glamorous parties and adoration. For me it’s recalcitrant kids, awkward animals and a day that always features manure.

  We’ve only been together for a short while, but he has changed my world in so many ways. The best part is that Lucas has transformed from the sullen, uncommunicative teenager he was. Over the last few months, our bond has grown and we’ve become ever closer. It would kill him to admit it, but he’s blossoming here and I feel that he’s teaching me as much as I’m teaching him.

  Chapter Two

  I should also explain that we’re fairly new to these premises – Hope Farm mark two – as we lost the original farm when the dreaded railway line, HS2, was set to come trundling right through our home and school. It was Shelby who came to the rescue and for that I’ll be for ever grateful to him. He saved me, my animals and the kids who rely on me. He plays a romantic hero in his soap opera and to me he’s one in real life too.

  When we moved to the new farm, my old dilapidated caravan didn’t survive the journey and collapsed into an uninhabitable heap. Shelby insisted on buying me one with all mod cons. You’d love it. It’s very shiny. As it turns out, Lucas loved it too. He’d been living mostly alone in a cottage in the grounds of Shelby’s manor house, just a short journey from here. After his day at the farm, he’d linger longer, sometimes staying for supper until Shelby or his driver could collect him. I’ve never crossed that professional boundary before with any of the kids, but Lucas and I got on so well.

  When it was clear that Shelby and I were going to be together, I asked if Lucas could stay over occasionally if he wanted to as I now had the luxury of a spare bedroom. It was a weight off Shelby’s mind that his son wasn’t going home to an empty house when he was working late or away for a few days at some showbiz e
vent. After one night of staying here, Lucas never went back home. Following some relentless cajoling from me he’s now an apprentice here, studying Animal Management, and is acing it with minimal effort. He’s proved to be both a natural at it and a huge help to me on the farm. I hope that Lucas may have found his niche. He’s a bright boy and the only person who sabotages him is himself.

  Lucas, however, still blames everything on Shelby and isn’t convinced by his father’s altruistic behaviour. At best, they have a tetchy relationship. At worst, they go at it all guns blazing while I play the referee. It’s something of a work-in-progress. In all other areas, Lucas is an angel – albeit with slightly wonky wings. He’s become a valuable member of the team here and the other kids really look up to him.

  Yet, despite the turnaround in his behaviour, Lucas likes to look the rebel and is still firmly attached to his signature Goth clothing. Today he’s sporting a Sex Pistols T-shirt, ripped bondage trousers and, the only nod to the farming life, green wellies. Even though he’s generally outside in all elements, his face is still as white as the driven snow. His black eyeliner and red lippy only serve to make him look paler. He’s carrying a bucket and a spade that’s nearly as big as him – though with all the physical work he does here, his skinny, gangly frame has started to fill out a little. He puts down his tools and climbs onto the first rung of the metal gate, the only thing that’s keeping our alpaca crew from running amok – something they love to do with every given chance. They all come up to nuzzle his hand in turn.

  ‘What have you been doing now?’ he says to them. ‘You’re making Molly frown and you’ll give her wrinkles. More wrinkles.’

  As if I care. I’m a stranger to anti-ageing creams. In fact my bathroom is shockingly short on the usual unguents. The outdoor life is my beauty regime. I like to think of myself as fresh-faced and natural when I’m more likely wind-blasted and sun-baked. Though I think since this bolshie bunch of alpacas arrived they’ve been ageing me in dog years.

  I fill Lucas in. ‘You saw our beautiful Baby Jesus? I only put him down for a minute and one of them had him for breakfast.’

  ‘That was short-lived. Naughty alpacas,’ Lucas says with a wag of his finger at them. ‘There’ll be a special place reserved for you in alpaca hell.’

 

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