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

by Carole Matthews

  ‘I want us all to be together,’ Shelby says. ‘Be a family.’

  ‘Lucas loves living here and so do I.’

  He sighs at me. ‘I can’t leave the manor standing empty for much longer. I have to do something. It’s costing me too much money. I’m thinking of renting it out and getting a place nearer to the studios. I might even sell it.’

  I know that will be a wrench for him as it was the family home he built with his late wife, Susie. I do appreciate that it means a lot and why. I’m only sad that I can’t share it with him. But it’s not for me. It could never be my home. It’s too huge, too tidy, too pristine. It terrifies me.

  ‘I have to be on-site for the animals,’ I say. ‘Look at tonight’s goaty crisis. Dumb could have been seriously hurt if I hadn’t been on hand. There’s always someone who needs my attention.’

  Shelby stops and turns to me. ‘And what if that someone is me?’ he asks.

  ‘You know how it is here,’ I counter. ‘This was my life long before you came into it. I can’t just turn my back on it.’

  ‘Is there any chance that one day I’ll come first or will it always be the animals?’

  I can’t answer that in the way that Shelby wishes and we both know that. I’d love to be able to say that it was different, but I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for. It’s too much to ask of me. ‘Could we not just carry on the way we are? For now?’

  ‘I love you.’ Shelby pulls me close to him and kisses my hair. ‘I want to be with you.’ But he doesn’t sound happy when he says it.

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ he teases. ‘We’ll work it out, somehow.’

  Then he kisses me properly and my head swims and everything else melts away. My worries drift away into the night sky. When I’m in Shelby’s arms I feel that, together, we can overcome any difficulties.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shelby spends the night and we make love. It’s fine – more than fine – and I feel it brings us closer together. There’s a gentle intimacy that we haven’t shared for a while and, when he says he loves me, I believe him. But when he turns over and goes to sleep, I spend the rest of the night wide awake with my head against his shoulder, holding him tight while he sleeps. I want to hold him here for ever, but I don’t know if I can.

  In the morning, long before dawn, he kisses me briefly before he dashes back to the studio. I saddle up and go out to feed the animals, who are slightly startled at me appearing so early. Even Little Dog struggles to keep his one eye open and he’s usually full of beans at any time of day.

  ‘I know it’s early, guys,’ I explain to the sheep. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  Yet, whatever the hour, they’re all still happy to eat.

  Much later, when I’m back in the caravan and having my breakfast, Lucas appears. His mop of black hair is dishevelled and will stay like that for the rest of the day, but I’m hardly one to criticise his lack of grooming.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  ‘Yes. Your dad had an early call. He asked me to say goodbye.’

  Lucas rolls his eyes. ‘He can’t even do that himself?’

  ‘He didn’t want to wake you. Should he have come into your room at four o’clock?’

  Lucas decides not to answer that and instead grabs himself some cereal and slides into the seat opposite me. ‘You’ve done the morning feed?’

  ‘Yes, even the animals were surprised at how early I was up.’

  He does smile at that. ‘What’s on today?’

  ‘We’ve got Wendy the Winky Washer coming.’

  Lucas’s eyes widen. ‘I don’t even want to ask what that is.’

  ‘We have a lady who comes to clean the horses’—’

  He holds up a hand. ‘That’s gross. I’m eating my breakfast!’

  ‘You asked.’

  ‘Is that even a job?’ Lucas’s face bears an expression of morbid fascination. ‘Why would someone willingly do that?’

  I laugh. ‘You can watch, if you like.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t like.’ He tuts his disgust. ‘The joys just keep on coming at this place.’

  ‘Every day is a school day,’ I agree. ‘Just google . . .’

  Lucas cuts me off. ‘No. I will not. I’m not googling anything. There are some things in life you don’t need to see.’

  ‘When you first came here, you struggled with grooming the horses. Now, it’s second nature. Look how far you’ve come.’

  ‘There are some things I draw the line at.’ Lucas gives a theatrical shudder. ‘I’d be permanently scarred.’

  Sometimes, he’s more like his father than he thinks.

  ‘How much does she charge for . . .’ He can’t even bring himself to say it.

  ‘Twenty pounds a horse. More if they’re . . . um . . . bigger.’

  ‘Seriously?’ He’s horrified. ‘I’d want SO much more.’

  Then we both crack up and laugh together. I do love Lucas when I can make him forget he’s supposed to treat everything with disdain.

  ‘We’ve got quite a few students in today,’ I continue when we’ve finished giggling. ‘Anna, the Arts and Crafts teacher, is coming in too. You can help with that, if you like. She might want to make some natural decorations. If it’s dry, the students could go out into the fields to collect some holly.’

  ‘Holly? What does that look like?’

  Now it’s my turn to give him the evil eye.

  He holds up his hands. ‘I’ve only ever seen it on Christmas cards.’

  ‘It’s pretty much the same in the wild. I’ll tell you where the best bushes are and you can take the secateurs and loppers out with you. I thought we’d do Christmassy bunting for the open day. It will make the barn look a bit jollier for our visitors.’

  ‘I am much happier on bunting duty,’ he says, looking horrified again at the thought of . . . well, you know. ‘I can cope with that.’

  ‘We’d like you to write and perform a poem for the nativity, if you would,’ I venture. You have to catch Lucas at the right moment when you want him to share his gift for poetry with the world, and I’m hoping this is one of them.

  ‘What do I know about the nativity? I know less about that than cleaning horses’ knobs.’

  ‘Lucas!’ I hide my smile. ‘Not appropriate.’

  ‘I only know that Jesus wasn’t eaten by three alpacas shortly after being born.’

  Yes, we have still to discover the culprit of that particular misdemeanour.

  ‘I can fill you in on the basics, but it doesn’t have to be religious. It doesn’t even have to be a conventional take on it. As long as the Virgin Mary doesn’t tell the three wise men to “eff off”, then I’m happy to give you free rein.’ Though, in fairness, if I’d just given birth I wouldn’t want three random men turning up with mainly smellies as gifts.

  ‘On your own head be it,’ Lucas says. ‘I’ll work on it with Aurora.’

  ‘Is she coming to dinner tonight? Your friend?’

  ‘No,’ he replies crossly. ‘She’s busy.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I’d like to meet her.’

  ‘Get a life, Molly.’ He throws his cereal bowl in the sink and fusses with putting on his boots in a disgruntled manner.

  ‘Don’t be mad,’ I say placatingly. ‘I’m only teasing you because I love you.’

  ‘Huh,’ he grunts.

  ‘If you wait for me, we can walk the fields together before the kids arrive. I’ll show you where the best holly is.’

  ‘OK. If you want to.’ He puts on a front of doing this for me, but I know that it’s one of his favourite things too. We just wander over our land, taking stock and enjoying the countryside. I’m trying to teach Lucas to appreciate the changing seasons and what they bring to our life on the farm. Though I’ve yet to convince him of the joys of winter.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After our invigorating walk – the mercury probably hasn’t touched zero degrees yet – Lucas and I head straig
ht to the tea room with our arms full of holly which we couldn’t resist picking. We arrive at the same time as the rest of the students. We’ll be busy for the rest of the day with plenty of kids booked in.

  I pause before we go in. ‘Band T-shirt bet?’

  ‘Bugger,’ Lucas says. ‘I should have googled something.’

  ‘I’m going with Blue Oyster Cult.’ I’ve been giving this considerable thought while I’ve been walking. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Alan’s Blue Oyster Cult-based wardrobe.

  ‘Is that even a real band?’ Lucas queries.

  ‘Certainly is and it’s a winner.’

  ‘Pah,’ he says with a sneering tone. ‘Sounds more like a trendy seafood restaurant. I’ll see your Blue Whatever and raise you a Van Halen.’

  ‘Oh. Fighting talk.’

  ‘They’re the only ones I can think of that old people know. What’s the prize?’

  ‘Takeaway dinner paid for by the loser?’

  ‘I’ll have pizza, thanks.’ Lucas is obviously feeling confident. Which is surprising as neither of us has ever been right.

  When we open the door and step inside, Bev already has the kettle on and a row of cups set out. Jack is behind the counter with her, ready to serve, and from the broad smile on his face, I can tell that all is well in his world. Lucas and I pull a table to one side and we spread out the holly we’ve picked. Some of the leaves are still frosted and I don’t want them to drip everywhere when they start to thaw out.

  Bev indicates the band logo across her breasts. ‘And what was your best guess today, lovelies?’

  Today’s T-shirt is Rage Against the Machine and both Lucas and I exchange bemused looks. Lucas shrugs at me and I’m none the wiser.

  ‘No idea,’ he whispers. ‘But I like the sound of them.’

  ‘No winner today,’ I tell Bev who is well aware that we have taken up the band T-shirt mantle.

  ‘Ah well. Tomorrow is another band T-shirt day,’ Bev says. ‘But seeing that neither of you have any taste in music, Alan and I can stay ahead of the curve.’

  Which is true.

  ‘I’ve got pains in my hands,’ Lucas complains as he tucks them under his arms. ‘I’m so numb, I can’t tell whether they’re hot or cold.’ He stamps his feet, his boots covered in frost.

  ‘Good job we’ve got indoor activities,’ I say, rubbing my own hands together. ‘It’s a cold one out there. I think everyone would dig their heels in if we tried to make them go outside today. We can set up the crafting activities in here where it’s nice and warm.’

  ‘We had trouble starting the car this morning. Bloody thing. Alan’s going to have a look at it later.’

  I wish that I could pay Bev more as that would help them both out. Alan volunteers here too and I know from Bev that he has a good pension, but they could probably do with some extra money coming in. Everyone likes a few quid put by for a rainy day or a broken-down car.

  ‘Asha’s here. He can help Alan.’ We have an eleven-year-old boy with ADHD who can strip down and fix any machinery you care to mention. Getting stuck into Alan’s car engine would make his day. The pair of them often hang out in the barn, exchanging barely a word all day bar asking to pass a spanner or something. It’s when they’re both at their happiest.

  ‘Would you like a hot drink, Molly? I’m using my favourite kettle today.’ Making tea is Jack’s comfort zone. He’s a fantastic kid, always willing and he just needs a bit of a support. It’s rare now that he has a bad day. ‘We have Yorkshire Tea today and a selection of excellent coffees – Gold Blend, Nescafé or Kenco. I can offer you semi-skimmed or soya milk.’

  Our tea break offers are generally reliant on donations from our supporters. We are gifted a lot of biscuits. We also get nearly-out-of-date bread and cakes from our nearest supermarket chain.

  ‘Thanks, Jack. Tea would be great with a bit of semi-skimmed.’

  ‘How much is a bit?’ Jack queries. ‘Is that more than a splash? Bev had a splash and that was quite difficult to judge.’

  ‘Shall I put my own milk in, Jack?’

  ‘Yes.’ He looks relieved that the responsibility has been taken away from him. ‘Would you like a biscuit with that? We have chocolate digestives.’

  ‘Excellent up-selling.’

  He holds the packet of biscuits to his chest, protectively. ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘In a coffee shop you’d ask your customers if they’d like something else with their drink so that it makes more money for the café.’

  ‘But this is free.’

  ‘I know. I was pretending to be in a coffee shop.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘For a bit of fun, Jack. I was paying you a compliment.’

  ‘So do you want a biscuit or not?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ You know when you wish you’d never started something? Jack carefully hands over my biscuit. Just the one. For a moment he looks as if he might not let go of it. ‘Thanks, Jack.’ I prise it from his fingers.

  ‘They’re my favourite biscuits.’ He looks longingly at it.

  ‘I know. You can have one too. Just don’t spoil your lunch.’ He’s wolfed one down before I get the sentence out. ‘Do you want to help Bev with preparation today?’

  ‘What is it?’

  I look to Bev who supplies, ‘Jacket potato and baked beans.’

  ‘I don’t really like baked beans,’ Jack says firmly. ‘It’s the colour. And they’re slimy.’

  ‘I’m sure you can manage. It would be good experience.’

  Jack grimaces at me. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Good lad. Bev will right there with you.’

  ‘By the way, Mols,’ Bev says over her shoulder. ‘The new mayor is popping by today.’

  ‘He’s what?’

  ‘He wants to see what we get up to here before he comes to the open day. I said it would be OK.’

  ‘Are you going to deal with him?’

  Bev stops what she’s doing and puts her hands on her hips. ‘No,’ she says. ‘You are.’

  ‘I can’t.’ What would I say to the mayor?

  ‘I’m sure you can manage.’ Bev echoes me with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘It would be good experience.’

  ‘Sometimes I dislike you intensely,’ I tell her.

  ‘But you love me more,’ she bats back.

  ‘You see the mayor,’ I beg. ‘Please. I’ll make lunch.’

  ‘No. You’ve got this, Molly. Charm him so that he wants to make us his Christmas charity.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Lucas says, sarcastically.

  ‘Shut up or I’ll rope you in too.’

  ‘I’d rather wash horse dicks.’

  All the students titter behind their hands. This is why they love Lucas. They see him as cool and untameable. To be honest, it’s why I love him too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’m in the alpaca stall rooting through their droppings as I bag them up. We sell the manure as fertiliser for gardens and as well as still trying to identify the Baby Jesus-eating culprit, I don’t want there to be a bag with bits of plastic doll in it. Tina, Johnny and Rod are watching me with great interest.

  ‘You’re all naughty,’ I tell them. ‘But that doesn’t mean I love you less.’

  I turn as I hear a noise and Alan stands behind me. ‘Mayor’s here.’

  ‘Thanks, Alan.’ I stand and wipe my hands on my jeans. ‘Where is he? I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Behind you,’ Alan says and wanders off, giving a wave as he goes.

  Slowly, I force myself to turn and there’s a slightly perplexed and rather attractive gentleman standing by the pen flanked by our honking guard geese. My face is now a nice shade of beetroot with embarrassment.

  I look at him, suitably mortified. ‘I can only apologise.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise you’d arrived. Usually, I hear a car horn.’

  ‘It looks as if you were preoccupied.’ The
mayor nods towards my pile of alpaca poo.

  ‘I’m on a mission,’ I tell him. ‘It’s a long story.’

  He holds out a hand for me to shake, but I show him my palms, which are caked with all kinds of unspeakable things.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he says with a smile and it’s really a very lovely smile. ‘I’m Matt Eastman.’

  ‘Molly Baker. I like to think I’m in charge here, but I’m never quite sure.’

  He laughs and that makes me relax a bit. My only dealings with authority in recent times have been in connection with HS2 going through our land and I’m still feeling a bit bruised.

  And you’ll have to excuse me if I sound a bit thick here, but I thought that all mayors looked like Jeremy Corbyn or had dandruff and bad beards. Not that my experience with mayors is extensive, or even minimal.

  This mayor is dark-haired, tall and well-built in the manner of a seasoned rugby player. He looks as if he hasn’t shaved today and there’s a fine stubble on his chin. I also imagined that he’d rock up in his official robes and neck-chain but, instead, he’s all casual in a black polo-neck sweater under a khaki padded jacket. It suits him. His jean-clad legs are largely covered by a pair of green wellies that look like they’ve seen some action. His appearance is every inch the country squire rather than a townie council official. I’d guess he’s about the same age as me, late thirties, and seems to have a shy charm.

  I climb out of the alpaca pen and clean my grubby hands with gel. The geese, happy that the mayor isn’t a threat to our safety, waddle away with more honking as they go. ‘Sorry, I should have been ready to greet you properly.’

  ‘I don’t stand on ceremony,’ he says. ‘I’ve been dying to get up here and have a look ever since Beverly Adams got in touch with me.’

  ‘Oh, Bev. She usually does anything that requires contact with the outside world. I prefer to hide away here with the animals.’

  ‘I can understand why,’ he says. ‘I was brought up on a farm and miss it terribly.’

  ‘Oh.’ Hadn’t expected that. ‘Whereabouts?’