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

by Carole Matthews

  When Christian’s finished, he dries my hair and I look in the mirror in my bedroom. My hair looks great. Like proper hair without additional straw. As always, he manages to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

  He kisses my cheek. ‘Catch you tomorrow night, sweetie.’

  ‘Thanks, Christian.’

  I see him out of the gate and lean on it as I watch him drive away. Bev comes to lean on the top rung next to me.

  ‘Nice guy,’ she says.

  ‘The best.’

  ‘I’ve booked you in for a manicure, pedicure and a full-leg and Hollywood wax tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What?’ I have no idea what this is, but I suspect I won’t like it.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘It’ll be fine. I can’t have you turning up to a premiere looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge. Especially now your hair’s all fancy. I’ve asked her to do your make-up, too.’

  There’s no way I’m getting out of this, so I grit my teeth and say, ‘Thanks Bev, you’re a pal.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I have EVERYTHING waxed. This is what they do in Hollywood? Seriously? I’m not entirely sure that I need it in Buckinghamshire. It’s agony. And a bit chilly. The beautician complains at the state of my fingernails and toenails – one of which is a blossoming shade of black thanks to Johnny Rotten stamping on it. She does, however, make a marvellous job of making me look like a person who cares about these things. Then she puts many, many layers of make-up on my face. So much that I hardly recognise myself in the mirror. Plus, my hair still looks nice from its attention yesterday and that’s a first too. Shelby had better appreciate all the trouble that Bev has gone through to pimp me up. Wait till I see her.

  As I rush back toward my car, head down, arms pumping, I bump into the mayor.

  ‘Molly!’ he says and stares openly at me. He seems quite startled by my transformation. Perhaps he didn’t recognise me without mud in my hair and looking borderline glamorous.

  ‘Oh, hi.’

  ‘Good to see you. What are you doing in town?’

  ‘Just a few errands.’ I’m hardly going to tell him about my newly groomed nether regions.

  ‘I have half an hour before my car park ticket runs out. I don’t suppose you’ve got time for a quick coffee?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t stay.’ I feel more disappointed by this than I should do. ‘I’m going to Birmingham tonight and need to check that everything’s in order at the farm.’

  ‘It was an outside chance,’ he admits.

  ‘Another time though,’ I say. ‘I’d love to.’

  He smiles at me. ‘It’s a date.’

  And we both laugh awkwardly.

  ‘Thank you again for the wonderful tree. The kids love it.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He looks at me intensely again and I feel myself blush under his scrutiny. ‘I’d better let you go.’

  ‘We’ll catch up soon,’ I swear.

  ‘Enjoy Birmingham,’ he says.

  Then the major and I head off in different directions, but I can’t help but turn round to see where he goes and, when I do, he’s watching me too.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m back at Hope Farm and the yard is empty. Everyone, it seems, is having lunch in the tea room. It’s an utterly miserable day and now it’s started pouring with rain, but the lights shine out on our massive Christmas tree, bringing a little sparkle of cheer to the gloom. I hope that the kids will do some more work on decorations for the Christmas open day this afternoon if they’re trapped inside.

  ‘How did it go?’ Bev wants to know as I shake the rain from my hairdo.

  ‘I hate you with a vengeance.’

  She only laughs.

  Lowering my voice, I hiss at her, ‘No one in life should have a bare noo-noo.’

  ‘Perhaps this will make up for it.’ She reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a bag. ‘Black jumpsuit from Oxfam. You’ll look like the dog’s bollocks in it.’

  I assume that’s a good thing.

  ‘I tried it on and it was too tight, so it should fit you perfectly.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Tell me at least that you’re starting to look forward to it a little bit?’

  ‘I am.’ And somewhere deep inside of me, I’m not actually dreading it any more. I think it’s because Christian will be there and I know that I’ll have someone to hang on to. I did tell Lucas that his godfather would be in attendance too, but his position was entrenched and he still wouldn’t budge.

  Bev dishes me out some lunch – lentil pie with a vegan cheese topping which looks delicious – and I go over to sit beside Lucas.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘What have you been up to this morning?’

  ‘We cleaned out the goat’s pen and then, when it started peeing down, I showed the students how to upload the photos they took yesterday to social media.’

  ‘Good job.’

  We tuck into our pie and it’s delicious and most welcome. It warms me down to my toes.

  Then Lucas says, ‘It’s tonight.’

  ‘The panto?’

  ‘No, the poetry slam competition.’

  I stop eating and stare at him. ‘You’re kidding me.’

  He stares back. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  A couple of pink spots appear on his cheeks. ‘Aurora had sent it through, but I forgot.’

  I’m speechless.

  ‘I guess you won’t be coming now.’ His voice is tight. ‘Even though you promised.’

  ‘I also promised your dad that I’d go to his panto.’

  ‘But you promised me first.’

  ‘Oh, Lucas.’ And here I am, right back in the middle of them, loyalty torn and with the distinct impression that I’m being manipulated.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he continues. ‘The prize is a top spot at a festival next summer. A really funky venue. How can I miss it? This could be my big chance. You said you would come.’

  ‘I know, but I didn’t know it would be the same night as your father’s big debut.’ Though I suspect Lucas has known this all along.

  His face darkens. ‘It doesn’t matter. I know he comes first in everything.’

  ‘That’s not true, Lucas, and you know it.’

  But he’s already in full-on sulk mode. Part of me knows that I shouldn’t give in to this kind of behaviour, but I also know how important it is to him. It feels like he’s forcing me to choose between supporting him or Shelby.

  It’s a tough one.

  Let’s face it, I can see Shelby any night during his panto run, but this is a one-off for Lucas. If I abandon Lucas and go to Birmingham, it will seriously damage our relationship. He needs someone reliable and steadfast. What to do? I can’t be in two places at once.

  With a heavy heart, I say, ‘OK. I’ll phone your dad and explain to him.’

  ‘You can’t tell him that I’m in a poetry slam,’ he says, ratcheting up his emotional blackmail. ‘Absolutely not. I don’t want him to know.’

  ‘You’re making this very difficult for me. We should be open with him. It’s not fair if I’m letting him down.’

  ‘Don’t tell him. You can’t. This is about me, not him.’

  I want to tell Lucas that he needs to be adult enough to deal with this, but then I see the childish look of pleading on his face and cave in. ‘Let me think about it.’

  And I’m cross and a little bit saddened to see that there’s a smile of quiet triumph on Lucas’s face.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Shelby is not best pleased. I can understand that. He huffs at me down the phone.

  ‘It can’t be helped,’ I say into the tense silence. ‘Something has come up.’

  ‘This better not be about a sick chicken, Molly.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘For once, I’d like to rank above a dog with a dodgy stomach or an alpaca with anxiety issues.’

  ‘It’s not the animals.’ />
  ‘So what’s keeping you from being with me?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  His tone tightens further. ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘A bit of both,’ I admit. I daren’t tell him that it’s because of Lucas, as Shelby will fly off the handle at that.

  ‘This isn’t just about you wanting to stay at home on the farm? I know this isn’t your thing, but I really wanted you to be there for me. It’s important.’

  ‘Believe me, if I could be there, I would. I’ve even had all of my bits and pieces waxed in honour – at Bev’s insistence. Would I have put myself through that if I’d not planned on coming?’

  He does laugh at that. Thankfully.

  ‘Is it Lucas? Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ I say, honestly.

  ‘I’m missing you all.’ Shelby sounds sad. ‘Much more than I imagined. I even miss those bloody unruly hounds.’

  ‘It must be bad.’ At this moment, I feel like jumping in the truck and speeding down there to surprise him. But I’ve promised Lucas and I know how much it means to him too.

  ‘I love you,’ he says, but the words carry all the weight of the world behind them.

  ‘I love you too and I can come any night next week,’ I offer. ‘Any night, really. I’d be delighted to. And I’ll bring Lucas with me.’ Even if I have to drag him there screaming. After this, he owes me one.

  ‘Barring all animal emergencies.’

  ‘The sheep and alpacas can be running amok throughout Buckinghamshire and I’ll still come.’

  ‘Can I have that in writing?’

  ‘In blood,’ I promise. ‘And sealed with a kiss.’

  ‘I’m ridiculously nervous about tonight,’ he confesses. ‘I’ve got a lot riding on it and I’m out of my comfort zone, too.’

  ‘You’ll be wonderful, I’m sure. Can you call me when you’re back from the after-show party? It doesn’t matter what time. I just want to hear how it went.’

  ‘Yes,’ Shelby says. ‘I’ll phone as soon as I can. I’d better go.’

  I cradle the phone closer to my ear. ‘I do wish I was there.’

  ‘Well, you’re not and we both have to deal with that.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you later,’ I tell him. ‘Break a leg or whatever it is you actor-types say.’

  Then we both hang up. I sit there with my waxed legs, unnaturally smooth under-carriage, painted face and blow-dried hair with Bev’s nice jumpsuit still in a bag by my side, feeling unhappy and unsettled.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Lucas is excited and irritable. It’s a testing combination. I’ll tell you how bad he is – I’m wishing that I was at Shelby’s after-show party with people I don’t know and a glass of warm wine.

  It’s been hell getting him out of the caravan in time for the drive to the pub in Stony Stratford. For a start, I thought it was his usual venue in downtown Aylesbury and he only dropped it on me an hour ago that we were heading elsewhere. The King’s Arms, apparently. Half an hour away, in completely the opposite direction.

  Then he spent for ever on his appearance. Needless to say, much longer than I have. Eventually, he appears wearing more make-up than both me and the entire Rimmel counter put together – pale foundation, red lips and tons of black eyeliner. His hair is meticulously back-combed into a bird’s nest. He’s wearing a black shirt and skinny jeans with Converse High-Tops.

  ‘Nice,’ I say. ‘Robert Smithesque.’

  ‘Do I need more eyeliner?’ He peers in the mirror by the door, anxiously.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Just a bit more,’ he says and disappears again.

  Now – finally! – we’re in the truck and trundling through the lanes in the darkness while he whinges that we’re going to be late. I put my foot down.

  ‘What if I’m on first?’ he grumbles. ‘I might miss my slot and then it would all be pointless.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ I say, reassuringly. Then I have to slow for a crossroads, which also allows me to double check that we’re heading in the right direction as this is unknown territory for me. It gives me time for a quick panic, too. What if we are late? Lucas will never forgive me – even though it’s his fault! ‘I’ll drop you off and then find somewhere to park. That will save some time.’

  Thankfully, the country lanes get wider, then houses and streetlamps start to appear – which is always a good sign. I’ve been over this way before, but not for a long time and I’m struggling to get my bearings.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Lucas says giving me a bleak look. ‘We should turn round and go home.’

  ‘It’s only natural to have nerves. Try to harness the feeling. It will add an edge to your performance.’

  ‘As if you’d know,’ he sneers.

  Oh, give me a field full of unruly sheep any day over a stroppy teenager. I concentrate on my driving. To add to our woes, I think they’ve changed the road layout since I was last here and Google just keeps telling me we’ve arrived at our destination when we haven’t. We do two turns round a one-way system before I spot the pub.

  I pull up outside the King’s Arms on the High Street. ‘Jump out. We passed a car park round the corner. I’ll try to get in there.’

  Lucas does as he’s told. ‘Don’t be long,’ he says and, suddenly, all the grumpiness and bravado has gone and a scared boy stands on the pavement.

  ‘Five minutes,’ I promise. ‘That’s all.’

  I drive away, and as I look in the rearview mirror, he’s still standing there looking forlorn. I hurry to find a parking space so that he’s not by himself for a moment longer than necessary. I know that Shelby isn’t pleased, but I feel as if I’ve done the right thing in coming to support Lucas.

  A few minutes later, I’m hurrying into the pub. There’s a sign that indicates the poetry slam is taking place upstairs and I head towards it. The room is small and crowded – most of the seats already occupied. Lucas is hovering at the door.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I’ve registered and I’m on towards the end.’

  ‘Good. We can relax a bit.’

  ‘You might be able to, but I’m bricking it.’ He fidgets anxiously.

  ‘Do you want a Coke or something to take your mind off it?’

  ‘Is a double voddy out of the question?’

  I raise my eyebrows.

  ‘Coke it is then,’ he sighs.

  I queue at the small bar, get our drinks and then we find a seat. There are lots of people dressed flamboyantly – poets, I guess. Lucas is younger than any of them, by quite a long way. I start to get nervous for him. There’s a man at the front fiddling about with microphones and the like. Five people sit on chairs at the side of the tiny stage – the judges, I expect.

  ‘Can we keep a seat for Aurora?’ Lucas asks.

  ‘Is she coming?’

  ‘She said she would.’

  First I’ve heard of it. Lucas tries to pretend that he’s not bothered whether she does or not, but spoils the effect by turning to look at the door every few minutes. I put my handbag on the seat next to me as there are many people eyeing it up.

  About fifteen minutes after the allotted start time, the poetry slam kicks off. A comedian, of sorts, tells a few off-colour jokes and then introduces the first act. I know very little about poetry, but it sounds OK to me. It’s an earnest piece about the power of the internet and I wonder what Lucas’s poem is about. I wish he’d let me listen to it ahead of time. I wish I knew more about poetry.

  I whisper to Lucas, ‘Why is it called a slam?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘Maybe it’s a vain attempt to make poetry sound sexy.’

  Aurora arrives and Lucas waves to her. She squeezes along the row to sit next to us and I switch seats so that she’s next to Lucas.

  ‘Hi, Molly,’ she whispers to me.

  ‘Hi.’

  She and Lucas exchange a brief kiss and he takes her hand, holding it tightly.

 
When the act finishes, there’s much applause. I look to Lucas and Aurora to solicit their opinion, but they’re too engrossed in each other to care what I think. So I take time to text Shelby even though he’ll already be on stage by now and try not to feel that, already, I’m surplus to requirements.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Several more acts strut their poetry stuff, then it’s Lucas’s turn to perform. In fairness, I think the standard has been very high tonight. All the performers seem, to me, to be quite polished.

  Lucas takes to the stage and appears tiny, young and vaguely vampiric. In the harsh blue-white spotlight, he looks truly terrified and ready to make a run for it. My heart breaks for him. Surreptitiously, I take out my phone to capture his performance on video.

  Lucas pulls the microphone down towards him. ‘“Say Something”.’

  There’s an uneasy pause and the crowd fidgets. Aurora pulls a hopeful face at me. Then, clearing his throat, Lucas starts:

  Say something to me,

  But mean what you say;

  Think it through,

  Don’t just trot out

  A well-thumbed cliché.

  Make it count;

  Make it worthy

  Of your dying breath:

  Say your piece

  Or forever be silent in death.

  Say something about me,

  If you feel you must,

  Without hyperbole

  Or betraying a trust.

  It’s easy to snitch

  And to add in a touch:

  Tell the world what you can,

  Though it won’t be that much.

  When he’s finished, the room bursts into spontaneous and enthusiastic applause. He was so confident and strong that it takes me by surprise. I wonder what on earth he was worried about. He’s standing there commanding the room, the little lost boy all gone, replaced by a grown man. My eyes well with tears and I brush them away.

  The compère announces that there will be an interval and then just six performers will go through to the second round. Everyone makes a dash for the bar.