And if she didn’t, would that not be running away metaphorically, as well as physically?
She gripped the mug tighter, forced herself to open her eyes and meet Brendon’s gaze. ‘Brendon, why did you come here? Why have this chat with me? What’s in it for you if not making sure that Margo gets the rent money?’
‘Honestly?’ Brendon pushed the mug away and looked out the kitchen window where the stark branches of the rose bush tapped against the glass. ‘It’s about seeing an old friend continue to thrive.’
It all made sense. Brendon had mentioned to Josie the day she moved out of her room above the pub that he wanted to see Callan down at the pub again. And she’d made that happen. With Margo’s help. Brendon didn’t want to see Callan go backwards. Retreat into himself.
And if he did, Brendon would put the blame squarely at her feet.
Where it belonged.
Unless she found the wherewithal to break the habit of a lifetime.
‘I’m sure Callan’s not going to go back to being the way he was before I came along. He’s got his business up and running again. He’s back to playing darts once a week, and he was talking about joining the pub team again. He can hire another baker and keep Abigail’s running. My leaving needn’t change any of that.’
Brendon’s broad shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. His bushy brows knitted together in disbelief. ‘You didn’t see the man I saw earlier. He looked lost. Like he didn’t want to be at the pub, but he didn’t want to go home either. He barely touched his lunch, and I could see what an effort it was for him to interact with that wee poppet of his.’
Fear clutched at Josie’s heart. All her hard work. Everything she’d done to bring him out of his shell, to stop Callan from becoming like her father, it was falling apart. More than that, the situation had worsened. When she’d met Callan he’d still had a thread to hang onto. Mia.
Now? If what Brendon said was true, that thread was tenuous. In danger of breaking.
All because of her.
Not on her watch.
‘Ah, I see a straightening of shoulders. That morose look on your moosh has disappeared. Have you finally gotten through to yourself?’ Brendon pushed the chair back and got up. ‘Because I really hope you have. When two people meet and there’s a spark of magic between them, they owe it to themselves to not let that spark go out. I should know. I kept my spark for Margo burning for years.’
‘Was it worth it? Waiting that long?’
‘Love always is, my dear. You’ll see.’
Brendon tipped Josie a wink, and before she could collect her thoughts, he’d seen himself out.
Josie shook her head in amazement. Who’d have thought hope would come in the form of a gruff publican with a heart of gold?
The big question now, though, was one she didn’t have a clue how to answer …
After hurting someone so badly, after showing them the worst side of who you were, how did you convince the person you were falling in love with that you were worth falling in love with too?
Chapter 19
The bed bounced and shook, and through the pillow pulled over his head Callan could hear Mia repeating at high speed, ‘Santa’s been! Santa’s been! Santa’s been!’
Her small hand found his under the pillow and began to pull. Each tug more impatient that the last. If he didn’t force himself out of his fug and get up soon, he was in danger of losing his hand, if not his whole arm.
‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’ He tossed the pillow aside and pulled himself up onto his elbow and gave his sleep-deprived eyes a rub.
‘It’s so pretty, Daddy. It’s magical.’
Mia whirled round and round and Callan wished he could feel even an ounce of her excitement. How he was going to survive today, when all he felt like doing was crawling back under the covers, he didn’t know.
‘Come on, Daddy. You have to see.’
Mia had his hand in hers once again, and before he knew it he was out of bed and being dragged into the lounge where the tree’s gold fairy lights were twinkling away, and the stack of presents he’d bought for Mia were deposited under the tree. The wrapping was a touch haphazard, more so the higher the pile got. Unsurprising, since he’d bribed himself with more whiskey than necessary in order to get through wrapping them.
He went to sit down in front of the tree so he could hand the presents to Mia, one by one, rather than have her rip into them without having time to appreciate what was in each.
‘What are you doing, Daddy?’ Mia’s face was a picture of confusion. ‘Santa said to go downstairs.’
Downstairs? Santa said? Callan curled his fingers so his nails dug into his palm. He was awake, right? This wasn’t a stress dream brought on by the emotional upheaval of the last two days combined with wanting to make this Christmas as special for Mia as her mother had made previous ones.
‘What do you mean Santa said we had to go downstairs?’
Mia held out a piece of paper. ‘Here. He left this in my stocking with the oranges and chocolates. Look.’ She reached into the pocket sewn onto the chest of her pink unicorn-patterned flannelette pyjamas and pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘I can’t believe Santa got me a stocking.’ Mia hugged herself and twisted back and forth. ‘I’ve always wanted one.’
What was all this about a stocking? He’d not bought one because they’d never done so before. It wasn’t one of their family traditions.
‘One second, Mia?’ Ignoring the piece of paper, he held up his index finger, then twisted round and strode to her bedroom.
Sure enough, on her bed was a bright red stocking with a white faux-fur trim. Surrounding it were oranges and chocolates.
He was going barmy. It was the only explanation. That or he was stuck in the most realistic dream he’d ever had.
He returned to Mia, who’d crossed her arms and was tapping one toe with impatience.
‘Mia? Can you pass me the note?’
He unfolded it and took in the rough sketch of a kitchen bench with a present sitting on top of it. ‘Well, I guess if Santa wants us to go to the kitchen, that’s what we should do.’ He glanced back at the piles of presents he’d spent hours wrapping. ‘What about those?’
‘Will they still be there when we get back?’
‘Of course. Santa doesn’t take back his gifts.’
‘Then we’ll open those after. Treasure hunt first.’ Mia curled her finger and indicated for him to follow her.
Treasure hunt. It rang a bell. Reminded him of … His heart upped its pace. Surely not? He was just being … crazy. Or hopeful. Though hopeful was a daft feeling to have. One that would only make his feelings worse when his hopes were dashed. Better to stick with crazy.
He snatched up his mobile phone as he passed the little table by the door and grabbed his keys, too. If this was a true treasure hunt, who knew where it would take them?
Flicking on the stairwell’s light, they trooped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
A circle of battery-powered tealight candles illuminated not one but two gifts on the kitchen bench.
‘Santa can’t count.’ Mia rolled her eyes.
‘Or maybe he didn’t have time to draw two pictures. He’s a very busy man, you know.’
Mia ran to the bench and picked up the present wrapped in cartoon reindeer. ‘M. I. A. This one’s mine!’ She went on tiptoes to get a closer look at the gift wrapped in navy blue with silver stars. ‘C. A. L. L. A. N. It doesn’t say Daddy. Daddy starts with D.’
‘This is true, but it spells my name.’
‘Callan.’ Mia grinned. ‘You can’t tell me I can’t say it because Santa wrote it and it’s Christmas.’
‘This is true. Now pass it here. I want to know what Santa brought me.’
They opened their gifts in silence, Mia ripping into hers, Callan peeling back the tape and unwrapping his gift with care.
‘Look!’ Mia held up a pink woollen beanie, complete with white furry pompom on top in one hand and m
atching mittens and scarf in the other.
Callan reached into his present and pulled out a basic blue beanie. One that would cover his ears and not cause people to look at him like he’d lost his marbles when he walked into the pub.
‘And there’s another clue!’ Mia showed him a drawing of a hilltop scattered with stick figures watching the sun go down.
‘It looks like Santa wants us to go for an early-morning tramp, Mia.’
‘He wants us to go in our pyjamas?’
Callan laughed at the outrage in Mia’s voice.
‘I suppose we could get dressed, but where’s the fun in that? Best we put our coats and wellies on and—’ Callan went to tell Mia to put on her new presents but she already had the hat on her head and was winding the scarf around her neck.
‘I wonder what else Santa has for us!’ She clapped her hands together, her gaze softening as she entered a gift-filled daydream.
Callan stepped into his gumboots and jammed his hands into his gloves. What else did Santa have in store for them?
That was the big question. One his heart couldn’t wait to find out.
***
The bobbing of a mobile phone’s torch darting about the ground told Josie that Callan and Mia were on their way. That, and the incessant chattering from one excited little girl, no doubt fuelled by the little bags of sweets and chocolates with notes saying ‘eat me’ that she’d dotted along the path she’d expected them to take.
It wasn’t quite as elaborate as the treasure hunts her father had created for her when she was a young girl, but time hadn’t been on her side, and the shops had been closing as she’d driven to the closest village with a clothing store. She’d counted her lucky stars when the owner had allowed her an extra five minutes to shop, despite their closing the door as she ran towards it.
She smoothed out the picnic blanket and opened the cooler bag that was serving today as a warmer bag. It was lined with foil to keep the heat in, and contained a breakfast fit for a king and his little princess.
She straightened up as the torch touched her feet, then travelled up her body, stopping shy of her face.
‘Daddy! Santa brought us Josie for Christmas!’
Mia threw herself at Josie. Her little arms wound their way around her hips and held on tight.
‘Daddy said you were busy this Christmas. Too busy to see us. But Daddy was wrong.’ Mia turned an accusing glare on her father that lasted all of a second before she turned back to Josie. ‘Look! I got gloves and a scarf! And we got hats! And there’s a million presents under the tree. And I got a stocking – I’ve never had a stocking. It had chocolates! And oranges.’ She stuck her tongue out in disgust.
Josie planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘What was Santa thinking putting oranges in your stocking? That’s far too healthy for Christmas Day.’
‘I think Santa rectified his mistake by leading us down a sweet-filled trail.’
Callan’s words were measured, his tone without censure.
Josie attempted to interpret how he was feeling, what he was thinking, but hit a blank wall. Whatever he thought about this expedition, about her leading them up the hill, she had no idea.
Which meant if she were going to find out, she’d have to plough on with her plans.
‘What’s Christmas without a breakfast feast? Mia, take a seat. Callan, you too … please.’
Callan hesitated. Fear clutched at Josie’s chest. Was he going to take Mia and leave? Not even give her a chance to explain? To try?
A whisper of self-defeat curled up from deep within. Tried to tell her she wasn’t worth Callan’s time. That he deserved better. She stamped it out as quick as it rose. It was that inner voice that had seen her keep people at a distance for years. She wasn’t listening to it. Wasn’t giving it the time of day. Especially not when her future, her happiness, was on the line.
With a look of resignation, Callan settled onto the blanket and pulled Mia into his lap.
A barrier, Josie noted. A way to ensure things didn’t get tense, to ensure no one spoke out of turn.
She couldn’t blame him for taking that possibility into consideration, but she had no intention of getting angry, of saying the wrong things, or of hurting anyone. She wanted the opposite. She wanted – needed – to say the right things, to explain to the two people sitting in front of her how much they’d come to mean to her. It might have been far too early in their relationship to say the ‘l’ word, but it was never too early to show it.
‘Great. Right. Well. For breakfast this morning we have …’ She opened the bag and began arranging the food before them. ‘Bacon and scrambled eggs. Croissants. Breakfast sausages.’ She opened another container. ‘Er, slightly cold cooked mushrooms. And tea.’ She lifted the thermos she’d bought with her. ‘And milk for the little lady.’
‘No pancakes?’ Mia leaned forward and looked in the cooler bag.
‘Sorry. No pancakes. Next time.’ Josie crossed her fingers behind her back and wished for a next time.
‘Why breakfast? Why all the effort?’
Callan’s questions took Josie by surprise. She didn’t think he’d be so blunt in front of Mia. She’d hoped he’d go with the flow and see where things led.
Which of course he wouldn’t. And nor should he. He had no reason to think she had their best interests at heart. She’d have acted the same. Would’ve done anything and everything to protect her child’s heart, her own heart too, were she in his position. Including keeping the person who was trying their best to say sorry, to make up for what they’d done, at arm’s length until she knew she could trust them again.
Josie set spoons and miniature tongs into the containers, then straightened up, gripped her knees for support, and hoped her tongue wouldn’t tangle, wouldn’t mash the words she’d worked on half the night.
‘We didn’t do the traditional Christmas lunch in our family. Mum’s parents lived in Penzance and preferred to spend Christmas at my uncle’s house with his family as they lived down the road. My dad’s parents had retired to New Zealand and weren’t big on travelling. So because it was just us, my mother decided we didn’t have to follow tradition, that we could create our own, so we did breakfast instead. A huge spread. Followed by all the traditional Christmassy desserts. It was a feast that had us holding our bellies groaning for hours afterwards. Then once we could move, my dad would take me on a treasure hunt to work up an appetite for dinner, which would be homemade burgers and chips, or a curry, or whatever Mum felt inspired to whip up, followed by Christmas cake.’ Josie glanced out over the valley, not seeing much as the sun had yet to rise. ‘In hindsight I should’ve realised my mother was never one for doing the “done” thing. That being a mother and wife, stuck in an estate where the homes all looked the same, living a life of routine, was never going to stick.’
‘You were a kid. You couldn’t have known.’
‘I don’t know about that. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you don’t see things for what they are.’
Callan’s eyebrows drew together, his gaze turned distant. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
Josie loaded up Mia’s plate and passed it to her. ‘Anyway, it’s taken me far too long to come to this conclusion, but I’ve decided that instead of spending the rest of my life ruminating on the bad bits of my past, I should celebrate the good bits. The Christmas breakfasts. The treasure hunts that led Dad and I all over the neighbourhood. The times when Mum slipped into my bed in the middle of the night for a cuddle, fell asleep, and we’d wake up all hot and sweaty and entwined, and so utterly happy.’ Josie sat back on her haunches and settled her hands on her knees. ‘I spent so many years wondering why she didn’t love me, but I’ve come to realise her leaving wasn’t about me, or her lack of love for me. Because she did love me, and she showed it in so many ways. I think, if anything, it was herself she didn’t love – or she didn’t love the way she wasn’t satisfied with life, that she wanted more, and felt guilty for it �
�� and that’s why she left. Because Mum was afraid if we discovered she didn’t love herself, we might stop loving her. Even though that would have never happened, but how was she to know that? It’s like how I’ve always thought that if people found out I was unlovable, because one of my parents left and the other pushed me away, they’d think I wasn’t worth loving, which is why I pushed people away. I never let them get close. Something I know now is a silly belief to have.’ Josie shook her head at her own ridiculousness. ‘Part of me wishes I’d figured that out years ago. I would’ve made life much easier on myself. A bigger part of me is glad I’ve figured it out right here, right now, in a village where I’ve fallen for the people. And I hope, someday, some of them might even feel the same way about me.’
And just like that, something broke deep within Josie. The chains that had shackled her, kept her from finding freedom, disappeared. She wasn’t her mother. She didn’t need to leave. To run. She wasn’t her father. She didn’t have to push people away to protect her heart. She was her own person. And the kindness that Callan saw within her was there because that’s who she was, and kind people didn’t go out of their way to hurt people or let them down.
‘So here we are. Now that the food, and all my feelings, are out on the table, welcome to a Donnelly Christmas tradition. As brought to you by Santa.’
She waited for clapping or cheering or even a grunt of acknowledgement. Anything other than the ominous silence that emanated from Callan. Even Mia was uncharacteristically silent. Josie’s heart sank further with every passing second. Had this been a mistake? Had she pushed Callan so far away there was no going back?
‘Well then, if it’s a tradition, who are we to get in the way of it. Mia, tuck in. I think I’ll be trying these bacon and eggs.’ Callan began piling up the plastic picnic plate that Josie had laid out for him. ‘What was the strangest Christmas dinner your mother ever made?’
The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams Page 19