Christmas Wishes: From the Sunday Times bestselling and award-winning author of romance fiction comes a feel-good cosy Christmas read

by Sue Moorcroft

  Hannah listened. Nico was tense but so controlled that it was hard to align him in her mind with the laughing, vivacious, hard-playing teenage star of the Peterborough Plunderers. She remembered how people used to stop to watch him, his grace and unthinking control as he swooped, raced, turned, reversed and traversed. Hannah had never attained anywhere near such mastery of the ice.

  Yet all the time, under that vital, athletic persona, had lain a love-hate relationship with food.

  A waiter in a green waistcoat arrived to take their order. Nico chose a plate, which included salmon, herring, prawns, eggs, cheese, butter and bread, along with a small glass of wine. Hannah chose roast beef with dill potatoes and a large glass of wine. She walked between Gamla Stan and Östermalm so didn’t have to worry about drink-driving. She didn’t run a car herself, although she could borrow Albin’s Porsche whenever he wasn’t using it. She rarely did, in case she scratched its sleek silver perfection.

  ‘It sounds as if you have a wonderful relationship with Josie,’ Hannah said, when the waiter had departed.

  His face softened. ‘She’s cute, funny and a walking question mark. Blonde, blue-eyed, pretty.’

  ‘A mini Nico?’ Hannah joked. Their wine arrived and she paused to sip the rich red liquid.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘Hair and eyes, maybe. Her mother’s pretty so maybe she got that from her.’

  Hannah wondered whether to tell him that although he needed to fill out and should smile more, he, too, was eye-catching. She chose something safer. ‘I’ll bet Josie’s into sports.’

  ‘She’s into unicorns and princesses,’ he corrected drily. ‘But that’s fine. I’m not a pushy dad.’

  ‘But she’s a daddy’s girl?’ Hannah hazarded.

  There was water on the table and he poured them each a glass. ‘Maybe. We were both determined that she should stay with me when Loren and I split.’ He hesitated. ‘Josie now has a little sister, Maria, born after the split. Loren suffered severe postnatal depression after both her pregnancies. Josie feels secure with me. I can afford a nanny and my younger cousin Emelie is at uni in London so she lives with us and helps out too. Between us, we give Josie a good, loving home.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Hannah answered. ‘Don’t you have a new partner?’ Then she flushed in case it sounded like she was making a play.

  ‘No. Life’s hard enough,’ he joked. Then, sobering: ‘Neither has Loren. I suppose that’s partly why she hasn’t completely accepted the divorce. Although …’ He tailed off, fidgeting. He took a breath. ‘I’m going to tell you because hiding things is a bad habit and not unassociated with eating problems. Loren got pregnant with Maria by another man while we were married. I couldn’t take that. I admitted love was gone and the time had come to end things. I was full of doubts but I had to accept she was no longer the person I’d been crazy about. I had to make myself hurt her. The actual ending was difficult in a thousand ways. We had a child. Loren was accustomed to me making her happy and wasn’t convinced I couldn’t … adapt. If I’d offered the option of continuing together and me accepting Maria as my own, she’d have taken it.’

  Shock rippled through Hannah. ‘That must have been tough,’ she said sympathetically.

  He slid lower in his chair as if the burden of the memories was weighing on him. ‘She was drinking a lot so she probably didn’t even mean it to happen. She wasn’t sleeping with me so there was no question that Maria was mine.’ Their food arrived courtesy of the waiter in the green waistcoat who whirled away with a genial, ‘Varsågoda, hoppas det smakar!’ Here you are. Hope it tastes good. Nico thanked him but stared at his fish and seafood as if not seeing it.

  Hannah picked up her cutlery. ‘How has Josie coped?’ Her first bite of beef smeared with fragrant dill sauce was perfection.

  Just when she thought he wasn’t going to eat he picked up a fork. ‘Surprisingly well. It helps that Josie adores Maria, who’s two. Whenever Josie comes home from Loren’s she has new photos or videos of Maria to show me.’ He pushed his food around and then took a small mouthful of salmon.

  Hannah gave him time to eat some more before continuing the conversation. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Seeing photos of Maria? Of course not – she’s my daughter’s sister. None of the mess our relationship became was their fault, poor kids. Maria calls me “Mydad” because Josie says, “I’m going home with my dad now” and Maria thinks it’s my name. Mydad. Kinda poignant because I’m not. Loren tried to get Maria to call me Nico but she soon reverted to Mydad. She’s a little cutie.’ He took a sip of wine, his strong throat moving. ‘It was Josie’s eighth birthday last month and Maria was the first person on her party list. Loren came too. We’re very civilised.’ There was a trace of regret in the final sentence. Hannah suspected there was a lot going on under his controlled exterior.

  He changed the subject. ‘How do you like living in Sweden? I remember the hilarious results of trying to teach you and Rob Swedish when we were kids, yet here you are speaking it.’ He rearranged his food again then ate a prawn.

  ‘It’s proved more useful than the French I used to sigh over,’ she agreed lightly, surprised he retained such a clear memory of her. Somehow, her having easy recall of him was more understandable. Everyone had known Nico Pettersson, the athletic foreigner. Girls had befriended Hannah to get information about him because he’d been so tight with Rob. ‘How’s your dad?’ she asked. ‘Do you remember him telling people they could call him “Lasse” and them pronouncing it “Lassie”?’

  He laughed. He’d eaten nearly half his meal now and was looking more comfortable. ‘People named Lars are often called Lasse by friends. He was never sure whether being called “Lassie” made him a girl or a dog but encouraged people back to saying Lars.’ He paused to sip wine. ‘He’s fine. He’s living in Nässjö, in the Småland region in the south of Sweden, close to Lake Vättern. My brother Mattias lives in nearby Huskvarna with his girlfriend. Mum lives on the edges of Älgäng, a smaller town. Dad only coaches hockey at community level now – a retirement job. Mattias is an assistant curator at Husqvarna Museum. The Husqvarna factory has a varied history, producing anything from weapons to sewing machines, motorcycles and lawn mowers.’

  ‘Do you see your family much?’ She’d slowed her own eating, wary of laying down her cutlery in case he’d immediately do the same. The bistro was busy with people dining after the shops closed and before hitting a bar. Every time the door clanged at the top of the stairs a breath of cold air reminded them of winter lurking.

  He nodded and looked down at his plate. To Hannah it appeared as if he were taking part in a silent argument with the food. He took another small forkful. ‘I see Mum and Dad several times a year but I usually go to them rather than them coming to Stockholm on the train from Jönköping. Mattias a little less. I’ll take Josie home for St Lucia’s Day in December. She loves to make saffron buns and gingerbread – saffransbullar and pepparkakor – with my mum. She yearns to be Lucia and wear candles in her hair.’

  Hannah had been in Sweden long enough to know about Lucia processions, the symbolic bringing of light into the short Swedish winter days by St Lucia of Syracuse. ‘Maybe she could start as a handmaiden and work up?’

  The lines of his face softened. ‘The choosing of Lucia, the handmaidens and the star boys will have taken place months ago. It’s a lovely time and we treat it like Christmas with our Swedish family. It’s best for Josie to be in England for Christmas so she can see her mum too.’ He moved the conversation back to Hannah. ‘So you like being your own boss?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Finally finished, she laid down her knife and fork. ‘This is my second venture. First time, I had a T-shirt printing business in a place called Creative Lanes down by the river in Bettsbrough. Do you remember The Embankment?’

  He nodded. ‘On the road out of Bettsbrough towards Middledip.’

  ‘Creative Lanes is a group of off-high-street businesses. It was hard to make the T-shir
t business pay – though I have the perfect surname and called it “Goodbodies” – so I took the job of assistant manager of the Lanes too. My then boyfriend, Luke, shared the unit, selling repurposed stuff like clocks made into paperweights and forks made into bracelets. When we split up he was obnoxious, trumping up complaints against me in my assistant manager role until I gave up the tenancy to him and joined IKEA for a complete change. It was so vast compared to Goodbodies. I learned a lot in sales, then customer support and customer relations. I came to Sweden with them. I had to learn Swedish but so many people speaking English helped.’

  Nico had eaten most of his meal. He shoved the plate away as if showing it who was boss and Hannah bit back an impulse to compliment him on nearly clearing his plate. She went on, ‘I love Stockholm but I hankered after my own business again.’ She spread her hands. ‘And here I am.’

  Now his ordeal by food was over, he pushed his chair back so he could cross his long legs. ‘Happy? I can tell Rob that, at least?’

  ‘He knows I love Hannah Anna Butik,’ she returned, once again keeping to herself the fact that her relationship with Albin was circling the drain. Rob would get big-brotherly with Albin and he deserved to enjoy the pre-wedding buzz without trying to fight her battles, even if she’d let him.

  Nico nodded and signalled to the waiter so they could order coffee. ‘How’s your grandmother, Nan Heather? I remember how everyone in Middledip knew her.’

  Hannah smiled at the thought of Nan, her small body and huge smile, twinkling eyes magnified through her glasses beneath a curly cap of silver hair. The way her voice creaked. ‘Because she fostered so many kids. The foster kids called her Aunt Heather originally but when Rob and I came along, calling her Nan, it segued somehow into Nan Heather.’

  ‘She can’t still be fostering?’ Nico’s eyes were half-shut as if he’d drunk a lot more than one modest glass of wine. It gave him a slightly dangerous air.

  Hannah shook the thought away. Next she’d be developing a thing for him. Maybe it was just that he was raw, pulsing with life compared to Albin’s glossy urbanity. ‘She’s just had her ninetieth birthday! Mum was born when Nan was thirty. Nan had been married since she was twenty and thought she wouldn’t have any kids so had been fostering for years when Mum came along. Mum grew up with loads of kids around but not a sibling of her own.’

  ‘Ninety!’ Nico smiled. ‘Good on her.’ Their coffee arrived and his was strong and dark. The fragrance rose up around them.

  ‘She lives alone and, apart from Dad doing her garden and Mum getting her a weekly food order, lives completely independently. Mum and Dad have recently retired. Dad’s been doing up an old camper van – the proper old VW kind – for years and after the wedding they’re setting off across Europe in it. I thought they’d wait for summer but they want the winter-wonderland experience in Switzerland and Austria. Nan says they should stay away for Christmas if they want because she’ll find plenty to do in the village. She has a partner, Brett, though they don’t live together. He’s only eighty so he’s a toy boy.’

  ‘Won’t you go to the UK for Christmas?’ Nico’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘The shop’s only shut on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, like most Swedish shops. I can’t expect Julia to cover for me so I can swan off and, anyway, it’s Hannah Anna Butik’s first festive season. I’ll miss the Middledip festivities but being a business owner means sacrifices.’ And Albin had said he wasn’t going to England this Christmas anyway. Last year, he’d allowed himself to be persuaded but had sat on the fringe of every gathering and watched as if mystified. It had dimmed Hannah’s enjoyment of the family fun.

  She was wondering whether she and Albin would even be together this Christmas when Nico glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to wind this up. I promised Josie I’d FaceTime her before bed. With the time difference, I’ll get back to my hotel room in time if I go now.’ He gestured to the server for the bill and refused point-blank to let Hannah pay her share.

  ‘But I owe you for helping me to a great day’s trading,’ she protested.

  He waved her words away as he paid by card. ‘It was my idea.’ He pulled on his coat.

  She followed suit. ‘Well, thank you. I’ll have to buy you a drink at the wedding.’

  Politely, he gestured her ahead of him up the stairs. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing your family again. Josie and I are staying at the hotel where the wedding’s taking place.’

  ‘Port Manor? We’re staying there for the night of the wedding, too. It’s extravagant when Middledip’s two miles away but it’s so comfortable to have your own room and not be hanging about for taxis in the early hours.’ She felt a big smile take charge of her face at the thought of Rob’s wedding bringing her family together. She loved Sweden but she loved going home, too.

  He smiled as they stepped out into the dark evening. ‘Sorry to rush.’ He gave her a quick, friendly hug and set off at a jog, throwing ‘See you soon,’ back over his shoulder.

  After watching him vanish around a corner, Hannah pulled a jaunty blue knitted hat from her coat pocket. She’d worn her hair up at work but she took the clasp out now and enjoyed the end-of-day feeling of her scalp relaxing before she crammed the hat on. Her breath clouded the frosty air and she headed out of Gamla Stan and over the bridge, the pavements looking as if they’d been sprinkled with diamond dust. Below, the black water reflected a million lights, as if the winter night stars had fallen in.

  She set off briskly, the wind grabbing at her hair, hands and feet soon half-numb with the cold, past department stores and parks, black waterways and old buildings, to the broad thoroughfare that was Nybrogatan. At the five-storey honey-coloured apartment block near the metro station she keyed in the door code and, eschewing the lift with its metal concertina door, ran upstairs to the first floor and let herself in. Albin wasn’t yet home, which was as she’d expected, and his lair of white leather and black granite felt emptily echoey. She wanted to introduce rich, vibrant fabrics to soften the monochrome minimalism but Albin refused to hear of it. It was his family’s apartment so his preference prevailed. They’d actually argued about bathroom towels recently.

  Hannah felt as if she was looking down the wrong end of a telescope at the whirlwind romance they’d once shared. In the past few months he’d become distant, even cold. No longer was he the Albin who’d been fascinated by her down-to-earth ordinariness, laughing at her jokes, hungering for her body, sexting during the working day, and who had so wanted to make her happy that he’d made her business possible by signing the lease. She remembered the day; the way she’d thanked him and he’d whispered, ‘It will keep you in Sweden.’

  Rob had once asked her whether she’d fallen more for Albin’s lifestyle than the man himself. She’d denied it hotly. She’d have found him attractive without the swanky apartment with use of the gorgeous courtyard where they ate in summer, the restaurant on every corner, the wherewithal to grocery shop at ICA Esplanaden. Hannah might be ambitious but that was about her own achievements. It wasn’t about snaffling a wealthy man. Suits and haircuts were just suits and haircuts, even the expensive kind.

  Now she was having to acknowledge that maybe Rob had seen something she’d been unable to see because the painful truth was that Albin had lost interest in her. She could parade around naked without distracting him from a text conversation. It smarted, but it was high time, in Hannah’s opinion, to face the situation. And part of that was that she wasn’t heartbroken. It had only been infatuation all along.

  After kicking her boots into the hall cupboard she made steaming hot chocolate and went to luxuriate for half an hour in the main bathroom, which had a spa bath and the ruby red towels she’d hung in here in defiance of the apartment’s colour scheme, making Albin snap, ‘I’ll only accept it because I prefer the en suite shower room so don’t have to look at them.’

  She closed her eyes while the hot water roiled about her body. It was like being pum
melled by a boxer wearing soft fluffy gloves. She didn’t envy Albin creeping through damp forests to destroy beautiful animals. At least he never insisted she join him on his blokey hunting trips.

  Her mind wandered to Nico: first the scruffy, haggard Nico and then the cleaned-up, shaven version who’d paced her shop, observing it through narrowed eyes before changing everything. Her stock had looked so beautiful, so stylish. Mary Poppins would have been proud of the transformation.

  Funny, but meeting a Swede in Sweden was making her think vividly of England, of Nico hanging out at their house in Middledip, smiling and good mannered enough to charm Hannah’s parents and grandmother, treating Hannah as a special – if younger – friend, much to the envy of the older girls who hung around the rink.

  When Hannah finally emerged from the swirling bathwater she slid into a robe and opened her laptop to FaceTime her parents, Mo and Jeremy Goodbody.

  When Mo appeared on the screen she beamed all over her round, good-natured face, as delighted to hear from her as if Hannah hadn’t contacted them for months. ‘Can’t wait for you to come home for the wedding, Han! Port Manor Hotel’s doing Rob and Leesa proud. You’ll be here for the rehearsal on Thursday evening won’t you?’

  ‘You know I will.’ Hannah laughed. Wedding arrangements had been underway for more than a year. Leesa’s dress was a secret from the groom. The shiny bridesmaids’ outfits were hanging in bags in the home of Leesa’s parents. Hannah’s was a delicate colour of creamy peach. The gown of Jemima, Leesa’s sister, was a shade darker as if to let everyone know she bore the exalted title of maid of honour. Mo had been prepared to battle on Hannah’s behalf over the perceived implication that the sister of the bride was more important than the sister of the groom but Hannah had firmly restrained her. Maybe peachy-cream was more Jemima’s colour than creamy-peach.