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

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘But it’s dark before four,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I said I’d have both girls after school. You’ve given me no notice of this either.’

  He hardened his heart and took a stand. The prospect of a week to spend as he wanted without much on the schedule felt great. He could hint to Emelie that she was welcome to spend a few days with her Italian boyfriend Bruno and he’d have his home to himself and Josie. And Maria. ‘Our agreement,’ Nico reminded Tilly gently, ‘is that your paid annual leave will sometimes have to fit in with that of your employer. As it happens, there’s nothing about me giving you notice of that.’

  Red-faced, Tilly struggled back into her coat and left without a word.

  Nico went upstairs to tell Emelie. ‘So you’re free to take extra boyfriend time and a break from childcare.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Really? Glad you’re giving yourself some real time off. How did Tilly take the news?’

  He couldn’t help a sheepish grin. ‘Like a sore loser.’

  Emelie tossed her hair as she began ramming things into a backpack. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately. Surely she doesn’t think a neglected hedge takes precedence over a neglected kid?’

  ‘I agree but good nannies are hard to find,’ he said diplomatically.

  Emelie rolled her eyes and hugged him goodbye.

  When it was time to leave for school, he wrangled a squirming Maria into the buggy, ignoring her protests of ‘No! Walk!’ and they made their way past Georgian sash-windowed three-storey houses like theirs with big rooms and narrow gardens. Josie paused to converse with a ginger cat on a garden wall, then they strolled around the corner to Barrack Road.

  Josie’s steps slowed. The wet-cement feeling in Nico’s stomach returned and though he kept up a flow of easy conversation to distract her, when the bell sounded he followed Josie to where Mrs Calcashaw waited at the door to see her class inside. ‘I’m Josie’s dad,’ he reminded her pleasantly. ‘I’d like another word about how Josie’s settling down, please.’

  Mrs Calcashaw was no ogre but she wasn’t a smiley-smiley teacher either. Her face wore lines of resignation and her clothes were as tired as her eyes. ‘Of course. We can set up a meeting.’

  ‘The way the schools have been amalgamated hasn’t worked for Josie,’ Nico persisted as children began to stream past and Mrs Calcashaw kept most of her attention on them.

  ‘If it’s a matter of school policy, you could always see the head, Mrs Watts,’ she suggested pleasantly.

  He nodded, understanding that her job at that moment was to attend to an entire class full of eight-year-olds not one parent without an appointment. ‘OK. I’ll go round to reception. I’ll pick you up later, Josie.’

  Josie sighed, ‘OK,’ then kissed Nico and Maria goodbye and followed the others, Maria calling, ‘Bah-bye, Yozee!’

  Nico went to reception, through the double doors that opened automatically, easy to manoeuvre the buggy through. The young man on the front desk tried first to funnel him back in the teacher’s direction with an appointment to meet Mrs Calcashaw but Nico had now decided Mrs Watts was his mark, and resisted. ‘It’s a matter of whole-school policy,’ he said and the young man went off to consult Mrs Watts.

  Maria passed the time by kicking until one of her red boots came off, then looking at Nico expectantly. He’d just restored the boot to her foot when the young man returned. ‘Mrs Watts can see you in ten minutes if you don’t mind waiting.’

  ‘Great, thanks,’ said Nico.

  Maria kicked the other boot off.

  Nico made a mock-scary face at her and laughter gurgled from deep inside her. It was impossible not to be enchanted so he passed the wait making Maria laugh. In Mrs Watts’s room, Nico parked the buggy and took a chair. Mrs Watts, tall and thin with short black hair, smiled from behind her desk. ‘How can I help you today, Mr Pettersson?’

  Nico kept his tone genial, expressing his concerns about Josie being unhappy at school.

  Mrs Watts smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s early days yet—’

  ‘Two months,’ Nico reminded her. ‘Josie has never been unwilling to attend school before.’

  ‘There’s bound to be a little settling down when schools merge,’ Mrs Watts said, comfortingly. ‘Josie seems a happy little girl in school. We see nothing to concern us. And, of course, whenever things are unsettled in the family, children do make excuses to stay at home because they want to check everybody’s still around.’

  Nico realised he should also be making the school aware of Loren’s troubles but felt it would only justify what the head had said, making it easy for her to further deflect him. Instead, he said, ‘This is a direct request to put Josie back in Mrs Symonds’s class.’

  Mrs Watts tilted her head. ‘The decision to put Josie in Mrs Calcashaw’s class has been made, I’m afraid. Classes were decided with a view to what’s best for the whole school, bearing in mind all the factors. It was considered that Josie’s people skills would make her just the little girl to make a success of mixing with new children.’

  Waning patience made Nico blunt. ‘She’s unhappy. The children from both schools should have been mixed up in every class. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘Out!’ Maria demanded, from her buggy.

  Mrs Watts’s expression was sympathetic enough but she didn’t budge. ‘We’re not under that obligation, Mr Pettersson. Once the building at St Kits became an issue we had to make prompt decisions with a view to the smooth running of the school. I’m afraid if I let one parent choose a class for his child then it would open the floodgates of other parents wanting the same privilege, perhaps several times in each school year. Josie will soon be caught up in the whirl of Christmas,’ she added bracingly.

  He refused to be braced. ‘She’s unhappy as a result of your decisions. I’ll put my concerns in writing to the governors.’

  ‘Out buggy, Mydad!’ Maria shouted.

  Mrs Watts looked pained but repeated that the decision had been made and Josie would soon settle down.

  Frustrated, but inwardly conceding that Mrs Watts had a point about parents choosing classes, Nico tickled Maria and said, ‘OK, kid. We’ll soon be home,’ shook Mrs Watts’s hand and went back to make the beds. Maria industriously patted duvets and shook pillows alongside him.

  Then he lounged on the floor and listened to music while helping make towers out of Jenga bricks. Even when Maria bellowed, ‘One, two!’ and kicked each tower down it was easy work compared to his usual Monday morning madness and his applause made Maria’s round face glow.

  He didn’t check his inbox or his team WhatsApp.

  Instead, he set himself to returning the child latches he used to have for Josie to the lower kitchen cupboards. Maria crouched to watch, trying to grab his screwdriver. He gave her a plastic spoon to pretend with.

  When she napped after lunch he continued to ignore his inbox and took a nap as well. It felt amazing. Then he wrote the promised letter to the chair of the governors without much hope of a positive response. Mrs Watts had deflected him effortlessly. It was obviously not her first rodeo.

  He checked Facebook and saw Hannah had replied to his comment about dinner. Then champagne at the wedding at least. And an emoji of clinking champagne flutes.

  He replied: That’s a cheat because it’s a wedding. Champagne obligatory. It was ages since he’d had time to do something as normal as exchange such inconsequential banter.

  Before he knew it Maria was awake again and coming backwards downstairs, calling, ‘Yozee? Mydad?’ and it was time to fetch Josie from school. He began to think this week off, enforced or not, was what he needed.

  Chapter Six

  It was the Thursday before the wedding. Hannah looked at Albin in his slim-fit black, citified overcoat. ‘So you haven’t had a last-minute change of heart and decided to come to the wedding?’ she joked. Half-joked.

  Albin’s eyes flickered. ‘I’m going to work, stumpan. You take this trip to your lovely family alone.’
Hannah found the Swedish term of endearment he used, ‘little one’, to be more condescending than endearing.

  She got out her phone to summon an Uber to take her to catch the Arlanda Express to the airport, saddened by the smooth exterior she felt was contrived to keep her out. ‘When I come back, we need to talk … even if work’s still crazy.’

  Albin laughed. Then stopped. ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ he said softly before he left the apartment, leaving Hannah wondering at his odd manner.

  Then she went outside to wait for the Uber. Julia was covering Hannah’s five-day absence from the shop and she was determined to enjoy her trip home, whatever Albin’s mood.

  Coffee at the airport, a sandwich as she read on the plane, and a few hours later she was landing at Heathrow to a bright winter’s day, clearing passport control then wheeling her bag down into the London Underground system to rattle along the Piccadilly line to King’s Cross St Pancras and then take the mainline train to Peterborough. It was so relaxing that she read almost a complete book. Maybe Albin was right. It was better for her to make this trip alone.

  Rob was waiting for her, lounging against a post on the station platform as the light began to fade. She stepped off the train, turning up her collar although England wasn’t as cold as the Sweden she’d left behind this morning.

  She gave her brother a big hug, examining his familiar grin and smart haircut. ‘I thought Dad would fetch me. Aren’t you busy being a bridegroom?’

  He tugged her ponytail. ‘Meeting you was an excuse to get away from the mayhem for an hour but don’t tell Leesa I said so. The rehearsal’s at six so I’m whisking you straight to the hotel.’ His casual delivery belied the happiness and excitement in his eyes as they hurried to the car park. He stuck her bag in the back of his dark blue car and they battled the traffic up Bourges Boulevard onto Soke Parkway and out of the city. Familiar scenery whizzing past the car window, Hannah fairly buzzed at the realisation that it was finally here, this special weekend with her lovely, jolly family. ‘What’s been happening?’ she demanded.

  Rob groaned as he changed lanes. ‘Han, you FaceTimed us yesterday! Do you think a Martian’s turned up to take the service, or something?’ Then his face altered. ‘Actually, one thing’s happened.’ He took the road that headed north-east in the direction of Bettsbrough. ‘Nico Pettersson’s bringing two little girls to the wedding instead of one.’

  Hannah stared at his profile. ‘I presume one’s his daughter. Where did he get the spare?’

  ‘His ex’s daughter, Maria. Loren’s got problems and the little kid’s got nowhere else to go. She’s Josie’s half-sister so he’s stepped in.’

  Hannah absorbed this information. ‘Is he back with Loren?’ Though she didn’t know Nico’s ex she felt a reconciliation might not be good for him. He’d given Hannah the distinct impression ending things had been his only choice.

  Rob checked his mirrors then overtook a small red car. ‘I don’t think so. He rang yesterday and asked would it cause a shedload of problems if he brought little Maria along. He took her for a few days as an emergency measure but he’s had her for nearly two weeks. He didn’t go into details as to how that happened but we said bringing her would be fine. He’d booked a family room anyway and the meal’s a buffet so it’ll stretch to include an extra two-year-old.’

  ‘Wow. Odd he should end up looking after the baby who wrecked his marriage.’ But then they were sweeping up the drive to Port Manor Hotel and she bounced from the car and into the arms of her family, driving Nico’s problems from her mind.

  ‘Mum, you look lovely! Love the haircut, Dad.’ She swapped hugs with her stocky mum and gangly dad then swooped on a tiny woman leaning on a walking stick. ‘Nan! How lovely to see you.’ Her grandmother possessed neither computer nor smartphone and though they were able to chat on the landline – what Nan referred to as ‘the proper phone’ – it wasn’t the same as seeing her dear face.

  ‘Well, don’t squash me,’ Nan joked from the depths of a hug. Her eyes twinkled through thick glasses, her face creased with ninety years of smiles. Her curls, newly set, looked as if they’d been cast in silver.

  Hannah beamed at everyone and dealt breezily with the subject of her solo status. ‘Albin sends his best wishes and hopes we enjoy the big day.’

  Her mother, Mo, who’d worn the same pudding-basin bob ever since Hannah could remember, pressed her lips together.

  It was left to Dad Jeremy to smile peaceably. ‘That’s nice, dear. Look, here comes Leesa’s retinue.’ They turned to greet the SUV lumbering up the drive. Leesa’s parents were no longer around but her sister Jemima, nieces Saffi and Raya and bestie Amanda Louise were with her. As the doors flew open everyone began to speak.

  ‘Hannah! Hellooo—’

  ‘Hi, everyone—’

  ‘The traffic was horrendous—’

  ‘We’re going to be bridesmaids and wear pretty dresses!’

  They tumbled out, Leesa smiling blindingly at Rob as she stepped into his arms and the bubble of happiness they shared. Tears pricked Hannah’s eyes. She was never sure about big weddings because of the costs but she suddenly understood Leesa and Rob wanting to invite half the world to witness the pledging of their lives to one another. It arose from pure joy.

  Cool, blonde Amanda Louise brushed kisses on cheeks and said to the gathering at large, ‘I’m worried sick something will go wrong.’

  Hannah masked her irritation with a grin. ‘You only have to get dressed and turn up, don’t you? Leesa and Jemima have planned everything else.’ Then the celebrants arrived for the rehearsal, two well-upholstered ladies in a well-upholstered car, and the events manager came to guide everybody inside Port Manor Hotel, a restored manor house with all the pomp and glory that implied. Hannah offered her arm to Nan to negotiate the steps up to the baronial polished wood doors. The party quietened as they formed a procession across the marble floor beneath crystal chandeliers, Rob and Leesa walking hand in hand at the head.

  Hannah was very, very glad to be part of this wedding.

  Friday passed in a blur of checking things that had been checked ten times already and welcoming family. Some were staying at Port Manor Hotel, others with Mo and Jeremy in Middledip. Rob was occupying his childhood room in time-honoured before-the-wedding tradition so Hannah was happy to bunk in Nan’s narrow cottage in Rotten Row, a terrace of cottages edging one side of the three-legged junction named The Cross, hat-like dormer windows snuggled into tiled roofs.

  ‘It’s great to be back!’ Hannah kept declaring, and was happy to be asked to run errands because it gave her an excuse to tour the village. When sent to buy extra pins because Mo was sure the florist wouldn’t bring enough for the buttonhole flowers she took a long way round to the shop, Booze & News, marking off the familiar landmarks: Angel Café, the school, the playing fields and village hall, The Three Fishes pub – already lit up for Christmas and a sleigh and reindeer galloping over the roof. The red-brick terraces and stone cottages were comfortingly familiar with garden walls and picket fences. Roadside trees had shaken off their leaves as if to make room for the Christmas lights that would soon appear.

  At the shop, she listened to Melanie behind the counter earning her nickname of Village Updates. When she finally got away, she collected Nan and they ambled arm in arm to Mo and Jeremy’s detached pebbledash house up Main Road, opposite the Bankside Estate, for the gathering of the clan.

  By evening the house was bursting with friends and relatives scoffing Mo’s sandwiches and Jeremy’s home-brewed beer. Hannah caught up with aunties, uncles, cousins and friends and everyone talked endlessly about the wedding.

  Jeremy press-ganged people into the garage to admire ‘The Bus’, the 1957 split screen VW camper van that he’d finally finished restoring. ‘She’s going to take Mo and me all over Europe.’ Proudly, he ran his fingertips over the paintwork in the original colours of palm green and sand green. Hannah thought it looked like strong pea soup and weak pea soup but didn�
��t hurt his feelings by saying so.

  It wasn’t until late, when Hannah and Nan strolled back to Nan’s little cottage that Hannah mentioned an absentee from the celebrations. ‘Sorry to hear you and Brett have parted ways, Nan.’ She gave a gentle squeeze to the shoulders of her tiny, shuffling grandmother. ‘I thought you were an item.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nan sighed and tip-tapped her stick past a frosty hedge. ‘He proposed.’

  Hannah halted stock still. ‘Proposed?’

  Nan pulled her collar closer against the chilly air. ‘But he wanted me to sign a prenup.’ Indignation rang in her voice.

  ‘Oh.’ Hannah turned this over as they crossed the forecourt of the village garage, MAR Motors. ‘Because his family owns a farm? He’d have to be sure he was being fair to them.’

  Nan snorted. ‘How can you begin a marriage by acknowledging your husband-to-be doesn’t trust you?’ Stiffly, she rounded the final corner past the shop and unlocked the door on the side of her house. They stepped into the kitchen. Beyond lay the lounge, dining room and a tiny hall from which the stairs led.

  Shutting the door and relishing the warmth, chilled by the slow walk, Hannah hunted for positives. ‘But you and Brett liked each other. Couldn’t you carry on without getting married?’

  ‘Trust’s gone. You need trust,’ Nan said simply. ‘Don’t you trust Albin?’

  Hannah hedged. ‘I’ve never asked myself that question.’ And now she did, she wasn’t sure of the answer.

  On Saturday, Mo was on the phone by eight a.m., checking Hannah would be ready when Jeremy called to run her to the hotel to get ready with the rest of the bridesmaids.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Hannah replied soothingly. ‘And I’ll have had breakfast, and I’ve got my wedding undies and overnight bag and I won’t be snitty with Amanda Louise.’