The Christmas Holiday

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The Christmas Holiday Page 27

by Maxine Morrey


  ‘What is it?’

  I just shook my head, ‘I don’t have a plan, Matt. I’ve tried everything. No one wants to take me on. As far as they’re concerned, I bailed on the team and broke my contract and all the previous years of utter and absolute commitment mean absolutely nothing. I’ve tried everyone I can think of and when I couldn’t get anything on the racing side, I thought normal stuff would be ok but just doing MOTs and basic repairs nearly sent me insane within a couple of weeks. I literally don’t have a clue what to do now. I’m effectively homeless, jobless and I’ve apparently totally burned my bridges. You’re right. I’m stuffed.’

  Matt took a deep breath, reached over one brawny arm and scooped me up against him, wrapping the other one around me as I leant against him.

  ‘You’re not stuffed. Something will work out. It might not be what you originally had in mind but it doesn’t necessarily mean it won’t be just as good. And you’re neither homeless nor jobless. You’ve got a home here – and you always will have. You’re not jobless either. The shop opens at nine tomorrow morning and there’s a tonne of Christmas wreaths that need to be made up. Since we got featured in that fancy magazine, the orders have shot up. We’re all chasing our tails trying to keep up with the demand and get everything out in time. I know you’re not thrilled to be home, but we’re thrilled you are.’

  ‘Only because you’re short staffed,’ I grumped.

  Matt gave me a squeeze. ‘Don’t be a grouchy arse. You know that’s not the only reason. It’s nice to have you here. We all miss you.’

  My eyes started filling again. ‘I missed you all too.’ I shoved myself up and turned back to face him, ‘and please don’t think I’m not happy to be home. I am. You know I am. I guess it’s just in different circumstances than I thought it might be. I feel a bit like…I’m not sure who I am right now.’

  Matt gave a half laugh, ‘Lexi. You are you. You’re not, and never will be, defined by what job you do. You’re fun, intelligent, and apparently some blokes think you’re sort of pretty so –‘

  I stuffed a cushion over his face and he waggled his arms and legs about comically and I found myself laughing properly for the first time in what felt like months. In fact, it probably was months. I took the cushion down, and Matt took big, dramatic breaths, his eyes wide.

  ‘You daft sod,’ I leant in on my knees and gave him a big hug. ‘Thanks big brother. I really missed you.’

  Matt dropped a kiss on top of my head. ‘I know you did. I’d miss me too.’

  I sat back and shoved the cushion at him. He grabbed his tea and finished the last of it before picking up both the mugs and rinsing them out in the tiny sink.

  ‘Come on. Mum’s got a lasagne big enough to feed the whole village over there. Everyone else should be here by now too.’

  I hesitated in the quick brush I was giving my hair.

  ‘Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t,’ Matt said, reading my thoughts.

  ‘They’re going to think I’m a failure. That I should have made better decisions.’

  ‘Lex. They’re not. Not one person thinks that. At least not one person who matters. You made the only decision you could.’

  He was right. Deep down I knew that. Not that it made things any easier.

  ‘Stop thinking about it now. It’s done. And I’m hungry so stop faffing and come on.’

  I dropped the brush back into my bag and headed for the door. ‘Nag, nag, nag,’ I mumbled as I passed him, neither of us bothering to hide the big grins on our faces. As much as it was scary in one way, it felt so good to be home.

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017

  Copyright © Maxine Morrey 2017

  Maxine Morrey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 978-0-00-824887-1

 

 

 


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