The Hygge Holiday: The warmest, funniest, cosiest romantic comedy of 2017

by Rosie Blake

  Lady CaCa raised one eye at her as she approached, growing increasingly fretful as Clara grabbed the handle on the top of the cage.

  ‘Come on, girl,’ Clara soothed. She’d decided to take the parrot downstairs so that she had company in the shop.

  ‘I’LL BE BACK.’

  She descended the stairs, surprised at the weight of the cage, hearing Lady CaCa’s wings as they hit the bars.

  ‘THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME,’ the parrot called out repeatedly.

  ‘And I’m not taking you away from it,’ Clara puffed, putting the cage down outside the door to the shop and turning back towards the stairs.

  ‘NO LIKEY NO LIGHTY! NO LIKEY NO LIGHTY!’

  ‘We’re going to have fun,’ Clara called over her shoulder as she returned to the flat to tempt Roddy down with a fresh bowl of food.

  The cat had moved from bed to rug and back again but had barely shown a flicker of interest in doing anything else. Food wasn’t working, so Clara produced a piece of wool and dangled it in front of him. He stared at her as if to say, ‘Do you think I’m an imbecile? It’s wool – you need to get a life,’ then rolled over onto his other side to stare at the empty woodburner instead. Clara had to pick him up and carry him down the stairs, grappling with the key to get the door open. On seeing the cage, he panicked – Lady CaCa was about the only thing that got him moving – and shot out of Clara’s arms into the shop, scratching her in his haste to get away. Alarmed at seeing her following him inside carrying the cage , he made a beeline for the opposite end of the shop, parking himself in the middle of a pile of princess dresses and nestling down for another nap.

  ‘Right.’ Clara clapped her hands together and smiled at them both. ‘Big day,’ she announced.

  ‘IT’S GOODNIGHT FROM ME AND IT’S GOODNIGHT FROM HIM.’

  ‘Not quite the attitude,’ she said, disappearing into the cupboard to unearth a hoover and a cloth.

  The next few hours were spent finishing sorting the stock and then cleaning and tidying. She stacked any mismatched stock neatly away in the cupboard and lined the shelves with toys, prices displayed on colourful labels. Dragging a stool across the room, she strung up bright polka-dot bunting, then hung some pictures she’d found leaning against the wall in the back room: an enormous framed clown with a bunch of coloured balloons in his hand, a juggling duo, a ringmaster and an elephant. A mirror on the wall behind the till made the whole place feel bigger, and she grinned at her own reflection.

  She mopped the floor until the black and white squares were spotless. Moving across to the counter, she piled all the stray pieces of paper into one bundle, which she placed underneath the till. She wiped the counter down and propped a couple of toy trolls next to the till, their neon hair sticking out at every angle, then looped the bunting along the counter, smiling as she stood back and admired her work. Looking up at the large clock hanging over the door, she started at the time, her stomach grumbling as if it had just worked out that she’d skipped lunch.

  With no car, she realised with a sinking heart that there was only one place to go for supplies if she wanted them now. She shrugged on her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck and huddled into its warmth as she walked the few paces to Roz’s post office next door.

  The shop was crammed full, the only light coming from the smeared window and a flickering bare bulb. Magazines were displayed in a rack on the wall, newspapers were stacked in piles on the floor. Shelves rammed with various essentials lined the opposite wall and an island in the middle was stuffed full too. Clara quickly grabbed a few things, holding out the edges of her coat to act as a makeshift basket.

  She could sense Roz watching her from a stool behind the counter, the occasional sigh making Clara cringe. Were they going to have another row? Perhaps she should just starve instead? She felt the scrutiny as she piled the items up next to the till, Roz’s thin mouth practically disappearing as she scanned each one.

  ‘So you’re staying,’ she said pointedly, looking at the spread in front of her: a loaf of bread, a pint of milk, a jar of marmalade, a cucumber and a packet of sliced ham.

  ‘Yes,’ squeaked Clara, determined not to be bullied. ‘Staying,’ she repeated, paying with her card.

  ‘Where’s your bag?’ Roz raised a pencilled eyebrow. ‘Five pence if not.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ Clara stammered. What was it about this woman that made her nervous? ‘Right,’ she said, spilling change out of her purse as she searched for one of the tiny coins. Roz looked disappointed when she produced one and slid it across the counter.

  Clara scurried out, the bag bulging, cutting into her hands, feeling Roz’s eyes burn into her back through the glass shopfront.

  ‘Clara!’ Lauren waved.

  Clara stopped, heart still pumping from her shopping excursion, vowing to make a large online order that night on Louisa’s ancient-looking desktop computer.

  ‘How are you?’ Lauren asked, huffing to a stop in front of her, cheeks pink from the cold and with a large faux-fur hat on her head.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m great, actually, just in the middle of sorting the shop.’ Clara gestured, feeling the tension drain away.

  ‘That’s great. Look, I’m rushing to pick Rory up from nursery, but I’ll pop in later and we can have a play date. Oh God, I mean a coffee. Sorry, too much mum chat. NOT a play date. I won’t make you get the Lego out or anything. Well, maybe Operation, as I actually really like that game, though it is bloody hard – I always kill him off when I go to take out his Adam’s apple. So disgusting.’

  ‘Right,’ Clara said, unsure what she was talking about. ‘I’m not sure we have that game in Denmark. Lego, though. We love Lego.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lauren said, waving a gloved hand, ‘of course. Look, I really must dash. Mrs Stevens always gets pissy with me when I turn up late, like she might be about to call social services, so I’d better g —’

  ‘Run,’ Clara giggled. ‘I’m in the shop whenever, just pop by. I’d love to have a coffee.’

  ‘And is your plan going smoothly?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s coming together,’ Clara said.

  ‘How fab. Yay. I can’t wait to see it. And so glad you’re staying on in the village,’ she called as she half walked, half jogged away.

  Clara watched her leave, her straight glossy hair streaming out as she turned down a side street. She smiled, feeling a glow from the promise of a new friendship and a renewed flicker of excitement at the project awaiting her.

  She turned to head back inside, but just before she did, she paused outside the shop, looking at the white shutters still pulled down over the windows, the burgundy sign above. She knew what she had to do next.

  Chapter 9

  Clara fell into bed that night utterly drained. The sheets were cold, but she was too tired to jump out of bed to get her socks. She wrapped the duvet around her, waiting to warm up, her back aching, her hands red-raw from cleaning and polishing and assembling things. The woodburner in the flat needed wood and kindling and she made a mental note to add that to her online order. She had barely been able to lift Lady CaCa’s cage back up the stairs to the flat. Roddy followed moments later but only because Clara had opened another tin of cat food.

  What would people say? She could barely sleep with excitement, as if she were a child again and tomorrow was Christmas Day. What would they say when they saw it? What would Gavin and Lauren and Roz think? She pictured the children in the village, their faces aglow under woollen hats. She bit her lip, feeling a sense of focus fill her. She had been wandering for a few months now with no real purpose; it seemed like fate to find herself in this village, knowing she might make a difference. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come so that she’d be bright and perky tomorrow for the big day.

  It seemed like only moments later that the alarm clock was ringing next to her and she was stepping out of bed, hopping from one bare foot to the other as she located her slipper socks and Louisa’s dressing gown
and fuchsia fleece. Sticking the kettle on, she raced to get ready, even finding a moment to put some mascara on, her blue eyes glittering back at her in the small bathroom mirror.

  It was time. Downstairs, she had positioned herself on a chair near the counter, and was finishing her second coffee as she watched the clock above the counter move to nine o’clock. Then, with great pomp and ceremony, she pulled up the shutters so that winter sunlight flooded into the shop, shining on her new window display. It seemed to look even better in this light.

  She had brought out the old wooden toys that she had found in an unloved heap in the cupboard, cleaning them, scrubbing at the coloured wheels, the brightly painted wood in purples, greens, vivid reds. She had found jigsaws depicting countryside landscapes and had glued these up to create a patchwork of fields and sky. In front of this backdrop she had placed wooden train tracks, curving around and above each other, wooden puppets resting in groups watching the tracks, wooden animals by their side. Now, with her breath held, she picked up one of the train carriages and placed it at the top of the track. Letting go, she watched in delight as it set off, triggering a chain of events so that the display was a moving feast for the eyes.

  She returned to her chair, unable to sit still as she waited for people to stop outside, watching curiously, the children wanting to come in and have a go themselves. She hopped to her feet once more, hovering by the counter, her heart lifting with every movement. With the burgundy façade, the jigsaw-puzzle backdrop, she knew the front of the shop looked enticing. The clock’s hands moved round; a man in a suit passed the shop on his phone, but his eyes didn’t flicker from the ground in front of him. An elderly woman pushed a tartan-covered trolley past on the other side of the street. A pigeon pecked at the pavement just outside, not interested in the wooden attraction above him. Clara sank into the chair. No one. No one had stepped inside the shop in an hour.

  By eleven o’clock she felt bereft, returning to the flat to make another cup of coffee. Not even Lady CaCa calling, ‘I’M KING OF THE WORLD’ could raise a smile. She picked up Roddy, pushing her face into his soft fur, the cat purring in contentment. She had been sure people would come. She walked half-heartedly back down to the shop, feeling all her plans slither away.

  No one came into the shop. She ate her ham and cucumber sandwich on her stool, her mouth dry, the time moving hideously slowly. She moved the trolls on the counter. She moved them back. Pacing quietly to the back room, leaning against the door frame, she felt the lack of sleep catch up with her. She had planned to work on this room tonight, knowing that her ideas for it might transform the shop into something wonderful. Now she wondered if she should spend the evening in the bath, reading a book, a candle flickering, blocking out all the hopeless feelings.

  She was so deep in misery that she didn’t hear the bell above the shop door tinkle, suddenly becoming aware of a babbling from somewhere behind her. She spun round, seeing Lauren standing in the centre of the shop, turning with her mouth open. Rory was clutching her hand, tugging on her arm.

  ‘Look, Mumma, Mumma, look.’

  ‘Clara,’ Lauren breathed. ‘It looks great, you’ve transformed the place.’

  Clara felt heat in her cheeks as she moved towards her. ‘I haven’t even started yet,’ she said. ‘I had all these plans, but’ – she felt the disappointment of the morning wash over her – ‘no one came. No one cares. Louisa was right.’

  Even as she spoke, however, she could make out figures on the pavement outside, small groups huddled, one face pressed against the glass, her little mouth a rounded O.

  ‘Nursery’s just finished,’ Lauren explained. ‘Rory dragged me in here; he adores trains and the display is amazing.’

  ‘Train, train, train,’ Rory babbled, toddling to the front of the shop.

  ‘I can show you if you like, Rory,’ Clara called, following him. The shop bell rang out again as she rushed forward to get the carriage started. Rory watched in delight as she pushed it down the track so that it whirled around, the bright reds and greens a blur. Rory clapped his hands together. ‘’Gain, ’gain.’

  A small group of children pushed in from outside, diving behind the legs of their mothers and one lone father, who seemed a little lost in the commotion as Clara beckoned them forward to show them all again. The shop was suddenly filled with giggles and voices and people moving in between the aisles, and she felt her whole body loosen, her feet light as she slipped behind the counter.

  One boy, missing both front teeth, was craning his neck to see the selection of toys on a top shelf.

  ‘Do you want me to get anything down for you?’ Clara asked, which made the boy stare at the floor before biting his lip and then nodding furiously. He pointed to a large box just above Clara’s head, and she lifted it down.

  ‘What do you say, Chris?’ A woman whom Clara assumed to be the boy’s mother appeared behind him.

  ‘Thanks,’ the boy said, staring through the plastic window of the box at the remote-controlled car inside.

  ‘Is that what you want then?’ the woman asked him.

  The boy nodded at her, air whistling through his teeth as he said, ‘We could make a track in the office.’ He turned to Clara. ‘My dad moved out, so he doesn’t need it any more,’ he explained. ‘They have to get a divorce now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Clara said, taken aback at this information.

  ‘Chris!’ The woman went pink. ‘God, sorry, he’s telling everyone at the moment; it’s like Divorce Tourette’s.’

  The boy was still gazing at the box. ‘This is so cool,’ he breathed.

  ‘It’s his birthday,’ the woman added. ‘His dad’s sent an e-card,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘so I thought I’d better make up for it.’

  ‘I can wrap it up for you if you want? I’ve got paper and bows and things.’

  ‘Thanks, you are sweet,’ the woman said, handing over money and smiling at her. ‘But it will be totally wasted on him. It will stay in the box for about two seconds.’

  ‘My dad moved out when I was about your age,’ Clara said to the boy, who looked at her with large solemn eyes. ‘He still loves you, though.’

  The boy took a breath. ‘That’s what he said.’ He didn’t look sure.

  The mother smiled at Clara over his head, mouthing a thank-you before steering him towards the door. ‘Come on, Chris, we’ll be back another day.’

  Lauren dashed across the shop. ‘Well done, Clara, seriously, it’s ace. Can you come over on Monday afternoon? Patrick takes Rory swimming and it’s my opportunity to exercise and stuff.’ She smiled. ‘I could do with some company. I’ll leave my address. Three p.m.?’

  Clara nodded over the blip of another till entry. ‘I will, thank you, I will definitely.’

  ‘And I’ll be telling everyone to get down here,’ Lauren said, fetching Rory from where he and two other boys had started to build a fort out of beanbags and boxes. Clara smiled, watching her pick him up, his little legs kicking as she removed him from the shop. ‘More, Mumma, more.’

  Then the next customer distracted her and she went back to the till, tapping in the amount to be paid, looking up moments later to see the ominously still presence of Roz staring into the shop from the pavement, her mouth puckered in disapproval as her eyes roved over the display in the window. Clara had a sudden urge to laugh. ‘Oh lort,’ she muttered.

  ‘What’s that?’ the lone father asked. His green eyes behind thick designer glasses seemed to sparkle with amusement.

  ‘Ah.’ Clara blushed, looking at the little girl in his arms. ‘It means, um, “have a nice day” in Danish,’ she said, feeling her toes curl with the lie.

  ‘Lort, lort,’ the little girl repeated.