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

by Rosie Blake

  Gavin rested a hand on the door handle. ‘She’s done amazing things already with the shop. People were flocking in the day she made that first display.’

  ‘Display?’ Joe raised an eyebrow.

  ‘She’d found all these old wooden toys, vintage pieces. I doubt Louisa even knew she had them in stock – you know what she’s like, hoarding things, picking things up from all over the place… it was her passion.’

  Joe hadn’t known that. It was years since he’d spent a decent amount of time at home. Louisa had started the shop when they’d moved to Yulethorpe over twenty years ago. Joe had been twelve years old and had thought a toyshop was the coolest thing. He’d always wanted to be in the shop with her, serving customers, showing off the toys, helping her to order new ones. They’d visited suppliers together. He’d felt like the luckiest boy ever. Then he became a teenager, discovered girls, joined the football team, wanted to get straight As. When he moved to London to go to university and got his first job in the City, the shop had become just a quaint reminder of his childhood. He realised that in the last few years he’d stopped even really asking about it.

  ‘Well, she must have spent hours on it. The wooden tracks looping all over the window, the carriages looking spick and span, the backdrop all these different jigsaws made up to look like one big landscape – it was really very striking. She’s creative, definitely; Louisa would have loved it.’ Gavin looked off into the distance, a small, sad smile on his face.

  ‘What’s in it for her?’ Joe asked.

  ‘In it?’ Gavin frowned at the question, brought back to reality. ‘I think she just thought she could help,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm.’ Joe didn’t believe it for a second. No one just appeared in a village and started overhauling a shop and flat if they didn’t have a motive.

  ‘Where’s she come from?’

  ‘Denmark, I think,’ Gavin said. ‘Or Norway. One of the Scandinavian countries definitely. Which one is IKEA?’

  ‘If she’s from Scandinavia, how has she found herself in rural Suffolk?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Never asked,’ Gavin said. ‘She’s a bit quiet about her reasons. She’s travelling around, I know that – has a big rucksack with her life piled up into it. Her English is good, though, as if she’s lived here for years.’

  ‘Quiet about her reasons. Maybe something to hide?’ Joe said, seizing on the idea.

  ‘If she has, I doubt it’s anything sinister. She’s a great girl, Joe, you need to give her a chance. If it hadn’t been for her…’ Gavin tailed away, perhaps seeing Joe’s expression. Had he been about to say that Louisa had had no one else to help her? That thought made Joe even pricklier.

  ‘We’ll see.’ His father had always told him never to take people at face value. He could see how his mother might have been fooled: all that blonde hair, the rosy cheeks, the dimples in her cheeks. He would have to be on his guard; everyone else seemed to have been hoodwinked by her.

  He followed Gavin up the stairs, deep in these thoughts, and turned to a door on his right.

  ‘Not that one,’ Gavin called out in a high-pitched voice.

  Joe snatched his hand back from the latch; he certainly didn’t want to burst in on a couple sleeping or another guest roaming around their room naked.

  Gavin looked positively wide-eyed. ‘It’s this one. This is yours,’ he said, pointing him into the room ahead, where a small single bed nestled under the eaves. Joe tried not to let his face show too much distaste, used as he was to the firm paying for penthouse apartments and a lot of square footage. He could probably touch all four walls if he lay down on the carpet.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, moving past Gavin.

  ‘You haven’t got any luggage,’ Gavin said, and Joe realised he’d left his bag in the corridor next to the shop. He was damned if he was going to go back now and get whacked over the head again.

  ‘Bollocks,’ he breathed.

  ‘I’ll get you a toothbrush.’

  Joe wrinkled his nose, imagining something left behind by a previous guest.

  ‘I think I’ve got one still in its pack,’ Gavin added, as if reading his mind.

  Joe was used to hotel bathrooms packed with Molton Brown toiletries, the softest high-thread-count Egyptian cotton towels, marble surfaces. He sniffed as he noticed the minuscule shower, the loo in lurid avocado green, the tiny square of mirror. Gavin returned with the toothbrush and he managed to look grateful, accepting a towel and some toothpaste too.

  ‘OK, good night then, hope it’s comfortable,’ Gavin said, his voice hushed as he turned to leave.

  Joe nodded and closed the door, instantly regretting his bad mood. He’d just wanted to fall into his own bed after a manic day in the office. He’d apologise in the morning; Gavin didn’t seem like a man to hold a grudge.

  Standing in the room, the ceiling a couple of inches from the top of his head, he stared at the tiny bed under the eaves, the open curtains, the window showing nothing but the navy sky spattered with stars, no other lights for miles. How different it was to London. He found the quiet disconcerting.

  He glanced at his watch: 3.10 a.m. He would quickly check his emails, fire a few over to his team; good to remind them he was still working too.

  He pulled the flowered curtains across and rested his head against the velvet headboard of the bed. But as he tried to focus on the emails he’d received, his mind wandered back over the evening’s events. His team sounded like they were ready to close this latest deal soon. There’d be another company to target, of course, but he could project-manage things from here for a few days; he’d get Pam to block out his diary. They had a couple of clients not too far away; he could say he was scouting for the next deal. He wanted to stay close, find out what this woman was up to. He tried not to worry what Tom, the other MD, would say if he knew.

  Getting up to clean his teeth, he stared at his face in the mirror. It was the lighting that made him look so grey, his eyes so bloodshot. He took out a silver packet from the inside pocket of his jacket and hoped that one of the pills would ease his headache. Then he went back to the bed, kicked off his shoes and lay down under the thin duvet, shutting his eyes, his head throbbing, Clara’s face behind his eyelids as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Mainland Spain was just too chilly so I’ve headed south to the Canaries. I’m in El Cotillo now, on the west coast of Fuerteventura, and it’s much hotter. Although it’s so windy here I have lost both my sunhats. I’ve signed up to do yoga on the beach – tell Clara I’m in a group with a man from Denmark who can do the most brilliant sirsa padasana. I think he has double-jointed everything, it’s unnatural the way he bends.

  I can’t believe she knocked out Joe. The poor darlings, I should have warned her he might appear. Is it a big bump? Oh, he will be cross. Do give him a kiss from me, how gorgeous that he’s come up to visit. I hope they get on. She could melt anyone and Joe needs to slow down. We were always thick as thieves when he was little and his father left. Do you remember I told you he used to stand on the table in our flat and recite poetry for me when I was sad because he knew I loved poetry? He is a lovely boy at heart – I miss laughing with him, he can be impossibly serious now.

  Fuerteventura is marvellous. Everyone is nude here, it’s wonderful, we all just frolic about in the sea, everything on display. One of the men in a bunker near me (they have these wonderful little stone bunkers to keep the breeze at bay, like posh windbreaks) only wears a neon-yellow cock ring. I’m very excited to see if he changes it for another colour later in the week so will be returning to the same beach for the next few days. I’ll send you one of the carved wooden penis bottle openers they sell here so you can feel part of the fun too. You can put it behind the bar, it will be such a talking point!

  I’m glad the shop is doing well, that display sounded wonderful, but what of my animals? Is Lady CaCa being an absolute pest? Does she still spit her water when Phillip Schofield’s on TV? Poor Phil, I’ve no idea what she has against him,
he seems SUCH a lovely man. You know the vet told me to put her cage on the floor because that will sort out her ‘personality disorder’. Apparently if parrots are placed in cages above humans they think they’re superior to them and play up. Nasty little man, I’m going to start using the vet in Gigglesworth. I told him firmly that it was nothing to do with Lady CaCa’s cage placement; she has always behaved as if she is superior to humans and frankly her ability to concisely comment on the news of the day does seem to prove that she has every right to do so. Imagine if I’d followed his advice. Can you imagine a subdued and meek Lady CaCa saying GIVE US A CRACKER? Horrific.

  Has Roddy finally decided to do something with his life or is he still wafting around in his smoking jacket, daydreaming? I long for the day when he brings a dead mouse home. Maybe living with a Danish girl will help him become a bit more of a warrior; she’ll have good strong Viking blood in her.

  I’ve used the double letter tile but frustratingly it barely helps me. I am limping to a heavy loss. I fear that only using up all my tiles will save me. If you have the Q, I will scream; I have been hoarding Us in preparation for it.

  Chapter 14

  Clara replaced the wooden number 1 with zero and rolled open the shutters, gasping when she saw three children and their parents already staring at the shopfront. Giving them a shy wave, she smiled as they stepped forward, taking in all her hard work. A young girl started clapping, tugging at her mother to look closer, pointing to one of the robots in the display.

  Clara was really pleased with this latest effort. She had spent hours cleaning and finding batteries for all the robots, managing to stick a few in place so that their arms whirred up and down but they remained frozen to the floor. She had made the bottom of the window look like a cratered planet, with various alien soft toys piled up around the robots, which beeped and whirred and moved. The backdrop was painted navy blue – she still had paint underneath her nails – and she had scattered different-sized glow stars in clusters all over it, completing the scene with large flashing fairy lights, the bulbs painted red. A futuristic moving display.

  She heard the tinkle of the shop door before she had returned to the counter, the hum of voices in the shop making her heart skip.

  ‘Clara, this is brilliant,’ Lauren gushed, arriving in a whirlwind, Rory held in her arms, jabbering and pointing as he twisted to be free. ‘Rory loves the robot with the scary eyelashes and spanners for hands. I can’t stay long but well done you, it’s fantastic. I’ll tell all the nursery teachers about it, although you can see the flashing lights from a hundred yards away – the shop looks like this wonderful beacon amongst all the grey.’

  ‘I’m glad, I’ve been excited about this one.’

  Lauren bent forward, frowning. ‘I can see – you look like you’ve had absolutely no sleep,’ she said.

  ‘Funny you should say that.’ Clara stifled a yawn. ‘I had a visitor late last night.’

  ‘A visitor?’ Lauren lifted one eyebrow. ‘That sounds very mysterious and exciting.’

  A customer approached before Clara could explain.

  ‘Look,’ Lauren said, moving Rory to her other hip, ‘I’ve got to run anyway. Pop over later, once the shop’s closed, and tell me all about it.’ She was already backing away. ‘I know, darling, we’re late, but we’re always late so they expect it,’ she was saying to Rory as she headed out the door.

  Clara was at the till for the next hour or so, packaging up toys. She was running low on the remote-controlled robots she had used in the display; the aliens with eight eyes also nearly sold out. In just one morning, she thought, wanting to rush and tell Gavin to call Louisa. She took a quick photo of the shop crammed with customers. It was wonderful to hear noise and giggling and laughter.

  Just as she was putting her camera away, she noticed Clive moving into the shop, brushing at his sideburns, biting his lip. She gave him a smile and a wave, wondering what he was doing there. His cheeks and the bald spot on the top of his head blushed pink.

  He approached the counter. ‘I was wondering if I could buy some glow stars. Wanted to put them on the ceiling of the spare room as a surprise for when my nephew visits,’ he said, his voice low, stuttering over the words. He was looking over his shoulder, not at all comfortable.

  ‘Of course,’ beamed Clara. ‘What a gorgeous thing to do.’ He turned an even darker shade of pink.

  Just as she was popping a bag of the stars across the counter towards him, she felt a sudden chill, a draught blowing through the shop. Standing in the doorway glaring at them was the spindly frame of Roz. Clive had practically dived behind the counter.

  ‘Roz,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Clive,’ she said, approaching, staring pointedly at the bag. ‘Buying something?’

  Clive looked wretched, wringing his hands as if he might deny all knowledge of the bag and the receipt lying next to it.

  Before Clara could help him out, she noticed that the father with the piercing green eyes was back, no daughter in tow but more stubble on his chin, loitering by the One Direction figurines. He gave her a lopsided smile, his hand raised in a wave.

  ‘Hey…’

  She knew she was staring at him as he pulled out a large camera and approached the counter. ‘Hey.’ He gave her a dazzling smile, white teeth on display, a thin gap between the front two. ‘I’m Sam.’ He reached out a hand to shake hers, his grip strong, a wave of peppermint as he spoke. ‘We met briefly before.’

  ‘I remember,’ Clara said, nearly adding, ‘you’re the good-looking widower with the penetrating gaze’ but just holding back. ‘I’m Clara.’

  ‘Hi, Clara.’ He did something sexy with the ‘l’ in her name. She was too busy staring at him to pay much attention to the next sentence. ‘I’m a journalist for the local paper and your displays would make a great little news story. Do you mind?’ he asked, holding up his camera.

  Clara paused. ‘Oh,’ she said, as the words finally filtered through. ‘I’m not sure actually.’ She was about to explain that it wasn’t her shop, that she would have to check with the owner, when Joe appeared in the doorway, taking in the excited children, the window display, the man pointing his camera at Clara behind the counter as if she was posing for a photo. She knew what it looked like: that she had invited local press to cover it all. He must think she had an ego the size of the room.

  ‘Joe, this is Sa —’

  Joe’s mouth curled into a sneer as he cut her off. ‘I’m just here to pick up my bag,’ he said, moving across to the side door. ‘I’ll be one minute,’ he added. ‘Wouldn’t want to disturb your photo shoot,’ he said pointedly, disappearing into the corridor beyond.

  Clara felt herself getting hot, wanting to explain that she had been approached for her photo, that she would have asked him.

  Roz was looking delighted at the turn of events, rushing over to the door calling Joe’s name. He returned with his bag, greeting her with a stiff smile as she launched in for a double kiss. Clive stepped backwards, as if hoping to blend into a toy display behind him and be forgotten. Clara was distracted by another customer at the counter.

  ‘That’s twelve pounds,’ she said, straining to listen to Roz and Joe. She had a queue in front of her now, and Sam was snapping away from the corner of the room, her eyes drawn to him as he passed her.

  Roz and Joe stood out of the way scrutinising her every move, and as the children and parents gradually thinned, Clara felt her fists clenching and unclenching as Roz’s various criticisms reached her ears. The shop was ‘tacky’, the display just a ‘gimmick’; Roz couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

  ‘The glow stars aren’t even glowing, it’s the daytime,’ she added, with a nasty little laugh tacked onto the end that finally made Clara spin round.

  ‘They look amazing at night. I was going to leave the shutters open so the children can visit just before closing and see them. It gets dark so early now.’

  ‘Sounds like a blatant security hazard, leaving shutte
rs open at night,’ Roz said, turning to Joe, who hadn’t been listening to Clara’s explanation.

  ‘You can’t leave the shutters open overnight,’ he spluttered, his suspicions about her laissez-faire attitude clearly solidifying.