Not Just For Christmas

by Alex Brown

  Harper

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  The News Building

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016

  Copyright © Alexandra Brown 2016

  Cover design by Alexandra Allden © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

  Cover images © StockIllustrations.com / Alamy (cottage); The Natural History Museum / Alamy (two dogs); Ikon Images / Alamy (brown dog); Shutterstock.com (all other images).

  Alexandra Brown asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of 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, down-loaded, 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.

  Source ISBN: 9780008110437

  Ebook Edition © October 2016 ISBN: 9780008110437

  Version 2016-09-14

  For Monty and Dusty… run free wee souls.

  ‘I love my dog as much as I love you.’

  Cat Stevens

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  Also by Alex Brown

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  Army base, Market Briar, 2013

  Hello, beautiful,

  I don’t know why I’m writing this letter because I hope it never gets to you, but if you are reading it then I guess my number came up and I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way I planned. Please try not to be sad, babe, because I died knowing that you loved me so much and doing something I had to do. You know it was always my dream to be a soldier, drive tanks around the desert and dispose of the bombs we found, and I thank you with all my heart for standing by me and putting up with it all. I wanted to make a difference and you gave me that chance, I would never have got to play the hero if it wasn’t for your selfless courage.

  You made me so happy, my reason for living, the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, and the best day of my life was when I met you. The next best day was when we got married and then two years later seeing our baby girl growing inside you. I’ll never forget her little heart beating away on the monitor when we went for the scan, I thought my own heart was gonna burst with pride and love, and do you remember her little hand waving at us? Our tiny Teddie bear. Please tell her every day that I love her, that I’m proud of her and will always be there to watch over her. I didn’t get to meet her for real but I’m so happy that a part of me will live on with you and I know she’ll be gorgeous and funny and kind and brave, just like her mummy.

  I love you, sweetheart, you’re my wife, my rock and my best friend. You’re my whole world and I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I’m sorry I had to go and didn’t have more time to show you just how much I really did love you.

  I hope you have a wonderful and fulfilling life and meet a decent bloke that will love you as much as I do. I want you to have loads more kids and get married again.

  I’m gonna go now and look forward to us meeting up again when you’re a little old granny with a hunchback and a face covered in wrinkles, I’ll still fancy you, though.

  Love you forever my darling Kitty Kat.

  Be brave, be happy, and follow your dreams.

  Ed xxx

  Chapter One

  Present day

  Kitty Clarke loved this part of her day. The quiet and calm before the impending bustle as soon as she flipped over the ‘Closed’ sign on the door of her Spotted Pig Café on the corner of Tindledale High Street. Not that she didn’t adore her customers and the vibrant mêlée they brought in with them – chatting and musing over the latest goings-on in the village. She absolutely did, and was eternally grateful to have such a thriving business. But it was nice sometimes just to potter around the kitchen on her own, baking and creating and doing what she loved best of all, the warm air around all cosy and cocoon-like and deliciously infused with the scent of cinnamon and orange peel from her individual panettone bread puddings. A whole batch of them baking in the oven, ready for her customers to devour before lunchtime, no doubt. They couldn’t get enough of the comforting fruit bread, smothered in seasonal rum custard and perfect for getting everyone in the Christmassy mood, and with only a week to go until the big day it was really just as well.

  Her daughter, four-year-old Teddie, was holding out for snow. She’d been delighted the previous evening when a few wisps had fluttered down past the little mullioned windows of their cottage behind the café, flanked either side with black timber-framed shops, and settled over the cobbles of the High Street. The twinkly red, gold and green Christmas lights looped like bunting between the old-fashioned street lights all the way along to the village square, where Kitty had lit the column candle at the foot of the war memorial just a few weeks earlier. She did it every year in the run-up to Christmas, ever since her husband, Ed, had died when a landmine exploded on his last tour of duty in Iraq. Birthdays and celebrations too; it had become a bittersweet ritual for herself and Teddie, who was just beginning to understand that her daddy lived in Heaven, watching over her from the clouds above. But Kitty didn’t feel sad or maudlin any more. She had come to terms with her husband’s death. Made peace with it if you like. Yes, she had her moments when her heart still ached and she would have loved Ed to have been here to envelop her in his arms with one of his speciality big bear hugs – that was usually at the end of a particularly busy week in the café, when she felt tired and emotional, and when Teddie, bless her, had been teething, or grizzling, or asking a trillion unanswerable questions, just like any other energetic child.

  But it was getting easier now that Teddie was turning into a proper little girl, and had started at the village school in September just gone, meaning that Kitty could now channel more of her energy into running the café during the day. And, to be honest, before Ed’s death, with him being away for months at a time on peacekeeping missions in Iraq, she had been quite used to not having her husband around. Four tours in total. He had been killed on the second-to-last day before he was due to come home for good. Ed had desperately wanted to be around for the birth of their first baby and to watch her grow up, which was why he had applied for the training post working with new recruits at the army base in Market Briar, the closest big town to Tindledale – but it hadn’t worked out like that. Life, or indeed death, really could be cruel sometimes, Kitty often surmised. Because that was what she had signed up for: a soldier’s life, or soldier’s wife in her case.

  To help shift her thoughts back to the present moment, Kitty
turned up the radio, pulled the panettones out of the oven and hummed along as Mariah Carey sang ‘All I want for Christmas is You’. She’d just reached the ‘make my wish come true’ bit when something caught her eye.

  ‘Coo-eeeeeee, only me!’ Kitty turned to see Deedee, one of her regulars, a charismatic sixty-something woman, and probably Tindledale’s most vivacious villager, tapping on the window interspersed with lots of big fluffy-mittened hand waving.

  After wiping her hands on her ditsy print pinny and unlocking the front door, Kitty ushered Deedee inside, a gust of chilly December air unfurling around the door frame making her curly blonde hair billow around her face. She quickly batted it out of her eyes and smiled warmly.

  ‘Hiya, come on in,’ Kitty said, her teeth near chattering.

  ‘Ooh, sorry love, it’s perishing out there. Brrrrr!’ Deedee said, theatrically pulling her faux fur coat in tighter as she scooted inside, treating Kitty to a puff of her intoxicating perfume. She closed the door behind her. ‘I know you’re not open yet, darling, but I wondered if I could leave some of these on the counter. A pound a strip! And Mrs Pocket is going to pick the winners out of a hat after the Christmas carol concert on the village green.’

  Deedee fished around inside her big tote bag before waving a wad of raffle tickets up in the air. ‘To help raise some pennies for the old dears’ Christmas tea dance. You’ve been very kind with your offer to treat us by supplying the cakes and sandwiches for the buffet, but I’d really like to get each of them a little gift, too. You know, talc and choccies for the ladies and I thought a hanky and York Fruits for the gents. Nothing too fancy, just a few token bits to open after they’ve had a twirl around the village hall and tucked into one of your delicious spreads.’

  Deedee paused to clutch Kitty’s arm and then, after leaning in a little closer, she added, ‘It’s a such a shame. You know, some of them are completely on their own.’ She paused momentarily to do a conspiratorial head shake. ‘And with no family to speak of – husbands or wives long gone, God rest their souls, grown-up children off gallivanting on the other side of the world – it can’t be very nice, not at Christmas, now, can it?’ she finished, her forehead creasing with concern as she patted her windswept feather cut back into place.

  ‘No. I’m sure it can’t be …’ Kitty said, glancing away to keep an eye on the clock: it wouldn’t do for her to open up late, and the bus had just chugged to a standstill in the village square opposite, so her first customers of the day would be arriving any minute now and wanting full English breakfasts with a nice cup of tea to wash it all down. But there was another reason why Kitty felt distracted: Christmas day was the hardest day of all for her to get through too − the day when Ed’s absence was most sorely felt, the day when Teddie had a knack of asking all of the poignant questions about her daddy in quick succession, some of which Kitty was never quite sure how to answer for the best. How do you convince a four-year-old that her daddy can’t ‘get a lift on Santa’s sleigh when he flies by Heaven on the way to Tindledale on Christmas Eve’? But at least they had each other, and Ed’s parents, brother and two sisters, too. Kitty’s parents had died years ago. That was why she had moved to Tindledale in the first place, to be closer to Ed’s family while he was away on tour, and they were wonderful, very supportive. But, still, they always spent Christmas away on an all-inclusive cruise and she never had accepted their offer to join them. Kitty preferred to stay close to where her memories were of her time with Ed, so she knew what it felt like to be alone. Kitty took the raffle tickets. Anything to help bring a little extra Christmas cheer to the lonely hearts at this time of year was a no-brainer.

  ‘Oh, you’re such a sweetie. Thank you, darling.’ Deedee gave Kitty a big hug before pulling back and adding, ‘I shan’t hold you up. Cheerio!’

  ‘No problem. Bye-bye.’ Kitty grinned, flipping over the ‘Closed’ sign and opening the door as she waved Deedee off and welcomed the first batch of customers over the threshold.

  Ten minutes later, Bella dashed in to the café with an anxious look on her teenage face.

  ‘I am so sorry, Kitty! Really sorry. Please don’t sack me. It won’t happen again, I promise,’ she said, near to tears as the words babbled from her mouth while she unravelled a bright-red hand-knitted scarf and pushed it into her bag. ‘Dad’s van conked out and we tried pushing it but it was impossible with all the ice down the bottom of the lane, and then we rang April to see if she could come and rescue us, but her Beetle wouldn’t even start, it was that cold, and so I walked the rest of the way and—’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine. Come on, now – it’s not the end of the world,’ Kitty soothed, jumping in and taking her young, part-time assistant’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. Bella’s stepmum, April, had often told Kitty how much Bella loved helping out in the café, so Kitty certainly didn’t want her to worry about losing her job just for being a few minutes late. ‘Honestly, it’s no big deal, no one’s ordered anything yet. Here, give me your coat and help yourself to a big mug of hot chocolate. There’s a batch already made in the jug over there. You look like you could do with it – your hand’s freezing.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Kitty. You’re the absolute best!’ Bella grinned, looking relieved as she pressed her hands to her cheeks to try to warm them up.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure you’ll be saying that once you get started: there’s a mountain of bread waiting to be sliced and buttered over there.’ Kitty laughed, pointing to the end of the work counter where sixteen granary loaves were sitting, still warm in their paper bags, having been delivered from the bakers at the other end of the High Street only moments earlier.

  ‘I’m on it!’ Bella tipped the jug and poured the deliciously steamy hot chocolate into a mug, which she carried to the end of the counter before pulling open the fridge to locate the industrial-sized tub of easy-spread butter.

  ‘Ooh, here we go. You’d better drink that quickly and get buttering,’ Kitty added when the old-fashioned bell jangled above the door, signifying the arrival of more customers trooping in from the cold.

  Later, towards the end of the day, Kitty and Bella had just finished loading the dishwasher for the umpteenth time, when the phone on the wall rang.

  ‘Would you mind getting that for me, please, Bella?’ Kitty was bent over the open dishwasher door, her hands full with two super-sized cutlery baskets.

  ‘Sure.’ Bella quickly stacked the last teacup on the shelf and darted over to the phone. ‘The Spotted Pig Café and tea rooms, Bella speaking,’ she sang, making Kitty smile at her effervescent enthusiasm as she stood up and looked over to see who was calling. She hoped it wasn’t the village school – Teddie had been a bit snuffly last night and Kitty had been in two minds whether to send her today. ‘Yes, she’s right here. Can I ask who’s calling, please?’ Bella said, before listening attentively and then pressing the receiver to her chest.

  ‘He says he’s a friend,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Oh?’ Kitty was curious to know who it was as all her friends had her mobile number, so didn’t usually call on the landline when she was at work. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked casually, mentally crossing her fingers that it wasn’t one of the catering salesmen. They could be very ‘creative’ when it came to attempting to secure more business for their seeded burger buns, or whatever it was they were trying to sell, but she could hardly pretend not to be here, seeing that Bella had already said that she was.

  ‘Oh, um … I’ll just ask.’ Bella grinned as she asked the caller his name. ‘It’s Mack.’

  Kitty froze.

  And promptly dropped one of the cutlery baskets, sending knives and forks flying in all directions.

  Silence followed. They both stared at the tiled floor.

  Then, as if on autopilot, Kitty bent down to retrieve the cutlery, conscious of Bella still staring open-mouthed and motionless.

  Moments later, having let go of the receiver so it dangled on the length of cord leaving Mack hanging on, Bella d
arted over to help Kitty.

  ‘Here. I’ll tidy this lot up,’ she offered, touching Kitty’s arm as she grappled with an errant spoon that had spun away across the tiles as if deliberately teasing her. ‘You go and take the call,’ she added, sounding very grown-up all of a sudden.

  ‘Oh, um … I’m not sure I—’ Kitty stopped talking, swallowed, stood upright and smoothed down her pinny, willing her legs to walk without wobbling. Mack – real name Chris Mackintosh – was Ed’s best friend, best man at their wedding and the man who was with him when he died, the man who was very nearly also killed. And the last time Kitty had spoken to Mack had been at Ed’s funeral. He’d called a few times since then, nearly every week at the start, to see how she was doing and to ask about Teddie – Ed would have wanted that − but Kitty had found it too painful to keep in touch, so the calls had petered out after a while until eventually Mack had stopped calling altogether.

  And who could blame him? Kitty remembered those days, taking the phone off the hook so as to avoid him, pretending to be out when he’d called at the flat. It had been easier that way. Easier to ignore the nasty little voice inside her head and heart that used to wish it had been Mack and not Ed who’d been blown to smithereens on that day in the desert. Teddie would still have a daddy and they would all have lived happily ever after.

  After inhaling through her nostrils and letting out a long, calming breath, Kitty pushed the thoughts of that terrible time away and picked up the phone. It was different now. The rawness wasn’t there any more. She was OK. She could think about Ed with fondness, remember all the good times, not dwell on the sudden void that his death had created back then. She had worked hard to heal herself emotionally. She’d even been on a few dates over the last year or so and hadn’t felt weird about it at all. Not that any of the men had really been her cup of tea, but she’d had fun. Felt young and attractive, carefree, even. Yes, she was in a good place now. Happy. And talking to Mack wasn’t going to ruin that. It was a momentary shock, a blast from the past, that was all. And it is that time of year. He’s probably just trying to get back in touch, to honour Ed’s wishes and say Merry Christmas. Nothing sad. No bringing back memories of that awful day when the knock had come and she’d answered the door to see the two casualty-notifying officers standing before her with very sombre looks on their faces. And she had known. Known right away. And that was when the screaming had started. Right from her core. So feral and ferocious it had interrupted a wedding rehearsal in St Mary’s Church on the other side of the High Street, bringing the vicar running to see what on earth had happened.