Christmas at Carol's

by Julia Roberts

  ‘How did you know?’ I ask through my happy tears.

  ‘My middle name’s “Big Ears”,’ says Luke.

  ‘Well, it’s kind of you to mention it to Sally.’

  ‘Not really, she makes delicious birthday cake; I wasn’t going to pass on an opportunity like that.’

  Chapter 14

  Christmas Day

  I reach my hand out from under the duvet to touch the end of my nose; it feels icy cold. The room is dark and it occurs to me that I must have woken early, before the heating has kicked in, but it’s not really surprising. I’m bracing myself for Daisy and Alfie to come crashing through the door and jump on my bed as they usually do before six on Christmas morning. Then, I remember: I’m not at Noella’s. I’m in my own bed, in my own house because the snow has made a virtual prisoner of me. Not that I mind, far from it. I can have a lazy morning, opening a few presents and singing along to my Christmas CDs, before a phone call with the family followed by a lavish lunch next door courtesy of Sally. She had invited me once it was clear that her parents and sister wouldn’t be able to make it through the snow and she had been most insistent, saying she didn’t want the food to go to waste. I could hardly refuse, could I, and anyway, I didn’t want to. The thought of spending more time in Luke’s company makes my stomach do back flips.

  I can honestly say it was one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had and not merely because I knew I could have a few drinks and not have to worry about travelling to my sister’s the next day with a raging hangover. Not only did I have lunch at Matt and Sally’s, I stayed for dinner too, after which we tucked into the scrumptious chocolate birthday cake with a generous helping of double cream. When I eventually prised myself off the sofa to go home at almost midnight, I accepted Luke’s offer to escort me. Just as well I did, as it happens, because I missed my footing on the front door step, probably not entirely due to the snow, and Luke was there to catch me. I lifted my face to thank him just as he was planting a kiss on top of my head. Our lips met so briefly, but it was like a lightning bolt. I wasn’t expecting that, I can tell you, and judging by the look on his face, neither was he.

  That kiss was all I could think about yesterday as I kept myself busy wrapping a few presents, not that I would be handing them out any time soon. Sally texted to invite me round for supper but I said no, not wanting to take advantage of her hospitality too much. She was disappointed that the church service had been cancelled because people couldn’t get there due to the snow but it really was impassable, even on foot; the snow simply hadn’t let up at all.

  Instead, I spent the evening having a leisurely soak in the bath, my fragranced candles the only illumination, submerged beneath a mountain of posh bubbles and sipping altogether different ones. I’m not the biggest fan of Prosecco, but I do like a drop of the real thing, and one of the many benefits of working at a private school is that the parents are very generous with end-of-term presents, especially at Christmas. I climbed into bed just after eleven, clean and moisturised, and ridiculously excited about the next day when I would see Luke again.

  Well, now the big day has arrived and I’m wondering if the prospect of spending time with Luke is why I’m awake so early. I decide to make a dash to open the curtains so I can watch the dawn break from the comfort of my cosy bed and am surprised when a bright blue sky greets me. I dive back into my nest and check my bedside clock; it’s 8.30. I’m just wondering why the heating hasn’t kicked in when my mobile rings. It’s Sally.

  ‘Merry Christmas. I haven’t woken you up, have I?’

  ‘Merry Christmas to you too, and no, I was just lying here appreciating the peace and quiet of a Christmas morning without my sister’s children clambering all over me. Is everything okay? You sound a bit tense.’

  Her voice is definitely pitched slightly higher than usual as she asks, ‘Is your electric on?’

  ‘I think so. Hang on, I’ll just try the lamp.’

  Nothing happens when I flick the switch.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think it is. Do you think it’s a power cut?’

  ‘I was hoping it was just a fuse, but if yours is off as well it certainly looks like it. Let’s hope it’s only for a short while. We’re all electric here so it’s freezing cold and if I don’t get the turkey in soon it won’t be cooked by lunch time.’

  I’m galvanised into action.

  ‘Right,’ I say, ‘give me fifteen minutes to get dressed and get the fire lit and then you can all come around here to keep warm while we wait for the power to come back on. I’ll even be able to make coffees and teas if I heat some water in a saucepan.’

  ‘You’ve got a gas cooker?’

  ‘Yes. It’s ancient but they gave it a safety check before I moved in.’

  ‘Carol, you may have just saved Christmas,’ she says before hanging up.

  I think that’s probably an overstatement but it’s nice to feel needed after all the kindness they’ve shown me.

  I am up out of bed like a greyhound out of the traps and within five minutes I’m dressed, teeth and hair brushed, and fiddling around with the kindling for the fire. I’m glad that Dad insisted I got plenty of logs when I went to buy my Christmas tree, particularly as I now have no transport.

  Once the fire has caught, I head to the kitchen, reach down a saucepan and fill it with water, marvelling that the pipes haven’t frozen. I’m just attempting to light one of the gas rings and wondering why it’s not sparking when there is a knock on the door. When I open it, Sally and the boys are standing there, faces pinched with the cold.

  ‘Come in and warm up,’ I say. ‘The fire has taken but I can’t get the gas lit for some reason.’

  ‘That’ll be because the ignitor spark is electric,’ Matt says, ‘but it should work with matches.’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that? Right, coffee shouldn’t be too long. Do you want to nip upstairs and get my radio from the bathroom, Sally? I put new batteries in it last night so at least we can listen to some Christmas songs to get us in the festive spirit.’

  I retreat to the kitchen with the matches, my heart beating loudly in my chest, having been unable to make eye contact with Luke for fear of blushing.

  An hour later, Sally is getting really anxious, as there is still no sign of the power coming back on.

  ‘Carol,’ she says, ‘do you think we could start the turkey off in your oven and then transfer it to mine when we get the electric back?’

  I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I have no idea how the oven works. I’ve used the top of the cooker a couple of times but I mostly rely on the microwave.

  ‘I don’t see why not, so long as we can get it lit.’

  We all traipse into my tiny kitchen and stand back to give Luke some room as he has volunteered to do the honours. He twists a knob, strikes a match and reaches his hand to the back of the oven. Miraculously, a row of blue flames appear and I almost feel like applauding.

  The next few hours fly by with Sally organising us with almost military precision. Once the turkey was in the oven, she and Luke made a start on preparing the vegetables, while Matt shovelled a pathway through the snow between our two houses and I kept the fire roaring and cleared a space in front of it for Matt and Sally’s table and chairs. When they were in position, I laid the table with the holly-sprigged tablecloth that I recognised from our stall at the Christmas fayre, placemats and crackers, all supplied by my neighbours. At least I had cutlery, plates and wine glasses, and I’m a big candle fan so I lit several around the room to make up for not being able to have the tree lights on.

  We were so busy, I almost forgot to ring Mum and Dad. They had managed to get to Noella’s as the main roads had been gritted, and I could hear all the usual shrieks and cries from my excited nephew and niece going on in the background. I looked around me and then raised my eyes to the heavens, giving thanks for the snow that had spared me the routine of the past few years, but grateful that I hadn’t had to upset anybody by saying I didn’t w
ant to go.

  It was past three when we eventually sat down to lunch, by which time we were all pretty hungry, but it was worth the wait. Even with the handicap of having to prepare everything in and on my old gas cooker, Sally had excelled. Matt was right; she should go on a television cooking show and I’m pretty sure she would win it hands down.

  The power eventually comes back on around six o clock, just after Matt and Luke have carried the furniture back to next door by torchlight.

  ‘Shall we go back to ours for coffee and Christmas cake?’ Sally asks.

  ‘Can’t we bring the cake round here?’ says Luke. ‘It’s so much cosier in front of a log fire. That’s assuming you don’t mind, Carol?’

  I don’t mind at all but I’m not so sure Sally is thrilled with Luke describing my home as cosier than theirs.

  ‘I’ll fetch the cake,’ Matt says, ‘and you get the kettle on, Carol, then we can play that game of charades we were planning.

  I look at Sally for confirmation and she nods, smiling.

  Despite, or probably because of, the power failure, Christmas in my new home has exceeded all expectations.

  Chapter 15

  26th December

  If Christmas was good, then Boxing Day promises to be even better. As I pad over to my bedroom window and throw open the curtains, the carpet feels soft between my toes –definitely much warmer than the white carpet covering the fields opposite my cottage, which are currently pristine and footprint-free. That won’t be the case for much longer as we have agreed to meet up and go for a walk after breakfast. It was too dark yesterday by the time we had eventually finished our Christmas lunch, and anyway the snow was still falling quite heavily. At least it has stopped now and the sky is bright blue, trying to trick me in to believing it’s warmer than it actually is. I’m not fooled. I know I’ll need two pairs of woolly socks to line my wellies if I’m to have any chance of still being able to feel my feet at the end of our walk, but at least I’ll get to road-test my new hat and scarf, a present from Noella. Always so organised when it comes to Christmas, she had given Mum, Dad and me our beautifully wrapped gifts a month ago, even though we were all supposed to be at hers for Christmas, in case we wanted to display them under our respective Christmas trees.

  I’ll give her a ring before we go out for our walk to wish her a happy birthday, but it’ll have to wait until after breakfast. I’m ravenous, a sure sign that I may have had a bit too much to drink last night. Hugging my fleecy dressing gown around me and slipping my feet in to fluffy slippers, another of Noella’s gifts, I head for the bathroom, humming Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’.

  ‘Someone’s happy this morning.’

  I spin round, hugging my dressing gown even closer, to be confronted by a tousle-haired Luke holding a plate of Marmite on toast in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

  ‘I was just bringing you breakfast in bed. I’d have put it on a tray but I couldn’t find one.’

  No-one has brought me breakfast in bed since I had chicken pox when I was eight years old and Mum broke her strict ‘no food in the bedroom’ rule. I’m struggling for words.

  ‘D-did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Like a baby. What time did we eventually hit the sack?’

  ‘It must have been after midnight. Matt and Sally left around ten and then we got stuck into the sherry.’

  ‘Disgusting stuff. I don’t know how you persuaded me.’

  ‘So disgusting that we finished the bottle before coming up, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘No wonder my head is feeling fragile. Do you want to have this in bed or shall I take it back downstairs?’

  ‘Have you had yours yet?’

  ‘Actually, I have. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve been up an hour or so already. I’m always hungry when I’ve been drinking the night before.’

  My heart skips. Yet another thing we have in common. We discovered a lot of similarities last night as we sat chatting on Mum and Dad’s old sofa, completely comfortable in each other’s company, sipping sherry and gazing into the dying embers of the fire. I couldn’t believe it when Luke said he’s also a teacher, well, of sorts. He coaches football at Arsenal’s Academy. I can’t wait to tell my dad.

  ‘I’m up now, so I may as well come downstairs. I thought you said you slept well?’ I say, falling into step behind him

  ‘I did, until I woke up and then I couldn’t get comfortable. It’s ages since I’ve slept in a sleeping bag. I think Glastonbury 2005 was the last time, so it brought back some happy memories.’

  It’s about that long since I last went to a music festival. It’s funny how the faint aroma of damp mud never seems to wash out of the quilted fabric.

  ‘You were okay about sleeping in the spare room, weren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not going to lie. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the night I offered to clear the snow from your path and I did wonder where it might lead when you said I could stay for a night cap. But I’m a bit of an old-fashioned guy, and I believe the best things in life are worth waiting for.’

  Did he actually just say that? Unable to speak, I take a bite out of my slice of toast and Marmite before offering it to Luke. A tingle runs down my spine as his teeth crunch into the browned bread and he licks the salty spread from his lips.

  Something tells me my self-imposed dating break is about to come to an end.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks so much for reading Christmas at Carol’s, my first attempt at a Christmas novella and also the first time I have written in the first person. I guess it’s a bit like method acting; I had to become Carol every time I sat down at the computer to write. I really hope she and Luke will make a go of things but, like any relationship, it needs a bit of time so I’m planning on checking back in with them next Christmas… I already have the seed of an idea!

  At this point there are a few people I would like to thank, in particular my fantastic team. I wasn’t entirely sure I could have this book ready for publication this Christmas when I emailed my team at the end of October asking if they had time to squeeze me in to their hectic schedules. The first reply was from Angela Oltmann, my cover designer, swiftly followed by Yvonne Betancourt, my formatter, and Justine Taylor, my copy editor. They agreed that it was completely do-able so all I needed to do then was finish writing the story. Once I had a deadline to aim for, I was all over it. I do hope you enjoyed it.

  Thanks to my mum for her enthusiasm after I read her the first couple of chapters and also to the other members of my family whose support ranges from bringing me cups of fruit tea and snacks to proofreading… all truly appreciated.

  And, as always, the team at ‘ripped’ for their belief in me.

  I hope my novella has put you in a Christmassy mood and that you don’t have a power cut, although you never know what that may lead to!!

  About the Author

  Julia Roberts’ passion for writing began when, at the age of ten, after winning second prize in a short story-writing competition, she announced that she wanted to write a book. After a small gap of forty-seven years, and a career in the entertainment industry, Julia finally fulfilled her dream in 2013 when her first book, a memoir entitled One Hundred Lengths of the Pool, was published by Preface Publishing. Two weeks later she had the idea for her first novel, Life’s a Beach and Then…, book one in the Liberty Sands Trilogy, which was released in May 2015.

  Julia still works full-time as a Presenter for the TV channel QVC, where she has recently celebrated her twenty-fourth anniversary.

  She now lives in Ascot with her partner of forty years and occasionally one or other of her adult children and their respective cats.

  You can find out more about Julia and her upcoming books on her Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/JuliaRobertsTV and her website http://www.juliarobertsauthor.com/

  You can also follow her on Twitter @JuliaRobertsTV and Instagram juliagroberts
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br />   Other Books by Julia Roberts

  Life’s a Beach and Then…

  (Liberty Sands trilogy, book one)

  If He Really Loved Me…

  (Liberty Sands trilogy, book two)

  It’s Never Too Late to Say…

  (Liberty Sands trilogy, book three)

  Alice in Theatreland

  One Hundred Lengths of the Pool

  Time for a Short Story

  The Shadow of Her Smile

  (free short story on http://www.juliarobertsauthor.com/)