‘Aye. I hear you,’ Agnes agreed.
‘It’s a great promise.’ Davey glanced at Lilith, who was still standing next to him. ‘I’m not sure how your customers are going to feel about missing out on the local updates though.’ He placed his onion onto the counter and Morag rang it up before tossing his coins into the till.
‘I’m sure they’ll be bonnie,’ she said. ‘I’ve nae problem with people gossiping here, I’m just not gonnae repeat it.’
‘Any particular reason you chose that promise?’ Tom asked, his attention still fixed on the magazine Meg was holding.
‘Aye. My son told me I wouldn’t be able to do it.’ Morag’s brown eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘I told the laddie, I will – and I hung my bauble in that tree straight afterwards. I haven’t let a word of gossip leave my lips for…’ She checked her watch and her lips pressed together. ‘Fifteen hours. But I was asleep for ten of those.’ She glared at Davey and Meg. ‘Are you done?’ she snapped. ‘Because I know you’ve both got plenty to be getting on with. We need the bands confirmed for the twenty-fourth and Meg, why aren’t you with your sister and mam?’
Meg blushed. ‘I’m on my way back to the shop now,’ she said, grabbing her bag and turning to leave, aware of Tom watching her – wondering exactly what had put that guarded expression into his eyes.
Seven
Meg stepped inside Apple Cross Inn that evening and took a deep, calming breath. The tables were full and Christmas music played softly in the background, mixing with the quiet hum of voices. Handbags cluttered the wooden floor, alongside dogs, who lolled by their owners’ feet. It was a relief to be out of her flat, away from her mother’s obsession with tidying. Away from Emily’s constant guitar-playing and all the invisible baggage that came with her family. They’d eaten dinner in silence before retreating to separate corners of her home, leaving Meg feeling so alone she’d decided to come out for a quick drink.
Tom stood behind the bar, serving Davina the same anti-Christmas cocktail he’d made a few days before. As Davina walked away to join her husband, brandishing her drink, Meg studied him. He wore a crisp white shirt and blue jeans. His dark hair curled at the top edge of his collar and he’d not shaved again, so his jaw was shaded with a perfect arc of stubble that traced the edges of his cheekbones. The effect was annoyingly sexy and Meg fought a sudden urge to turn and leave, because she couldn’t afford to find him attractive. Having her mother stay was a timely reminder of what happened when you and your partner weren’t right for each other. If she had somewhere to go, she might have retreated. Then she noticed a couple of giggling women staring at Tom from a table in the corner by the Christmas tree. Strangely irritated, she walked up to the bar and pulled out a stool, blocking their view.
Tom did a double-take as she sat. ‘Did you get attacked by a gang of toddlers brandishing glue sticks and glitter on your way here?’ He smiled, clearly over whatever had upset him in the post office this morning.
Meg swiped a hand across one cheek. She’d finally found her sparkle stash in a drawer in the bathroom and had gone extra mad with the brush. ‘It really is a shock that you’re single,’ she said dryly. ‘Can I have a glass of red wine, please?’ She put her felt handbag, shaped like a Christmas tree, onto the counter.
Tom blinked hard when he saw the bag. He picked up a glass and poured in a healthy dose of Blue Curaçao. The track changed to ‘If Every Day Was Christmas’. The song had been used by a large supermarket chain in their latest Christmas ad, and had been on the radio and music apps constantly. Meg began to tap her foot to the beat as Tom thumped the glass on the table and marched to the back of the pub. Seconds later the tune switched to hard rock. He returned, and poured orange juice and rum into her glass. ‘I hate that song,’ he said, adding ice, a slice of lemon and a black straw. He slid the bright blue drink in front of her.
‘You don’t like Christmas music either?’ Meg asked, amused.
He shrugged. ‘Some tracks are okay, just not that one. Sometimes I wonder what the person who wrote it was thinking.’
Meg found her lips twitching. ‘That they wished every day was Christmas?’ She laughed. ‘I might look them up, I’m thinking we could be soul mates.’
Tom grunted.
She considered the drink. ‘Is there a reason why you keep making me cocktails?’
‘You looked…’ Tom’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Fed up when you walked in, and you’re wearing way too much glitter for wine.’
Meg nodded, surprised by his ability to read her. She picked up the cocktail and sipped, relishing the interesting mix of sweet and bitter, then exhaled, letting herself relax. ‘Don’t tell me, you call this one’ – she stared at the glass – ‘I’m Dreaming of a Blue Christmas?’
Tom barked out a laugh which hit Meg right in the solar plexus. ‘No, I call it The Grinch.’
‘Ahhhh, you named a cocktail after yourself.’ She sipped again and nodded. ‘Sweet. I’m going to have my work cut out if I want to cut that ego down to size.’
‘You sound like my grandma. She always tried to keep me grounded.’ Tom’s face fell.
‘It didn’t work?’ Meg asked.
‘She died and now that task’s all mine. I’m still working on it. Some days are easier than others.’ Tom picked up a glass and began to polish it as someone walked up to the bar – Matilda got there before he moved.
‘I’m sorry,’ Meg said simply, scanning his face. He looked so unhappy she decided to change the subject. ‘How do you know Davey?’
‘We go way back. You know, I think we’ve got this the wrong way round.’ He wagged a finger between them. ‘I’m sure I’m supposed to ask the questions – although I am new to bar work.’
‘Ah, that explains it.’ Meg nodded, grinning. ‘Davey obviously forgot to explain the job. When a customer orders a drink – for instance, red wine – you’re supposed to serve them that.’ She picked up her glass and shook the blue liquid. ‘Not whatever you feel like foisting on them at the time.’
Tom leaned on the counter. His expression was warm and he looked much happier than he had a few minutes before. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Can I begin the interview now?’
‘Sure.’ It had been a long time since anyone had tried to amuse her and Meg had always found a sense of humour sexy. It was a shame she couldn’t let this attraction grow. The man had ‘wrong for you’ written all over his handsome face.
‘Agnes said you were single, so no boyfriend?’ Tom asked.
‘Nope.’ Meg shook her head. ‘I’m too choosy, apparently.’
‘Or a woman who knows what she wants.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to elaborate?’
She nodded. ‘I’m looking for the perfect package.’
He looked impressed. ‘Isn’t that on every elf’s job description! Details?’
Meg grinned. Had Ned ever made her laugh? Then again, her dad used jokes to hide his true feelings, so it wasn’t always a good thing. ‘Looks aren’t important but chemistry is.’ She paused as his eyes heated. ‘And we should agree on most things – I’m not one for arguments.’
‘Big ask.’ Tom whistled. ‘What about passion and the fire that comes from a good row?’
‘I prefer harmony.’ Her voice was soft.
‘Are you controlling?’
She shook her head. ‘That would be my mother. I prefer the word careful. I don’t rush into relationships. There’s way too much that can go wrong.’
‘I’ll agree with you on that point.’ Tom looked at her closely, sending awareness skipping across her skin. ‘What did you do before you became an elf?’
Meg tapped a fingertip on the bar. ‘I worked in the city – in London – before throwing it all in and starting my Christmas shop.’
Tom nodded. ‘That’s an impressive résumé.’
‘Thanks,’ Meg said, touched. ‘Do I get a turn now?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m enjoying being on this end of the interrogation for once.’
‘Were you a criminal before you ended up in Lockton?’ Meg teased, which earned her a laugh. His eyes were dark brown and would be very easy to get lost in. She’d have to watch herself. ‘I’m guessing your grandma would have put a stop to that?’ She saw pain flash across his face and nearly apologised.
‘Why a Christmas shop?’ he deflected.
‘Because it’s my favourite time of year,’ Meg said. ‘I love everything about it. The decorations, presents – the way most families bond, play games, talk. It’s magical. But it’s just one day. Christmas is a step outside the real world. Why not try to live it every day, just like the song?’
‘You don’t think it’s all a bit fake?’ Tom asked, looking serious. ‘Too easy to forget what’s really important, to get lost in that make-believe world?’
Meg’s breath caught, hurt despite herself. ‘That’s a lot to throw at a simple shop.’
‘I didn’t mean your shop, sorry.’ Tom shook his head and then put his hands in his pockets. ‘Favourite colour?’
It took a few moments for Meg to respond, and when she did something inside her still felt strangely sore. ‘Red or green, I can’t decide,’ she admitted. ‘You?’
‘Black.’
She rolled her eyes.
‘Food?’
Meg pursed her lips, considering. ‘I’d have to go with turkey, obviously – or mince pies.’
‘I hate mince pies.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘Mine’s cheese. Best movie?’
Had Agnes primed him with all these questions? ‘The Holiday.’ If she had, it was a spectacular own goal because it had only served to highlight their differences.
Tom straightened as someone else approached the bar and Matilda once again beat him to serving them. ‘The Godfather. I’m guessing our romance is doomed?’
Meg emptied her glass. ‘’Fraid so. Don’t feel bad though – you lost me at “I don’t like Christmas” when I rescued you in my van.’
‘I guess we’ll have to settle for friends,’ Tom said, looking serious. Their eyes met, making Meg’s insides pulse despite everything.
‘Tickets and leaflets.’ Davey appeared from the back and laid two piles of colourful paper onto the counter before either of them could react, dousing the sudden spark of attraction with a bucket of icy reality. ‘I got the whole Christmas concert booked this afternoon. Two acts. Top Mop – they’ve had a couple of hits.’ Meg nodded. ‘And James Truman.’
Meg’s eyebrows rose. ‘How did you swing that?’ The singer’s star had been rising consistently over the last couple of years. He was clean-cut, talented and gorgeous, and his music was toe-tappingly good.
Davey polished his fingernails on his dark blue shirt. ‘We’re mates. He usually keeps Christmas free for his family but he’s going to bring them up. He already called Lilith and she has space in the hotel, so he’s going to spend Christmas there. Details are on the leaflets, so please dish out as many as you can because I promised a full house. Davina said she’d drop a load into Morridon Library.’
‘The concert’s going to be a sellout,’ Tom said, frowning.
‘You want to buy a ticket?’ Davey asked, pushing the pile towards him.
‘I’ll be on the other side of the bar.’ Tom’s expression darkened. ‘But I’ll make a donation to the roof.’ Something odd passed between the men which Meg couldn’t read and she frowned. Then another customer approached the counter and this time Tom got there before Matilda, leaving Meg wondering exactly what she’d just missed.
Meg walked along the high street towards her shop twenty minutes later, ignoring the ice in the air. Her mobile began to ring and she stopped so she could pull it out of her handbag.
‘Dad, where are you?’ She looked longingly down the road towards her shop which was a few buildings away as she began to shiver. ‘I’m standing outside and I might lose the signal if I move. Shall I call you back when I get inside?’
‘No need, I only called to ask a quick question.’ He sounded chirpy. ‘Do you know where your mum is? She left with Emily yesterday, said they’d be away for a few days. I thought they’d be back today – you know your mother, she likes the security of her own space. I’ve tried calling her mobile and searched everywhere I can think of.’ He sighed. ‘She missed an appointment I’d set up for this afternoon. I really thought she’d come.’ He sounded disappointed.
‘She’s in Lockton with me. Emily too,’ Meg said. ‘She said you were staying in London.’
‘She’s in Scotland?’ He sounded shocked. ‘When’s she coming home?’
‘Her flight’s booked for the twenty-first.’ Snow was coming down in huge flakes now, and Meg grabbed a red and green elf hat out of her handbag and pulled it on, covering her ears.
‘That’s weird…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I know we don’t always get on that well, but she’s been acting particularly strangely…’ His tone was strained. ‘We’ve got things we need to talk about, things we’ve both been ignoring.’ He exhaled loudly.
‘Is it about what you were going to tell me on the phone last month?’ Meg asked quickly.
‘Yes, but your mum would rather forget it.’ Her dad sighed. ‘I’ll give you a buzz once I’ve worked out what to do.’
They said their goodbyes and Meg was left staring at her mobile. What exactly was happening with her parents? Her head began to throb as she made her way to her Christmas shop, unlocking the entrance. She paused to take in the sparkly decorations lining the sides of the room, the five-foot inflatable characters running along the centre aisle. These were her moments of security, and she had to hold on to them. There was a thump on the stairs, and Emily and her mother walked into the shop wearing coats, scarves and boots.
‘We were waiting for you.’ Kitty held up a glass bauble containing a piece of bright pink paper. ‘Cora told me about the Promise Tree. Emily has a bauble too. I know it’s snowing but can we hang them now?’ Her forehead wrinkled as she glanced outside. ‘Assuming we’re not going to get attacked by wild animals?’
‘The wildest creatures roaming free in Lockton are probably goats.’ Meg unlocked the door before her mother conjured anything else to worry about. As they wandered up the high street, Emily fell into step beside her as Kitty bought up the rear. The snow was deep and ethereal flakes fell from the sky, settling on their hats and coats. ‘Dad just called to ask where you were,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t realise he didn’t know?’
Emily shrugged. ‘Mum said she’d call him when we arrived – I didn’t think to check.’
‘He’s going to call again soon. Think I should say something?’
Emily pulled a face. ‘I’d leave it tonight. It’s been normal today. At least Mum’s been working and she seems content.’ Emily pushed her hands into the pockets of her tight black snowsuit, leaving the bauble dangling so it bounced against her leg. ‘If you tell her now she’ll just start worrying…’
‘I’ll mention it tomorrow,’ Meg promised as they reached the village square, and crossed the road so they could get to the Promise Tree. Hundreds of baubles now hung from the branches and swayed in the breeze. Emily reached up onto her tiptoes and hung hers.
‘I promise to figure out what to do with my life,’ she whispered, loud enough for Meg to hear. ‘Definitely not accountancy. I just need to find something that will make me happy… the thing I was born to do.’
Kitty walked away from them, then hung her bauble on one of the lower branches. Meg heard her whisper something but couldn’t make out the words. Then her mother met Meg’s gaze and looked startled.
‘What did you promise, Mum?’ Emily asked, trotting up to join her.
‘Nothing for you to worry about.’ Kitty broke eye contact and turned away.
But as they made their way back towards the Christmas shop, Meg wondered what promise her mother had made, and knew in her gut something was very wrong.
Eight
The high street looked empty as Tom trudged along the pavement beside Cooper, leaving two set
s of prints in the snow. It had been blizzarding all night, continuing into the morning, and even now huge snowflakes fluttered in the air before landing on the crisp, white carpet in front of them. The dog wasn’t happy and stopped every few steps to shake each paw in turn, before turning to look woefully back towards home. They hit the fork where the Promise Tree rose out of the large brown well, and stopped as Tom noticed a smattering of broken baubles. The glass was framed by a torn yellow banner of delicate knitted stars. Cooper barked and scampered across the road to sniff the wool, before picking up the strands in his teeth.
‘Put that down,’ Tom shouted, following. But the dog was either too excited or too intent on punishing him for the walk, because he clamped his jaws. Irritated, Tom bent to pick up some of the glass as a piece of soggy pink paper blew along the ground in front of him. He caught it before it was swept off on a gust, scanning the words scrawled across it in black ink. I promise to get a divorce.
‘Well, that’s not very festive,’ he said, wondering if Marnie had made the same vow to herself three years before. He pushed the note into his coat pocket and grabbed a plastic bag out of the other, placing the jagged glass inside. He stooped to gather more, shooing Cooper away as he came to investigate. Then he heard a shout from behind, and turned just as Meg came marching up.
‘What did you let that dog do?’ she moaned. She was wearing her elf suit again, but this time Tom noticed it hugged her curves and brought out the becoming bloom of anger on her skin. He’d found his mind wandering to her since their chat in the pub two evenings before, and his lips turned up in greeting.
Meg glared at the ground instead of smiling back. ‘I know we joked about you being the Grinch, but why would you let your dog vandalise our Promise Tree?’ She pointed to Cooper, then bent to pick up a broken piece of bauble, spotting the bag in Tom’s hand which she snatched away. She looked inside and groaned. ‘I can’t believe anyone would hate Christmas this much.’
If Every Day Was Christmas: A gorgeous and heart-warming Christmas romance Page 6