Bells and Bows on Mistletoe Row

by Emily Harvale

  Bells and Bows

  on

  Mistletoe Row

  Emily Harvale

  Copyright

  Copyright © Emily Harvale 2018

  All rights reserved

  Emily Harvale has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, businesses, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Crescent Gate Publishing

  E-edition published worldwide 2018

  ISBN 978-1-909917-39-2

  Paperback edition published 2018

  ISBN 978-1-909917-38-5

  Cover design © JR and Emily Harvale

  Edited by Christina Harkness

  For Richard.

  Taken far too soon.

  Your light, love and laughter will be with me, always.

  Table of contents

  Title

  Dedication

  A note from Emily

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Coming Soon

  Also by

  Acknowledgements

  Contact

  Chapter One

  Juliet Bell slowed to a halt as she neared the narrow, humpback bridge leading to Mistletoe Row, the street where she grew up, and the salmon-pink-painted cottage that her parents and her younger sister, Zoe had called home for the last twenty years. Not that she could see the bridge at that precise moment. It had been snowing on and off since she left Bristol, but as her car crawled through the brightly lit streets of the bustling town of Mistletythe, now merely a glimmer in her rear-view mirror, it had turned heavier, culminating in a sudden white-out as she reached the bridge.

  Why couldn't the blizzard have held off for ten more minutes? Five, even? Juliet was so close to home she could virtually smell the spices in her mum's mulled wine. She had hoped to be sitting beside a crackling log fire long ago, but the weather, together with an abundance of road works, had delayed her two-hundred-mile journey by at least two hours and when she glanced at her dashboard, the clock read ten-to-five. Thank goodness she didn't have far to go.

  But first she had to cross the stone bridge which arched over the low-lying Mistletythe River, itself no doubt covered with a layer of ice beneath a blanket of white, and as things stood, she couldn't see either the bridge or the river. The wipers of her elderly Ford Fiesta juddered across the windscreen as they battled against the weight of snow and the fact that it was dark didn't help. She pulled on the handbrake and gave herself a moment to think.

  She knew this road so well. Surely she could get across the bridge with her eyes closed? And visibility might be slightly better on the other side. Mistletoe Row only had three lampposts but at least it benefitted from the additional light given out by The Mistletoe pub, nestled on the bank of the river, the church next to that with its stained-glass windows, Dobbie's Convenience Store beside that, and the houses huddled together along the stretch of narrow road.

  Her family lived at number 29 – a two-storey cottage, together with an attic room, parts of which dated back to the sixteenth century and came complete with an inglenook fireplace, restored bread oven and more blackened timber beams than you could shake a stick at. Parts of it, like the white-framed Georgian windows, were a later addition, but added long before the cottage was listed.

  She could picture it as she stared out into the swirling snow. The double front doors, painted a darker shade of pink to match the façade would have a garland of holly and mistletoe atop the lintel, tied each end with large red bows. Fairy lights would be hanging from the roof soffits and warm, welcoming light would flood from the windows onto the narrow, snow-covered pavement. Inside, her mum and Zoe would be in the kitchen, the aged Aga burning at full pelt and the family dog, Cinnamon stretched out in front of it, snoring and blithely ignoring the fact that she would be in everyone's way and they would have to constantly step over her.

  Juliet's dad would, no doubt, be ensconced in his library, still, after all these years, writing the history of the Bell family and their centuries living at The Grange, despite the fact that he was the Bell who lost it; a bitter pill for him to swallow even after all this time. And one Juliet didn't want to think about. Certainly not today. Besides, she had more recent worries weighing her down and as she watched the wipers judder to a halt, finally giving up their fight against the onslaught, she knew exactly how they felt.

  The drive from Bristol had been hellish and she was tired and hungry, having decided not to stop for lunch along the way. But that wasn't the only reason she was feeling wretched. She hadn't told her family her news. Such tidings were always better given face-to-face. At least she hoped they were. Although telling them that she had been made redundant from her job as executive assistant to the CEO of one of the largest department store chains in the country, one week before Christmas probably wouldn't go down well, face-to-face or not. Not that she was the only one. Godfrey, Able, Jones & Company was in crisis and many stores nationwide would close their doors for the final time on Christmas Eve. The CEO was retiring; the business was restructuring. Which was another way of saying it was being sold off, bit by bit.

  As if that wasn't depressing enough, at the age of thirty-six, Juliet was going to have to ask to move back home. At least until she found another job. The apartment building in which she rented a flat belonged to the business and had already been sold to developers. She had been given three months' notice so she wouldn't have to move until March, but what was the point in staying? Jobs in Bristol weren't as plentiful as they were in London, and the latter was much closer to her family. Right now, Juliet wanted to be close to her family. But the happy homecoming they were expecting for the festive season would turn decidedly sour when they heard her news.

  They would quickly rally round. She knew that. Her dad would tell her things would soon look up. He had said that the day they moved out of The Grange and he was still saying it, all these years later. Her mum would be genuinely happy to have her back, but sorry for the reason and would offer words of comfort and support, and Zoe would say how wonderful it would be to have her sister home again. The small redundancy package Juliet had been given, together with her meagre savings would see her through for a few months, but not much longer than that. She need
ed to find a new job, fast. And she didn't have much hope of finding one in Mistletythe, despite it being a busy and seemingly prosperous town. No. London was her best bet. At least it was within commuting distance, even if it did mean over an hour on a train, morning and evening to start with. Once she was settled, she could find a place closer to London in which to live.

  Jingle Bells ringing on her phone interrupted Juliet's thoughts. She saw it was her mum calling and forced a smile onto her lips before she answered.

  'Hi Mum. I'm less than two minutes away. I'm just about to cross the bridge. If I can actually find it, that is.'

  'Hello sweetheart.' Her mum always sounded jolly, no matter how bad things got and merely hearing her voice made the smile spread across Juliet's face. 'Can you believe this weather? Lovely to look at but not quite such fun to venture out in. I hate to ask, but would you be an even bigger sweetheart than you are and pop into Mrs D's for four pints of milk, please? Your father wants cauliflower cheese for supper tonight, followed by blackberry and apple crumble and homemade custard, and we're running low. I know you'll want hot chocolate when you get here. One of us could go but Zoe said you wouldn't mind as you're out anyway.'

  Juliet shook her head even though no one could see her. Being in the warmth of her car wasn't quite the same as being “out” but she didn't really mind. If anyone had to freeze to death it might as well be her. 'Of course. Is that all you need?'

  'Well, now that I think about it, we may need more butter. And flour too. Zoe and I have been baking. Your favourite cranberry and apple mince pies are in the oven as we speak. Oh, and possibly icing sugar. Hold on a moment sweetheart. Your father's saying he wants something. Bernard, speak up, darling. I'm on the phone.'

  'Mum. Why don't you get Zoe to text me a list?' Juliet said, grinning. 'I'll be at Mrs D's in a minute or two but we both know how she always wants to chat, so I'll probably be there for a while.'

  'That's an excellent idea, sweetheart. We'll see you very soon. You take care in this weather.'

  Juliet ended the handsfree call and peered through the windscreen. Mistletythe Lane, where she was currently parked, led from the town out to the bridge and had no buildings, and no street lights to speak of, just a couple of lampposts dotted here and there. It was about two miles long and was bordered either side by apple orchards, which were actually famous. But not for the apple crop. They were known for their mistletoe which, right now, would be clinging to otherwise bare branches like huge, living Christmas baubles; leathery, evergreen leaves and white pearlescent berries in spherical bunches of varying sizes, for as far as the eye could see. Not that Juliet could see the apple orchards, either. Or the mistletoe. All she could see was snow. And no amount of light would help in such conditions.

  She let out a long, loud sigh. She had very little choice. She could either sit in her car and wait, in the hope conditions would improve, or she could take a risk and edge her way across the bridge, to home. The chance of anything coming in the opposite direction was remote, especially at ten-to-five on a Sunday evening ... in a blizzard.

  She couldn't see so much as a flicker of headlights coming in the opposite direction or hear an engine but she opened her window a fraction to be sure, hurriedly closing it again as snow swirled in along with the bitter cold wind. She turned her wipers off and on again and they made a valiant effort to clear at least a small amount of snow. She let off the handbrake, took a deep breath and gingerly edged forward. She thought she could just make out the line of the stone walls of the bridge but more from memory than sight, she inched her way across, turning off the radio so that she could hear if anything was coming the other way, but all she could hear was the scrunch of virgin snow beneath her tyres.

  She breathed a sigh of relief on seeing an amber glow to her left – The Mistletoe pub. That meant she was safely across and was now on Mistletoe Row. In the summer, tables, chairs and benches were set out on the river bank and Juliet had spent many balmy evenings watching swans glide along the sparkling river and bees and butterflies flit around the buddleia, lavender and overhanging weeping willow. Now only the holly bushes would add colour to the pub garden, but even they were hidden by the weather.

  Mrs D's, or Dobbie's Convenience Store to give it its full title, also sat to the left, just past the church. It shared a tiny car park at the rear with the pub and the church and oddly enough, the occupants of all three buildings were related. Kevin Dobbie and his second wife, Paula owned and ran The Mistletoe. Noah Waters, Mrs D's brother, was the vicar of St Clement's, and Kevin's parents, Cyril and Myrtle Dobbie owned the store.

  Juliet decided to park as close to the shop as she could, which meant pulling up outside and not driving to the car park at the rear. She grabbed her coat from the passenger seat and held it over her head but as she got out and dashed towards the door, the roar of an engine raced towards her. What kind of idiot would be speeding in this weather? The tinkling of the bell above the shop door was superseded by a resounding crack of wing mirrors colliding and Juliet's heart sank a little more, especially as the driver of the other car didn't even attempt to stop.

  'That's just great,' she said, closing the door behind her, with a sigh.

  'Well, well. Look who the blizzard's blown in.' Mrs D was stacking a shelf with little brown bottles and, placing the final bottle in position she turned to Juliet and grinned. 'Indigestion remedy. It'll be my best seller over the coming days. You mark my words. Would you like one?'

  Juliet grinned back, in spite of everything. 'No thanks. I'm good. How are you, Mrs D?'

  'Can't complain, dear.' The small, chubby woman shuffled towards her, grey hair pulled tight into a bun which appeared to be stretching her skin taut across high cheek bones and smoothing out some of the mass of wrinkles. She gave Juliet a quick hug. 'How are you, dear Juliet, and where's your Romeo?' Mrs D's eyes crinkled as she chuckled, her rounded shoulders shaking with delight at her regular joke.

  'I'm okay thanks. Although I'm not sure I can say the same for my car. Some idiot just clipped my wing mirror. I hope it isn't broken. Anyway. No Romeo, as always.'

  'Oh that's a shame.' Mrs D shook her head as she made her way around the shop counter and Juliet wasn't sure if she meant a shame about the wing mirror or Juliet's love life, but Mrs D continued. 'Can you believe this weather? I can't recall the last time we had snow like this. And the bitter cold isn't doing my old bones much good. But there're those far worse off than me. I saw two people sleeping on the streets in Mistletythe last week. Two! What is the world coming to? Probably buried under a blanket of snow right now. Poor souls.' She shook her head again and tutted. 'But we mustn't dwell on such things. It's the festive season and time for happy thoughts. When are you going to find yourself a nice young man and settle down, eh? That's what I'd like to know. You're not getting any younger, dear, and I know it's all the fashion to wait these days, but wait too long and you'll find that ship has sailed. Mark my words. Your ovaries may be as plump as grapes today, but they'll turn to raisins soon enough. Oh it's lovely to see you home again. How long are you staying? Until the New Year?'

  Juliet smiled and waited to make sure Mrs D had actually finished. You could never be certain with her.

  'I'm not sure,' she said, choosing to ignore the rest and not ready to tell the truth until her own family had heard the news. 'How's Mr D?'

  'Bless you for asking, dear. He's the same as ever. Taken up stargazing now, he has. Not that he'll see any in this weather.' She raised her hands in the air and clucked like a chicken. 'Nothing ever holds that man's interest for longer than a month or two. Spent a small fortune on fishing rods, and they're all bundled in the shed. I keep threatening to use them for kindling and you should see the look he gives me.' She rolled her eyes and let out a strange little whistle. 'Now he's ordered some fancy-pantsy telescope. That'll end up in the shed before too long, mark my words.'

  'Nothing holds his interest apart from you, Mrs D.' Juliet gave her a wink. 'How long have you
been married now? Mum said it's sixty years this year. Is that true?'

  Mrs D nodded and a wistful look filled her pale grey eyes. Her thin, rosy-red cheeks puffed out and a tender smile spread across pink lips. 'Sixty years on Boxing Day. And never a night apart in all that time, dear. I wish you could find a man like my Cyril. That's what you need. A man to cherish you and love you, no matter what.' She returned Juliet's wink and leant her forearms on the only space on the counter not covered with newspapers and magazines.

  Juliet glanced at her phone as the tinkle of a text alert let her know her mum's list had arrived. She gave it a quick look and scrolled down to the end. It was some list. Juliet smiled at Mrs D. 'A man is the last thing I need, Mrs D, but I do need quite a few things for Mum. Will you point me in the direction of baking foil, please?'

  The shop might be small but every inch of it, from floor to ceiling, was jam-packed with stock and, just like the supermarkets, Mrs D liked to move things around.

  'It's in the back, right hand corner, dear. Next to the kitchen roll.' Mrs D pointed in that general direction.

  'Excellent. I've got to get kitchen roll too.'

  Juliet wandered around the shop, loading her basket while Mrs D filled her in on all the local gossip, most of which either Zoe or her mum had already told her. But Mrs D loved a good gossip and Juliet oohed and aahed as necessary. When she finally approached the counter, checking the list on her phone to make sure she had got everything, Mrs D made an odd little coughing sound.

  'He's coming back this year, dear.'

  'Who? Dan?' Juliet grinned at her. 'He comes back every year at some stage over the holidays. I thought you'd finally given up trying to get your grandson and me together.'

  'I wasn't talking about Daniel.' Mrs D's tone didn't sound quite as cheery as it had.

  'Oh? Then who?' But even before Mrs D said the words, Juliet somehow knew. Her chest tightened, her mouth became dry, goosebumps prickled her skin. It was as if she were having an allergic reaction. And in a way, she was.