A Cozy Christmas in Cornwall

by Jane Linfoot

‘Daniels are closing their doors at the beginning of January, straight after the Christmas sales. They’ve sold the site, and they aren’t opening up anywhere else.’

  OH FUCK!!! I mean to say the words, but nothing comes out because my insides have dematerialised. For a moment the room spins, then I think I’m going to be sick. Then that passes, and I start to shake. And what Milo said that day in the pub is suddenly making sense – it wasn’t bollocks after all. Eventually I croak a whisper. ‘So is everyone losing their jobs?’

  Rob’s expression is pained. ‘I’m afraid they are.’ From the way he’s hugging himself and hanging onto his own arms he’s as stressed about this as I am. ‘They’ll be paying redundancy, but with High Street retail in crisis and so many lay offs from other stores, no one’s going to walk into a new job, especially not someone in Fliss’s position.’

  As a returning mum with baby brain she’ll struggle to get herself to an interview, let alone answer the questions. I’m also thinking of how humungous the rent is for my flat, the payments on my car, the gas, the electricity, Merwyn’s treats. I spend every penny I earn. But even my cupcake bill is huge if there’s no money coming in.

  I dig really deep and find a tiny voice. ‘I’m sorry for misjudging you so badly, Rob. And sorry for you and Fliss too.’

  He shrugs. ‘No hard feelings at all. But this was me, trying to get my hands on all the cash I could for when we need it later. I was lucky, they offered me a rush contract and loads of overtime, so I grabbed it. I just wish there was a happier ending for you and Fliss.’

  I nod. ‘If it makes sense, I think Fliss will just be very happy you’re not about to walk out on her.’

  And to be honest, I am too.

  What a day for epic revelations. Discovering why people have sex and finding out I’m not going to have a job in the New Year, all in the space of twelve hours. One of the suppliers had sent in a hamper so Rob offers us coffee or brandy to bring me round. But once he’s agreed to ring the landline to tell Fliss what’s going on we accept a box of luxury mince pies instead, and hurry down past the receptionist who’s still swigging her Baileys, but is now firmly off the suspect list.

  So we sit in the front of the car and this time it’s me tapping on the steering wheel. Then we hit the pastry and for one day only I give no shits at all about the crumbs getting ground into the carpet even though suddenly this car’s got to last a whole lot longer than it might have done otherwise.

  Bill folds his tin foil container into tiny squares. ‘I’m really sorry. What a difference ten minutes makes, hey, Pom Pom.’

  I bite into another pie, because the sticky filling and thick but deliciously light and buttery icing-sugar dusted pastry is definitely picking me up. ‘Truly, I couldn’t be any more gutted.’ Mostly for now I’m relieved to know that Fliss and Rob are okay. I send Bill my best WTF? face. ‘But if I let this spoil Christmas, I lose that as well as my job. So I’m going to go very Keef on you, and worry about the rest very soon. Just not now.’

  He gives me a play punch on my arm. ‘Here’s wishing for lots of stars in the dark times then.’

  And I punch him back. ‘Okay, so … on to the next destination …’

  He fiddles with his phone, sticks it onto the dashboard magnet, then blows. ‘Two point six miles, fifteen minutes to Camden.’

  I grin at him as I start up the engine and ease the car out of the car park and towards the road. ‘You have to admit, the traffic’s bad round here but it’s great to have wifi. And how are you feeling about your big moment?’

  He pulls a face. ‘Happy, but about as nervous as you were going to talk to Rob.’

  ‘Shitting bricks then?’

  He gives a nod. ‘Times by ten, you’ll be getting close.’

  ‘You’re going to be fine, I promise.’ I reach over and touch his hand for a second.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You’ve got your mistletoe for luck?’

  ‘Totally.’ He points to his pocket. ‘After how it worked last night, I’m never going out without it. I sent Willow a “thank you” text when I was making breakfast.’

  My jaw drops. ‘Tell me you didn’t?’ Then I see his lips twist. ‘You better not have done. What happens in London stays in London.’ I’ll let him off that one then. ‘And you’ve got the little presents that Tansy and Tiff wrapped up for Abby? And the baby Sven, and the antlers on a hairband?’ Once word got out at the castle, everyone wanted to send something.

  ‘Yep.’ He nods to a carrier in the footwell.

  ‘In that case, put Feliz Navidad on repeat, and by the time we get there you’ll be all good.’ I grin across at him. ‘I don’t offer this to many people, but would it help to sing along?’

  He manages to laugh. ‘You always know how to make me feel better, do you know how much I appreciate that?’

  When you’re singing along, there’s no point doing it by halves. It has to be top of your voice or nothing. So we yell our way across town, and by the time we reach the part where the houses are seriously nice I’m practically fluent in festive Spanish. We’re winding our way between elegant Georgian terraces, and then we’re turning into a street where the houses all have front gardens and Christmas trees flanking the entrances, and wreaths the size of car tyres on their front doors. And over the sound of the music the phone app tells me I’ve reached my destination.

  ‘Anywhere along here would be good, thanks.’ Bill lifts his eyebrows. ‘It’s okay, Ivy-star, you can say what you’re thinking.’

  I’m glad he said that, because I can’t keep this one in. ‘This is a seriously fabulous road.’ I should have known, the guy has a castle on the beach for chrissakes. Even if it’s a bit beaten up and he shares it with his dad, it should have been a clue. ‘I understand why you and Gemma might be fighting now. Seriously loaded people always do.’

  ‘It’s not quite how it looks, I bought it as a wreck years ago when houses were cheaper and did it up on a shoestring. I made a lot in the city, but it came at a price, I was glad to get out.’

  I can imagine. That would be the kind of diamond-studded shoestring the rest of us ordinary mortals can only dream of. If anything it’s good to have a reminder. That’s the second metaphorical ton of bricks to come cascading down on my head in half an hour. This man might be gifted in bed. But it’s not just about him being so much prettier than me, he also belongs to another world. A world where people wrangle over beautiful four storey town houses, with pale pastel stucco walls and basements and authentic small paned sash windows and really wide pavements and front gardens big enough to park their cars in.

  My whole rented flat would fit into their boot porch with room to spare. This is the lifestyle George aspired to, which is how I collided with Will in the first place. But George was a pretender, he actually had nothing and was happy to live off me until something better came along. But Bill is the real deal. And that’s galaxies away from me. Gemma’s mum’s called Arabella for chrissakes, mine’s called Pauline. Standing on a beach, snuggling under the duvet, it’s easy to forget the differences. But when you see them laid out here, they’re huge. But at least I’ve had my night. No one can take that away from me, that star will shine forever.

  Bill picks his phone off the dashboard, taps out a message, and slips it into his pocket. He’s very pale under his stubble, and as I catch the tension shadows under his cheekbones my heart goes out to him.

  He’s waiting, quietly breathing, looking further along the street. And then he suddenly sits up straight. ‘She’s here!’ He’s biting his lip, scraping a tear away from the corner of his eye, then he leans over and kisses my cheek. ‘Thank you for this, Ivy-star, I owe you …’

  It was only a brush, but I’m melting inside all over again at the touch of his lips. But mostly I’m pushing him out of the car. ‘I’ll pick you up back here around two. Go, on, go! Go! Go! Go!’

  And then he’s walking away from me down the street, and I’m watching his broad shoulders, his soft je
ans and his scuffed Timberland boots, his arms stretching outwards. And there’s a small girl walking along the pavement towards him, who looks so much like he does with her brown curls and her long legs. And as she sees him she starts to run, and she’s hurtling along towards him, shouting. And then he scoops her up, closes his arms around her, and spins.

  And as he puts his forehead down to meet hers, there are tears running down my face, and I’m swallowing down my saliva and sniffing away my snot, and I’m murmuring, ‘… and give her a hug from me …’

  32.

  The strongest blizzards start with a single snowflake …

  I’d planned to wander around Camden Lock while Bill was with Abby, pick up a few extra goodies, maybe another Christmas jumper or two, have something delicious for lunch. But after Rob’s bombshell I head home for a packet of crisps and a nap instead. Then I whizz Merwyn round the park, throw the bags into the car, and by two we’re back on Bill’s road in Camden all ready to pick him up and head back to Cornwall.

  Seriously, pet fashion statements in this area are second to none. While we wait Merwyn and I are passing the time scoring the outfits of the pampered pooches that walk past. We’re both picking our jaws up off the floor at a Scottie in a full kilt, then there’s a Frenchie with a shimmery pink and turquoise outfit and a unicorn horn. We’re so busy exclaiming about the Chihuahua dressed as a Christmas tree, complete with baubles and chaser lights, that the first we notice of anyone outside the car is the sharp rap on the window.

  By the time I turn on the ignition and begin to wind down the window the person in the white ski jacket has her nose on the glass. Then she stands up so she can swish her long blonde hair without hitting her head on the car and knocking herself out and I get to take in a horribly flat stomach, the skinniest, perfectly toned thighs, super-expensive studded ankle boots and the kind of heels that are understated but at the same time take proper effort to walk in. It’s when I get the blast of Miss Dior in my face that I finally realise.

  ‘Gemma!’ The smell’s distinctive and sophisticated, and for a minute I’m right back there by the fridge in the chalet kitchen in Chamonix, arguing about missing profiteroles. ‘Great to see you again.’

  As I pull my hair across my eye I’m kicking myself for getting caught with my bad side facing her, but breathing a sigh of relief that I took the time to use Tiff’s special kit earlier. It’s no surprise that Gemma’s make up is flawless, but I can tell her skin underneath is too. And when I see how many layers of barely-there lippy she’s wearing I’m wishing I’d paid more attention to mine. Like me putting on any would have made me feel slightly less of a loser. Slightly better equipped to deal with her. I know she never had the sweetest expression back then, but even for someone who was big on sour faces, the glare she’s giving me now is searing.

  ‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?’ That’s all she says, and her voice is low and menacing.

  As every bit of breath leaves my body I don’t have a hope in hell of getting any words out as I consider – one accidental night, with very little sleep at all, and we didn’t actually – ahem. On balance I’m thinking once I can talk again the correct and truthful answer to that exact question with it’s ongoing implications would be ‘no’.

  Her perfectly shaded eyebrows are a jagged line across her forehead. ‘Don’t bother to answer that, it’s written all over your face.’ She’s spitting the words. ‘Before you go helping yourself to what’s not yours, you might like to consider his family.’

  She turns and as she goes clicking off down the pavement I still haven’t managed a word. Then further along the street Bill and Abby come into view walking hand in hand, and as she jumps from one pavement stone to the next they’re both laughing. Then Gemma meets them too, and for a moment I watch as they stand in a huddle on the pavement. Then my phone rings and it’s Bill.

  As he speaks he’s waving at me from along the road. ‘I’ll just say goodbye to Abby and I’ll be with you.’ And then they all go through the gate and disappear through the front door, and Merwyn and I are back to dog outfits.

  Bill doesn’t keep us long. Two identical Daxis in mediocre Santa suits and a Cockerpoo in a snowman suit several sizes too small. Someone should tell him, as a look, it’s not flattering. There’s just enough time for me to swap across to the passenger seat, and Bill’s opening the door and swinging into the driver’s seat and pushing his coat into the back. And when his scent wipes out every last bit of the Miss Dior it’s a big relief.

  ‘How did it go?’ I don’t really have to ask, the depth of his dimples and relaxed satisfaction on his face as he looks down at his phone and programmes the navigation app are the giveaway.

  ‘Good.’ He raises his eyebrows and squeezes my hand. ‘It was so amazing to see her, we got her a phone so we can talk. I can’t tell you how happy I am, I’m so grateful to you for the push … or the monumental shove, more like.’

  I smile at him. ‘Any time, it’s all in a day’s work for your favourite fairy godmother.’

  He wrinkles his face. ‘Bittersweet too, it was very hard to say goodbye again.’

  I’m getting that from the depth of his sigh.

  As he comes to the end of the road and pulls out into the traffic he frowns. ‘Gemma said she had a word, was she okay?’

  I’m making my smile really bright. ‘Fine.’ If I give him the gory details no one will come out of it looking great. I lean forward and flick on the radio, then bundle my jacket under my head. ‘I thought maybe I’d have a snooze if that’s okay.’

  ‘Great, I’m taking a slightly different route back, I’ll wake you in a bit.’ He flashes me a smile. ‘I’ll wait until you’re awake again before I sing along.’

  I’d actually only meant to close my eyes and pretend to sleep. But as I wake up to Bill shaking my shoulder, the last thing I remember is Maria Carey singing All I Want For Christmas is You, and we hadn’t even got on the motorway.

  ‘So where are we?’ From the village green and a pub, some pretty cottages and houses we’re in the countryside.

  He sniffs. ‘You’ve done so much to help me, I wanted to help you too. We’re not far from where you had the crash.’

  My stomach contracts. ‘How did you know where it was?’

  ‘It wasn’t hard, I knew the approximate date, Google did the rest.’ His hand is on my knee and his eyes are dark and full of concern. ‘I hoped that if you came back it might help you move on, begin to do things for yourself again instead of only for other people.’ He reaches for a carrier from the back of the car. ‘I bought this for you too, in case you wanted something to leave.’

  I dip my hand into the bag and pull out a small circle of twigs. ‘That’s so pretty, with the ivy and white berries.’

  He nods. ‘The twigs are vine stems, I asked them to weave some extra ivy and mistletoe in – Willow was telling me, it’s meant to be very healing, so it felt right.’

  ‘Thanks, it’s beautiful.’ I smile at him. ‘It’s a whole lot smaller than the door wreathes on your road in Camden.’

  He laughs. ‘Everyone tries to out-bling the neighbours. If you think the wreaths are bad, you should see their designer dog clothes.’

  I glance at Merwyn who lifts one ear up when he hears the ‘d’ word. ‘We already did – we were shocked and delighted in equal measure.’

  ‘So how about this wreath – are you up for dropping it off? It’s only a couple of hundred yards down the lane there.’

  If he’d asked me before I might have hated the idea. But now we’re here, and I’ve got the vine circle in my hand, it doesn’t feel hard, it just feels right. And as it hits me how close I am to where the crash was my eyes are full of tears, and I’m swallowing, but it’s more about how kind and thoughtful he’s being than about any of the rest. And I’m nodding before I realise I’m doing it.

  Bill’s completely right. It’s barely any distance away. And then we’re out on the verge, by a hedge full of holly, the wind
whipping across our faces and blowing so hard Merwyn’s ears are flattened. And the most there is to show of the crash is a splintered fence post in amongst the tangled stems of the hedge.

  ‘So this is the tree?’ I let out a breath and look down at a bunch of white roses in cellophane propped by the base of the trunk. ‘It’s so strange, just one random tree on a roadside, one moment in time. Michael and I will always be always bound together by that second, but I’m here, and he isn’t.’ I’m swallowing down my tears, but it’s not working. ‘Him dying always felt so random. I mean, why him and not me?’

  Bill shrugs. ‘There’s never a reason, it’s just how things happen.’

  ‘If only we hadn’t set off, if only I’d thought …’ It’s what I always think.

  ‘But it changed you. If you’d been as you are now, it wouldn’t have happened. That has to be some comfort?’ He’s holding onto my fingers, and he squeezes my hand tightly. ‘But you’re the one who came out of it, you owe it to him to live life for both of you – no holding back.’ He’s fumbling in another bag and reaching up the trunk. ‘I brought a hammer and a nail, tell me where you think.’

  I’m laughing and crying at the same time. ‘For a guy who worked in the city you’re very practical.’

  He laughs too. ‘Years of battling with an unruly castle, I have to be.’

  ‘That’s perfect.’ He taps in the nail, then I reach up and hang up the wreath.

  ‘There’s a label in there too, in case you’d like to write anything.’ He passes me a pen, and a piece of card.

  So squatting by the roadside, on a blustery day before Christmas, in the fading light of a December afternoon I write my goodbye note to someone I barely knew but will never forget.

  Michael,

  I will always look for you when the stars shine, and I promise to live life for both of us,

  all my love, Ivy xx.

  Bill smiles at me as he reads it, then I tie the string to the circle with fumbling fingers. And as I step back, Bill passes me a tissue and I blow my nose. Then his arm slides around me, and as I lean into him all I can feel is his warmth and strength and his goodness.