A Cozy Christmas in Cornwall

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘I’d like to come back every year and do this.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, we’ll make sure we do.’ He pulls me closer and squeezes away my shiver. ‘There’s a tea shop in the village, let’s warm up with a hot chocolate before we set off again.’

  And just for a moment, there’s a sureness and a certainty in his voice that’s nothing to do with arrogance. It’s simply a deep and calm reassurance. And the thought that he’ll still be here to come with me again next year is like a blanket being wrapped around me. As we get back into the car, it does feel like a new beginning. But it’s not about what I’m leaving behind, it’s more that there’s someone who wants to be here for me. To support me. And it’s as if by being here, he’s passing on his strength, making me stronger. It’s not anything spoken, it’s just a feeling deep inside. Whatever doubts I was having, I know I can rely on him, just as he can rely on me.

  It’s not anything we mention or talk about, it’s like an unspoken understanding. As we sit by the teashop fire and munch on deep slices of sticky ginger cake and drink our hot chocolate we’re quiet. Together, but reflecting. It’s been a day of big emotions, sometimes it’s better not to talk.

  By the time we set off again it’s dark, and the lights on the Christmas trees in the cottage windows around the village are shining out into the night, and the festive CD is playing quietly in the darkness, breaking the journey into tune sized fragments.

  Bill’s musing in the dark. ‘Not long to Christmas now, Pom Pom.’

  As I count on my fingers I let out a heartfelt sigh for how few days there are left. ‘That’s the trouble with holidays, you look forward to them forever, then they’re over so fast.’

  He clears his throat, and I watch the shadow of his Adams apple as he swallows. ‘So do you ever think about Chamonix?’

  There’s no hope of answering that one and keeping my dignity intact so I send this back to him: ‘It was a really significant holiday for you, wasn’t that where you got to know Gemma properly?’

  There’s a few beats of silence. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you what happened with Gemma.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t imagine why.

  ‘When she went back to London last January it was with the marketing manager who’d been working on the gin account.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘So that explains your patchy promotion.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t get around to replacing him. He and Gemma didn’t make a go of it though, they aren’t together any more.’

  ‘Right.’ I’m sounding doubtful because I still don’t know why he’s telling me this.

  ‘I want to be honest and open going forward, some background might help put things into context.’

  ‘Great.’ He’s sounding so much like Libby now I might have been better to go with Chamonix. ‘Shall we put the volume up now and sing along to the Christmas tunes? Get in the mood.’

  ‘What, to Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses?’ His voice is high with disbelief. ‘Good luck with that, of all the songs to choose that one’s impossible to join in with.’

  I sigh. ‘Okay, fine, we’ll sing as soon as the next one comes on.’

  He glances across at me. ‘If we’re going to see more of each other I don’t want to hide anything, that’s all.’

  It comes out as a choke as I catch my breath. ‘More …?’

  He’s glancing across at me. ‘That’s what I was hoping, so long as you’d like that too?’

  I’m opening and closing my mouth and nothing’s coming out. The Waitresses are singing about their happy ending, and I’m not quite ready to believe that mine is happening too. And as I’m deciding whether to say, fine shall we get married this week or next, or thinking if I should ask if this is just another wind up, his phone beeps.

  He sounds excited. ‘Can you check that and read it out for me, it could be from Abby.’

  I pick up his phone and look. ‘It’s from Gemma.’

  ‘So what does she say?’

  ‘She says, Great to see you earlier, Abby’s so excited you’ll be coming to live with us again. Why wait til January, why not come with us to Davos for Christmas?’

  ‘What?’ He frowns across at me. ‘Are you sure?’

  Considering my chest just imploded, I’m doing well to reply. ‘I’d hardly have made that up, would I?’

  ‘Oh crap.’ He lets out a long breath and hits his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Ivy.’

  I’m muttering under my breath. ‘Not half as sorry as I am.’

  He’s tapping the steering wheel, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of this, it’s not fair.’

  Except that’s the whole thing, no one’s actually caught anywhere. He’s been generous enough to try to help me past the accident, but that’s obviously as a friend. We had one amazing night together. For me that night happened to be the best few hours of my life so far. But as I realised earlier, we come from very different places. For him it probably only served to confirm everything better he’s been missing. We all know, it’s the first rule of choosing guys to see – anyone who’s fresh out of a relationship is likely to boomerang right back into it given half a chance.

  Bill has just seen the partner and child he’s been pining for for an entire year – if Gemma’s asking him back, why wouldn’t he want to give it another go?

  As he stares across at me in the darkness his voice is so strained I sense he’s gone pale. ‘There are things I should explain …’

  ‘I’d actually rather you didn’t.’ This way at least I get to keep my pride. If we skip the excuses about why I’m second best, I can walk away with my head held high, wishing him well.

  He’s blowing out his lips. ‘I’ve got a lot of sorting out to do here.’

  He’s not joking there. But if he’s got another chance of being a full time dad to that amazing little girl, he has to take it.

  As for me, I’m back to pretty much where I was this time yesterday. Obviously there’s the added irritation of being without a job. But there’s absolutely zero reason to feel like my whole world has folded to nothing. I went to the top of the emotional roller coaster. And then to the bottom again. All in the course of a few hours. Now I’ve got off altogether. More fool me for letting my delusions get the better of me.

  So all I can think to myself is – Let’s get on with Christmas. Yay!

  But admittedly, the Yay! is very feeble. And somehow I can’t bring myself to say anything else, and neither can Bill. And we sit in silence the whole way back to Cornwall.

  Tuesday

  24th December

  33.

  With love …

  When I wake up next morning the first thing I hear is Merwyn huffing and as I get out of bed to go to the bathroom the temperature in the bedroom feels positively tropical. The heating engineer was waiting as we arrived back at the castle last night and he had the boiler working again within the hour, so when bedtime came everyone was okay to take their duvets and go off to sleep upstairs again. So when Merwyn and I come in from our not-so-early morning walk on the beach everyone in the kitchen has shed their extra jumpers, and Milo is by the Aga cooking his crusty golden triangular griddle scones with only a T-shirt under his stripy apron. I have to say, just as we were leaving for the beach, Bill knocked on the bedroom door, but I couldn’t talk. And luckily when I get to the kitchen he isn’t there.

  I make a large pot of coffee, pick up a loaded plate and an extra wide smile from Milo and go to join Fliss and the little ones at the table. I may be shouting on the beach where the wind can whoosh my howls out to join the white streaks of sea horses on the expanse of the diesel blue sea, but in public I’m determined not to let anyone see I’m anything other than fabulous.

  However much I’m aching inside after yesterday, I can’t help smile at Harriet leaning back and rubbing her tummy in her high chair. ‘Someone’s enjoying their syrup.’ Her cheeks are slicked with the shine of grease and she’s got a chunk of scone s
tuck to her ear. The clang of fish slice on colander tells me Oscar is in his usual place under the table, but the rest of the chairs are empty. ‘So where is everyone?’

  Fliss’s reaction to yesterday’s news from Rob was much the same as mine. The immediate relief that he wasn’t about to desert her eclipsed the awful, but more distant, news about Daniels and our disappearing jobs. When she grinned at me and said ‘Phew, don’t need to wash my hair after all then’, I took it as a joke, but from this morning’s haystack where her messy ponytail should be, she was telling it like it is. As she thinks about my question she’s rearranging her hair pins.

  ‘So many changes since you left.’ Then she grins at me. ‘The wifi secret’s out, everyone’s in Bill’s room watching YouTube clips.’

  ‘After all our efforts! Who told?’

  She peers under the table. ‘Oscar was chanting about Facetiming, Tom and Tarkie heard, grilled him and that was it.’

  I’m even more puzzled. ‘But Libby had promised them a day at the ski slope today, surely they should have left by now.’

  ‘Keep up.’ Fliss laughs. ‘They’re in there with Rip, Brian, Bede, Taj and Slater watching big wave clips. Who wants fake skiing when winter waves are on offer. They’re all picking up wet suits and going in later.’

  ‘Oh my. Rather them than me. So what else have I missed?’

  Fliss’s smile stretches. ‘With everyone in the family room the barriers tumbled. Tiff and Tansy abandoned their tulle and swapped into Scout’s spare dungarees.’

  ‘You’re joking. I bet Willow loved that?’

  ‘She wasn’t so keen on the red lippy. But Tiff insisted they needed that to maximise their girl power.’

  ‘What a great couple of days.’

  ‘That’s not all.’ Fliss’s eyes are dancing. ‘When Solomon, Scout and Sailor’s dad arrived for Christmas, he took them into the tower room and his treat was that they all did calculus.’

  ‘What?!!’ I can’t conceal my horror. ‘Jeez, I’m pleased I missed that.’

  Fliss is on a roll. ‘And Libby did a deal with Taj and the guys. They get to stay for the whole of Christmas so long as they help with cooking and clearing and put on their pixie hats and elf waistcoats whenever she does a photocall. They’re proving very popular on Instagram, she’s got this ongoing story thing going.’

  I’m not sure if that’s progress or not. I look up as Milo comes with another plate of scones. ‘Delicious baking, Milo, as usual.’

  He pulls up a chair. ‘We missed you, Ivy, but on the upside it was bliss to have the run of the kitchen.’

  I take it he’s meaning without Bill’s interference. ‘It’s good to see you looking happier.’

  He dips his head towards Fliss and I, but as his voice drops to a confidential whisper I’m the one he ends up touching fringes with. ‘There’s very little I can do about Dad and Miranda.’ He smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at me. ‘But if the castle is such a romantic venue, maybe it’s my time after all?’

  Fliss leans over and gives him a punch on the arm. ‘Yay, good to hear, knock yourself out, Milo.’ Instead of reacting to my sharp kick on her shin she laughs. ‘Sorry, as of yesterday morning, I’m definitely off the market again. But I can’t speak for anyone else – just saying.’ Considering I went all the way to London to sort out her husband, her wink is so not funny. Obviously I haven’t shared any of what happened at mine.

  I’m opening my mouth to clarify this once and for all with my own jokey climb down when I look up and see Bill in the doorway, with a scowl like thunder.

  ‘Hey, welcome back, Mr Happy.’ Milo sends him a dead eye, so that has to be ironic.

  Fliss’s eyes narrow, then she grins again. ‘Anyway, for anyone not surfing today why don’t we mix things up with a baking competition?’

  It’s so fab to hear her so upbeat but I still let out a groan. ‘That pun was awful.’

  Milo doesn’t care, he’s already up and punching the air. ‘Absolutely. A Cockle Shell Castle Christmas Bake Off …’ he’s sending Bill a mocking stare ‘… let’s finally sort the professionals from the pretenders.’

  Fliss is in her element here. ‘Okay, anyone can enter, it can be any kind of cake or sweet biscuit. Everyone gets a vote, the one with the most votes wins.’ She sends me a knowing wink. ‘And teams can enter.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. We’ll be the Gilmore Girls, like the TV show.’

  Milo’s joining in glaring at Bill, his chin jutting. ‘No outsourcing allowed. Cakes must be ALL YOUR OWN WORK.’

  Fliss is laughing. ‘Nipping out to Crusty Cobs and The Little Cornish Kitchen isn’t allowed.’

  ‘Entries on the dining tables, judging starts at half past two.’ As I add my piece my mouth is already watering. ‘And the judges get to taste!’

  Bill’s still filling the doorway, head tilted, eyes narrowed. ‘And may the best man win, Milo.’

  I ignore what the low notes in his voice just did to my insides, hold up my finger and cough. ‘May the best person win – I think that’s what you mean, Bill.’ I mean to avoid speaking to him, but it had to be said, in the interests of getting equality in a generation. And who knows, once Fliss and I get our butter cream icing heads on, we could be serious contenders here. I rub my hands together. ‘So what are we waiting for, let’s get started before the rush!’

  We have to stay real here – neither of us is Cherish Finden. Even if I have Nigella’s curves and the temporary use of a pantry I’m seriously lacking her pizazz in the kitchen. On balance we decide the Frozen cake with five tiers and pale turquoise icing we fall in love with on Google Images is too ambitious. But delish is achievable, so long as we keep it simple and Oscar doesn’t drop too many foreign bodies into the mixing bowl. So in the end we plump for a simple sticky dark chocolate sponge with snowy swirls of vanilla buttercream and glittery snowflake sprinklies.

  As baking goes this one’s not hard. It’s my mum’s fool-proof recipe, even I’d find it hard to mess up. Bish bash bosh and it’s done. Milo’s still agonising over what to cook, and our sponges are in the oven. With Oscar quiet under the table licking mixture off a wooden spoon and Harriet busy rubbing Nutella into her hair, Fliss and I lick the bowl out ourselves then get straight on with the icing. Giving the bowl to the kids? Truly, being an adult has many downsides, getting to keep the bowl to lick yourself is one of the only good bits.

  So we move on to the buttercream and we’ve covered the table in a snowy cloud of powdery icing sugar and we’re just getting the perfect consistency for piped rosettes, when Miranda appears. She pops a cigarette butt into her tobacco tin, slips off her shimmery coat and flops down at the table next to us.

  Fliss takes in her long sigh and gives her a questioning stare. ‘Not in the hot tub this morning, Mum?’

  Miranda shakes out the layers of her chiffon top and sniffs. ‘Ambie’s sulking, we’ve had another tiff.’ She drags in a breath. ‘Yesterday he was arguing over which side of the bed to get out of, this morning it’s my top he hates.’

  I give her arm a squeeze. ‘I can see that Ambie might find the print unconventional, but it really suits you, the silk is so light it’s almost not there.’

  As Miranda gives a snort her feathery top flutters. ‘Roses, chains and barbed wire, the pattern says it all. Ambie seems to think now we’re engaged he’s got the right to fence me in, tie me down, and tell me what to think.’ Her eyes flash.

  I’m worried. ‘I’m not judging, or interfering, but that doesn’t sound too healthy.’ I love Miranda, she should have so much more. When she has the capacity to be really happy, anything less is a waste.

  The flames go out of Miranda’s eyes and she gives a resigned sigh. ‘Relationships are about give and take.’

  Fliss’s face wrinkles. ‘But do you want to be fenced in?’

  Miranda winces and dips in for another spoonful of icing. ‘It’s not as if there are lines of men all shaking engagement rings at me.’

  I have to be r
ealistic. ‘On the other hand, looking at the signs, it could be a quick ride back to the divorce court.’

  Fliss blows out a sigh of exasperation. ‘But why are you so obsessed with husbands?’

  Miranda sucks the icing off the spoon. ‘It was such a shock when we lost your dad, Fliss. All those years with you four children, you’ve no idea what a struggle it was on my own with all that responsibility. There were so many nights when I’d lie awake desperately wishing your dad could be there to take care of me.’

  I’m squeezing her hand really hard, and Fliss groans at her. ‘Oh, Mum.’

  Miranda dips in her leggings waistband for a hanky and dabs the corners of her eyes. ‘Once you’d all left home all I wanted was to be secure and to be married again. But I messed that up three times now, I’m ten years older than I was when I started. If I’ve got one last chance, I have to take it.’

  My heart goes out to her. ‘You’ve been toughing it out on your own for so long, it’s bound to have made you strong and independent. When you’ve been used to making all your own decisions, it’s hard to change, especially when someone’s asking you to be like someone else, not yourself.’

  Miranda lets out a little sigh. ‘It’s true, I often feel that Ambie wants me to be Betty.’ She slurps down another spoonful of icing then frowns at the spoon. ‘If I’m trying to be thin eating all this icing isn’t good.’

  It’s hard to watch her trying to be something she’s not. ‘Maybe you need to stop looking for marriage – it’s the marrying types who always want to change you, and you never like that. You don’t have to be on your own, maybe a relationship with less ties would suit you better?’

  Fliss is waving both thumbs at me. ‘If you’re willing take a chance on a man who’s not truly happy with who you are, surely you’re brave enough to try something different?’

  Miranda doesn’t look convinced. ‘It’s the ring that I like – that’s what makes me feel safe.’