I can’t let myself smile, but I want to whoop and dance around the churchyard. She didn’t want him back! She changed her mind. It means I still have a chance . . . ‘I’m sorry, Ag.’
She flops down on the low wall. ‘Want to know what stopped me?’
I sit beside her, taking a swig of ale to steady myself. ‘What?’
She looks at me. ‘You.’
What do I say to that?
‘I remembered something you’d said that night I told Seth it was over and you stayed with me. I’d been sobbin’ on you for hours, totally wrung out of emotion, thinkin’ my life was over. And then you kissed the top of my head and said, “He wasn’t worth a moment of your time. Agatha Keats deserves the best.” And standin’ on his doorstep, blind drunk, I thought, how is this the best for me? The old problems hadn’t gone away. They’d be back as soon as the novelty wore off. And he was never the best anyway, just the best of a bad lot. So – thanks for that.’
And then she leans over and hugs me. I wrap my arms around her, hold her to me. This is okay, I think. This is enough for now.
I still have a chance. I’m still falling for her. But tonight she needs a friend who isn’t a moron. I think I can do that. I will tell her, when the moment is right. But for now, I just hold her in the lantern light, thanking my stars that she needs me . . .
Chapter Eighteen
Seren
I don’t want this evening to end. The parade was wonderful, the town looks magical and everyone is happy. Later I’ll be drinking beer and eating pizza with my best friends on earth, but now I’m on my way to MacArthur’s for a very special date with Dad.
As this is likely to be the last lantern parade I’ll see living here for a while, Dad suggested we should toast my new job immediately afterwards. I was only too happy to agree. Mum’s been so supportive ever since I told her about Alastair’s offer, but secretly it was always Dad’s reaction that was going to matter most. Since our Shedservatory chat, he’s been amazing – almost as excited for me as I am for myself. I value that more than I’ll ever be able to express.
So, we are going to drink beer in Dad’s tiny art gallery and toast both of our futures. Just us.
He’d looked exhausted again this morning, so I suggested we postpone our toast, but he insisted it should happen. ‘You’re always saying I don’t rest enough, so how about this: I’ll go to the shop, switch on the lights and hang our paper lanterns in the archway for the parade, then snuggle here in my chair and catch forty winks until you arrive. How about that?’
Taking him at his word, I sneaked a fold-up mattress, pillow and sleeping bag into the storeroom before I left for the parade, with a note on the counter telling him where to find it all. I’ve already decided that if he’s still asleep when I get there I won’t wake him. Secretly, I’m relieved he’s taking me seriously at last.
The tiny courtyard off Fore Street is decked in paper lanterns and white lights, my display in the window lit, too. It would make an excellent grotto for Father Christmas one year, I think. Maybe I’ll mention it to Dad for next Christmas.
I put my key into the front door lock but the door swings open immediately. Typical Dad. It’s a wonder MacArthur’s hasn’t been burgled, considering the number of times Dad’s forgotten to lock the door. Maybe he forgot before he went to sleep.
But when I enter the shop, there’s no sign of the mattress, bedding or Dad. He wouldn’t have tried to put up his makeshift bed in the storeroom, would he? There’s barely enough room between the boxes to stand in there.
‘Dad?’
I think I hear a cough from the storeroom. Laughing, I walk through the doorway into it. ‘I’ve brought your beer. The parade was amazing. I – DAD!’
He’s crumpled up at the back of the room, one hand holding on to the bottom shelf. I drop the bottles and dash over, pulling his arm around my shoulder to haul him up and move him to a chair. When he lifts his head, I go cold.
His skin is white, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks huge purple bruises now. He’s sweating, but his hands are cold and clammy. I can see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t look like my father at all. It’s terrifying . . .
‘Dad – are you in pain? Can you breathe? Talk to me if you can.’
He coughs, his voice thin and reedy when it comes. ‘Seren, stop fussing. I’m fine. I just . . . tripped . . . fell. I think . . . I hit my head on the shelf.’
‘Does your head hurt?’
‘Not really. Honestly, stop looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost. I’ll be fine – just give me a few minutes to get my breath back.’
‘I think I need to get you to hospital.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘A doctor, then. Dad, you don’t look well at all . . .’
‘No, Seren. No need. It usually passes in a few minutes.’
The word hits me like a truck. ‘Usually?’
His brow furrows. ‘What?’
‘You said usually. This has happened before, hasn’t it?’
‘Let it go, Seren . . .’
The full horror assaults me then. He hasn’t just been tired. This is something far more serious – and he’s been lying to me. ‘I asked you to go to a doctor months ago. I said you weren’t looking well . . .’
‘Don’t go overreacting. I’m on top of it.’
‘How is this being on top of your health? Dad, you look terrible.’
‘So, I’ll go to the doctor’s first thing Monday morning. Okay?’
‘Yes, you will. Because I’m taking you.’
He lets out an exasperated sigh, which makes my anger with him burn even fiercer. ‘I am perfectly capable of looking after myself . . .’
I want to slap him, hold on to him, cry – how dare he have been keeping this from Mum and me? And then, I realise. I can’t trust him to look after himself. This scary turn has happened before. If I hadn’t come back tonight, would he have swept this one under the carpet too?
I can’t leave him.
I can’t go to Falmouth terrified that Dad’s going to collapse again when nobody is with him. I’d never forgive myself if that happened and I wasn’t there. I want this new start so badly – it’s all I’ve thought of since I decided I was going to take the job. But not at the expense of Dad’s health. Ever since I started working at MacArthur’s I’ve had a feeling he needed me more than he was letting on. Now I know the truth.
‘Dad, I’m not leaving.’
‘I’ll be fine. Lou’s giving me a lift home at ten. Go and be with your friends, stargirl. Enjoy tonight.’
I shake my head, biting back tears. ‘No, not that. I’m not going to Falmouth. I’m not taking the job.’
‘No. You need to be there . . .’
‘I don’t. Not with things the way they are. You need me, Dad. And I need you healthy again. When you’re better, maybe I’ll reconsider. I’m sure Alastair would wait for me if he thinks I’m the right person for the job. But I’m not leaving you until I know you’re well.’
Dad cups my face with his hands and for the first time I see real fear in his eyes. ‘I feel awful for this.’
‘Don’t. It’s my decision.’
He folds me into his arms and bursts into tears. I cry too – fear and shock meeting crushing disappointment in a huge blow to my heart. Everything I’ve dreamed about has gone. But Dad needs me.
I’m doing the right thing. I just wish I didn’t have to tell Alastair tonight . . .
Chapter Nineteen
Cerrie
I wanted to find magic this Christmas. And tonight, it’s finally arrived.
Walking in the lantern parade was a beautiful experience. It didn’t matter that Kieran didn’t talk much beside me because it meant I could lose myself in the moment. I’ve been living for the next thing for a long time: tonight I emulated my wonderful seven-year-olds and just let the magic wash over me. I realised as I was walking in the parade that I finally feel free: from sch
ool, from David and from anyone else’s expectations of how Christmas should be. This year, I’m going to make it a quiet celebration, done exactly how I want. This is my life and I finally feel back at the helm of it. Who knows what the year ahead holds in store for me?
Passing the harbour front, I see Kieran and Aggie. I think the ice has finally broken between them, thank goodness. They certainly look happy. Aggie is doubled up with laughter as Kieran dances like a drunken loon. It’s so good to see my friends laughing together again – one without the other looks wrong.
At the lifeboat station, where the road takes a sharp turn up the hill, I spot Seren talking to Alastair. I wonder if working together they might find more than just friendship. They certainly seem close tonight: he’s just put his arms around her and they are hugging beneath the Christmas tree. I love that Seren is finally chasing her dream after all the bad stuff with losing her job. She deserves a huge dose of happiness.
We’ve all agreed to meet at Aggie’s house at eleven tonight for pizza and beer. Knowing us we’ll probably end up crashing there too. I’m looking forward to daftness well into the early hours, finally collapsing alongside the most wonderful group of people ever. But first I want to take a last look at the lanterns. I’ve adored making them with my best friends and tonight they’ve come to represent so much more than Lou’s grand vision for a St Ives Christmas parade.
Our lanterns are still lit, propped up around the walls of St Ia’s church, a short walk away from the harbour. They are more than just pretty shapes with lights inside. They are huge and hopeful – tangible symbols of my hope for what lies ahead for me and my friends. I pass the mermaids and the pirate ship, Father Christmas, the crescent moon and the stars, remembering the fun we’ve had putting each one together. Considering hardly any of us had done anything like that before, I think we did a brilliant job.
At the edge of the west wall, I spot the giant Harry Potter lantern and head over to take a photo. This was Georgie’s pet project and I’m so glad I was able to help build it. The Harry Potter books are my absolute favourite – the first series I’ve chosen to revisit in my new reading chair. I snuggled up there last night, losing myself again in the sheer wonder of the story. It seems that magic and I are destined to be friends for a long time to come.
‘Thanks, Harry,’ I whisper, gently patting his head.
‘He’s my favourite too.’
The voice makes me jump and turn around. Standing a little way from the lanterns is Tom Keller.
‘Hi – I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.’
‘I know. Jo told me you’d be here in the lantern parade. In fact, she insisted I visit. She even gave me a lift. Boy, was that scary.’
‘Ah. Jo likes driving fast, doesn’t she?’
‘Just a bit. And she really likes superheroes.’
I smile, picturing the conversation Tom would have been subjected to, focusing heavily on a certain hammer-wielding Norse god.
‘Certain superheroes, yeah.’
‘It was quite a journey. I learned a lot.’
‘I’ll bet.’ I didn’t think I’d be able to apologise until I saw him again at school, but I’ve rehearsed what I would say over and over since yesterday. ‘Tom, I owe you an apology for how I behaved. I thought you were setting me up to fail. But it turns out David was the one setting you up.’
He pushes his hands into the pocket of his leather jacket. ‘Yeah, I know. Jo said you’d heard me and David talking. I wish you’d said something.’
‘It’s not exactly the kind of thing you think of confessing to someone you think is out to get you.’
‘That’s fair. I wasn’t, by the way. I’m not. But I guess you already know that.’ He isn’t smiling but I feel like his eyes are.
‘I do. I’m sorry I believed otherwise. The thing is, until that happened I was enjoying working with you. You’re inspirational – not just your musical ability, which is considerable, but also the way you love the kids. That meant a lot to me.’
‘That’s how I felt working with you, Cerrie. You made me feel like I could do anything.’ He glances at the Harry lantern. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying all this standing next to a giant wizard.’
‘Welcome to Christmas in St Ives,’ I giggle, my nerves beginning to show. This is new territory for me – each step is uncertain. But I wonder if Tom feels it, too? ‘I think David used us both.’
‘I didn’t realise you two were together until David said you were taking a break.’
Taking a break? Is that what he calls going off with someone else? ‘He cheated on me with another teacher. We weren’t on a “break”.’
‘Jo put me right about that, too. But I’m kinda glad she did.’ He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a small flat box. ‘I wanted to give you this at the play yesterday, but I thought you hated my guts, so . . . I’d like you to have it now.’
His fingers lightly brush mine as he gives the box to me. The lanterns seem to sway slightly. Inside I find a tiny silver star made from hammered tin, a pin attached to the back.
‘Tom this is gorgeous, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I made it for you.’
I stare at him. ‘You made this?’
The black leather shoulders of his jacket lift in a shrug. ‘Started making them while I was auditioning in London. Jobbing actors need something to keep them busy. It’s to remind you of Little Star in your play. I think she’s you: someone who doesn’t realise her value when everyone else can see it. Cerrie, I think you have the most important job in the school. I’d never try to take that away from you. I think you don’t know how awesome you are . . .’
In the course of him giving me this beautiful gift, we seem to have moved a little. Harry Potter is behind me now, the next lantern illuminating the contours of Tom’s face. I look down and recognise the huge mistletoe sprig that amused us all so much when we made it. Warm memories flood back of aching sides as Kieran tried to limbo-dance underneath it, to demonstrate how difficult a kiss beneath might be.
Tom follows the line of my gaze. ‘It appears we have mistletoe in close proximity. At least, I think it’s mistletoe.’
He’s right. It doesn’t look much like it at all. ‘I don’t think any kisses are likely to happen under that,’ I laugh.
And then Tom gently takes my hand.
I’m so surprised I don’t know what to do.
I watch, my heart thumping hard in my chest, as he stretches out his other hand and places his palm against the stretched silk of the lantern. ‘Would this work instead, do you think?’
Before I know it, I reach out and do the same. Our hands are thrown into silhouette against the soft white light – the silk a cool contrast to the warmth of our other hands joined together.
I turn my head to look at him, the sudden beauty of the moment arresting me. I don’t think about anything else: just the gentle pull of his hand that holds mine as we move closer. The future doesn’t matter; neither does the past. I give in to the inevitable, finding that it was what I wanted all along. Right now, bathed in the magical glow of the Christmas lanterns in the icy December night, all that matters is our kiss.
When I was alone, four weeks ago, the Christmas play music gradually appearing in tiny pencil marks across the manuscript paper spread over my piano, I couldn’t have seen where the finished songs might take me. So hurt, so broken by David and all the fallout that followed, the music was my only solace. But I am here because of it.
St Ives is glowing with beautiful lights and the sound of a party in full swing. Beyond that, the sea beats its own rhythm against the foundations of the town. I’ve always suspected magical things happen at Christmas. And here, as I melt into the delicious warmth of Tom’s kiss, I think I’ve finally found my magic. All around us is light and laughter, hope and possibility. And above us the silver moon smiles.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader,
This is the first proper Chr
istmas story I have published and I adored writing it for you. I’ve set it in my favourite place on earth – St Ives – partly because it’s magical at any time of the year and partly because I love the thought of a twinkly, hope-filled Christmas spent beside the sea. I hope you enjoy this story and that St Ives steals your heart like it has mine.
I am so grateful to the wonderful team around me who have been so excited and generous about this novella. My amazing agent, Hannah Ferguson, who is a superhero, cheerleader and fearless advocate of my stories – thank you for everything you do. Huge thanks to my editor Caroline Hogg and the team at Pan Macmillan including Alex Saunders, Kate Tolley and Nicole Foster, for your support, encouragement and enthusiasm.
Sparkly thanks to my brilliant writer chums, who keep me going, speak wise words and make me snort my tea laughing when I need it most: Kat Black, Cathy Bramley, Julie Cohen, Rowan Coleman, Kate Harrison, Rachael Lucas, Tamsyn Murray, A. G. Smith and Cally Taylor.
Lots of love to Christine, Georgie and Charlotte from Café CC, Kingswinford, who feature as owners of Hettie’s in this story, and Jo Eustace who appear as Cerrie’s friend Jo.
I love my lovely followers on Twitter, Instagram, YouTube and Facebook. Thank you so much for your support. In particular, massive thanks to #TeamSparkly – my supersonic superheroes who have been tweeting like sparkly GIF-masters about this book. I’ve been blown away by your enthusiasm and I appreciate it more than I can ever express: @TheQuietKnitter, @SandybUK, @Smelleykins, @kellycooke03, @Miss_Bohemia, @Vikbat, @paperpaintwords, @xLaura30x, @TSpa2, @jessicasbookbiz, @The_BookBabe, @word_scribbler, @HayleyWhite36, @ChelleyToy, @portybelle, @OnTheShelfBooks, @gemmiejewel, @rae_reads, @LostinMuzic, @katheastman, @book_problem, @daydreamin_star, @HayleyTOfficial, @kaishajayneh and @LozzaBookCorner.
Thanks to my family for your support and love over the years – including my lovely, much-missed Dad, who would have been rather chuffed to read this book. And last but not least, my awesome Bob and fabulous Flo – I love you to the moon and back and twice around the stars.
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