Snowflakes Over Holly Cove: The most heartwarming festive romance of 2018

by Lucy Coleman

  ‘Right, that will take about an hour to thaw out, so perhaps we should adjourn to the sitting room with our glasses?’

  I grab the wine bottle and follow Nic through to the other room, waiting to see where he decides to sit. He takes the sofa facing the kitchen door and I settle on the adjacent one, after placing the wine bottle on the coffee table.

  ‘Feel free to read whatever you like from my little collection,’ he says, nodding in the direction of the bookshelves.

  My stomach flips and I wonder if he’s noticed that the copy of The Notebook is no longer in its hiding place. I decide to change the subject as quickly as I can.

  ‘Thanks. It’s very comfortable here. I bet you will be glad when I leave.’

  He nods. ‘The farm is OK though. They don’t rent out rooms as such, but it’s a sprawling farmhouse and they’re good people. I’m enjoying helping out and Sid is gradually breaking me in.’

  ‘Sid is such a lovely dog. And dogs are wonderful company if you are on your own.’

  Smart move, Tia.

  ‘Probably, but it’s a responsibility, isn’t it? I mean, a bit like having a person relying upon you. Once you’ve made the commitment you are no longer free.’

  Ooh, that had a little sting to it, I think. We lapse into silence as I’m not quite sure how to respond to that and I decide to wait and see what happens. If I say nothing, will Nic start talking, or will this silence stretch out into an awkwardly long pause?

  He takes a swallow of wine, replacing his glass on one of the coasters I set out on the coffee table. He fiddles with it, sliding it slightly to the right and then he looks up at me.

  ‘So, what’s your line of work?’

  ‘I’m a feature writer. I’m working on an assignment that involves interviewing a cross-section of people about their relationships and their Christmas traditions. Life and style stuff.’

  I can’t mention that Olwen told me Nic’s other job is a reporter, so I keep my answer simple. If he doesn’t mention it, then I won’t, either.

  ‘Christmas already? Sounds interesting. How do you find the interviewees?’

  My pulse quickens as I know that this is my one chance to get him interested.

  ‘We work several months in advance and when everyone else is thinking holidays, I’m usually thinking festive cheer. When it comes to finding people to take part, we have researchers who do a lot of the leg work for this type of feature. Basically, they are given a spec and approach suitable candidates willing to be interviewed and featured for a fee. I have to write an article each month for the November, December and January issues. Each article will feature two very different couples.’

  He nods, leaning forward to grab his glass and then sitting back to take a leisurely sip. I follow suit, watching for his reaction.

  ‘What do they pay for that sort of thing?’

  ‘It varies. If we are given access to the interviewee’s home and they’re up for photos, then that commands a premium. We’re all about life and style, and our readers are curious about people from all walks of life. My boss would love this cottage.’

  ‘Pity I’m not one of a couple, then.’

  I feign surprise.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know that.’ It sounds convincing, although it’s a little obvious. Plus, I’ve spoken to Olwen, but he’s not to know that. He lapses back into silence.

  ‘I think they’re paying about a thousand pounds for each interview, with photos.’

  His head jerks up and he seems surprised. It appears to have caught his interest.

  ‘Really?’ There’s a lift in his voice and I can tell the money is a big temptation, even if it’s not something he would normally consider doing.

  ‘One of the couples had to drop out and I’m looking for a new candidate. I’m thinking about a different slant to help wrap up the January article. I want to tackle the fallout when a relationship falls apart and whether understanding the reasons behind it help the person to move on.’

  ‘If it’s not a couple, does that mean they only receive half the fee?’

  I’m beginning to feel a little uncomfortable about trying to talk Nic into this by dangling figures in front of him. It feels a little dishonest, as I’m not sure he understands what’s involved.

  ‘No, the fee is per case study, if you like. It’s not for everyone, as it’s quite a thing to open up and give a candid interview, then see it in print. Why, are you interested?’

  He twists the wine glass in his hand, deep in thought.

  ‘Maybe. I can’t think of any other way to get my hands on a quick influx of cash. No disrespect, but renting out the cottage isn’t for me, I’ve discovered. So, my options are rather limited. Would I make a suitable candidate?’

  This is going to become increasingly awkward from here on in, I think.

  ‘Well, it rather depends on your back story. This isn’t about your life, as a whole. The focus is showing readers how people keep the love alive in their relationships. We’re covering people of all ages from mid-twenties through to mid-sixties. My idea for the final article is looking to the future as a new year is about to dawn. It will be from the viewpoint of a retired couple and a single person starting over again. How does long-lasting love stand the test of time and do they both look forward with the same goals in mind? Then contrast that with someone who is about to start over again. What I hope to highlight in my findings is that as time goes on, growing together has some sort of formula. And the way to prove that, I hope, is to find out from someone prepared to open up about why their relationship deteriorated to the point it fell apart. How will they avoid making the same mistakes as they begin moving forward?’

  That wasn’t easy to spell out, as at the moment it’s more of a thought process than a plan of action. I know what I’d like to get out of it, but I won’t know until I conduct the interviews whether I’m on the right track. What if it’s not love that keeps some couples together into old age, but familiarity? That isn’t exactly going to light up the page.

  ‘Sadly, there’s nothing at all unusual about my story. Two career-orientated people so caught up in grabbing what they think they want in life, that they don’t appreciate what really matters. It’s probably a little too mundane for your purposes, even if I could bring myself to share the sorry tale.’

  He finishes his wine in one gulp and picks up the bottle, indicating for me to lower my glass.

  ‘Actually, that’s exactly what I need. The latest figures indicate that eighteen per cent of married or cohabiting couples are living in distressed relationships, where the likelihood of divorce or break-up is imminent. That’s a staggering figure. It isn’t so much about the very personal detail, but about the process of growing apart and then how that affects the person afterwards.’

  ‘And you’d be doing the interviewing?’

  I don’t know if I’m happy now to even consider taking this forward, but clearly Nic is giving this some serious thought.

  ‘Look, you need to think long and hard about this, as it has to be a considered decision. I don’t have a hidden agenda and I’m sorry if I brought work into what was meant to be a pleasant evening meal.’

  ‘That’s OK. I was the one who started this conversation.’

  To give Nic a little breathing space and also to dispel any awkwardness, I head back to the kitchen to see if the dessert is thawed enough to serve.

  ‘I’ll be a few minutes. Feel free to browse,’ I toss the words over my shoulder, in an attempt to sound casual and, hopefully, upbeat.

  Dessert is reasonable enough, without having to put in any effort, and it seems to hit the spot for Nic. He leaves around nine o’clock and I’m disappointed that there are still two burning questions which I couldn’t ask. They have nothing to do with work and it’s really none of my business, anyway. The first is how he came to buy the cottage from Max and the second is why he chooses to live here, in such an isolated place.

  As I ready myself for bed, I reflect upon the fa
ct that tonight couldn’t have gone any better if I’d written it as a script. My phone pings, and I expect it to be Hayley, or my brother, whose call I forgot to return. It’s a text, but it’s from Nic. I guess he saved my number when I rang him to book a taxi into town.

  Sign me up. But don’t send me the money until you have the information in case I find I can’t deliver. I don’t do counselling and it will be the first time I’ve told anyone the full story. Great fillet steak, by the way. Next time dinner is on me at the Langland’s Brasserie.

  12

  And Then the Heavens Opened

  Day six and as soon as I open my eyes I can tell from the grey light that the weather has changed, yet again. The lovely blue sky and the crisp morning air have given way to rolling grey clouds and lashing rain. Looking out there’s no sign of Max, not that I expected to see him, as he couldn’t take the boat out in this. The driving rain would also make for a miserable walk, even in waterproofs.

  Once breakfast is cleared away I load up the washing machine and then set up the laptop, carefully laying out my files once again. The first job on the list is to text a reply to Nic and the second is to call my brother.

  Great. Consider yourself signed-up. I’m busy until the middle of next week but will be in touch. Thanks for bringing the wine last night.

  I go to my missed calls list and redial Will’s number. Sally answers.

  ‘Hi Sally, it’s Tia.’

  ‘Oh, hi Tia. How are you?’ Sally is always bright and cheerful. Maybe that’s why she and Will work as a couple. My brother is miserable enough for them both and Sally is the person who makes it all bearable.

  ‘Is Will around?’

  Did I purposely call when I know he’s more likely than not to be at work? Is there some psychological ducking and diving going on here that I’m afraid to acknowledge?

  ‘No, he left an hour ago, I’m afraid. I think he was calling to give you an update. The charity van went in this week and collected what was left. The estate agent is due at the house tomorrow.’

  She sounds a little subdued, acknowledging the fact that she understands it isn’t easy to hear, but in a way, I’d rather hear it from her.

  ‘Thank you. I am grateful, you know, that he’s taking charge. I’m not sure I could face it.’

  ‘Are you better, I mean really better?’

  I cringe, hating the fact that anyone knows about my little incident and the meltdown.

  ‘I’m back to normal… ish, but the grieving process takes a long time, doesn’t it? But that’s behind me now. I’m working on a project and I’m away from home for another five weeks.’

  ‘That’s probably a help. Will means well, Tia, but he struggles with the emotional bit.’

  ‘Does he hate me, Sally?’

  Her tone is one of shock. ‘No, of course not. You just need to… let him help once in a while; it makes him feel good about himself. He wants to be the big brother you turn to when you need something, it’s a role he’s never had to fulfil. I know – what can’t we women do for ourselves? I think it harks back to when your father died and, as young as he was, he became the man of the family. You’re very self-sufficient and always have been. Allowing him to sort this out is likely to re-open the channels of communication between you both. Give Will his moment, Tia. That’s all he needs.’

  ‘I’ve never looked at it like that. Thanks. That’s helpful to know.’

  A moment passes and as I clear my throat to speak again, Sally jumps in.

  ‘Well, it’s good to hear your voice. Perhaps when you’re back in London you can come and visit. I talk to Bella about you all the time.’

  My heart skips a beat, wishing it were possible for me to have a relationship with them all. But we both know the first move has to come from Will. And so far, it hasn’t.

  ‘Soon, maybe. Will can always email me if I don’t answer my phone. I have a lot of long interviews to do while I’m here and it’s quite intensive. But if he needs to contact me urgently, tell him to text and I’ll call him back the same day.’

  ‘I will. Take care of yourself, Tia.’

  As the line goes dead I know I can’t face the turmoil that will begin to cloud my mind if I let it. Family stuff is inevitably going to lead me to think about Mum, and I can’t do that now. It’s too soon to be able to sit, go over old memories and end up with a smile on my face. I hope I will be able to do that at some point, but it’s way too early for that at the moment.

  Besides, it time to start work.

  *

  Aside from one short coffee break and a light lunch, I power through until just after six p.m. It feels good to be back in my stride and I’ve even roughed-out some questions to aim at Nic if we do, finally, manage to sit down together and talk.

  I rustle up a quick omelette and then take the iPad into the sitting room, together with a glass of wine. Olwyn is a little star and I hoped there would be a bottle nestling away somewhere if I looked hard enough.

  Before pulling the curtains I look out, but with the darkening grey sky and the light beginning to fade, there’s nothing to be seen. Poor Max, I wonder what he finds to do on days like this and in the winter, when the bad weather lasts for days on end?

  Out of nothing more than nosey curiosity, I open the iPad and type in his name. If Olwen is right, then I suspect there will be some mention of his name, somewhere. Even so, I’m very surprised when a long list of items appears on the screen in front of me. I open the first article and see it’s from one of the larger newspapers:

  Royal Navy lieutenant Maxwell “Max” Hartington is a senior training officer, providing accredited training to university students. He has been awarded the Queen’s Voluntary Reserves medal in recognition for his service and dedication throughout his career.

  Students are taught both leadership and seamanship skills, and as Royal Naval Cadets are given the rank of Midshipman. They are able to travel around European waters on dedicated patrol vessels, one of which was captained by Lt. Hartington for twelve years. Prior to that he formally left the service in 1999 and was asked to return as a training officer six months later. With a total of twenty years in the Regular Navy and twelve attached to the training unit, when interviewed Max said that he was completely surprised, but very proud to receive this award.

  Well, that probably explains both why living so near to the sea isn’t an issue and his lack of concern about his rather basic living arrangements. I wonder what he did after giving up his training role, as that seemed to mark the end of his career, which means he might even have lived in Beach View Cottage for a couple of years before selling it to Nic. I wonder what prompted the change in circumstances. It just doesn’t add up, but then that’s the way my mind has been trained to work. I can’t stand loose ends, or mysteries. Both tend to niggle away in the back of my brain like unsolved equations.

  Enough intrigue, my mind needs to switch off and I swipe the screen and click on the Netflix icon. I’m in the mood for a romantic comedy and what better than The Holiday, starring Jude Law? Maybe some equally romantic and soft-hearted guy will walk up the path to Beach View Cottage. Having taken a wrong turn, he parks, and then sees the glow from the light in the sitting room. He knocks on the door to ask for directions and one glance is enough—

  OK – dream over, time to settle back and escape from reality for a while. Well, there’s nothing else to do and I take a rather strange pleasure from being able to repeat some of the lines from the film, verbatim.

  13

  Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

  It doesn’t stop. If this is spring, then goodness knows what winter is like. Strangely, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the window to marvel at the hostility of the sea. It’s a top to bottom, wall-to-wall steely greyness, that is like a blanket and it’s hard to see where the water ends and the sky begins.

  After breakfast I have a tight timetable, as Paige’s interview is booked in for ten and Olwen will probably show up sometime after eleven. I�
�m due to interview Darren and Paige together on Sunday at three, so I want to spend the afternoon pulling some notes together.

  I text Hayley, just to let her know I think I have the final interview candidate sorted and that I’ll be in touch over the weekend.

  Once the interview begins I can see exactly why Darren and Paige are so well-suited. She’s very bubbly, but isn’t quite as practical as he is and they balance each other out.

  ‘Darren is a sweetheart,’ she tells me, her eyes sparkling. ‘When the person you love would do anything to make you happy, well, it’s so easy to give back, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s good to hear. When did you realise he was the one?’

  She giggles, squirming around in her seat a little as she smooths her top down over her baby bump.

  ‘At first sight. I grew tired of my previous boyfriends very quickly. They were either dull and boring, or thought too much of themselves. Some guys are so precious about their looks and their clothes. It’s rather worrying when a guy takes more time to get ready than you do. Darren isn’t like that, but he can dress up when the occasion warrants it. I’ve converted him to a few things. We do couples’ spa facial evenings. At first, he wasn’t sure about it, but now he’d even answer the door if the bell rang unexpectedly, mud pack or no mud pack.’

  ‘So, tell me what plans you have for your first Christmas as a married couple.’

  It’s not even the end of May, but her eyes immediately light up and I can see that she’s already given this some thought.

  ‘Well, it’s going to centre around the baby, really. The family have all agreed they will come to us to make it extra special. I’m sure that next year I’ll be only too pleased not to be the one doing the hosting. But I will have plenty of help on hand, so it’s all very exciting.’

  It isn’t just this interview that’s triggered thoughts of Christmas then and Paige is already way ahead of the game.

  ‘Is a family Christmas important to you both?’ I wonder fleetingly what happens if one person is a Christmasaholic and their partner is more the bah humbug sort.