Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

by Fiona Harper

  It was kind of surreal to be huddling in a little country newsagent’s, hiding from the press and chortling with Louise Thornton. The laughter subsided to a level where he could get a bit of control and he wiped his hand over his face.

  Louise was no longer laughing, but she was still smiling. If the topic of conversation was transformations, here was one that beat them all. The remains of his laughter died away instantly.

  She was truly beautiful when she smiled. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. Why did she think she needed all that black stuff to make her look pretty? He almost wished the photographer was here right now to capture this moment.

  Thinking of cameras and lenses, he walked to the shop window and looked up and down the street. ‘No sign of him now. I think you’re safe.’

  Louise’s brows changed shape as she frowned, then relaxed again. The smile vanished and the remote beauty returned. ‘Of course.’ She stood up properly and started picking up the pens scattered all over the floor. When she’d finished, she gave him another smile, but this time her eyes were unaffected. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I promise I won’t make you weed the flower beds, if you’re really too grand for that.’

  It was his cue to laugh again, but he couldn’t bring himself to. ‘I’ve been itching to sort that garden out properly for years. Just indulge me, okay?’

  She nodded. And, although she was as collected and self-contained as always, he could see a hint of something in her eyes. As if she wanted to reach out but was too afraid.

  ‘I promise I’ll charge the earth and drink all your tea.’

  That earned him a real smile. Small, but real.

  ‘It’s a deal, Mr Landscape Architect.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, didn’t you say you were off to a meeting?’

  Lord Batterham!

  He hurried back to the counter to pay Mrs Green for his paper. She was standing there, holding a magazine in her hand—the same one Louise had flourished in front of his nose. She stared at it and then at Louise, and then back at the magazine cover, as if she were playing some kind of mental tennis match.

  For the first time in thirty-three years she wasn’t making a sound. He plopped the change in front of her on the counter, grabbed Louise by the hand and dashed out of the shop.

  ‘Mum? Can we go outside? It’s stopped raining.’

  Louise stopped herself from putting the kettle on the Aga for a fifth time. She didn’t really want another cup of tea. It was just that, at some point this afternoon, somebody might.

  ‘Can we? Please?’ Jack’s voice was so high-pitched on that last word she was sure dogs would be bounding towards them from all over the district.

  ‘Can we what?’

  Her son ran to the back door and opened it, letting in a gust of damp November air. Louise walked over to where he stood and stuck her head out of the door. Moisture dripped from the leaves of an evergreen bush in the little courtyard directly outside the kitchen, but the clouds were now a pale, pearly grey and she even thought she saw a hint of blue before it was hurried away by the wind.

  Fresh air would do her good. Fresh air would stop her waiting. Or wondering why he was late. Well, not late, because they’d never really set a time for him to come and go, but later than normal.

  She shook her head and reached for the scarf and hat on a peg nearby. Ben Oliver had turned all her assumptions about him on their heads once this week already. Why shouldn’t he do it again?

  The grass on the sloping lawn in front of the house was still damp, but it didn’t stop Jack deciding a game of football was the ideal way to burn off a bit of energy. They used a couple of the big stones lining the driveway to mark out the goals.

  She’d never been good at games at school, always too tired from acting as surrogate mother to her four younger brothers and sisters and part-time carer to her invalid father. Jack was running rings around her but then he misjudged a kick and the ball went flying past her towards the edge of the woods. She ran after it and stopped it with the side of her boot. If all went according to plan, she would have at least one goal to Jack’s seven by the time they gave up and headed back inside for hot chocolate.

  She swung her leg in an almighty kick. A jarring pain hit her as her lower back met something flat and solid and, all of a sudden, she was staring at the sky. She could hear Jack laughing his head off some distance away.

  ‘Just you wait!’ she yelled, giggling slightly herself, but the mirth stopped when she attempted to move. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Here.’ The voice was as rich as dark chocolate and she recognised it instantly. She also recognised the broad, long-fingered hand that came into her field of vision—although exactly when she’d noticed the shape of Ben Oliver’s hands, she wasn’t sure.

  Even through the wool of her gloves, his skin was warm and he gripped her hand in such a way that she knew she could give him all her weight and he wouldn’t let her fall. She winced as he gently helped her to her feet. ‘Ow.’

  ‘Where does it hurt?’

  She didn’t want to draw even more attention to her slightly-larger-than-planned and somewhat muddy backside. ‘Where d’you think?’

  ‘Do you want me to take a look?’

  ‘No!’ She twisted out of his grip and brushed herself down, more for something to do than for cosmetic effect. ‘Don’t tell me you’re an almost-doctor as well as an almost-gardener.’

  He laughed and she looked up at him, her irritation dissolving. It was only then that she noticed the girl standing slightly behind him. She had shoulder-length, honey-coloured hair, nothing at all like Ben’s dark mop, but her eyes were all her father’s.

  Ben grabbed his daughter’s hand and pulled her forward a little. She blushed and looked at the ground. ‘Louise, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Jasmine.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jasmine. I’m Louise. Your dad’s been helping me out with my garden.’

  ‘I know.’ The reply was barely a whisper, and Jasmine flushed an even deeper shade of red.

  Her father may not have known who ‘Louise Thornton’ was the first time he’d met her, but Jasmine certainly did. This kind of reaction wasn’t unusual. Heck, she’d been just the same when she’d started going out with Toby and he’d introduced her to the latest Oscar-winning Hollywood actress.

  ‘Come and meet my son, Jack. He’s football mad, I’m afraid, though.’

  Jasmine shrugged and followed her across the lawn as Ben strolled along, bringing up the rear. Jack took one look at Jasmine and Louise knew he’d decided she was okay. As the child of a celebrity couple, he had an uncanny kind of radar for discerning between hangers-on and real friends. He made instinctive decisions in a second and he was rarely wrong. Now, how did she go about getting herself some of that?

  Jack picked up his football and started walking in the direction of the back door. ‘There’s chocolate cake inside. Want some?’

  Jasmine nodded furiously and broke into a trot to keep up with him as he raced off towards the kitchen.

  Ben fell into step beside Louise as they followed their offspring. ‘Sorry I had to bring Jas with me. I hope it’s okay.’

  ‘Of course it’s okay. Who do you think I am? The wicked witch of the West?’

  He was smirking when she looked up at him. ‘You can be a tad fierce at times.’

  Was she? Really? She fell into silence for a few seconds while she pondered his remark. What had happened to the shy, sweet Louise she’d once been? Where was the awkward girl with the too-long limbs and a school blazer that had been far too short?

  Eventually, she said quietly, ‘If you’d been really afraid, you wouldn’t have come.’

  Ben laughed again. She liked that sound. She wondered if she could make him do it some more. So far, it had only happened accidentally, when she hadn’t actually been trying to be funny at all.

  ‘True. I hadn’t intended on bringing Jas at all. It’s just that…’ he ran h
is hand through his hair ‘…it’s complicated.’

  ‘Trust me. I know complicated. What’s up?’

  Ben stared off into the distance for a few seconds and she stopped walking, aware that it would be better if this conversation wasn’t overheard from the kitchen. Ben halted beside her.

  ‘My ex-wife, Megan…’ He made a microscopic movement with his head, as if he wanted to shake it but was stopping himself. ‘She’s a good mother, really. It’s just that lately her priorities have been a little skew-whiff.’

  Louise nodded.

  ‘She seems to think that, now Jas is almost in secondary school, she can fend for herself a bit more. And, probably, she could. It’s just with the divorce still in the recent past, I think Jas feels a little neglected. Megan had last-minute plans and cancelled their Sunday afternoon together. I don’t think she even realises how shut out Jas feels sometimes.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Since the divorce? Two years.’

  ‘Two months for me. Although I kicked him out about a year ago.’ Louise breathed in. ‘Girls need a mother at that age.’

  She had certainly ached for her mother, going through those awkward years, but Mum had died just as she’d been on the brink of puberty, and she’d had to muddle through on her own. At least, when her sisters had reached it, she’d been able to help them along.

  Maybe if Mum had been around she wouldn’t have been quite as dazzled by Toby. Not that Toby hadn’t loved her at first. It was just that he wasn’t a good long-term choice. A little motherly advice would have come in mighty handy.

  After years of looking after everyone else in the family—paying the bills, cooking the meals, wiping noses and changing bedpans—it had been like a fairy tale. A rich, handsome young man had arrived on the scene to take her away from all that. What seventeen-year-old girl wouldn’t have jumped at the chance?

  ‘Well, Jas is very welcome here. I understand completely.’

  For the first time since she’d met him, she felt as if she wasn’t a complete mess compared to him. Ben gave a small smile and looked at the ground. ‘Thanks. Anyway, there’s not much light left. I’d better get started.’

  Jack started yelling his question as he ran down the hallway, finishing it as he skidded into the kitchen in his socks. ‘Jas says there’s fireworks on tonight. Can we go?’

  Fireworks? Oh, of course. Time had taken on a strange quality since she’d moved to Whitehaven. The date was…what? The second or third of November? It was only days away from Guy Fawkes night and there would be bonfires and firework displays all over the area this weekend. She’d thought the bangs she’d distantly heard last night must have been shotguns, but now it all made sense.

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. What time is it? And where?’

  ‘I’ll ask Jas!’ He raced out of the kitchen before she could quietly explain that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be out in public, that maybe the Olivers wouldn’t want a couple of extras tagging along. She fiddled with her cup of tea while she waited for her son to return but, after a couple of minutes, she decided he must have found something else to get all hyper about and had lost interest.

  They didn’t need to go out to see fireworks. Whitehaven was perched high on a hill and there would be great views from the attic windows. They could watch at a safe distance.

  Ben knocked softly on the back door. There was no reply. He stared at the chunky Victorian handle for a second, then gripped it, the brass chilly against his palm, and turned. The door swung open on surprisingly creak-free hinges.

  ‘Hello?’

  Louise was standing at the old butler’s sink, staring out of the window. He could hear water sloshing and see bubbles splashing and a moment later she dumped an upturned cup on the draining rack. It fell over. She didn’t even look at it, just grabbed the next bit of crockery off the pile and started washing again. He coughed.

  All the sloshing and splashing stopped. She didn’t alter the angle of her head, but somehow he could tell that her focus was no longer off in the distance. She was aware of him, he knew. And, somehow, that made him aware of her too.

  Suddenly, she started washing the plate she was holding again. When it must have been scrubbed clean of every last speck of food, she placed it on the drying rack with exquisite care, then turned to face him, wiping the bubbles off her hands with a tea towel.

  ‘All finished?’

  He nodded.

  A million snatches of small talk whizzed round his head, but meaningless words weren’t his forte. And Louise didn’t seem to require any. She gave him a look—not quite a smile, more an expression of openness, of welcome—and then filled the kettle. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  When he’d been married to Megan, he’d got used to having an arsenal of such phrases for the moment when he’d walked through the door. She’d always needed him to say something, to pay her attention, to make her feel noticed. And he’d adapted, because she was his wife and it had been what she’d needed.

  Louise motioned for him to sit at the chunky kitchen table and started rummaging in a cupboard. After what he’d seen the other day, he wouldn’t have been surprised if this woman was thoroughly fed up with being noticed, so he did nothing to break the wonderful stillness that surrounded her. He just drank it in and slowly felt his muscles relax. She handed him a mug of tea, sweetened to perfection, then pottered round the kitchen.

  Rampaging children, however, could not be counted on to be so restful. Jas and Jack stormed into the kitchen just as the last knot was about to ease from his shoulders.

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry!’

  Even when she smiled, wide and full, as she was doing now, she still had a sense of elegance and poise that he’d rarely seen. At first he’d thought it was standoffishness, although it was merely reserve, but he could understand how people who perceived her to be an attention-hungry bimbo could misinterpret it as snobbishness. Louise Thornton was indeed an intriguing mix of contradictions. He was curious to know more.

  ‘You’re always hungry,’ she said, looking at her son.

  ‘Can we have some cake? Pleeeease? After all, we’ve got guests.’ Jack looked hopefully at Ben and Jasmine, and Ben chuckled. Having been a hollow-legged boy once himself, he was pretty sure Jack’s request wasn’t entirely altruistic. However, he wasn’t about to talk himself out of a nice piece of cake, so he watched for Louise’s reaction.

  She rolled her eyes and pulled a large tin off the counter. It was the item she’d been rummaging for earlier. Clever woman. She’d been prepared.

  When she opened the lid the most delicious waft of treacle and walnuts, reminding him of warm November evenings by the fire, hit him. He almost had to wipe the drool from his mouth with his sleeve by the time a large chunk was handed to him on a plate. He didn’t waste any time doing it justice.

  Now, he could make a decent casserole and a great roast dinner, but baking evaded him entirely. This must be a prizewinning, locally made example. As he bit into it, he was almost tempted to growl with pleasure.

  Light, moist cake with dense, spicy flavours and the earthiness of walnuts teased his taste buds. Almost half the slice was gone already. Would it be rude to ask for another one? He looked over at Jack, who had cleaned his plate, but was wearing a significant amount of crumbs over his face and down his front. Now, there was a lad who could be counted on to ask for more. All Ben had to do was hop on the bandwagon when the opportunity came.

  Jack opened his mouth and Ben swallowed his last mouthful, confident that his plate would not lie desolate for long.

  ‘So, can we go to the fireworks, Mum? Please?’

  Louise frowned and put the lid on the cake tin. Ben felt his shoulders sag.

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. I thought we could watch from upstairs. That way, we might get to see more than one display.’

  Jack pursed his lips. ‘Jas says there’s going to be hot dogs on the village green. Can’t we go and have hot dogs?’

  She looked p
ained as she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, darling. After the way that photographer…Well, it’s just better we stay here where no one will see us.’

  Jack’s face fell and Louise’s was a mirror image of misery. Ben wished there was something he could do. It was criminal that a mother and son couldn’t do something as simple as watch a firework display without being hounded. He remembered only too well how hard he’d had to work not to stay inside every evening and mope when his divorce had been fresh and raw. With the extra pressures on Louise, he could see her turning into a hermit.

  Jack slumped forward on the kitchen table, his chin in his hands and his bottom lip sticking out. Ben stared at the wall straight in front of him, racking his brain for a solution. Slowly, the pegs containing hats and coats and scarves near the back door came sharply into focus. He stood up.

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE other three stopped talking and looked at him. He grinned, walked over to the row of pegs and pulled off a fluffy knitted hat and matching scarf. ‘Come with me,’ he said as he walked back towards Louise, whose eyes were wide and round, then he linked the tips of his fingers with hers and pulled her up to stand.

  Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

  He tugged her in the direction of the hallway, to the large gilt mirror he’d seen hanging there on his very first visit after Louise had moved in. He stood behind her and, while she continued to stare at him in the mirror, he pulled the dusky purple hat over her head. It was one of those tight-fitting ones with no embellishment or bobbles, and the crocheted hem came down level with her eyebrows.

  Better. But she still looked like Louise Thornton. He scowled at her reflection and her eyebrows raised so they disappeared under the hat. It was the hair. That long, glossy dark hair was her trademark—instantly recognisable, indefinably her.

  He brushed the hair framing her face back behind her ears and twisted the strands into a loose plait. When his gaze flicked up to the mirror again, she was staring at their reflections, her mouth slightly apart, and then she shivered and shook his hands away from her shoulders. He broke eye contact and busied himself wrapping the scarf once, twice, around her neck, letting it stand up so it covered the lower half of her face. Somehow his hands had made their own way back on to her shoulders with the flimsy pretence of keeping the scarf in place.