Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

by Fiona Harper

  The rear door opened and Jack climbed out, tugging at the collar of his new school uniform and looking a little uncomfortable. He was tall for his age and he had his father’s good looks. Half the class at his previous school—the female half—had cried for a week when he’d told them he was moving away.

  Not that Jack cared. He had no idea that his golden blond, shaggy hair was anything but a nuisance to comb in the mornings. He might have Toby’s physical characteristics, but he lacked any of his father’s swagger. And long may it stay that way. Louise knew from first-hand experience just how devastating a weapon all that beauty mixed with a little too much ego could be.

  ‘All ready to go?’

  Jack nodded and clutched his book bag. Louise wanted to take his hand and hug him to her. He was being so brave. Starting a new school was difficult for any kid, but Jack was going to face an extra set of challenges. She’d had a meeting with the headmistress to discuss it and they’d both decided that, quietly, the word would go round that Jack was to be treated like every other child in the school.

  She laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jack was a normal boy in that he wouldn’t allow more overt public displays of motherly affection.

  At this time in the morning there were regular ferries across the river and they walked to the edge of the high stone jetty and waited for the little wooden boat, painted white with a blue trim, to sputter up to a seaweedy flight of steps.

  The ferryman paid them absolutely no attention other than to take coins off them and Louise breathed a sigh of relief. Lower Hadwell was a small community and news of her arrival in the area had to have spread. Although she’d been here for a while, she’d kept herself to herself and this was her first proper trip to the little village across the river. She just hoped they were all like this guy. Completely uninterested. And with that blissful thought in her mind, she sat on the hard wooden bench that circled the stern of the boat and turned her face into the wind.

  By the time they reached the jetty on the other side of the river, she was sure her hair had picked up a bucket-load of salt that was blowing up the river from the sea. Never mind. She’d deliberately dressed down in a tracksuit and baseball cap, hoping she’d blend in a bit more with the other mums at the school gate.

  Jack declared the boat ride ‘sick’ and jumped out the ferry in one smooth motion. Louise followed, although her clamber on to dry land was nowhere near as graceful.

  The school had to be at the top of the longest and steepest hill in the whole of south Devon. It only took a minute before Louise’s legs burned and her breath came in gulps. Her calves begged for mercy as they trudged past a pub, cottages in hues of cream and earthy pink and a handful of shops. Jack stopped and turned round to face the river.

  She grabbed on to his coat and tried to inhale enough oxygen to talk. ‘Jack!’ The noise that came out of her mouth barely registered as a croak. ‘Come on!’

  Jack gave her his usual, I’m-eight-and-I-understand-the-universe-much-better-than-you look. ‘Try walking backwards. It doesn’t hurt so much.’

  Louise couldn’t work out if that was the most sensible idea she’d heard in years or the most stupid. She stared at her son as he started ascending again, this time with his backpack pointing up the hill. Stuff it. She’d do anything to stop the fire in her calf muscles. She did a one-eighty and followed suit. Her legs fairly sang with relief. This was much better!

  At least it was until she came unexpectedly in contact with something tall and warm. Something that said ‘oof’. Louise squeezed her eyes shut, yelled an apology and turned and ran up the hill after Jack, who had made much better progress.

  Coward, she thought, as she reached the level ground just outside the school gates. But it was only a minute before the bell was due to go and she didn’t need someone recognising her and delaying her by asking for an autograph or something.

  Jack stopped just short of the wrought iron fence on the quaint village school. Louise bent over and tried to suck in more air. She knew from the furnace in her cheeks that her face was probably pink and blotchy and sweat was making her back feel all sticky.

  She laid an arm on Jack’s shoulder—more to support herself than anything else. She got down the gym every now and then. So why had this finished her off?

  The jangle of an old-fashioned brass school bell rose above the screams and shouts of the playground. She stood up, put a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. ‘You ready?’

  Jack pressed his lips together and nodded just once. She grinned at him and, as she spoke, she turned to walk through the gate.

  ‘Then it’s showti—’

  A bright flash seared her retina. At first she couldn’t work out what had happened, but the guy who jumped out from behind a parked car with a whacking great camera round his neck kind of gave it away. Instinctively, she pulled Jack to her and started to run. She really, really wanted to swear, but this was neither the time nor the place.

  As they reached the safety of the school building, all grey stone and arched windows, she started to chastise herself. She’d been stupid not to have been prepared for this! Of course the tabloids would want a picture of Jack starting his new school. They were desperate for any titbit about either her or Toby. And while Toby had gushed at length about the new love in his life, she’d steadily maintained her silence.

  Jack was in tears. And it took a lot to make her little man cry.

  Louise marched up to the school reception and fought back tears herself while she waited for the receptionist to stop fiddling with the photocopier. Maybe she should just have given an interview to Celebrity Life or something. Her refusal to play their game had just made incidents like this inevitable.

  Jack was hugging on to her, his face buried under her arm. She stroked the top of his hair.

  Now she was good and angry. She and Toby were fair game. They’d chosen this life. But Jack had no choice. When she’d got her son settled in, she was going back outside and she would find that photographer and she would shove his camera so far down his throat that he’d be coughing up bits of his memory card for weeks. That’s if they didn’t make it out the other end first.

  Ben was happily walking down the road, minding his own business. Well, almost. He’d just spotted a picture of the Wards’ cottage in the estate agent’s window and was actually paying more attention to that than the direction in which his feet were heading. He and Megan had dreamed about buying that place for years.

  With his current income and the maintenance payments to Megan, could he afford it? Maybe.

  But, before he could do the mental arithmetic, he was winded by some idiot charging up the hill backwards. He didn’t even have the chance to say hey! before the track-suited figure garbled out and apology and ran off. He was so busy staring up the hill at the pink-clad bottom with the word ‘Juicy’ emblazoned across it that he was almost knocked over a second time by a man in a large anorak and a wild look in his eyes. He had a huge camera in his hand.

  Ben shrugged. Bit late in the season for bird-watching, but what the hell did he know? Global warming was having a weird effect on the wildlife in this area. Last year some strange-looking bird only seen in the isles of Scotland had been blown down to the south coast of England by a freak storm. The local ‘twitchers’ had gone bananas. That man had had the same crazed look in his eye. Marauding ornithologists aside, nothing was going to stop him wandering down to the newsagent’s to get his morning paper before his meeting today.

  However, Mrs Green, owner of the shop for the last thirty-three years and purveyor of local gossip, was in a chatty mood. Ben valiantly attempted to tuck his paper under his arm and drop the money in her hand, but her arms stayed firmly folded across her ample chest and he was forced to hover, one hand reaching over the counter, as the inquisition began.

  ‘I heard that another celebrity has bought Whitehaven, Mr Oliver. What do you think of that?’ She narrowed her eyes and analysed his reaction. He wa
s trying hard not to have one. Something might have given him away, because she added, ‘Of course, I expect you know all about that—having been so friendly with Laura Hastings, and all.’

  ‘I just helped out in the garden, really.’ He waved the coins again, hoping the glint of something shiny might distract her.

  ‘Yes, but you’d know if the place had been sold, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  He didn’t know why he was protecting Louise Thornton. Just that, having been the source of local gossip himself a few years ago, he knew how unpleasant, how … invaded … it could make one feel.

  ‘Well, whoever it is …’ Mrs Green leaned back and looked down her nose at him; it made him feel like a slice of something on a glass slide under a microscope. ‘… they’ll be fine with the residents of Lower Hadwell. After all, we’d been used to living with a bona fide Hollywood legend on our doorstep for forty years, hadn’t we?’

  He nodded and thrust the money at her again. This time he wasn’t going to be put off. Just as she started to uncurl her hand to accept it, she paused and nodded in the direction of the magazine rack that was half-hidden by a tall shelf containing pet food and assorted stationery. ‘That mag that your Jasmine was waiting for has come in. I expect you’ll be wanting to pick that up as well.’

  Ben’s mouth straightened into a thin line. He stuffed the coins back in his coat pocket and retreated to the safety of the other side of the shop, pleased he was hidden by the boxes of envelopes balanced on the top shelf.

  Now was it Pink! or Girl Chat that Jasmine liked? One had a free lip gloss with it, and he wasn’t sure about that, so he picked up the other one.

  There was a sudden jangle of the shop door and a sudden rush of cold air. A figure slammed the door closed and darted behind the shelving unit to join him.

  ‘Louise?’

  She pulled the baseball cap she was wearing further down over her eyes and crouched a little lower. ‘Shh!’ she whispered loudly, without looking at him. Then she froze and slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. ‘Ben?’

  He didn’t say anything back. It was obvious who he was.

  ‘You’re wearing a suit,’ she said, forgetting to hunker down.

  Just then, the wild-looking ornithologist appeared, running down the street. Louise must have seen a hint of movement out of the corner of her eye, because she practically flattened herself against the shelves, sending a box of ballpoint pens flying. ‘Did he see me?’ she hissed at him, looking a little wild-eyed herself.

  Ben tried to look nonchalant and peered out of the shop window, but it was difficult to get a good look with all the posters for local events and cards offering bicycles for sale and adverts for paperboys plastered over the glass.

  ‘I think he’s gone.’

  Louise edged closer to where he was standing and craned her neck. ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded. ‘He was going at some speed when he shot past here. On a hill this steep, it’s pretty difficult to stop when you’ve built up that kind of momentum. Why are you worried about—’

  Oh. If Jas had been in his shoes she would have slapped herself on the forehead and said duh! Paparazzi. Definitely not a species seen around Lower Hadwell before. It put a totally new spin on the whole ‘invasion’ issue.

  ‘Couldn’t you just let him have a picture and then he’d be on his way?’ That seemed like a reasonable solution.

  Louise looked at him like he’d just suggested she do a nude photo-shoot on the jetty in sub-zero temperatures. ‘I’m so furious with him I might not be responsible for my actions. He just scared the life out of Jack as we were on our way into school.’

  Her son was here? Good. Perhaps then she’d lose that slightly haunted look from her eyes. The look that unwittingly begged him to rush in and be her knight in shining armour. His armour had gone into retirement when he’d signed his divorce papers, and he’d better remember that fact.

  She sighed and straightened up a little. ‘A photo of us looking shocked is bad enough, but a shot of me turning pink in the face and spitting obscenities at him would only stoke the fire. By Friday there’d be a whole pack of them camped out at the local inn waiting for us.’ She rubbed her face with her hand. ‘Thank goodness, I’d calmed down enough to realise that when I spotted him following me again.’

  She stopped talking and looked him up and down. ‘You’re wearing a suit. A very nice suit.’

  ‘You already said that.’

  ‘Won’t it get dirty?’

  ‘Nope.’

  She glowered at him. ‘Stop being obtuse.’

  He was tempted to chuckle, but decided it wouldn’t help her current mood. ‘I know you only think I’m fit for weeding the flower beds, but I’m not a gardener by trade. Not exactly.’

  Louise’s mouth dropped open. A sensation of achievement swelled inside him. Although why he should feel so stupidly proud of the fact that he was bamboozling her for a change, he wasn’t sure.

  ‘I’m a landscape architect. I design outside spaces—town centres, open spaces, parks, private homes. This morning, I’m meeting with Lord Batterham to discuss restoring a knot garden on his estate and building an environmentally friendly play area for visitors.’

  She blinked. Twice. And closed her mouth. ‘Oh.’

  She seemed to have forgotten all about the photographer, which had to be good news, so he decided to keep her distracted. ‘You look a little different yourself.’ Gone were the elegant clothes in dark, muted tones, replaced by a baby-pink tracksuit and bright, white running shoes. And what was with the cap with the ponytail sprouting through the back all about?

  ‘I look a mess,’ she muttered.

  He took in her appearance again, went beyond the surface impressions. He face was free of make-up and her cheeks rosy with fading anger. A slightly more dishevelled appearance suited her. It made her more approachable … touchable.

  He took a step back.

  ‘Every day for months I’ve not gone beyond my front gate without my best clothes or my make-up on. Trust some rat with a digital camera to turn up when I’m looking … well, less than perfect.’ She shook her head. ‘I swear they must have some kind of radar to target me on my off days.’

  ‘You look fine.’

  She tipped her head to one side and gave him a weary look. ‘I think what you said was that I look “different”. Believe me, it spoke volumes.’

  ‘I just meant … not your normal self.’

  That’s right, Ben. Just dig yourself in deeper.

  He was bad at this kind of stuff, he knew. He didn’t have the ability to dress words up and make them pretty. And what was so wrong with the plain, unvarnished truth, anyway?

  ‘Not my normal self?’ she said, staring hard at him.

  He sighed inwardly. Megan hadn’t appreciated his ‘lack of tact and incredible insensitivity’ either. Some women were just too much hard work.

  ‘Well, here’s your explanation …’ She pulled a magazine off the rack and thrust it in front of his face. It took him a few moments to realise the blurry picture on the cover was Louise herself—playing catch on a beach with a little boy. But that wasn’t all. The caption read ‘Celebrity Bulges’ and large red lines circled her tummy and thighs.

  He snatched the magazine from her and slapped it back in the rack, upside down and with the cover facing inward. She locked him with a steady gaze and, when she spoke, her voice was low and dry. ‘Apparently, I’ve been letting myself go. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.’

  Her ability to mock herself blindsided him for moment, but then he found himself laughing. It rocked him from the inside and burst out his mouth. And then, after a few seconds, she joined him. Her eyes widened, as if she was as surprised at her own response as he was.

  It was kind of surreal to be huddling in a little country newsagent’s, hiding from the press and chuckling with Louise Thornton. The laughter subsided to a level where he could get a bit of control and h
e 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 mirth died away instantly.

  If she was beautiful when she was looking fierce and distant then he didn’t have any adjective for how she looked now. 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 was 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.