Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin

by Catherine Ferguson

  I take a shaky breath, hoping to quell the nausea. ‘I want to work, Harrison. I’m not the type to be a lady of leisure. And you know what cooking means to me. I really think I need to do this. If I’m brave enough.’

  ‘And so you can,’ he soothes. ‘A little job here and there?’ He winks. ‘As long as you’ll still be here most nights cooking up a storm for when I come in exhausted from work. You look after me so beautifully, Puss.’

  A little job here and there? Is he actually listening to a word I’m saying?’

  ‘Harrison, If you cared enough, you’d realise this is important to me. If the course tutor thinks I can do it, then why not? Perhaps I really can make a proper career out of cooking.’

  There’s a tense silence.

  Harrison, I can tell, is bemused by my taking a stand. I’m actually quite shocked myself. And I’m determined not to back down like I usually do.

  He sighs and gets up off the sofa. ‘Okay, okay. Maybe you can.’ His voice is gentle, if a little patronising, but I decide to ignore that. He pulls me into his arms. ‘Just as long as you don’t go rushing into something you’ll regret,’ he murmurs, close to my ear.

  ‘What do you mean?’ My voice is muffled by his sweater.

  ‘Well, what you have to realise is that, long-term, working full-time probably won’t be possible. That’s all I’m saying.’

  I pull away and stare up at him.

  Why won’t it be possible?

  Am I missing something here? He’s not making any sense.

  He shrugs. ‘When the children arrive …’

  ‘Children?’ Confused, I turn and glance out of the window, half-expecting to see a school bus park up outside and a load of kids pile out.

  ‘Yes. The children we’ll have.’

  He takes my hand. ‘I can’t believe you think I don’t care enough about you, Puss. I care very much indeed. In fact, I’ll prove it. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Since last Tuesday, in fact.’ He stares into space, his brow faintly knotted. ‘No, it was Wednesday. The day the Footsie plummeted five hundred points.’ He shakes his head. ‘Anyway, that’s not the point. Obviously, I would have preferred to wait for a more romantic setting, but since you seem to need reassurance that I’m here for you –’

  Abruptly, he falls to one knee, still grasping my hand, and for a second, I think he must have spotted another snag in the carpet.

  Then my heart starts to gallop like a husky across the snow as I realise what’s about to happen.

  Harrison clears his throat.

  ‘Poppy Valentina Ainsworth, will you marry me?’

  Chapter 9

  My head is whirling; it’s all so totally unexpected.

  Harrison wants to marry me!

  Then an awful thought hits me. What if I’ve misunderstood? What if he’s playing some kind of weird ‘joke’? But why would he be? Isn’t that just my insecurity coming out?

  He’s still down on one knee, staring solemnly up at me and, to be fair, he doesn’t look as if he’s joking.

  My heart melts. ‘Oh, Harrison. You really want to marry me?’

  ‘Yes, Puss. I do,’ he says earnestly, before shifting gingerly from one knee to the other.

  This brings a big lump to my throat. Harrison loves me enough to want to spend the rest of his life with me!

  ‘Are you sure?’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  He looks bemused. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Yes. I’m just being daft. I expect it’s the shock. I mean, the wonderful surprise!’

  I draw his hand to my lips and kiss it tenderly. ‘I just want to be sure you’re sure. Before I say … yes!’

  He adjusts his position. ‘Listen, would you mind terribly if I stood up? My knees are aching.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ I help him to his feet, wondering if he heard what I just said. I think I just agreed to walk down the aisle with him! Visions of white dresses and flower-filled churches dance through my head. I’ll be able to design and make my own wedding cake! Chocolate, maybe? A fruit cake? Or maybe a cupcake tower? Everyone loves those, although I’ve heard they’re quite complicated to assemble—

  ‘Poppy?’

  Harrison is looking at me quizzically.

  ‘Sorry. I was far away there.’ I hug him round the waist, and he kisses my forehead and pulls me so close I can barely breathe, which is lovely. We stay like that for a moment, as I concentrate on squeezing air into my flattened lungs. I don’t want to spoil the moment! It feels amazing, wrapped in the arms of the man I love. The man who wants to marry me!

  ‘Harrison?’

  ‘Yes, Puss?’

  I pull back, gazing at him lovingly with teary eyes. ‘I haven’t given you a proper answer yet. So, here goes: I would absolutely love to—’

  Startled, I find a finger placed gently but firmly over my lips.

  Harrison is shaking his head.

  ‘No?’ I’m confused. Has he changed his mind already? And if so, will this qualify as the shortest engagement in history?

  ‘Don’t give me your answer yet,’ he instructs softly.

  ‘But I already did.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes. I said “yes”. But your knees were acting up so maybe you didn’t hear me?’

  As romantic proposals go, this one isn’t going so great. But it’s not as if we’re in the movies or something where proposals are sure to go as planned.

  Harrison takes my face in his hands and smiles at me.

  Perhaps he’s going to ask me again and we’ll do it properly this time. ‘Are your knees okay?’

  ‘Fine now, thanks. But listen, Poppy. I have a question for you.’

  I smile indulgently at him. I think I realised that!

  Harrison squeezes my hands gently, and I prepare to be swept away.

  ‘You remember when I advised you on which life-insurance policy to take out?’

  Life-insurance policy?

  Well, yes, I do recall that. How could I forget? I spent an entire evening looking at small print. Reading clauses and sub-clauses and sub-sub-clauses. But I didn’t complain because I knew Harrison was only being super-cautious because he cared about me.

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Do you recall there was what’s called a “cooling-off period”?’

  ‘Ye-es. They gave me thirty days to change my mind, so I’d be sure it was the right policy for me.’

  He smiles. ‘Exactly. So I was thinking that we should have a cooling-off period.’

  ‘Really?’ I can’t help feeling dismayed.

  It must have shown on my face because he’s quick to reassure me. ‘I want to marry you, Poppy. Of course I do. But you know “spontaneous” isn’t exactly my middle name and, to that end, I’ve actually been doing some research.’

  ‘Research?’ I can’t help feeling wary. I honestly never knew proposals could be so complicated.

  ‘Yes. And according to my findings, a cooling-off period would increase the probability of us staying together over the long term by 7.94%.’ He says the numbers in a punchy, pleased sort of way, then stands back, awaiting my response.

  ‘Gosh. 7.94%. Wow.’ I’m not sure what I think about this. It seems quite a paltry result for a lot of bothersome waiting.

  ‘I know. Odds like that are worth working for, don’t you think?’

  A thought occurs. ‘Do we have to wait thirty days?’

  ‘No, no.’ Harrison smiles fondly. ‘We don’t want it to be like a business agreement. That would be a bit odd.’

  I laugh, relieved. ‘So how long?’

  ‘Well, I’m off to Spain to visit Mother tomorrow, which is the nineteenth of December and I’m back on New Year’s Eve. So that’s twelve days.’

  ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas!’ I exclaim in delight. Now, that sounds like it’s meant to be!

  Harrison frowns. ‘Well, strictly speaking, the twelve days of Christmas start with Christmas Day, or in
some traditions, the day after, on St Stephen’s Day. So really—’

  ‘Yes, yes. I suppose I just meant … it could be our Twelve Days of Christmas!’

  ‘Whatever you’d like, Puss.’ He gives me a teasing look. ‘And I expect you’d like an engagement ring?’

  I smile shyly. ‘Well, if you insist.’

  He nods. ‘After the cooling-off period, obviously. Are there any elastic knee bandages in the first-aid kit?’

  *

  Next morning, I wake to find Harrison already up and packing a case for his flight to Spain later that day.

  ‘Tea, sleepyhead?’ He looks up from folding a jumper and I struggle up, yawning. ‘Yes, please.’

  It’s only when he’s left the room that it suddenly hits me.

  I’m engaged!

  Well, almost engaged. I sink back against the pillows to contemplate this stunning turn of events. I can’t quite believe it, to be honest. Harrison is so cautious by nature, I suppose I’d assumed he might never want to take a chance on us. Because marriage is a gamble. But it seems he considers me worth taking a punt on!

  A warm feeling floods through me. Then I remember our ‘cooling-off period’ and my enthusiasm wanes ever so slightly. But it’s just twelve short days. Not long at all, really. And if it’s important to Harrison, I owe it to him to take it seriously.

  I reach into a bedside drawer for a pen and a notebook, and after a moment’s thought, I write:

  Twelve days till I’m engaged! Harrison is caring, handsome and very intelligent. Plus he’s a great judge of character because he wants to marry me! (That was a joke. Obviously.) He also makes me smile. A lot. And I feel so lucky we found each other. I know Erin probably thinks Harrison is a bit boring and that our life together is rather dull. But what she doesn’t get is that I actually think ‘ordinary’ is great! I used to pray for ‘ordinary’ when Martin was living with me and Mum. Life then was the very opposite of boring – but in a bad, energy-sapping way. Mum and I were forever walking on eggshells in our own house because we never knew when Martin was going to erupt next. By comparison, life with Harrison is calm and peaceful, and I’m allowed to be me. If that’s ‘dull’, I’m all for it!

  *

  Later, I drive Harrison to the airport.

  ‘Give your mum my love,’ I tell him, snuggling close for one last time before he sets off through the security channels.

  He kisses me deeply, surprising me and making me almost want to beg him to stay and take a later flight. ‘Behave yourself, Puss.’ He smiles, tapping the tip of my nose. ‘And remember – you have Twelve Days of Christmas to decide whether you want to make me the happiest man alive!’

  I smile up at him a little awkwardly, wishing I could just say, right then and there, ‘Of course I’ll marry you, Harrison! Why would I need twelve days to decide?’

  But I’m sure he’s right.

  With Harrison deposited in a different country, we’ll both have loads of time to think and when I finally say ‘yes’, I’ll be even more certain than I am now that it’s the right thing to do. I just have to hope that Harrison doesn’t change his mind in the meantime!

  As I drive through the outskirts of Easingwold on the way home from the airport, I’m still smiling at the thought of Harrison’s passionate kiss. He must feel he’s really going to miss me. And I’ll miss him, too. The house will be weirdly empty without his laptop on the sofa, and financial papers on every available surface. It will be sad, too, having the bed all to myself, with no Harrison to snuggle up to on these cold, Christmassy winter nights.

  Still, it’s probably for the best that it won’t be the three of us on Christmas Day. Harrison would just start trying to urge Mum to clear out her house, like he did last year when I brought her over. He blundered right in, not quite realising how super-sensitive Mum is on the subject, and told her she’d feel so much better if she had a good old sort out. I sat there, making meaningful expressions at him, but he just carried on extolling the virtues of a tidy house equalling a tidy mind.

  Mum kept quiet but I could feel her defences getting higher and more battle-worthy by the minute. And when Harrison made the grave error of referring to her ‘collections’ as ‘junk’, I had to close my eyes against the image of her hurling boiling oil over the ramparts. Later, as we washed up together, she had a few stern words with me about Harrison’s lack of sensitivity, then she clammed up completely for the rest of the day.

  Driving along, I’m just about to turn into a road that’s a shortcut home, past a little row of shops and offices, when I spot a familiar figure coming out of a hairdresser’s called ‘A Cut Above’.

  It’s Erin’s Mark.

  I slow down, ready to wave cheerily at him. But he hasn’t noticed me.

  As I grin inanely in his direction, he looks both ways, up and down the street, then digs his hands in his pocket, hunches his shoulders and walks swiftly away in the direction of the town centre.

  Funny. I was sure Mark used the same hairdresser’s as Erin, in the centre of Easingwold …

  Then, as the traffic slows almost to a standstill, I catch sight of a sign in the window above the hairdresser’s. I gaze up at the first-floor windows, just as the motorist behind hoots to tell me to hurry up. And just before I put my foot down and accelerate away, I catch the lettering on a placard there.

  Mariella’s Matching Agency.

  Odd, I think to myself, for two reasons. Firstly, I didn’t think old-fashioned, traditional agencies like that existed anymore. I suppose I assumed they were all online now. And secondly, what on earth was Mark doing there?

  I shake my head. He must have come out of the hairdresser’s. Erin loves her Groupon bargains. I can just imagine her telling Mark to get a cheap haircut to swell their mortgage deposit!

  Driving on, I indicate to turn left at the next roundabout, heading for home. A sign for Easingwold railway station points straight on. I slow down, my mind ticking over, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. It’s nearly three p.m.

  Shall I do it?

  My heart starts pounding in my chest. All day, I’ve been daring myself—

  Another toot from the driver behind.

  Oh God, why not? Let’s live dangerously!

  I click off the indicator before speeding up a little to appease the motorist at my rear, then slow down for the roundabout and take the railway-station exit. I’ve really no idea why I’m doing it and I have a sneaky feeling that nothing good will come of it, but all day it’s been lodged in my head that Clemmy will be meeting Jed off the train that leaves London at two p.m. I’ve checked the timetable and it’s due to arrive into Easingwold soon after three.

  I know it sounds daft but, without my intervention, this lovely romantic meeting on the station platform might not even be happening. Call it friendly interest, or blatant curiosity, but I need to be there to see their reunion. Make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

  Chapter 10

  I drive stealthily into the car park, trying to act as normally as possible. I know it’s silly – neither Jed nor Clemmy would know me from Mary Poppins – but my heart is in my mouth all the same. The last thing I need is to be spotted spying on them!

  Parking up, I lean over and fumble around in the glovebox, emerging with an ancient pair of sunglasses with gigantic round frames, popular around the turn of the century. I put them on and, instantly, the icy gloom of the December afternoon switches to dead of night. I can barely see out through the windscreen but at least I’ll be able to go incognito.

  Getting out of the car, I head for the arrivals board and – lifting the glasses so I can actually read it – I see that the London train is indeed due to arrive at a few minutes past three. I make my way over to platform two and take cover behind a concrete pillar.

  People are gathering on the platform, heads turned, watching for the train to arrive. A man with a briefcase and grey frizzy hair keeps peering at me, clearly wondering why I’m loitering behind the pillar looking s
o furtive and wearing weird sunglasses as if I’ve just had an eyelift, so, eventually, I partially sidle out and remove the glasses, trying to look cool, as if I’m meeting someone off the train.

  Then a girl hurries onto the platform, out of breath. She’s dressed in a beautiful jade-green coat with black buttons, a pair of elegant black heels and a black hat, but she manages to ruin the sophisticated effect by tripping over her own feet. She just manages to stay upright but her hat slips to reveal a glossy mane of shoulder length flame-coloured hair.

  Red hair.

  Adorably accident-prone.

  Clemmy?

  It must be her.

  I whip the glasses back on so I can study her surreptitiously.

  The girl who’s won Jed’s heart is rather voluptuous, with large eyes and a sweet, open face. Her newly shorn hairstyle frames her face, and she’s practically spilling out of the coat’s deep V-shaped neckline.

  She’s frowning slightly as if she’s nervous. Then she spots the shelter of my pillar and dives over, standing next to me and enveloping me in a little cloud of floral perfume. As I cast a sideways glance at her, she digs around in her black, snakeskin-look handbag and pulls out a mirror, then checks her reflection anxiously.

  She must really like Jed to be so nervous.

  Satisfied, she puts the mirror back and peers out along the platform. But the train hasn’t arrived, so Jed can’t be here yet. Then she takes a deep breath and tries to loop her bag over her arm. But she fumbles and it slides to the floor, scattering the contents far and wide. We both stare at it for a second then she looks at me, aghast, before starting to gather everything up. Smiling in sympathy, I bend to help, scooping up a lipstick, a mini pack of tampons and some loose change.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says breathlessly as I hand them over. ‘I’m all fingers and thumbs today. That’s what love will do to you, I suppose.’

  My heart pings. She’s in love with him! And I helped to make this happen!

  I laugh nervously. ‘I suppose it will. Are you – um – meeting someone here?’

  My question brings a glow of colour to her peachy complexion, and her eyes light up in a smile, a perfect dimple studding each cheek. She nods. ‘He’s over there. Thanks again. It was really kind of you.’ She presses my arm and hurries away, along the platform. I watch her, puzzled. Maybe Jed caught a different train. Escaped from the office earlier than expected.