Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin

by Catherine Ferguson

  Clemmy half-runs towards her target, weaving among the crowd, and at one point, she almost stumbles into someone’s case. After apologising profusely to the owner, she carries on at a fast walk, shaking her glossy hair as she prepares to meet her love.

  I peer with interest at Jed Turner. He’s medium height with a stocky build, a handsome, clean-shaven face, and close-cropped blond hair. Clemmy looks so pleased to see him. She’s chattering nineteen to the dozen, hands flying around, while Jed stands there looking, if I’m honest, slightly bemused. And not like I imagined at all. I can see from Clemmy’s body language that she likes this man. A lot.

  I’m puzzled by Jed, though. He sounded so warm and friendly when I spoke to him on the phone. But, in person, he looks rather stiff and detached. It’s funny how you can hear a voice and instantly you have an image in your mind of what that person might look like. Apparently, I got it wrong on this occasion. Jed doesn’t look anything like his voice.

  Then the tannoy crackles into action, announcing the arrival of the London train. At which point Jed and Clemmy both turn and look along the tracks.

  The train glides to a halt and people are alighting with bags and children and dogs, and there’s temporary mayhem. Then, as the crowds start to disperse, I suddenly spot the person Clemmy and Jed appear to have been waiting for. Clemmy is waving energetically at a man in a dark-grey suit, who has just alighted from the train at the opposite end of the platform.

  He’s very tall with broad shoulders and thick, chestnut hair that curls on the collar of his white shirt. Striding along the platform towards Clemmy, his long powerful-looking legs make easy work of the distance. Reunited with his friends, he starts talking animatedly – standing a head taller than Jed – perhaps telling a funny story about something that happened on his journey. Clemmy, looking flushed, is smiling up at him with unconcealed delight, while Jed stands silently beside her, hands thrust deep in his pockets.

  All three glance towards the exit and start walking along the platform. Then, as I stand there gawping at them, half-hidden by the pillar like a trainee spy, Clemmy suddenly looks across at me and our eyes meet.

  Shit!

  And now they’re walking over and Clemmy is smiling and saying something about me and they’re all looking over.

  I stand there, a grin frozen on my face.

  Bloody hell, if I have to speak to Clemmy, Jed will recognise my voice and think it’s really strange that I just happen to be on the platform, hiding behind a pillar, at the exact moment the two p.m. London train arrives into Easingwold Station.

  We are now approaching Stalker City. Stalker City next stop.

  Oh God, but it’s going to look really strange if I suddenly turn round and beetle off.

  So, I smile in their general direction then glance at my watch and mime a Big Shock. As in: Crikey, I’m late for that thing! Making a clown face at Clemmy to convey my meaning, I scuttle off towards the exit.

  But, in my rush to get away, I manage to take the wrong route, then have to double back on myself to locate the actual exit. Panicking, I search the crowd around me. There’s no sign of them. So I’ll just bomb along here and slip through the barrier, and—

  ‘Hello there!’ says a cheery voice. ‘Thank you so much for rescuing me earlier.’ With a sinking heart, I turn round and there’s Clemmy, beaming at me with those friendly dimples.

  ‘I’m pretty accident-prone,’ she says. ‘But I’m not usually in the habit of throwing my tampons all over the place.’

  I laugh. ‘Hey, I was pleased to help.’ I glance anxiously behind her. Her two companions are bringing up the rear and I’m getting palpitations at the thought of Jed recognising my voice.

  ‘Actually.’ I lean in with a confidential whisper. ‘I’ve got this weird, er, tonsil ailment thing.’ I touch my throat and swallow painfully. ‘Trying not to talk.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing.’ Clemmy’s face is a picture of concern. ‘That’s awful. Are you taking anything?’

  I nod. ‘Antibiotics.’ Jed and the other man are almost upon us, so I whisper, ‘Better go. Nice to meet you, though.’

  Clemmy takes my arm. ‘Listen, my gran always swears by lemon and honey in a glass of hot water for sore throats, with a slug of whisky if you have any kicking around.’

  ‘Fab! Thank you.’ I stick up my thumb and edge away. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘But you have to drink it really slowly – oh, Jed, Ryan.’ She turns and greets them, and my smile freezes. Again. ‘This lady helped me rescue my handbag contents. Long story.’ She frowns. ‘Oh, but I don’t even know your name.’

  All three are looking at me expectantly.

  Panicking, I touch my throat (actually, ‘grab’ would be nearer the mark) and Clemmy says, ‘Oh sorry, you can’t speak, can you?’

  I swallow and wince dramatically for good measure.

  She turns to the other two. ‘Horrible tonsil thing.’

  They nod in sympathy and I whisper, ‘It’s Pamela. My name’s Pamela.’

  She holds out her hand and we shake. ‘Pleased to meet you, Pamela.’ Her smile is so warm and genuine. I feel terrible for lying to her.

  I smile back, whispering hoarsely, ‘And you too, Clemmy.’

  She blinks in confusion.

  Shit! Bugger! I’m not supposed to know her name!

  Then I spy a visitor’s badge on her blouse under the green coat. I point at it and her face clears. I raise my hand and smile at them, walking backwards and doing another Oscar-worthy throat clearing as if I might be about to croak my last.

  ‘Poppy Ainsworth? Is that really you?’ booms a voice at my shoulder a second later, and I spin round to see an old ‘frenemy’ from school who I haven’t clapped eyes on in years. We were friends until she copped off with my boyfriend, Leslie. We were only ten, mind you. I really should have got over it by now.

  ‘Heather Connelly, hi!’ I greet her, rather too loudly. Wincing, I glance back at Clemmy, who’s looking understandably confused at the sudden name change. Luckily, Jed has taken a call on his mobile and definitely didn’t hear me.

  My shoulders sink with relief and I prepare to swap stories about school days.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Heather asks, her beady eyes scouring my face for signs of how I’ve aged in the past decade or so. ‘You look a bit flushed.’

  ‘Yeah. Bit of a tricky situation there, actually,’ I confide in a low tone, keeping an eye on Jed. He’s still busy on his phone, thankfully. ‘Some people I wanted to avoid.’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘People like me, you mean?’ says a voice right behind me. A deep, velvety voice with a hint of gravel that I’d recognise anywhere …

  Jed?

  But isn’t that Jed over there, talking into his mobile?

  I spin round and find myself staring up into the amused face of the much taller man with chestnut hair who got off the train.

  Chapter 11

  ‘Poppy? The very woman behind Diner Might?’ He smiles, looking amazed. As in, What are the chances of us meeting like this?

  I groan inwardly.

  Honestly, Jed Turner, you have no idea!

  ‘Er, yes, that’s me.’ My brain is still trying to catch up. This must be him. He certainly sounds like Jed. And he obviously recognised my voice.

  But why, then, did Clemmy practically dive on the other man with such enthusiasm? And who is the other man?

  ‘So not Pamela, then?’ He looks confused, as well he might.

  I swallow. ‘Er, no. Well, yes, actually. It’s – erm – my middle name, which I sometimes use …’ I trail off, my face scorched with embarrassment.

  ‘Poppy Pamela,’ Jed murmurs, solemnly weighing it up. ‘Interesting.’

  He grins at me, his eyes twinkling, and I have a terrible feeling he’s seen right through my pathetic attempt at hiding my identity from him. Oh God, he must realise I’m there to spy on him!

  ‘Anyway, it’s nice to meet the entrepreneu
r in person, whatever you want to call yourself.’ He holds out his hand.

  Dazed, I offer up my paw and he envelops it in a cool, strong grip.

  ‘It’s Poppy,’ I tell him firmly. ‘Definitely Poppy.’

  He nods. Then he glances behind him. ‘I’d introduce you to my brother, Ryan, but he seems to be occupied.’

  We both look over at the man Clemmy was so pleased to see. He’s frowning into his mobile phone, deep in conversation, and Clemmy is standing nearby, looking a bit like a fish out of water, waiting for him to finish.

  ‘So that’s your brother?’ I murmur, gazing at Ryan with interest. There’s a definite likeness around the mouth, but in terms of colouring and stature, they’re very different. Ryan is blond, slim and medium-height, while his darker-haired brother, Jed, is much taller and rangier, with a powerful build.

  Jed grins. ‘Ryan hates the countryside. It took all my powers of persuasion to get him to spend Christmas in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘It sounds heavenly to me.’

  He studies me with a slightly bemused look on his face, as if he’s still trying to work out whether bumping into each other was by coincidence or design. ‘So, Poppy. How’s the throat now?’

  Oh God, I’ve been forgetting to whisper!

  ‘Erm, well it’s …’ Gingerly, I ‘try out’ my voice. ‘Gosh, d’you know it actually seems a bit better now.’ Fire flames in my cheeks at being found out. But by the look on his face, he wasn’t in the least bit fooled anyway.

  ‘Good. Good. I’ve been trying to think of a name for your cooking enterprise.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty good, actually. You could call it ‘Cordon Blur’ with a logo of your van hurtling at top speed to the diner’s rescue. So fast, you’re just a blur?’

  I open my eyes wide. Is he serious? He looks serious.

  His lips twitch. ‘Only joking.’

  Heather, who I’ve quite forgotten about, clears her throat pointedly. I turn and she’s waggling her eyebrows and making signs that she wants an introduction. I think of Leslie and decide she can dream on.

  ‘Anyway, nice to see you again, Heather.’ I beam. ‘But I’m afraid I really must dash.’

  ‘Oh. Well, cheerio, then.’ She looks none too pleased at being so abruptly dismissed. ‘Nice glasses!’ she calls back with a sneer.

  Oh, shit! I’d forgotten I was wearing them. I’ve been vaguely assuming there was a thunderstorm brewing outside.

  I whip them off and sneak a sideways glance at Jed.

  ‘Bad hangover?’ he remarks casually, as we head for the exit.

  ‘What? Oh, the glasses. Yes. Er, very bad.’

  ‘Celebrating after your successful night last Saturday?’

  I smile at him, flattered he should have remembered. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I mean, what an amazing coincidence that we should meet like this,’ he points out. ‘Were you seeing someone off on the train?’

  I glance at him, uncertainly. I thought he’d rumbled me straight away. But perhaps he does, after all, think our meeting was entirely accidental. ‘Yes! I was seeing someone off …’

  He looks at me interestedly, as if expecting more, so I swallow and cross my fingers behind my back. ‘Yes, it was my – erm – Great Aunt Lucinda, actually.’ I shrug. ‘She was staying for a few days.’

  ‘Did she travel far?’

  ‘Er, yes, Leeds. She – um – lives in Leeds. With her cocker spaniel. Called – erm –’ I glance around for inspiration. ‘Costa!’

  He grins knowingly. ‘As in Costa Coffee?’

  ‘No.’ I adopt a haughty tone. ‘As in Costas. He’s Greek. The dog.’

  I fumble in my handbag to hide my desperate blushes. Of course he knows I’m fibbing. And now I’ve just gone and made an even bigger plonker of myself.

  ‘Actually, I’m glad I bumped into you,’ Jed says smoothly, stopping at the entrance, presumably to wait for his friends to catch up. ‘I was going to phone you anyway.’

  ‘You were?’ I stare up at him, surprise at this mixed with relief that the subject of Costas the Greek dog appears to have been dropped from the agenda.

  He nods. ‘I – um – find myself in a bit of a knotty predicament which I was hoping you might be able to help with. You see, I rashly agreed to host the family Christmas at my uncle’s holiday home, on the understanding that his caterers would be available to do the honours for us over the festive season.’

  ‘But that’s not going to happen?’ I ask, not quite sure I like where this is leading.

  He shakes his head. ‘What I hadn’t banked on was Uncle Bob meeting a woman called Gloria during a business trip to Newcastle, and falling madly in love at first sight. And subsequently forgetting – in his lovesick delirium – to engage the caterers for the Christmas period.’ He grins. ‘They’re off to cook for a client in Barbados over the festive period and who can blame them?’

  ‘So you’re stuck with no one to cook for you?’ My heart is cantering about like a frisky thoroughbred. ‘And I’m guessing it’s impossible to engage a caterer this close to Christmas?’

  He answers with a rueful nod.

  ‘Couldn’t you all just pitch in and do it yourselves?’

  He laughs heartily at this by way of an answer, clutching his hand to his chest for emphasis.

  ‘Right.’ I nod understandingly.

  Suddenly serious, he locks his green eyes onto mine. ‘I was actually going to ask if you’d consider doing it?’

  For a moment, the world stands still. I’m staring up into the depths of Jed Turner’s intense gaze, feeling weirdly mesmerised. It must be the total shock I’m feeling at his sudden request. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

  ‘You don’t need to decide now,’ he says swiftly. ‘I realise you’ll have to talk it over with your other half because obviously cooking for us would mess with your own Christmas plans.’

  I swallow and finally manage to speak. ‘Well, actually, Harrison – my, erm, boyfriend – is away for Christmas. At his mum’s in Spain.’

  Jed nods. ‘Very nice. Lucky Harrison. But still, you shouldn’t agree to do it out of politeness. I will manage. If I have to.’ He pretends to wail into his coat sleeve, which I – and several passing women – find very funny. ‘Incidentally, the place we’re going to is called the Log Fire Cabin and it’s pretty special. Not that I’m trying to influence you in any way, shape or form.’

  My heart revs up from a canter to a full-blown gallop. I can’t do it. Can I? Just the thought of it terrifies me. So why on earth am I giving him hope that I might say yes?

  I take a deep breath. I’ll just say to him, ‘No, sorry. Now that I think about it, I’m all booked up this Christmas.’

  But weirdly, my mouth seems to have other ideas because, instead, what comes out of it is far less decisive. ‘I might be able to help you out but I’ll have to check my diary. Can I let you know later on today?’

  Jed’s face breaks into a warm smile that reveals beautifully even white teeth, and crinkles up his green eyes as he gazes at me with undisguised relief. This is a worry, to be truthful. Have I somehow implied that I’ll definitely do it?

  My heart is banging, and excitement is whipping my poor brain into frenzied overdrive. My head might very well explode as a result, and it would probably serve me right (although I’m not sure what for). Perhaps I’m channelling my inner Erin: maybe that’s where this sudden bravery is coming from. How else to explain the sneaky desire I’m feeling to just say ‘yes’ to Jed Turner?

  Of course, the fact that my cooking at Mrs Morelli’s was such a great success has boosted my confidence. I’ve proved I can do it – and do it surprisingly well – so why not spread my wings a little further? It’s such an amazing opportunity. I don’t even have to worry that I’ll be spoiling Harrison’s Christmas because he won’t even be here.r />
  Then I think of Mum. I’ll be spending Christmas Day with her and the last thing I want to do is let her down. My brain whizzes round a bit more as I frantically work out the logistics. As long as I’m hired to cook only Christmas dinner on the big day, I’d still have plenty of time to spend at home with Mum. We could still open presents together in the morning, and then have our Christmas lunch, just the two of us, before I nipped off to cook the Log Fire Cabin Christmas dinner in the evening.

  But what about Erin? I’ll need her help. What if she has plans with Mark that she can’t alter?

  But she will help. Of course she will. She’s lovely and I’ll bribe her if necessary. A romantic weekend away for her and Mark in the New Year – if only she’ll be my right-hand woman!

  We’ve stopped by the station entrance, waiting for Ryan to finish his phone conversation and come over with Clemmy.

  I smile shyly up at Jed, who’s looking incredibly relieved. It seems faintly odd that a big man like him – he’s well over six feet with a powerful body and an equally powerful presence – should be practically wiping the sweat off his brow at such a close shave, saved by me at the final hour from a near calamity on the cooking front! I can’t disappoint him now, can I?

  ‘So you’ll do it? If your diary’s clear?’ he asks.

  I smile, feeling suddenly certain. ‘I will.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Poppy.’

  His voice is so smooth and velvety. Jed Turner could audition to be the host on a late-night radio show.

  He gives me a lopsided grin. ‘I was trying to act cool about the situation. But the thought of all that cooking was making me want to head for the nearest airport, to be honest.’

  ‘So, is that all I’d be doing? Cooking on Christmas Day?’

  His look turns apologetic. ‘Well, I’d hoped for a little more than that. The gang arrives on the twenty-second of December and they’ll be staying right through until the second of January.’