Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop

by Portia MacIntosh

  I’ve noticed that Seb has a major sweet tooth and can’t resist any of the homemade festive treats I place down in front him. There’s something really attractive about watching him eat, which I hate to admit, even if it’s only to myself. It just reminds me that, the first day I met him, I felt such an attraction towards him – I let him kiss me, for crying out loud, even if it was just a peck – and now it makes me feel sick, because he’s the enemy.

  ‘What’s this key for?’ Gaz asks me, taking a small, silver key out from inside the till.

  ‘You see that ornament, over there?’ I gesture towards a bauble, locked inside a box behind a glass door. ‘That’s an antique. My mum bought it at an auction.’

  ‘How much is it for sale for?’

  ‘It’s £150,’ I tell him. Gaz sucks air through his teeth. ‘It’s real gold. Don’t worry, it’s mostly just for show – no one will ever buy it.’

  I remember my mum buying lots of antique decorations at this auction like it was yesterday. She picked up a few pieces, but this hammered gold sphere of festive ivy was her favourite. She said it was artisanal craftsmanship at its finest. Still, very few people want to own a £150 Christmas decoration, so it’s more of an exhibit than an item I’m expecting to sell.

  ‘Busy again today,’ Gaz says, as he glances across the shop floor.

  I smile. We might not be as heaving as we were back when my mum was running things, but this is such a vast improvement. When I go for my meeting with the bank later this week, the numbers I show them are going to be a lot better. It’s a shame that it took potentially losing the shop to give me the drive to make big changes for the better, but at least I’m doing it now and I can’t help but notice that my days are no longer boring.

  ‘Can you handle things, if I go answer more of Seb’s questions?’

  Gaz pulls a face. ‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘I’d tell him to shove off, though.’

  After Seb left yesterday, I filled Gaz in on everything that is going on and, if he didn’t like Seb based on first impressions, he really doesn’t like him now that he knows he’s going to knock the shop down.

  ‘I just need to get enough money together to buy the place before he does,’ I say under my voice. ‘That’ll tell him to shove off.’

  ‘You’re small but scrappy,’ Gaz observes. ‘I like it.’

  Small, yes, but scrappy? I don’t think so. Recent goings-on might have lit a fire under me, but this isn’t how I usually am.

  ‘Maybe I like it too,’ I think out loud.

  ‘Go on a date with me,’ he says.

  ‘Gaz, come on, stop it,’ I insist.

  ‘Just one drink,’ he persists. ‘Just one, and if you don’t have fun, we’ll never do it again.’

  ‘Gaz…’

  ‘OK, fine, if I sell the antique, will you go for a drink with me?’

  ‘If you sell a £150 single decoration, will I go for a drink with you?’

  Gaz nods. In recent weeks, I’ve struggled to make that in a whole day.

  ‘I’ll consider it.’ I laugh. ‘But it’s been for sale for decades, so…’

  Gaz laughs. When he does, the skin around his eyes crinkles up, making his eyes look almost closed. He might be a cheeky flirt, but there’s a warmth to him that I find endearing.

  I laugh to myself as I head into the kitchen, quietening down when I realise Seb is doing a video call. I notice, on his screen, two other men and a window with what I’d imagine are stocks – numbers and charts that look like every movie portrayal of the stock exchange I’ve ever seen.

  Weirdly, I feel like one of the men on the screen is looking at me. He says something in a language I don’t recognise, which causes Seb to turn around and look at me.

  ‘Sorry, I won’t be long,’ he says, turning back to the screen, conversing with the men in whatever language it is they speak.

  I leave the room, giving Seb some privacy. Not that I could tell what they were saying.

  ‘Sorry if I disturbed you,’ I say, heading back in once I’m certain he’s finished.

  ‘You didn’t,’ he replies.

  ‘Another cup of tea?’ I ask.

  ‘That would be great,’ Seb says.

  As I fill the kettle I pull a face at my reflection in the window, wondering why I’m being so nice and accommodating with him.

  ‘What language was that you were speaking?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘Dutch,’ he tells me. ‘I was talking to associates in Amsterdam.’

  I suppose that’s impressive, but what does it matter? Gaz might not speak perfect English, and Seb might speak several languages, but it doesn’t dictate who is a good person and who isn’t, does it?

  I place his tea down in front of him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘Just what I need, after all the chocolate and biscuits I’ve eaten while I’ve been sat here.’

  He sounds like he means it, so I smile.

  ‘Have you started work on your eBay store yet?’ he asks.

  ‘I have, actually,’ I tell him. ‘Maybe it’s just the time of year, but I’ve had a few sales already. Thank you for such a good idea.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies.

  Seb’s phone vibrates on the table. ‘Sorry, I’d better take this,’ he says.

  ‘No worries,’ I reply.

  Speaking of eBay, it’s probably a good idea to put the antique bauble on there – maybe someone on the world wide web might be willing to splash £150 on a golden decoration.

  ‘All going OK?’ I ask Gaz as I walk past him.

  ‘Really good, actually,’ he tells me.

  ‘Really good? Wow,’ I reply, but my smile soon drops as I see that the cabinet door is open, and the antique bauble is missing.

  With a shop full of people, I don’t want to make a scene. Instead, I calmly make my way back to Gaz.

  ‘Gaz, the bauble has gone,’ I say quietly.

  ‘I know,’ he replies, all smiles.

  ‘You know?’ I reply. ‘Have…have you taken it?’

  ‘What? No! I’ve sold it.’

  I furrow my brow. ‘Gaz, it’s been maybe 30 minutes since we spoke about it. You’re telling me you’ve sold it?’

  He nods proudly.

  I step behind the counter and pop open the till and, sure enough, there does appear to be an extra £150 in cash, as well as a receipt to say we’ve sold it.

  ‘Wh… How?’ I ask.

  ‘Just got the gift of the gab.’ He laughs. ‘Some woman came in and, you know when you can just tell someone has money? So I point it out to her, tell her we’ve got a guy flying in from Japan to see it. This lady, American she was, was suddenly interested. I told her it was an antique and real gold – and that it used to belong to the current Duke of Sussex.’

  While the description and the value of the bauble are true, its origin story is not.

  ‘The Duke of Sussex is Prince Harry,’ I tell him.

  ‘Is it?’ he replies. ‘I knew I’d heard it somewhere.’

  ‘She believed we had an antique bauble that we got off Prince Harry?’

  ‘Yeah. She really liked it though, very satisfied customer.’

  I can’t help but laugh as well.

  ‘Gaz, that’s amazing,’ I say. ‘That thing has been here my entire adult life. I never thought I’d shift it and you managed to while I was making a cup of tea.’

  He gives a modest shrug.

  ‘Come here,’ I say, grabbing him for a hug.

  I might’ve only hired Gaz because I felt bad that he’d lost his job, but it turns out it was a great decision.

  Seb emerges through the door behind the counter, putting him in awkwardly close proximity to our hug.

  ‘I just sold a bauble,’ Gaz tells him, by way of an explanation.

  ‘Do you hug every time you make a sale?’ he asks. ‘Wow, business must be bad.’

  I frown, noticing a sudden change in Seb.

  ‘It was a special bauble,’ I tell him. ‘An expensive an
tique.’

  ‘Great,’ he replies. ‘Do you have enough money to buy the shop now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘Come on, Ivy, don’t play innocent,’ Seb says. ‘I just got off the phone with Mr Andrews. He told me you’re working to outbid me.’

  ‘I’m not trying to outbid you,’ I tell him. ‘I doubt I could, I’m not stupid. But Mr Andrews knows how much the shop means to me, and he said he’d sell it to me, if I could buy it.’

  ‘You’ve been lying to me all this time,’ Seb says. ‘Pretending to help me.’

  ‘I really don’t think you can play the morality card,’ I point out.

  Seb exhales deeply. ‘We need to talk about this,’ he says. ‘We need to clear the air. Why don’t we go for a drink tonight, somewhere neutral, and talk about this like adults?’

  ‘I can’t tonight,’ I say. ‘Gaz and I have plans.’

  I watch as Gaz’s ears prick up, like a dog who has just heard the word ‘walkies’.

  ‘Really?’ Seb asks in disbelief.

  ‘Really,’ I reply. ‘I promised.’

  It was never my intention to go for a drink with Gaz tonight, but I absolutely don’t want to go for a drink with Seb, especially now he’s on to me. I’m sure I can handle having one drink with Gaz – we can treat it as a sort of strategy meeting – if it means avoiding an awkward chat with Seb.

  ‘And where are the two of you going?’ he asks.

  ‘Few drinks in The Hopeful Ghost,’ Gaz suggests. ‘See where we end up.’ He gives that unsubtle eyebrow wiggle of his that he uses to make his flirtatious tone crystal clear.

  ‘I see,’ Seb says. ‘Well, have a great night.’

  ‘Cheers, pal,’ Gaz calls after him in his strong Yorkshire accent, which seems stronger than ever, in comparison with Seb’s Oxfordshire accent. Gaz wraps an arm around me. ‘Glad you came to your senses,’ he says.

  ‘Oi,’ I say, wiggling free. ‘It’s just to celebrate you selling the bauble, nothing else.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Gaz laughs. ‘No one can resist the Gazza charm.’

  We’ll see, indeed. Although I’m sure that, if I can resist Seb, with his Henry-Cavill-meets-Jamie-Dornan face, physique, accent, and bank balance, I don’t think I’m going to struggle to resist a horny Santa with his own name tattooed on his arm.

  Chapter 11

  Of all the bars and pubs in Marram Bay, The Hopeful Ghost is the place to be. It’s a large pub, with a massive circular bar in the heart of the main room, which you often won’t even be able to make out for people on a busy night. It has a rustic charm and a roaring log fire, which makes it a wonderful place to be on a cold winter night, like tonight, sipping a glass mug of their secret-recipe mulled wine, listening to the male/female duo playing their acoustic guitars, singing Christmas songs in the corner.

  A chunky pug comes running over to me, immediately throwing himself onto his back to have his tummy tickled in that adorable way dogs do. I happily oblige.

  ‘I’m not much of an animal person,’ Gaz tells me.

  I don’t know what it is about animal people that just makes me instantly more trusting of them. Similarly, if a person tells me that they don’t like animals, I wonder what is wrong with them.

  The owner calls the pug and he happily waddles back over to his own table.

  ‘So,’ I say.

  ‘So,’ Gaz replies. ‘You look nice, by the way, I don’t think I told you.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I reply, glancing down at the red, off-the-shoulder peplum dress that I don’t get much opportunity to wear. Well, I don’t often go out for drinks, so I thought I’d dress up, curl my long blonde hair, and apply more make-up than I’d usually ever have cause for. When I applied my red lipstick in the mirror, I couldn’t help but smile. I never get to dress up and I can’t believe how different I look.

  Gaz has made an effort too, wearing jeans and a white, long-sleeved T-shirt. His hair looks neater than usual and even his beard looks tidier, although no shorter. It looks like he’s used some kind of taming product.

  I glance down at my glass of white wine, examining the contents, considering whether or not I can leave if I down it. Gaz and I don’t really have much in common so, now that we’re done talking about work, we don’t have much to say to each other.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK managing the shop alone tomorrow?’ I ask, breaking the silence.

  ‘No worries,’ he says, swigging his beer. ‘You go knock ’em dead at the bank.’

  I have a meeting tomorrow to find out where I stand with getting a mortgage, to buy the place myself. I’m nervous – very nervous – and had hoped that coming out tonight might help to calm my nerves, but no such luck.

  ‘Ivy, Gaz, fancy bumping into you two here.’

  I glance up from my drink, to see Seb standing there, along with a familiar face.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  ‘Have you met Charlie?’ he asks me, gesturing towards the brunette woman standing beside him, the quintessential ‘girl next door’, her arm hooked around his. ‘We met a few days ago and she’s been insisting she take me for a drink.’

  ‘I have met Charlie,’ I reply. ‘I brought my niece and nephew’s rabbit to you recently.’

  Charlie is a vet at the local animal surgery, and it’s not just animals she loves, it’s people too – most specifically men, with healthy bank balances. The locals know all too well that Charlie is always the first to welcome wealthy men into town, although she’s yet to snag one for keeps.

  Charlie is short – maybe even as short as I am – and seeing how small she looks next to Seb gives me a glimpse of how little I must look next to him.

  Charlie gathers her hair and lets it fall at one side of her head.

  ‘I remember the rabbit,’ she says. ‘How’s it doing?’

  ‘It died.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she replies with perhaps more emotion than you’d expect. ‘When?’

  ‘The day after we saw you, actually. Although I’m sure it’s not a reflection on your work,’ I quickly add.

  ‘Remind me of the name,’ she says.

  ‘Ivy,’ I reply.

  ‘No, silly,’ she says with a snort. ‘The rabbit.’

  ‘Oh. Buddy.’

  ‘Buddy,’ she repeats back. ‘Rest in peace, Buddy.’

  ‘And this is Gaz,’ Seb says.

  Gaz does that weird pointing thing he does in acknowledgement of people.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Charlie says. ‘Right, I’ll go get our drinks.’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Seb says.

  ‘No, no,’ she insists. ‘I said I’d buy you a drink, silly.’

  Charlie’s fondness for calling people ‘silly’ is really starting to annoy me. I also feel like rule number one in the gold-digger handbook is to make sure that you pay for something to get the ball rolling, to make you seem like less of a gold-digger. Or maybe I should just stop listening to rumours and admit that I’m weirdly jealous that she’s here with Seb. But then again what do I care?

  Charlie trots off to the bar in her green Hunter wellies, which sit at the bottom of her woolly-tight-clad legs. She’s wearing a bright yellow raincoat which, given her height (or lack thereof) makes her look a little like the kid from It.

  ‘Well, what a coincidence,’ I say, with just a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘I know.’ Seb laughs, removing his long, black coat to reveal an outfit not dissimilar to Gaz’s. Seb is wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, which look a little under pressure trying to contain his thighs, and a long-sleeved white T-shirt that clings to the ripple of each muscle – I didn’t know that was lingering, under his suits.

  Right on cue, the pug comes plodding back over, to inspect the new person at the table. I don’t know why, but I don’t expect Seb – who always looks so pristine and business-like – to be a dog lover, but I’m wrong.

  ‘Hey, mate,’ Seb says, dropping to his knees to get better acquainted with his new friend. ‘Oh
my God, aren’t you gorgeous. Aren’t you just the cutest thing.’

  When the pug is satisfied with the amount of attention he has received, he waddles off again. Seb takes a seat next to me.

  ‘What?’ He laughs.

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply. ‘You just don’t seem like the kind of guy who would be friendly to animals.’

  ‘What kind of guy do I seem like?’ he asks.

  ‘Erm, like the kind of guy who would steal a bunch of Dalmatians so a horrible woman could make a coat out of them,’ I reply, honestly.

  Seb just laughs again. ‘No, I love dogs. My dog passed away last year, actually,’ he starts, pausing to clear his throat, sounding genuinely cut up about it still. ‘He had a good life; he was old.’

  ‘What was his name?’ I ask.

  ‘Eric,’ he replies, with a smile. ‘Everyone always said it was a funny name for a dog. He wasn’t the easiest dog to live with; he was a little devil. I think his worst crime was when he ate an irreplaceable souvenir that I brought back from Antarctica. It was a wooden carved penguin from the gift shop at Vernadsky station that sells homemade items. Eric ate my penguin and, do you know what, I wasn’t even mad, I just loved him so much. I’m not close with my family – I never really see them to be honest – but Eric was always there for me. He went wherever I went; he was always pleased to see me. He might have ruined a few of my things, but he made my life.’

  Oh, God, it’s taking everything I’ve got not to cry right now. There is such a lump in my throat.

  ‘That dog had you for a mug.’ Gaz laughs.

  ‘Maybe,’ Seb replies with a sad smile.

  ‘What did I miss?’ Charlie asks, placing two pints of cider down in front of her. She removes her coat to reveal a white bodycon dress that isn’t leaving all that much to the imagination.

  I notice Gaz staring and give him a subtle jab with my elbow.

  ‘Nothing,’ Gaz says, snapping out of his trance. ‘Just these two being depressing.’

  ‘Oh, no, none of that tonight,’ Charlie says. ‘We’re celebrating. Seb told me all about his plans and they’re just wonderful, aren’t they?’

  ‘Hmm,’ I reply, insincerely.

  ‘With the environmental plans, especially,’ she persists. Ergh, I’m really not in the mood for sitting here, listening to her butt-kiss Seb all evening.