A Country Village Christmas

by Suzanne Snow

  ‘Around seven.’ There was an evenness in his tone, at odds with the intensity in his eyes. ‘I’d like to be back in London after lunch if the weather has improved. How about you?’

  Olivia didn’t really want to think about her morning now, about the problems piling up and the clients demanding her attention. Attention she was normally happy to give them, her life built around her career since her daughter had left home.

  ‘I ought to be going early too. I have to speak with a vendor first thing, renegotiate an offer, view a property in Cheshire and then meetings until late.’ Perhaps thoughts of work were just what she needed in this moment, a means of disrupting the direction the evening might have been taking and she aimed for brisk instead. ‘I think you’ll be fine. I’ve heard the storm will pass overnight and the restaurant opens at six thirty, so you won’t have to travel on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Appreciate the public service information.’ Tom grinned and she wondered if she was imagining the regret she thought she saw in his face through the shadows. ‘So. I think this is goodbye. Again.’

  ‘On our wedding night? I suppose we are running true to form after Sally found us, me working and you reading.’

  Olivia felt her breath quicken as he leant forwards. Never had she laughed, flirted with a stranger quite like Tom before. Enigmatic, charming when he chose, cautious, intelligent, handsome. All words she would attribute to him and she was sure there were more besides. She relied on being in control to keep her balanced, but felt it deserting her now in the desire to let go, to both lose and find herself in someone else. Her pulse was roaring and she felt desire falling in her stomach, the urge to reach out and touch him ready to overwhelm her.

  ‘I suppose we are. In other circumstances that would be a shame and something I’d hope we’d both want to rectify.’

  ‘Other circumstances?’

  Her words were no more than a whisper as he left the lightest of kisses on either side of her face. His reply to her question was to gently cup her cheek with a hand, his mouth still distractingly close as he touched his forehead to hers. His jaw was already shadowed and Olivia let her fingers reach for it, brushing her thumb over the roughness she found there, the touch of his skin against hers the one she had been longing for all evening.

  She was barely aware that she’d turned her head until she placed a soft kiss on his palm and heard the groan he tried to subdue. His other hand was light on her shoulder and hers found their way into his dark hair, trying to bring him closer still. She sensed she and Tom were both thinking of offering a gentle exploration with their lips but they were beyond it already.

  Only one person before had she kissed and been kissed by in return, with such endless passion, promise and skill, and Olivia knew she was matching Tom in everything they offered the other. His hands were discovering her with an urgency she recognised and she was doing the same, finding the unfamiliarity in his frame and letting her fingers commit him to memory, the open door against her back, her heart slamming against his chest.

  Someone was passing along the corridor and Tom sprang away from her, one hand against his face as he swiftly put a new distance between them. ‘Olivia, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

  She heard his ragged breath, the words he was forcing out, furiously at odds with where they seemed to have been heading. His voice was a distracted mutter, and she couldn’t fathom the reason for his abrupt pause as she stared at him in appalled silence. Until this moment she had been certain that he wanted her too and she saw the new apology in his expression as he rubbed his face distractedly.

  Shocked now by a halt she had not anticipated, she went to move away, the reality of being alone in her room with someone who was a stranger suddenly crashing into her. One of Tom’s hands gently caught hers, trying to keep her close, the tenderness still evident.

  ‘I’m not… I can’t…’

  Her mind registered his mumbled comments and her lips tried to form an answer, but she couldn’t find the right reply. She wasn’t able to explain how she had never done this before, had never kissed a stranger on the threshold of her room and wanted him to stay. She snatched her hand from his as she fumbled for the control she had always been able to summon when she needed it. Horrified by the tears gathering at the humiliation and hurt, her voice was a frantic plea. ‘But why?’

  It was a moment before he answered, despair and regret chasing across his face. ‘I’m not what I’ve let you think I am, Olivia. And I already know you deserve much better than me.’

  He gave her a sad, sorrowful smile and spun away, gone, the door banging behind him and shattering the new silence.

  Chapter Three

  Olivia left her car in the garage and dragged her case to the front door of the house, rifling through her bag for keys. It was freezing and her fingers were cold, hindering her search. She’d meant to arrive in Thorndale earlier but had been delayed at the office as usual, no allowance made for it being a Friday night. All she wanted now was to curl up in bed with a book and sleep for eight hours straight, if such a thing were possible.

  Frost was glittering on the wrought iron railings bordering the shallow front garden, edged by a row of neat box hedging. December was a few days old and she hadn’t known until she’d got here that tonight was the big Christmas switch-on, when everyone in the village and plenty from beyond it gathered to light up the huge tree lashed into position on the green. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had, she couldn’t have arrived any earlier and it was years since she’d joined the switch-on with her dad.

  The noise and merriment across from the house were definitely at odds with her mood. She’d eaten a quick sushi takeaway at her desk a few hours ago and she could smell the food from the stalls drifting across to her now, the promise of a hot mulled wine, something tasty and filling to eat. Her mouth watered at the thought – maybe the book and bed could wait for a bit longer.

  Olivia unlocked the front door and stepped inside the darkened house. It was pleasant enough, the ancient oil-fired central heating managing to just about keep the winter chill at bay. She still couldn’t get used to seeing the house without her dad here. Until six weeks ago he would have been comfortable in his library when she arrived, surrounded by his books and warmed by the fire he lit almost every day.

  Or he’d be in the kitchen, making her a welcome supper as he knew she wouldn’t have already stopped to eat. They’d taken care of each other down the years, and he still loved to spoil her whenever she came to visit: making sure she had a hot water bottle to keep her warm in the night, a hot toddy before bed, a book he thought she’d love already left beside it.

  Now there were no lights, no fire, no Dad. Not here, anyway. No milk heating on the range for the coffee and whisky she drank, no hearty goulash in the oven, eaten with the chunks of bread he’d make fresh every day, smothered in creamy butter from a local dairy. Now he was getting used to his new life in the retirement flat in the town where he’d worked all his life.

  Olivia had found the flat for him, had taken care of the details, arranged the move and saw him comfortably settled in. He loved Thorndale but she also knew he adored being able to wander around the town where he was still well known. He had his favourite coffee shop, two doors along from his old bookshop, and most mornings he was to be found there, nattering with regulars over a bacon sandwich they made just the way he liked it.

  And now, there was this house to sort out. It was far too big of a job for her dad to manage alone, and even with Olivia’s help they were going to require professional clearance at some point. She dreaded the thought of emptying his home of its history, packing up the details of his life into boxes small enough for their two flats. Where to start, she mused, with a life lived nearly eighty years.

  She carted her case straight up to her room and left it there; unpacking could wait until tomorrow. She borrowed one of her dad’s best chunky scarves – hand-knitted for him by his neighbour, Mrs Timms, who liked to keep an eye on
the comings and goings of the village and her dad in particular. It always made Olivia smile and him exasperated, but she knew he appreciated the attention and friendship really.

  She switched off her bedroom light and, heading out, locked the house behind her. The loud chatter and the Christmas carols being played by a brass band with head torches and lights pinned to their music stands was different to the usual quiet in the heart of the village as Olivia wandered through the crowd. Children were dashing around excitedly, clutching bags of sweets and gifts that she guessed had come from the Santa Claus she could see parked in his sleigh near the post office, a couple of reindeer safely penned nearby.

  She spotted Mrs Timms too, manning a stall selling cakes, and Olivia quickly darted into the nearest queue for food, unwilling to be drawn into how her dad was and whether she was planning to stay beyond the weekend. She reached the front of the queue a few minutes later, stamping her feet to keep warm, and couldn’t resist ordering a festive sandwich that sounded amazing. Toasted white bread – she smiled wryly at that, she hadn’t eaten white bread for years – filled with turkey, stuffing, pigs in blankets and cranberry sauce.

  She’d have to come back for the mulled wine: this sandwich was going to take two hands to manage. She’d missed the Christmas tree being switched on and its lights were now shimmering white through the darkness as she found a quieter spot to eat what she soon decided was the best sandwich she’d ever had. Maybe it was the cold, or the season, or the lack of a welcome from her dad, but it was incredible, and she finished the lot.

  The local fell rescue association headquarters had their doors open and Olivia hurried along the green, realising that she didn’t need to rush for once, and the thought was a surprise. She knew a few of the volunteers and spotted one she recognised; Jon Beresford stood by a rescue vehicle, his wife Annie in front, leaning against him. He had his arms around her, his hands resting on hers as she held her large baby bump, and Olivia smiled at the picture they made.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a New Year baby you’ve got there and not a Christmas one?’ she called, seeing Annie’s head turn towards her. ‘That’s quite the bump.’

  ‘Olivia, how lovely. I didn’t know you were coming to the switch-on.’ Annie moved away from Jon to give Olivia an awkward hug, her bump making it more difficult. ‘Officially New Year but who knows. I’ve been getting a few Braxton Hicks and Jon’s nervous, threatening to keep half the fell rescue on permanent standby in case I go into labour in the middle of a snowstorm or something.’

  Olivia had met Annie just after the younger woman had married Jon and moved into Thorndale Hall. Annie had arrived in Thorndale, the village where she had spent much of her childhood, after her godmother Molly had died and left her cottage to Annie. Molly and Olivia’s dad, Hugh, had met for supper every week for years until Molly had had to leave the village.

  Annie had been kind enough to carry on the supper tradition at the Hall, and she and Jon had become good friends of Hugh’s. Annie and Olivia kept in touch, mostly unbeknownst to Hugh, and Olivia really appreciated the eye that Annie had on her dad. Olivia had visited them at the Hall several times since and was thrilled about their baby.

  Jon joined them, smiling at Annie and also giving Olivia a quick hug, bending down to fold her into his arms before straightening. ‘Just an advantage of volunteering and turning out at all hours, and we’ve got a new snowplough now.’

  ‘What he means is, he’s desperate to try it out.’ Annie was beaming at her husband, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Yes, but preferably not when you’re in labour. A nice little practice run with the plough would be fun but I don’t want any hold-ups getting you to hospital.’ The note of anxiety in Jon’s voice was a surprise, and Olivia saw the reassuring glance Annie gave him.

  Jon was wearing a Christmas jumper beneath his red fell rescue waterproof jacket and holding a fund-raising bucket, and he thanked a passer-by who dropped some change into it, the man glancing back at him. The American accent Jon retained from his childhood in the United States still took people by surprise in the depths of the Yorkshire Dales.

  ‘Me and bump will be fine,’ Annie told him, reaching for his free hand. ‘We’ve got weeks yet.’ She turned back to Olivia. ‘How’s your dad, have you seen him today? I really miss seeing him in the village, but it’s lovely having the bookshop open again. I’m planning to pop down and visit him next week.’

  ‘Not if it snows, you’re not,’ Jon told her firmly, and she rolled her eyes at Olivia.

  Olivia was distracted, removing money from her purse to drop into Jon’s bucket. ‘He’s good thanks, settling in and making new friends. I haven’t been to the flat for a couple of weeks but we Zoom every few days and he looks well.’

  ‘Have you decided about Christmas? He did say he’d like to spend it here if possible. One last time and all that.’ Annie was sad for a moment. ‘He doesn’t want to come to you?’

  Olivia thought about her penthouse apartment in Manchester, realising with quick surprise that she’d never spent Christmas Day there yet. One more Christmas in Thorndale was just something she and her dad needed to get through, and then they could move on. Put the memories behind them. ‘He would like to be here, so I think that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘That sounds good, Sam always says it won’t seem quite like Christmas if he’s not reading at the carol service.’ Annie smiled. ‘So are you here for the weekend? He did tell me you were coming at some point to sort out the house.’

  ‘Actually I’m planning to stay until Boxing Day.’ Olivia thought of the work ahead with a sinking heart. ‘He’s adamant he wants me to start sorting the contents before Christmas and it’s going to be a mammoth task.’

  She heard the frustration in her voice and dismissed it. December wasn’t the worst month to have a little time off and she planned to work much as usual in Thorndale. Decent Wi-Fi was at least something her dad’s house did afford, and she needed to take some of the annual leave she had piled up.

  Jon excused himself to return into the barn housing the fell rescue headquarters and Annie took his bucket. ‘How’s the sale progressing with the arts consortium?’ She thanked someone who made another donation. Fundraising this evening was certainly made easier by the festive cheer and relaxed mood enveloping the village. ‘I know he’s excited about them taking on the house.’

  Olivia was thinking about the home where her dad had spent so many years. She was aware of the local group that had formed and was searching for somewhere to base their developing arts programme and writers’ retreat. Her dad adored the idea, enthused by the prospect of selling his house to the group and making it the permanent home for everything on offer.

  ‘It’s well on its way. He’s accepted the offer in principle – he didn’t want it to go to sealed bids and risk them losing it. There are some technicalities to sort out before contracts are signed but I expect it will be finalised in the New Year.’ Olivia knew she sounded a bit flat. ‘I still haven’t got my head around him leaving the house if I’m honest. I wasn’t convinced he was ready but obviously I was wrong about that.’

  ‘I think he was, Olivia.’ Annie touched a gloved hand to Olivia’s, her voice understanding. ‘It was the same when Molly left the cottage. She seemed to be coping perfectly well and then one day she called me and said the decision was made. She moved out the following week. Once she’d accepted that she couldn’t manage on her own she wanted to get on with it, not linger on what she couldn’t do. She hated seeing the garden becoming wild.’

  Annie’s flash of sorrow was gone as her voice became lively. ‘Your dad’s had quite a few visitors from Thorndale already from what I hear, including Mrs Timms. Apparently she’s insisted that he can’t do without her cakes so she gets on the bus and goes to see him every Wednesday afternoon.’

  ‘She has been good to him.’ Olivia felt a dart of humour as she thought of her dad’s friend, who helped to run the cafe in the villag
e. Cynthia Timms hadn’t been in Thorndale that long, but she had positioned herself at the heart of much that went on. She loved to bake, knit and natter, and time was the one thing she seemed to have in abundance, especially for Hugh.

  ‘And there’s a good reason why she goes on a Wednesday too.’ Annie was shaking her head. ‘She’s got a soft spot for Ben, who drives the bus every other week. He’s lovely; his partner Daisy is our accountant. Mrs Timms swears it’s nothing to do with him but I’m not convinced, I don’t know if she bakes any of the other drivers their favourite flapjacks. He used to be a banker but you’d never guess it from the long hair and cowboy boots.’

  Olivia laughed as Jon came back to join them and she excused herself, leaving them to their fundraising and still pondering Annie’s comments about her dad. She bought some mulled wine, using it to warm her hands as she strolled amongst the few stalls set up for the evening. The brass band had finished now, and she saw them packing up, folding music stands and instruments into cases. She caught the conductor’s eye, and the woman gave her a cheerful smile, which Olivia returned.

  Plenty of people were still milling around and seemed in no hurry to leave just yet. She chatted to a few people she knew, most of them asking after her dad and how Ellie was getting on. Olivia hadn’t lived in Thorndale for years, but some faces were familiar and many of them had a long and friendly association with Hugh.

  The Courtyard, formerly a working farm, was now a thriving craft centre, a jumble of studios converted from the old farm buildings and filled with local craftspeople each occupying their own space. It had stayed open later this evening, attracting an influx of visitors ready to shop, and Olivia made her way over, checking her phone on the way for anything urgent.

  She had done nothing for Christmas yet. No planning, shopping or decorating, and since Ellie had left for university that wasn’t unusual. Ellie had met her boyfriend Logan, who was from Western Australia, in her first year and they’d been together ever since, spending that first Christmas with his family in Kimberley. Olivia had missed Ellie terribly, being so far away while she’d been here in Thorndale with her dad, quietly eating a ready-prepared dinner and watching repeats on television.