‘Hiya, Lottie,’ said Joe. ‘Sorry about this morning. Are you okay?’ His voice wasn’t how she remembered it – there was a hint of an accent. But his easy carefree tone was exactly the same, as though he’d last seen her yesterday rather than nine years ago.
Lottie’s mouth opened and closed, but making actual sound was proving difficult. ‘Joe?’ she ventured again.
‘Yeah. It’s me.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘How’s Rose?’
Lottie really needed her brain to find a gear it could operate in. She blinked and he was still there, meaning it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks. She took a steadying breath. ‘Nana died three weeks ago.’
‘Oh Lottie, I’m so sorry to hear that.’ She watched him in bewildered awe as he took off his muddy boots. He was back, and she had no idea how to process it. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
It was a fair question, but one that caused her issues. How was she meant to feel when he had rocked up out of thin air? Joe, the boy she’d grown up with; the teenager she’d lost her heart to; the man she’d fallen in love with; the soulmate who had walked away from her without looking back.
But that wasn’t what he was asking about. ‘Um. I’m okay. Been better, you know?’
‘I wondered why the house was up for sale. I’ve got such fond memories of this place.’ He paused and looked around the kitchen. ‘How’s your mum?’ That was the other question people always asked.
‘She’s fine. Upset, obviously, but fine.’
Joe was staring at her. The intensity made her look away. ‘Wow; is that your natural hair colour?’
When Lottie was younger she’d dyed her hair at every opportunity. She’d been sent home from school countless times. She’d not dyed it for years. Not since …
‘Yeah.’ Lottie automatically smoothed her hair down. This was so odd.
‘Looks great.’
‘Thanks.’
They nodded at each other and Joe gave her that shy smile that was etched on her heart. It was like they’d been thrown back in time; here they were, chatting in Nana’s kitchen like they’d always used to do. Lottie pulled out a chair and sat down before her legs gave way. It was a shock to see someone she’d spent the last nine years trying to forget because they had clearly forgotten about her.
Chapter Three
‘It’s good to see you, Lottie,’ said Joe, pulling out a chair and joining her.
‘Um. I, um …’ She had no idea how to respond. She put her hands on her thighs and took a deep breath. Her initial bewilderment was ebbing away, and now a tsunami of new emotions was threatening to breach her carefully built defences.
‘What have you been up to?’ he asked. His casual attitude irritated her.
‘Joe, whilst I’d love to chat,’ and ask you why you buggered off to America and deleted me from your life, she added in her head, ‘I have a house covered in muddy pawprints, and hordes of guests arriving in …’ she checked the clock, ‘holy crap! Three hours. And your ruddy dog is hiding behind a bucket in the utility room!’
‘Not my dog,’ said Joe, unzipping his coat. If he was expecting a cup of tea he could think again.
‘What?’
‘The dog.’ Joe pointed at the muddy face peering at them from the shadows. ‘He’s not mine.’
‘Then why the hell were you chasing after him?’
‘He was reported as a stray so I was trying to catch him.’ Perhaps this made sense to Joe – only, to any sane person, it didn’t.
Lottie rubbed her temples. Her brain actually hurt. ‘Right. Shall we catch him now and you can take him to the rescue or wherever it was you were taking him?’
‘He’s staying with me.’
‘Staying with you?’ Joe lived in America.
‘I’ve moved back. I’m the new vet. I’m renting Mr Bundy’s old place in Dumbleford for now. There’s only a shower there. Can we give the dog a bath here first? Then I’ll give you a hand cleaning the floors.’
Too. Much. Information. Lottie realised she had been shaking her head. New vet? There was no vet in the village; they had to go to Stow-on-the-Wold for the nearest surgery. Mr Bundy had been dead about five years and his home had changed hands twice in that time, but she knew the little cottage Joe was referring to well. She had far too many questions and a million concerns, so instead she focused on the issues in hand – the dog and the floor. She really wished she had a better solution than Joe’s, but her mind was overloaded. And as she looked at the floor, she knew she could do with some help.
‘Okay, but you’re cleaning the bath afterwards too.’
‘Of course.’ He gave a broad smile. ‘It really is good to see you again, Lottie,’ he said, pausing to study her. She wanted to say the same but she couldn’t, hand on heart, say it with conviction. Was it good to see him? She didn’t know. She was still in free fall waiting to hit the ground. There was much she wanted to ask, but it was all a muddle in her head. So instead she looked away and busied herself with trying to get the dog out of the utility.
After they managed to corner it, they quickly discovered the dog wasn’t used to being bathed. It took both of them hanging on tight to keep him in the tub and wash him with the Duchess’s pet shampoo and conditioner. It was surreal being in such a small space with Joe, who had been a world away for such a long time.
Lottie kept her focus on the little dog and was amazed to discover that, under all the mud, he was predominantly white, with a number of tan-coloured patches and a whiskery chin.
‘He’s a proper Heinz fifty-seven,’ said Lottie, giving the dog a rub over with an old towel whilst Joe washed down the bath and the mud-splattered bathroom.
‘Jack Russell cross. Probably a bit of bichon frise or poodle in the mix to explain the soft coat and longer legs.’
Lottie paused in her towel drying. ‘Joe, why have you come back? Why now?’
The dog saw his chance to escape and scurried out of the towel and through the open bathroom door. Lottie let him go.
Joe turned and sat on the edge of the bath, his head bent down. His hair was still wayward, even though it was cut short – it had always been that way, and Lottie remembered that when they were children his mother had despaired at how it stuck up. He lifted his head and gave her a wonky smile. ‘It just felt like the right time.’
‘The right time for what?’ Lottie tried hard not to frown.
‘To come home.’
Lottie opened her mouth to speak but a great crash from the kitchen had the dog barking and them both hurtling downstairs. They passed Great Uncle Bernard, who was heading down on the stairlift wearing his standard-issue old man’s burgundy cardigan with leather buttons.
‘Is that Joe? By Lord!’ bellowed Bernard.
‘Hiya Mr Collins,’ Joe called back up, jumping the last few steps and landing with a thud.
Lottie skidded into the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt and surveying the devastation. It appeared that the cat had tried to jump onto the top of the kitchen cupboards where the old pots and pans were kept and, in her haste, had knocked them onto the worktop; they were now scattered about the kitchen. But the bigger issue was that the large saucepan that was cooling on the worktop had also been sent crashing to the floor. Tomato soup was now liberally splattered everywhere. It looked like a cheap horror movie set. The Duchess was standing in the middle of a sea of tomato. She yowled in protest and flicked a tomato-sodden paw in disgust. The little dog, who was streaked in red like a zombie hound, made a run for it. Joe scooped him up as he tried to dive through his legs.
‘Oh Duchess!’ said Lottie, paddling through the soup to retrieve the cat. Lottie pointed a finger back at Joe – ‘I blame you for this!’ – but he was holding up the scruffy dog and hiding his laughing face behind it. Something passed between them – whether it was the ridiculousness of the moment, or their shared history, she wasn’t sure. Joe was laughing hard and it was a sound which took her back to happy times: football on the green; scrumping apples; c
atching minnows in the stream behind the pub.
The thought of her family arriving extinguished the happy thoughts. ‘Bloody hell.’ She was fast running out of time. The small dog started to bark; Duchess puffed up like someone had inserted a foot pump up her bum.
‘I’ll wash the cat, again,’ said Lottie. ‘I suggest you take that mutt back to Mr Bundy’s.’
‘Okay,’ said Joe, holding the dog away from his clothes. Tomato soup dripped to the floor. What a bloody mess. She knew Joe was smiling at her as she left with the protesting tomato-soaked feline – she didn’t need to look.
When Lottie came back downstairs, having left a slightly traumatised Duchess on her bed to recover, she found Joe mopping the kitchen. So much for him going back to the cottage.
Lottie checked her list. ‘Sod it – I’m late for my shift!’ She grabbed her coat and ran for the door.
‘What?’ asked Joe, his head turning in confusion.
There was no time to explain. ‘You can leave all this. I’ve got to go. I’m late. Sorry!’ She shouted behind her as she exited the kitchen and ran out of the house.
Emily was the happiest she could remember being. She’d been dating Zach for over a year, and at last she was going to meet his family. She’d been introduced to his daughter Jessie in the spring and, despite a few hiccups, she and the six-year-old had forged a relationship. Emily knew she would never replace Jessie’s mother, but she desperately wanted them to get along – she was a delightful little girl, and besides, it was essential if she was to stay in a relationship with Zach, which she wanted more than anything. He’d been busy with work and family stuff, so she’d not seen much of him over the last few weeks. She reached out and put her hand over his as it rested on the gear knob. He smiled at the contact.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Bit apprehensive. I just hope your family like me.’
He gave a chuckle. ‘They’ll love you, Em.’
‘I hope so. Are you okay? You seem preoccupied. Are you worried about me meeting them all?’
‘Nope, they’re all so bonkers they make me look like the best of the gene pool. Only thing on my mind is I’m sure I’ve forgotten to bring something. But I’ve checked all the presents twice, so it can’t be that.’
‘Any last-minute tips?’ She wanted to make a good first impression. At work her reputation went before her, but this was a very different situation. She knew she’d be scrutinised and she wanted to win them over. She felt a lone butterfly flutter inside her, and it was a surprise. She was usually confident, but being accepted by Zach’s family was a whole new experience. It meant more to her than she’d realised.
‘Blimey, where to start? My mum is really into how she looks, so she’ll take compliments all day long. Aunt Nicola, on the other hand, will be suspicious of any flattering comments. But she considers herself an authority on most things, so just ask her opinion on anything. It’ll be Great Uncle Bernard’s last Christmas—’
‘Oh no. How awful. What’s wrong with him?’
‘Nothing. He’s being saying it’s his last Christmas for as long as I can remember, and he’s still here. He can talk the hind legs off a herd of donkeys so he’s always good value. And then there’s my little sister Lottie.’
‘Ah,’ said Emily. ‘I know what sisters are like. Mine drives me nuts. Always sniping, always putting down your achievements and bigging hers up?’ Emily and her sister had been in fierce competition ever since Emily had exited the womb, which her sister had seemed to take as an open challenge. Everything since then had been a game of one-upmanship.
Zach chuckled. ‘No, Lottie’s not like that at all. She’s the best of the bunch. She used to annoy the heck out of me when we were kids, but when …’ Zach stretched his neck to look at his daughter in the rear-view mirror. She had headphones on and was concentrating hard on the latest Disney film, ‘… when we lost Melissa, Lottie was the one that held my world together.’ A tear formed at the corner of his eye and Emily squeezed his hand. She loved how open he was with his emotions. He was one of the few men she’d known who didn’t apologise for crying or try to dismiss his feelings. Zach had always been honest about how much he’d loved his wife, and in an odd way it had been refreshing – though also mildly terrifying, because she feared being compared to Melissa and she had no way of knowing if she’d ever match up.
Zach’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he continued. ‘I saw Lottie in a different light then, you know? Not just my kid sister but a smart woman who talked sense. It gave me the kick up the bum I needed when I was struggling.’
‘Wow, she sounds amazing.’ And not a bit like my sister at all, she thought.
‘She is. But whatever you do, don’t ask her advice, because she makes lousy decisions. Oh, and here’s the really bad news: she can’t make toast, and she’s cooking Christmas dinner!’
‘She can’t be that bad.’
Zach shot her a look. ‘Some people cook to relax. Lottie does it to test the fire alarm.’
Emily retrieved her hand and pondered everything he’d said. She really wanted to make a good first impression. She studied her outfit. She was aiming for smart but friendly, which had been tricky as her wardrobe was mainly suits and jeans. She’d changed her mind a few times over what to wear and had ended up settling for a wrap dress which she hoped didn’t show too much cleavage because the shift dress she was going to wear had been too tight round the tummy. She’d been busy at work and missed her regular spin class, and it showed.
Zach clicked his fingers. ‘The wine! That’s what I’ve forgotten. We can grab a couple of bottles from the village stores. Okay?’
‘Of course. We can’t turn up empty-handed.’
A few miles later they left the A-roads behind them and followed some winding lanes before he turned in to an old-style petrol station. ‘We’re nearly in the village, but this is the last place for petrol,’ Zach explained.
Emily was curious to see where Zach had grown up, and the lane into the village looked pretty. ‘I’ll get the wine,’ she said, releasing her seat belt.
‘Okay I’ll pick you up when I’m done here. The village stores is along there on the corner before you reach the village green.’
Emily pulled on her woolly hat, grabbed her coat from the boot and set off down the lane. It had stopped raining and the crisp winter air was fresh against her cheeks; the kind of cold that makes your nose tingle. She adored winter because she liked the contrast of the chill outside with the warmth of the indoors, bringing with it the opportunity to curl up with a good book in front of the fire. Although those opportunities were becoming fewer as work commitments squeezed her personal time.
She turned a bend and saw the village in front of her. A sign welcomed her to Dumbleford. She crossed a trickle of a stream at the ford, caught a glimpse of the shop and post office and headed towards it.
A loud bell announced her arrival and Emily felt conspicuous in the empty shop. She found the wine section and, surprised by the good selection, chose two bottles of Saint-Émilion. Making for the till, she got distracted by some fig rolls. She hadn’t had those for years and suddenly fancied one. Actually, she could have eaten the whole packet. She picked them up but then remembered how her tummy had looked and put them back.
Then another thought struck her: perhaps her period was due. That was probably what it was. It was just bloating. She reached for the fig rolls again. Exactly how long had it been since her last period? It had been a while. Her eyes widened at the thought. She threw the fig rolls back on the shelf, pulled out her phone and scrolled frantically through her diary. ‘Shit!’ She was five weeks late. How had she missed that?
‘Hello?’ came the voice of a woman who had clearly heard her swear.
‘Oh, hi. Just these thanks,’ said Emily, rushing to the counter and putting down the wine. She noticed some medical supplies behind the till and scanned them quickly.
The young woman serving followed her gaze. She had short, dark
hair, delicate features and a warm smile. ‘Was there something in particular you were after?’ she asked.
‘Mmm.’ Emily’s brain was working overtime. She couldn’t be pregnant – they’d used protection. Although they did say they were only ninety-eight per cent effective … No, surely not.
The woman reached under the counter and pulled out a selection of packets of condoms. ‘The older residents prefer us not to have everything on display in case it encourages promiscuity in the young.’ She rolled her eyes as she spoke.
Emily slowly drew in a breath. ‘I think it’s a bit late for that.’ She met the woman’s gaze and the understanding passed between them.
‘Ah, then you need one of these.’ She rummaged under the counter and produced a pregnancy testing kit.
Emily swallowed hard. ‘I guess I do. Thanks.’
The woman gave a kindly smile from over the till. ‘Exciting times ahead.’
‘Thanks,’ said Emily, thinking the opposite. She paid, and hastily put the tester kit in her handbag before scooping up the wine.
‘Good luck,’ said the woman. ‘And a merry Christmas!’
Emily managed a weak smile. ‘Thanks, you too.’
Chapter Four
Outside the shop, Emily paused on the pavement for a moment. Her eyes were drawn to a young family on the village green. A small boy and two adults were playing football with two very large dogs. Another boy – and yet another huge dog – came out of the nearby pub to join them. The woman in the group was laughing and managed to kick the ball whilst balancing a baby on her hip. The man ran over, kissed her and the baby before racing off after the boys. Was she looking at her own future?
Emily was just getting her head around having Jessie in her life; she wasn’t ready to be a full-time mother and all that that entailed. She was a career girl, and far too busy trying to outdo her sister to start a family. The toot of a horn dragged her back to the present as Zach pulled up.
One Family Christmas: The perfect, cosy, heart-warming read to curl up with this winter Page 3