One Family Christmas: The perfect, cosy, heart-warming read to curl up with this winter

by Bella Osborne

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted, wobbling violently and grabbing the tree for support.

  ‘Nooo!’ shouted Lottie, having visions of the whole lot going over. Uncle Daniel stabilised and returned to adjusting and tutting. Jessie skidded across the room and managed to halt her stockinged feet just short of the tree. She was grinning broadly. Lottie remembered being that age and brimming over with the excitement of it all. She loved witnessing Jessie’s enjoyment of Christmas. She didn’t see her niece as much as she’d like, as Zach didn’t live nearby. Time with Jessie always had an odd effect on Lottie – she enjoyed every minute, but each of those minutes was a stab in her heart that she herself didn’t have a child.

  ‘Come on, Button. Let’s get cracking,’ said Uncle Bernie, dragging her from her thoughts. Lottie took the lids off all the decoration boxes. This was Nana’s prized collection, which she had lovingly added to over many years – she’d had a story about every bauble. Lottie wished now that she had taken the time to write the stories down because already, she was staring at an ornate peacock-patterned decoration and struggling to recall the tale that went with it.

  ‘Okay, choose a box,’ said Lottie, refocusing her mind on totting up how many they had. They were one box short. ‘Mum, can you and Scott share a box?’

  ‘Of course,’ said her mother. ‘As long as I get first pick.’ Her mother studied the boxes and chose the one with the big glass baubles.

  ‘You next,’ said Lottie to Jessie, who went for the animal-themed decorations as Lottie knew she would. ‘Okay, help yourselves.’ She ushered Emily forwards: she seemed somewhat bemused by the process. Sometimes family traditions that made perfect sense to you were baffling to anyone else.

  Lottie had the odds and sods box – baubles which had no real theme or dominant colour, but were pretty just the same. She breathed in the smell of the fresh pine tree. The smell transported her back to all those other Christmases where she had done this exact same thing. She loved having a real tree, and this one was a beauty.

  Everyone took the task seriously and found the perfect spot for their selection of baubles. They each took their time, apart from Jessie who had rushed to put all her animals around the lowest branches.

  When they’d all finished moving and adjusting, they stood back to admire their handiwork. Lottie carefully unwrapped an ornate star.

  ‘This star, Nana bought in Norway in 1978. It was the first Christmas decoration she bought for her new home, here at Henbourne Manor,’ said Lottie. She addressed Emily and Scott, who were new to this, and thankfully were standing near each other. ‘We have a family tradition that the youngest person always puts the star on the top of the tree. We’ve all taken our turn,’ she said, looking at Zach and Rhys.

  ‘Some people did it more years than others,’ mumbled Zach loud enough for Lottie to hear. He’d never really forgiven her for only being two years younger than him.

  ‘Hey, we mostly alternated until Rhys came along,’ said Lottie. ‘Here you go, Jessie.’ She reverently handed her the sparkly star and Jessie took it, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration. Zach lifted his daughter up and she tried to secure it on the top of the tree, but each time the weight of it made the top sway precariously.

  ‘Too heavy,’ said Zach.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Jessie, handing the star to her father.

  ‘We have a backup plan from when this happened a few years ago,’ explained Lottie, returning the star to the box and getting out the stand-in.

  ‘Whoa, what’s that?’ asked Scott.

  Lottie felt defensive. ‘It’s our Christmas angel.’ She passed the doll to Zach.

  ‘Looks like vintage Barbie,’ said Scott with a chuckle.

  So does my mother, thought Lottie. Zach and Jessie placed the angel on the top of the tree. The doll’s alarmed expression was perfect, given she had a Christmas tree shoved up her nether regions. Lottie glanced at Emily, who blinked away a confused look and swapped it for an encouraging one. Lottie knew the scrawny doll looked a bit weird, but it was their angel; and maybe this Christmas she was who they needed to watch over them. Lottie started a little round of applause and everyone joined in. She stood and looked at the tree for a moment. It was beautiful; the fairy lights twinkled rhythmically, making each bauble sparkle, each of them one of Nana’s special memories, there for them to share. Lottie’s eyes danced from one ornament to the next: the drummer boy Nana said reminded her of Zach; the puppy with a stocking in its mouth she’d known Jessie would love; a glass spiral she’d paid a fortune for but had to have; a hand-painted bauble she’d bartered for at the local Christmas fayre.

  The lights suddenly went out. Lottie gasped.

  Zach’s head popped up from behind the tree. ‘We’re going out, and this is a fire hazard.’ How to break the spell, thought Lottie.

  Chapter Nine

  Joe flicked through the TV channels and tried to ignore the little dog whimpering at the door. Everything on television was sentimental, or soap operas with long complicated stories that were now building to a dramatic festive climax, but were lost on anyone just tuning in. He sighed and switched it off. Being on your own on Christmas Eve sucked. Why he’d thought now was a good time to return to cold, wet Britain, he couldn’t think. He’d been spontaneous and rash. Right now, he could have been in Florida at a friend’s place enjoying sunshine and a cold beer. He’d been watching the updates on Facebook with increasing envy.

  He was also bothered by the fact that things hadn’t gone as he’d hoped with Lottie. He hadn’t expected her to welcome him back with open arms – far from it. But he had hoped she’d react in some way. Of all the scenarios he’d run through in his head, her emotionless expression was not what he’d envisioned. He had thought at the very least she would have been shouting and throwing things at him – anything to show that she felt something, even if it was anger. But her complete lack of emotion told him all he needed to know. He was someone from her past, and he had the distinct feeling he should have stayed there.

  The dog barked at him and it brought him back from his troubled thoughts. looked at the clock: a long evening stretched in front of him. And after that, the whole of Christmas. The scruffy little dog made eye contact and wagged his tail. Joe knew the dog wanted to go out, but he couldn’t walk him without a collar and lead. Joe gave the dog a scratch round his ears. He was a sweet little chap, but sadly nobody had been in touch to claim him or register him as missing.

  Joe went to have a root about. He didn’t have a lot of stuff, he’d always travelled light, not feeling the need to have much in the way of possessions, so there was little point checking the things he’d brought from America. There was a cupboard in the kitchen which had a mixture of things that the owner had said he could help himself to as they’d been left behind by previous tenants. He went to check and the little dog scurried along with him, his claws sounding on the lino floor.

  Joe scanned the cupboard shelves: clingfilm, mustard. Yuck. That stuff was disgusting. In the cupboard under the sink he found string, a Spider-Man football and a pink skipping rope. Joe had an idea.

  After a bit of work with some scissors, his rusty knowledge of knots from Boy Scouts and a very patient little dog, Joe managed to fashion a harness out of the skipping rope.

  ‘Right, little fella. Let’s test this out in the garden first.’ Given how the dog had run off earlier Joe wasn’t about to risk losing him again, and he had no idea how he would behave on the makeshift leash.

  The dog pulled as soon as Joe opened the back door, but the harness held firm. It was around his chest and secured on top, so it wasn’t going to hurt him even if he did pull. The rain had stopped but it was still blowing a gale and bitterly cold, and Joe pulled his coat tighter around him. They set off around the garden in the light from the kitchen window, and the dog seemed very happy to be outside; he bounced about frantically sniffing at the strange plants. It lifted Joe’s spirits to see it.

  This wa
s why he loved animals. Despite how crap their life might be, they always took pleasure in the simple things. They lived in the now, not worrying about what had happened or what the future held, but enjoying the moment – despite everything. People could learn a lot from them.

  Once the initial excitement had worn off and they were seeing the hydrangea for the sixth time, Joe’s four-legged companion had settled into walking quite sedately at his side, although he was now looking up at Joe as if questioning why they were lapping the small garden.

  ‘Okay, boy,’ said Joe. ‘Shall we test this out on a proper walk?’

  Once he’d uttered the key word, the dog was back to bouncing up and down like he was on a trampoline. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Joe.

  They were soon heading down the hill into Dumbleford. This was where he’d gone to school. Henbourne had been too small to have its own primary school, and so was Dumbleford really, but together they’d made up the numbers to keep Dumbleford village school going. Joe did a lap of the large village green, while the dog managed to wee at every other of the little white posts that held up the looped chain fence surrounding it. He took in the hotchpotch of houses lit up by streetlamps, and remembered who had lived in them all, wondering to himself if those people were still around. The tearooms was still there, but the grocer’s and pet shop had been turned back into homes. The Christmas tree stood grandly in the middle of the green, although he could only see its multi-coloured lights, flashing manically as if trying to hurry him along. Joe looked longingly at the pub. Its disturbing sign made him remember all the times he’d tried to get the name, the Bleeding Bear, into conversations with his mum and dad, as it was the closest he could get to swearing without getting into trouble.

  The thought of his parents made him draw up his shoulders and increase his pace. He strode back up the hill, past Mr Bundy’s cottage, towards Henbourne. He had known coming back would mean facing his past, and he was ready to do that. Thanks to the American predilection for therapy he had had more than his fair share, some of which he had found helpful. It had certainly made him consider coming back to England more than once, but in the end, it hadn’t been a therapy session that had made him pack everything up and get on a flight.

  Lost in thought, he found himself nearing the church. The sound of jolly voices drew both his attention and the dog’s, who pulled at the skipping rope.

  The vicar was standing at the lychgate welcoming people, wearing more decorations than the village green Christmas tree. As Joe approached, the church bells started ringing in greeting. He glanced at the clock tower: it was coming up to eight o’clock.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the vicar, a middle-aged man with a beard and a happy face.

  ‘Hello,’ replied Joe. ‘Any chance you’ve seen this dog before? He’s a stray.’

  ‘Oh, now let’s get a good look at you,’ said the vicar, crouching down and making the dog pull to get a lick of his face. ‘She’s a lovely little thing, but I’m afraid I don’t recognise her.’

  ‘It’s a boy,’ said Joe, feeling he had to explain on the little dog’s behalf.

  ‘Right. Why don’t you come in? It’ll be a full house tonight, and you never know, it might trigger someone’s memory.’

  Joe faltered. It was a good idea, but he wasn’t a churchgoer. He had been, once upon a time, but too much had happened and his faith had been challenged to its limit.

  ‘It’s the candlelit carol service, nothing too heavy,’ said the vicar.

  Joe could feel the seconds ticking in his head as he took far too long to decide. It was like being in a game show as the time ran out.

  ‘Joe!’ someone shouted from up the hill. Joe looked to see Zach striding towards him with some of the Collins family, including Lottie, following behind.

  Zach greeted Joe warmly, pulling him into a hug. ‘Good to see you, mate.’

  ‘You too,’ said Joe.

  ‘Ah, Lottie,’ said the vicar. ‘Perhaps you can convince this young man to join us.’

  Lottie came to an abrupt halt and patted down her hair. ‘Everyone’s welcome,’ she said. More of her dismissive attitude, thought Joe, watching her bend down to greet the dog, who was pulling hard to jump up at her. Joe knew her tights wouldn’t last two seconds against claws and tightened his grip on the lead.

  ‘You should join us. Carols on Christmas Eve – what’s not to love?’ said Zach. ‘And there’ll be mulled wine back at the manor afterwards if you fancy it. And for you too, Vicar,’ added Zach, turning to address him.

  ‘Very kind, but I have a date with a turkey that needs stuffing,’ said the vicar, and he went to greet some new arrivals. The rest of the Collins clan arrived and all greeted Joe warmly, making him feel like a returning hero – a completely different vibe to the one he was getting from Lottie. Zach and the others headed into church, leaving Joe with Lottie still petting the dog at his feet.

  ‘That’s a special lead you’ve got there,’ said Lottie, standing up and eyeing the pink skipping-rope handle wrapped round Joe’s wrist.

  ‘The latest from the Paris catwalk.’ Both the dog and Lottie gave him a look.

  ‘Still not tracked his owners down then?’ asked Lottie.

  ‘No, I wondered if they might be in there.’ Joe indicated the church.

  ‘Come on, Joe. You joining us?’ called Zach, from the church doorway.

  ‘Yeah. I think I will, if that’s okay?’ He directed his question at Lottie.

  ‘Then we’d better go in before it’s standing room only.’ She turned and walked away, and Joe followed.

  Inside the church, the bells were still audible. The dog started to bark, making all heads turn in their direction. Nothing like making an entrance, thought Joe.

  ‘At least we know everyone’s seen him,’ said Lottie.

  Joe noted the mixture of surprise and intrigue on people’s faces, followed by muttered comments and a few pointed fingers.

  Joe picked up the dog, who stopped barking, and the heads turned back to face the front. It seemed quite a few people had recognised Joe, but no one came to claim the dog.

  Bernard had manoeuvred his manual wheelchair to such an angle as to block off the front row pew. He was shooing other people off it whilst simultaneously signalling to get Lottie and Joe’s attention.

  ‘Do we have to sit right at the front?’ asked Lottie. ‘There’s space over there.’ Lottie indicated Shirley waving to them, her white hair dancing in time.

  Bernard huffed. ‘I’m not sitting with her.’

  Joe looked to Lottie for an explanation whilst he returned Shirley’s frantic waves of greeting. She’d always seemed lovely; a little forthright, but kind-hearted – fairly typical of local residents, he remembered.

  ‘Shirley was chosen to play Father Christmas at the Christmas fayre instead of him,’ whispered Lottie.

  Joe shrugged and tried to hide a smirk. ‘She does have a moustache any wing commander would be rather proud of.’

  ‘Bloody WI and its equal opportunities,’ mumbled Bernard forcefully, ushering Lottie and Joe into the pew. They ensconced themselves at the front and, after a bit of a sniff around, the dog settled down between Joe’s feet for a snooze. Joe took in his surroundings. The church was pretty much as he remembered it, although being Christmas there was lots of holly on the higher ledges and a number of decadent floral displays in deep reds and golds dotted down the aisle, cascading over the tops of their stands. Along every ledge there were large candles and, although they were lit, it wasn’t that noticeable with the church lights up.

  Joe studied the Nativity scene. He leaned towards Lottie to whisper to her and she flinched.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, but the Nativity scene is missing a wise man.’

  Angie leaned in from the other side. ‘Isn’t that always the way?’ she said, with a short cackle. She put her hand to her mouth as if the sound had surprised even her.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lottie. ‘She’s be
en drinking.’ She pointed at the Nativity. ‘A wise man was stolen. It was front page news in the local paper.’

  After a while the vicar came to the front and introduced himself, welcomed everyone and made an appeal for information about the little dog. Dutifully, Joe held him up at the right moment, triggering a chorus of ahhhs, but nobody rushed over to claim him. The vicar said a prayer and the lights dimmed. Joe lowered his head in respect and failed to stop thoughts of his parents creeping in. He was grateful when the vicar announced the first hymn: ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’.

  When he looked up to sing, he took in the beauty of the church swathed in candlelight: the flickering flames casting shadows; the congregation bathed in a warm glow. It felt Christmassy and, at last, so did he. It had him belting out the words of the song, and the little lost dog joined in, barking through the chorus.

  The more carols they sang, the more Joe relaxed. Seeing Bernard take a crafty swig from a hip flask and watching the way Lottie nervously adjusted her hair clip, he was flooded with memories of the warmth and love of the Collins family, which had been such a big part of his childhood. It was an unexpectedly nice way to spend Christmas Eve, and Joe felt that he had ticked another box on his journey to acceptance as he left the little church with good wishes ringing in his ears.

  Joe had decided he should give the mulled wine at the manor a miss. Lottie hadn’t seemed keen to meet up again – she’d said the right thing, she always did, but her eyes told him something different. Aside from their exchange at the start, she’d barely said a word to him during the service, despite sitting next to him. Then again, what was there to say? They’d already spent far too much time apart. He knew the way he’d left all those years ago had been far from ideal, and his need to cut all ties with his former life must have been hard for Lottie to understand. With hindsight, he could see that he could have handled his departure far better. Hopefully someday Lottie would give him a chance to explain, but tonight definitely wasn’t the moment.

  ‘Joe, you’re coming back, right?’ asked Zach, falling in step with him as they reached the lychgate. Lottie was up ahead, and as the rain started again she guided her swaying mother in to the back of her uncle’s car while he was busy wrestling Bernard’s wheelchair into the boot. Joe wavered. He had nothing waiting for him back at the cottage apart from his own thoughts, which were always a dangerous thing to be alone with, and he supposed if things got awkward with Lottie he could simply leave. The dog gave a tug towards Henbourne as if trying to influence his decision.