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

by Bella Osborne

  She closed the door behind her as quietly as possible. She had only taken two steps before she realised something was very wrong. She spotted Dave on a cushion at the far end of the room. He made a groaning sound and rested his head on his paws. Joe stirred slightly on the sofa. Lottie looked about her. There was a trail all around the room – across the oak flooring, the cream wool rug and the Christmas tree mat. It was a trail of poo, smeared generously across every surface like a faeces racetrack. The smell was a shock to the nostrils. Lottie followed the path of poo with her eyes – no sign of the engagement ring – until at the end of the trail they came to rest on the culprit – Aunt Nicola’s robovac.

  Although the original source of the poo was obviously Dave she could hardly blame him for how it had now been liberally distributed. For a little dog he delivered a whole lot of poo. Joe was sleeping with his arm draped over his eyes. The blanket was only half covering him; his chest was bare and covered in a light dusting of hairs. She sneaked a look, tracing them down his body until they disappeared inside his borrowed shorts. Lottie caught herself with a sharp intake of breath. What was she doing?

  Her mutinous heart was begging her for another peek. She tiptoed across to Dave like a cat burglar, being ultra-careful where to place her new slippers, and picked him up. Dave responded with lots of happy kisses and an incredibly waggy tail. She could tell he was relieved at not being told off, poor thing. And I thought 2008 was a Crappy Shitmas, she thought.

  She decided to leave Joe sleeping. He had a bellyful of brandy to sleep off and he’d been a hero yesterday, so he deserved a lie in. She planned out her route and daintily made her way through the poo maze back to the door.

  Once safely in the kitchen, Lottie set off the coffee maker, tied on Dave’s skipping rope and ventured into the garden for him to have a wee. It was cold and blustery outside. Dave did a lot of sniffing about and then decided to relieve himself against Nana’s statue of Buddha. Lottie wondered if that would bring more bad luck but surely they’d already had more than their fair share?

  Dave sniffed about some more and squatted down. Lottie sighed. She wasn’t sure there could be any more poo in the little dog. And of course it was bound to happen when Zach was passed out upstairs sleeping off his brandy excesses. She certainly wasn’t going to check through it for the engagement ring. Dave made a big show of scraping up the grass around his deposit until he was finally happy he’d done a good job.

  She shut him in the kitchen, grabbed a plastic ziplock bag and steeled herself for the task. She covered her hand with the bag and reached down, only half looking to check she was on target. What she saw stopped her in her tracks, and she ran back inside with her hand still inside the plastic bag.

  She rushed into the drawing room, halting herself just in time as she remembered the robovac’s handiwork. The door swung open and Joe sprang awake. Looking disorientated, he tried to stand up and achieved it on the third attempt.

  ‘Stop!’ She held out her plastic bag-covered hand in a stop sign. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

  His eyes widened in alarm. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There’s a problem with Dave.’

  ‘So I can see,’ said Joe, scanning the room and shaking his head.

  ‘No. Not here, in the garden. I think he’s bleeding. Could it be that the present’s got stuck?’

  ‘I’ll come and check.’ He tiptoed his way carefully across the room like a scantily clad Crystal Maze contestant, carrying his clothes with him. ‘Great, you’ll be needing this,’ said Lottie, passing him the plastic bag gleefully. Then she remembered poor Dave and the joviality passed.

  In the kitchen, Dave was sitting by the back door. His tail began wagging at the sight of them. ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she said, picking him up and hugging him gently. She’d very quickly become attached to Dave, almost without noticing. It had only been a couple of days and he had slotted into the family so easily. Everyone seemed to love him – with the obvious exception of the Duchess. Lottie really didn’t want there to be something wrong with the little chap. She wondered if this was why someone had dumped him. Sadly, some people didn’t care enough and even for those who did, vet bills were expensive.

  ‘Let’s take a look at him.’ Joe took Dave and placed him on a kitchen chair. He had a cursory look around his nether regions. ‘No sign of blood there.’

  ‘It’s in his poo. And there’s loads. It’s all red.’ She knew that could only be a bad thing for poor Dave. She picked him back up and hugged him some more.

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Joe, pulling his jumper over his head and opening the back door.

  ‘About three strides past Buddha and to the right. You’ll need to bag it because Zach will need to check it for Emily’s present.’

  ‘Right.’ Joe disappeared. Lottie hugged Dave to her and wondered at how far he’d come since Christmas Eve. The once-manic little dog was now more sedate and he seemed to enjoy the cuddle. He still tried to lick her face, but not in a frenzied way like before. There had been a change in him. She felt bad that she’d not noticed that he was calming down.

  Joe came back in with a twist of a smile on his face.

  ‘What?’ she asked still feeling apprehensive. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Serviette,’ said Joe.

  Lottie barely registered what he said. ‘Is it serious?’ She hugged the dog a little tighter.

  Joe broke into a broad smile. ‘No, it’s not serious. He’s eaten one of the red serviettes from dinner. Someone must have dropped one on the floor. It probably smelled of gravy or meat so he’s gobbled it down.’

  ‘A paper serviette?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Lottie held the dog up to her face. ‘You total numpty,’ admonished Lottie. ‘You really had me worried there.’ She put Dave down and turned to Joe. ‘So he’ll definitely be all right? Now it’s out?’

  ‘It’s unlikely there’ll be any lasting effects. I’ve left the bag on the back step if Zach wants to play lucky dip.’

  ‘Thanks Joe. Coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please. We put away quite a bit of brandy last night.’

  ‘I didn’t have anywhere near as much as you and Zach, but I’m tired.’ She flopped into a kitchen chair, she felt drained and it was still early.

  ‘Any news on Bernard?’

  ‘He’s doing okay. Thanks for asking. It wasn’t a heart attack, it was a spasm.’

  ‘That’s good. No damage and easier to treat.’ They eyed each other awkwardly and then both looked away.

  ‘Does it smell funny in here to you?’ asked Joe.

  Lottie sniffed the air. It smelled a whole lot better than the drawing room did. ‘Still smells a bit like Christmas dinner.’ It was a smell she liked – a familiar smell. Then she remembered something. ‘Stuffing!’ She leaped to the oven and pulled open the door. On a baking tray at the bottom sat a number of small, round pieces of charcoal that had once been balls of stuffing, painstakingly made.

  Joe peered over her shoulder and chuckled. ‘New balls, please.’

  ‘I knew something was missing.’ She’d left serving up the meal to hunt for Aunt Nicola. Emily had taken over and somehow the stuffing had been forgotten. She plonked the tray on the kitchen table with a clatter. Lottie poked one of the cremated stuffing balls with her finger – it was rock solid.

  ‘Nobody else noticed,’ said Joe.

  ‘Unlike the bread sauce. I spent ages on these though. What an idiot to have forgotten them.’

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Lottie. You always have been.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She wasn’t sure what else to say. He was right. She knew she was her own worst enemy when it came to beating herself up. She fingered a burned stuffing ball.

  ‘You did a great job yesterday. Rose would have been proud. It was a really lovely meal.’ He looked self-conscious and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I mean it would have been better with stuffing and bread sauce, but otherwise it was great.’ He gave her
a friendly smirk.

  She pulled a stuffing ball off the tray and hurled it at him.

  ‘Hey! They hurt!’ He picked it up off the worktop and threw it back, hitting her shoulder.

  They giggled like children as they flung the stuffing balls across the kitchen. One hit Joe in the chest and exploded in a cloud of black dust. Joe held his chest like he’d been shot, and slumped against the cabinets. ‘You got me,’ he croaked. ‘Goodbye, cruel world.’

  ‘Well that’s in very poor taste, I must say,’ said Angie, from the doorway.

  Joe almost fell over in his attempt to stand up straight. He looked guilty but didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Bernard, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Lottie. ‘Oh, and since you ask: your uncle has made it through the night.’ It was Angie’s turn to look guilty.

  ‘If you gave me a chance, I was going to ask you exactly that.’

  ‘Ask me? Not planning to call the hospital yourself then?’ Lottie shook her head and turned away. She heard her mother stalk off towards the drawing room.

  ‘Shouldn’t you warn her about …’ Joe pointed after her.

  ‘The visit from the Christmas crapper?’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘She’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘Oh my dear God,’ came her mother’s voice, a couple of octaves higher than usual.

  ‘There you go,’ said Lottie, feeling smug.

  ‘I think I should probably get going,’ said Joe. He rubbed his palm across his stubble. ‘I must look a fright.’

  She let her gaze rest on him for a moment. He didn’t look a fright. A little dishevelled perhaps. A couple of creases around his eyes. A light tan on his skin. Possibly broader at the shoulders. A little more muscular in his arms. He’d matured nicely. Something flickered inside her. ‘No, you look fine,’ she said, wondering where that wave of sentiment had come from. She turned away.

  ‘I’ll round up the hound. And then I guess I’ll see you about.’ He glanced at her.

  ‘But you’ll be coming to the duck race?’ The words tumbled out and she disliked how desperate they sounded.

  ‘Do they still do that?’

  ‘Of course, it’s tradition. See you there?’ Lottie tried to sound nonchalant but failed.

  ‘Yeah. Okay.’ He seemed a little hesitant.

  ‘And you’re welcome to come back for dinner.’ She threw another incinerated stuffing ball at him and he deftly caught it.

  ‘I can’t impose on you again.’

  ‘It’s only leftovers, and I’m guessing you’ve not got much on,’ her eyes involuntarily shot to his bare thighs, ‘I mean in. Food-wise.’ She felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the faux pas. ‘Not got much food in,’ she repeated just to be clear.

  ‘You’re right; I haven’t.’ Joe seemed to realise he wasn’t wearing much on his lower half and scooted round to the other side of the table. ‘So, yeah, that’d be great. See you at the race.’

  Angie appeared in the doorway. ‘Have you seen what that dog has done in there?’

  ‘No, that was entirely Aunt Nicola’s doing,’ said Lottie and she heard Joe splutter a laugh behind her.

  ‘Aunt Nicola did that?! What are you talking about?’ Lottie and Joe began giggling like school children.

  Everyone else seemed to come downstairs at the same time, so she told them all that she wasn’t clearing up the mess in the drawing room. She countered all of Aunt Nicola’s arguments with the simple phrase, ‘Your robovac.’ Eventually Aunt Nicola went in search of cleaning materials and Lottie went off for a long soak in the bath. Hopefully, if the start of it was anything to go by, Boxing Day was going to be a doddle compared to the stress of Christmas Day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lottie was waiting for her bath to fill. She was watching the masses of bubbles multiply, idly wondering whether she’d maybe added too much bubble bath, when there was a tap on the door. Typical. Why did someone always need the loo when you were about to have a bath?

  ‘Use the one downstairs,’ she called.

  ‘Lottie, it’s me,’ said Joe, through the door. ‘I don’t need the loo.’

  She thought he’d already left. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Can you open the door please?’

  Lottie looked down at her naked self. ‘Er, no, not really.’

  ‘I take it that’s your handiwork all over the back of my Land Rover?’

  Lottie had almost forgotten her secret mission of yesterday afternoon. While Uncle Daniel and Rhys had been chatting, she had been busy painting a variety of animal footprints over the back of Joe’s Land Rover, as well as carefully adding ‘local vet’ on both doors. She couldn’t tell from his voice if he was happy or not; although he didn’t sound furious, which was something. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself and opened the door a fraction.

  ‘It might have been me.’ She gave him her best cheesy grin. ‘I didn’t like you not having a Christmas present.’

  ‘That’s kind. I just wanted to say thank you.’

  ‘Do you like it?’ she asked. She wanted to see his reaction.

  ‘I love it. You are really talented. You know, I always imagined that you’d made a career out of your drawing.’

  It was odd looking at him through the crack in the door, but it also acted like a shield. ‘I kind of lost the desire for it. I think you really need that to make a success of being an artist.’

  She could tell by his expression that he didn’t want to ask what had triggered her to lose her interest in something she had been so passionate about. ‘I had better head off. I’ll catch you later. Thanks again, I love it.’ Joe broke eye contact.

  ‘Okay, bye.’ She went to shut the door and suddenly remembered something she needed to say. ‘Joe!’ She pulled the door open swiftly and lost her grip on the towel. He spun around as the towel hit the floor. She quickly snatched it up and tried to cover herself with it, but it kept bunching up and it took her too long to hide her nakedness.

  ‘Yes?’ She could hear the mirth in his voice. He was studying his car keys. She was grateful to him for pretending he hadn’t seen her naked.

  ‘I can paint on your mobile number if you like? Just let me know what it is.’ She said it all in a hurry, flung herself back into the bathroom and shut the door quickly. Had she just flashed him and then asked for his phone number? She threw the towel on the radiator and smacked her palm to her forehead.

  The Boxing Day duck race was a tradition Joe remembered fondly, although images of his parents in happier times danced through his mind, tingeing his memories with melancholy. He strolled up the hill with Dave trotting alongside him. He could picture his last duck race like it was yesterday: the contrast of the brightly coloured toy ducks against the stark winter outfit of the village; Zach, Lottie and the other village kids all excitedly racing along the banks of the stream shouting the numbers of the front-runners. The race started in Henbourne and the stream wove its way down the hill in a roundabout fashion until it reached Dumbleford, where the finish line was the ford across the road.

  He reached the top of Henbourne Hill and carried Dave over the stile towards the bridge where the race would start. There had been a sharp frost and the drop in temperature meant it was still crisp underfoot. He’d missed the cold. He hadn’t realised it when he’d been enjoying year-round sunshine, but there was a lot to be said for proper seasons. He joined the crowd of locals already amassing near the tiny bridge made of Cotswold stone. A waft of something delicious sparked a memory of Lottie’s Nana’s sausage rolls, and he turned to see Lottie opening a foil packet and offering some round. She saw him looking and came over. The frost between them seemed to be thawing and he was grateful.

  ‘Sausage roll?’

  ‘Please. I was just thinking about these.’ He took one and bit into it. It was a bit burned on the bottom and the filling was spilling out at both ends, but otherwise it wasn’t bad at all. ‘They’re good,’ he said, and Lottie gav
e him her look that said she knew he was lying but she didn’t call him on it. ‘Each time I see you I’m surprised that your hair colour is the same,’ he said, thinking out loud.

  ‘I don’t dye it any more, Joe. That was all a long time ago.’ He felt the sadness connect them. All the time lost. All the things they’d shared, trapped in the past. She adjusted today’s sparkly hair clip and walked away. He watched her disappear into the crowd to be greeted warmly by locals and visitors alike. Something about Lottie drew people to her. She was the kindest soul he’d ever known: completely unique and so very special.

  Petra from the pub appeared with trays of mulled wine at a reasonable price, and just like that Joe felt festive again. He found a good spot not too close to the start, but near enough to see the ducks released. There were quite a few dogs about, and they all seemed to be off leads but behaving themselves impeccably. He looked at Dave, and Dave looked hopefully at him.

  ‘Sorry, boy. I can’t risk you running off.’ Dave lay down grumpily as if he’d understood. Joe hung the skipping rope over his arm as he juggled his sausage roll and mulled wine. Some local children, all wrapped up in too many layers, excitedly rushed to the front as the announcer started counting down. The crowd joined in and a huge cheer went up as the ducks were released: a mass of yellow plastic tumbled over the little bridge and into the water. A few of the dogs barked and Dave jumped up excitedly. As the flash of yellow ducks bobbed past, Dave dashed through the many assembled legs, wrenching the rope from Joe’s arm and disappearing into the crowd.

  ‘Dave!’ shouted Joe, and a couple of people turned to look but most of them were watching the scruffy little dog, who had launched himself into the water and was now chasing up the middle of the stream after the lead ducks. Joe dropped his sausage roll and hastily thrust his drink into Shirley’s hands.

  ‘And a happy New Year to you!’ she called after him, before downing it in one.

  Joe found himself in the middle of a group of children all running along the banks of the stream trying to keep up with the ducks as Dave raced along in the shallow water trying to grab one in his mouth.