Petra was shaking her head. ‘Nope. The snow has brought down the phone lines, and I don’t have your mobile number. But there is good news.’ Lottie wasn’t getting her hopes up. ‘We have plenty of food at the pub, so we’re doing a big buffet lunch today for ten pounds a head. If you want to brave the snow, we’d love to see you.’
‘Petra, that is good news. Thank you.’ At least she wouldn’t have to cook a main meal today.
‘Oh, and top gossip.’ She leaned in close, almost scooping Lottie into her parka hood. ‘Apparently Meghan Markle is hiding out in the village,’ she whispered with a wink.
‘No, she’s not,’ said Lottie, her gut tightening at the thought of Megan and Joe together. ‘It’s just a woman who looks a bit like her. She’s Joe Broomfield’s partner.’
‘The vet?’
‘Yeah, that’s the guy.’
‘He seems lovely. He was the talk of the pub on Christmas Day,’ she said, giving Lottie a sideways look. ‘You came up in that conversation too.’
Lottie rolled her lips together. ‘Yeah … that was a long time ago, Petra.’
‘Before my time,’ she said, and she opened the door. ‘Hope to see you later. Take care.’
‘Definitely, reserve us a table for …’ she counted them off on her fingers, ‘nine.’ A bark came from the kitchen, ‘And one dog.’
‘Consider it done.’ And the door closed behind her.
So everyone in the village knew her past – and now they would have the next instalment of the story of Joe Broomfield. One that no longer included her.
Lottie puffed out a breath. There comes a time to let go and move on to the next chapter. Lottie had a feeling that now was that time.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The general mood was downbeat. The snow had scuppered everyone’s plans, and no amount of refreshing the weather forecast was going to make the snow disappear any quicker. Lottie was keen that they didn’t dissolve into their usual family bickering and that they somehow made the best of things – she just had to think of something to keep them occupied.
The first half of the morning was quite easy; Jessie managed to persuade virtually everyone to go outside to play snowballs and make a family of snowmen with her, with the exception of Rhys, who was still asleep, and Angie, who – according to her – didn’t have anything appropriate to wear for snow. Dave had had a whale of a time chasing snowballs, but had been puzzled every time he’d tried to bite one and it had instantly disappeared.
Lottie made a vat of hot chocolate, and an almond milk-based version for Scott, who was very grateful; he just managed to stop her spoiling it by adding marshmallows, which apparently contained gelatin. She’d learned a lot about vegan food this Christmas, which might come in handy if Scott and her mother stayed together for a bit longer.
‘Can we make more snowmen after this?’ asked Jessie, spooning more marshmallows into what remained of her hot chocolate. There was a collective groan from around the kitchen table as everyone warmed their numb hands on their mugs.
Rhys meandered into the kitchen to mumbled greetings. ‘What time are we leaving?’ he asked, looking between his parents.
Nicola shook her head. ‘For someone as intelligent as you, that is a very stupid question.’
Rhys turned to his father and Daniel pointed at the window. Rhys strained his neck. ‘It’s snowing.’
‘Congratulations. The undisputed winner of the Stating-the-bleeding-obvious Award goes to Rhys Collins,’ said Zach and he ruffled Rhys’s hair. Rhys batted him away, and a good-natured boyish tussle ensued.
‘Rhys, do you want to play in the snow?’ asked Jessie.
‘Maybe later,’ he said, as his impromptu scrap with Zach ended. Jessie pouted.
Lottie handed Rhys a full mug. ‘It’s been made a while. Do you want me to microwave it?’
By way of an answer, he downed his hot chocolate and picked up his metal detector.
‘You might find a horseshoe today,’ said Emily, stifling a giant yawn.
‘It felt like I was close yesterday,’ said Rhys, pulling on the woolly hat he’d got for Christmas. Lottie snatched it off his head. ‘Hey!’ he said in protest. She snipped off the price tag and he smiled as she handed it back to him.
‘Can I help?’ asked Jessie, sounding a little dejected. ‘Pleeeeeeeeeeease?’
‘Erm …’ Rhys looked to Lottie. Clearly he felt a flat refusal would be unkind.
‘How about you and I watch Rhys,’ Jessie’s face fell, ‘and we’ll take trowels so we can help dig up the horseshoe when he finds one?’
‘Yay,’ said Jessie, tipping up her mug and adding to her already impressive hot chocolate moustache.
‘She reminds me of someone with that moustache,’ said Lottie to Zach as they watched.
‘Cousin Paul?’ Zach suggested. Lottie shook her head. ‘Nicola’s brother Stephen?’
‘Nope. That’s not it.’
‘Aunt Pearl,’ he said, triumphantly.
‘Yes!’ said Lottie, and she congratulated him with a high five.
Lottie found herself following Rhys round the garden again, wrapped up under multiple layers. Although just as cold today, it was a whole lot prettier outside. The snow had cloaked everything in a white sparkly blanket, and the manor house looked beautifully serene. Somehow the weather had given it an extra edge of magnificence, like it had been painted onto the landscape.
‘Do you like Emily?’ asked Jessie.
‘Yes, I do. She seems very nice,’ said Lottie.
‘She is. I like her. I thought Daddy liked her too.’
‘Oh, he does, sweetie.’
‘Do you like Joe?’ Jessie fixed her with a hard stare.
‘Um, yes. I like Joe.’ She could feel her cheeks burn despite the cold.
‘I don’t like that lady. She screamed at Dave,’ said Jessie.
‘He did eat her coat,’ reasoned Lottie, smiling at the thought of Dave spitting out lumps of fur collar.
Jessie giggled. ‘That was funny. Is Scott going to be your new daddy?’ Lottie felt her eyes ping wide open.
‘We’ve got something!’ Rhys called over, digging frantically.
Lottie was grateful for the interruption.
‘What is it?’ asked Lottie as she reached him.
‘Here,’ he said handing her the headphones. ‘Listen.’ She put one to her ear and Rhys waved the detector over where he was digging – it let out a screech. ‘It’s something big.’ He returned to digging.
‘Probably a horseshoe,’ whispered Lottie, passing the headphones to Jessie, who nodded her agreement.
‘Right, let’s dig it up,’ said Rhys, and he and Jessie set to work with their trowels. Lottie folded her arms and hoped it was something a little more interesting than the rusty nail they’d found yesterday.
Jessie was an enthusiastic digger, if somewhat haphazard. Rhys had to guide her back to the hole a few times or she’d have tunnelled to Dumbleford. Finally, her trowel made a sound like she had stabbed it into a plate – it put Lottie’s teeth on edge. Rhys put down his own trowel and dug his fingers into the ground to clear the earth away from whatever was there.
A few moments later, Rhys sat back on his haunches and stared into the hole they’d dug. ‘It’s definitely not a horseshoe,’ he said, his face full of confusion.
Joe was at the kitchen table studying his accounts on his laptop when he heard the bedroom door open, and Megan appeared. He glanced in her direction. He’d heard her padding about between the bedroom and bathroom earlier, but this was the first time he’d seen her since last night. She was fully dressed in a striking red-and-white striped dress and matching heels. She’d had her driver drop off a ridiculous amount of luggage late the previous evening.
‘Good morning, Joey,’ she said, in her seductive drawl. He saw her look out of the window. ‘An English village in the snow. Is there anything prettier?’
She was likely fishing for a compliment. ‘No, there’s nothing prettie
r,’ he agreed.
‘Where can I get a decent coffee around here?’ asked Megan, leaning against the kitchen doorway and eyeing Joe.
‘There’s some instant by the kettle.’ He didn’t look up.
‘A kettle? How British is that?’ She sidled over and studied the ordinary-looking kettle. ‘Fascinating.’ Joe liked having a kettle again. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d missed not having it in America, but he had. ‘There must be somewhere I can buy a coffee and perhaps brunch?’ She came up behind him and leaned against the back of his chair.
‘There’s the tearooms on the village green. You might want to try there. Or the pub.’ When he was a kid, the tearooms had been a very traditional set-up with bone china teacups, saucers and flowery cake stands. It had been one where they went as a treat and wore their Sunday best. He had been looking forward to checking it out and seeing how it had changed – but not today.
‘I don’t know if I can be fussed to walk all that way.’ She sighed into his hair making him freeze.
Petra had called by earlier to let him know they were doing food at the pub. He checked his watch. ‘If you can wait a bit I think the pub is our best option.’
‘What’s this you’re working on?’ asked Megan, her manicured nail whizzing past his right ear and pointing at the laptop screen.
Joe shut the laptop lid. ‘It’s just my accounts.’
‘Your accounts or our accounts?’ She turned to perch on the table next to him and watched his response carefully. ‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Megan, we talked this through last night.’ His voice was weary. They’d not gone to bed until two that morning, and he was fed up of talking. Why did she always insist on going over and over the same thing? ‘The practice here will be in my name and funded by me. It’s what I want.’
She pouted. ‘My Mr Independent.’ She ran a finger under his chin.
‘I need to sort out Dave,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Who’s Dave?’ She tilted her head in a way that reminded him of the little dog. The comparison, which would have so deeply offended her, made him smile.
‘He’s the dog that ravaged your coat.’ He was still smiling at the memory.
‘Eurgh.’ She gave a shudder. ‘I hope you’re going to euthanise the horrid thing.’
His smile slid away. ‘No, I’m going to make a couple of calls to local rescue centres and vets and see if he’s been reported as missing over the holidays.’ There was a good reason he’d kept Megan away from the caring side of his job – the two most definitely didn’t mix.
‘So where are you taking me for lunch?’ she asked.
‘The pub.’
She mouthed the word pub as if it was completely alien to her.
‘Once I’ve made these calls we can brave the walk down the hill. You might want to swap your heels for some wellington boots.’
He tried not to take too much pleasure in the disgusted look on her face.
Lottie had grabbed a crate from the log store and Rhys and Jessie had carefully dug out their find, which was now on the middle of the kitchen table with the whole family staring at it, mesmerised.
‘Is that all of it?’ asked Daniel, his eyes fixed on the mud-covered artefact in the crate.
‘I had a quick sweep round with the detector and it didn’t register anything else,’ said Rhys.
‘How old is it?’ asked Emily.
‘It’s not really my area. But I’d say it’s about two thousand years old. Give or take a couple of hundred years,’ said Rhys. All heads briefly turned his way. ‘It’s terra sigillata. It’s almost certainly Roman.’
The heads turned back in unison to stare at the broken red earthenware pot nestled in the wooden crate, still caked in mud. Lottie marvelled at the faint flower pattern still visible. To think it had lain in their garden all those years and was only now seeing daylight again. Or the kitchen strip light, to be more precise.
‘What’s it worth?’ asked Angie.
Rhys puckered his lips. ‘If it was perfect, maybe a couple of hundred. In this condition not a lot. But a local museum would be interested.’
Jessie was pulling a face. ‘Is the pot metal?’
‘No, it’s made from a type of red clay. When it was new it would have had a shiny glaze,’ explained Nicola, always keen to show off her knowledge.
Jessie was frowning. ‘Because Rhys said the metal dec-tor—’
‘Dee-tect-or,’ corrected Emily, snaking an arm around Jessie’s shoulder.
‘Dee-tect-or,’ repeated Jessie. ‘He said it beeped if it found metal. And it was beeping a lot.’
Heads swivelled around the table and, as simultaneous pennies dropped, Rhys reached for the pot.
‘Be careful,’ said his mother.
‘Empty out the earth,’ instructed Daniel.
Rhys used his trowel to carefully nudge the soil out of the top of the pot. He was almost halfway down before he paused. ‘There’s something there.’ He looked back at the eager faces.
‘Let’s see,’ said Jessie, voicing everybody’s thoughts.
Rhys reached in and pulled out a lump of mud caked around a number of tiny green discs.
Zach lifted up Jessie so she could get a better look. ‘What are they?’ she asked.
‘They’re coins,’ said Zach. ‘Very old ones.’
Angie reached for one that was jutting out. She gently rubbed the soil off its surface and peered at it closely.
‘Is it Roman?’ asked Emily.
‘Is it worth anything?’ asked Daniel.
‘Is it lunchtime?’ asked Jessie, wriggling to get down from her father’s arms.
‘Clasped hands,’ said Angie in a faint voice. She was frowning hard at the coin.
Rhys bent his head to get a better look. ‘I think that denotes it was minted here.’
‘What’s that mean?’ asked Lottie. ‘Is it fake?’
‘No. I think it’s one of only a few coins minted in Britain by Carausius,’ said Rhys.
‘To think the house has been keeping that a secret for all these years,’ said Lottie to nobody in particular.
‘There’s one of those coins on eBay for eighty quid,’ said Daniel, showing round his phone screen at lightning speed.
‘It’s treasure-trove, Daniel. This needs to be declared to the authorities.’ Nicola turned to Rhys. ‘This could be an important find. It’s a wonderful thing for your CV once you leave university and—’
‘I already left uni at the end of last term,’ said Rhys, taking the coin from Angie, ‘and I’m not going back.’
‘What?’ said Daniel and Nicola together – united for a change.
‘I’ve got a job.’ He turned towards Lottie. ‘Lottie thinks it’s a good idea. Don’t you?’
Lottie’s eyebrows felt like they were heading into space as his parents’ glares turned on her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lottie refused to get involved and made a break for upstairs as a row of gargantuan proportions kicked off over the coins in the kitchen. Angie followed close behind her. As Lottie went into her bedroom, she realised that her mother hadn’t gone past her, which she would need to do in order to get to her room or the bathroom. Lottie backtracked. She opened Nana’s bedroom door to find Angie sitting on the bed.
Lottie was about to question her mother’s motives for going in there, but something about the posture of her body stopped her. ‘Are you okay?’ asked Lottie from the doorway.
Angie tipped her head up. ‘I’m not bonkers or anything, but I needed to check she wasn’t here.’ Angie chewed the inside of her mouth. ‘That is bonkers isn’t it?’
‘Yep. Totally nuts.’ Lottie went inside, shut the door and joined her on the bed. ‘But I know what you mean. It’s kind of unbelievable that she’s not here any more.’
Angie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Especially at Christmas.’ Lottie put her arm around her mother and reluctantly Angie let her hold her, briefly. She sniffed bac
k the tears and pulled away.
‘I thought you hated the Christmas gathering,’ said Lottie.
‘I don’t hate it. I suppose I’m not its biggest fan, but who likes being told what to do?’
Lottie hadn’t really thought of it like that. ‘It’s tradition though.’
‘Tradition? Or not wanting to let things change?’ Angie fixed Lottie with a stare. She wasn’t sure if the comment was aimed at her or Nana.
‘There’s something reassuring about both. I like that Christmas is always here, and that we all know what happens when. It’s comforting.’
They sat in silence for a moment. ‘Does life worry you?’ asked Lottie. ‘Making decisions that could send you in a specific direction, but not knowing if it’s the right one.’
Angie gave her a quizzical look. ‘Old age worries me. I swear the hairs on my top lip are thickening.’ She leaned closer to Lottie so she could inspect them.
‘What am I looking at?’ asked Lottie, trying not to look too closely.
‘Am I getting a moustache?’
‘Don’t be daft … Hercule,’ said Lottie, and her mother gave her a light slap on the arm. ‘I’m joking. Of course you don’t look like Hercule Poirot. You look more like Aunt Pearl.’
‘Same moustache. Stop it. I’m thinking of spending some of my inheritance on having surgery.’
Lottie regarded her mother. She was an attractive woman who had worn well. Yes, there were some tell-tale wrinkles around her eyes and neck, but overall she looked incredible. ‘You look great for your age.’ Lottie studied her mother’s face. ‘I don’t think you should have any surgery.’
Angie looked shocked. ‘Not my face! Down there.’ She pointed between her thighs. ‘It’s meant to make sex even better. Not that we have a problem in that department. Although the last couple of days have been a bit sparse thanks to you stealing our batteries and relegating us to the bed from hell. I swear, every spring in that mattress has been imprinted on my—’
‘Stop!’ said Lottie, trying to block the unwanted pictures from her mind. She’d need extra-strength mind bleach to rid herself of those.
One Family Christmas: The perfect, cosy, heart-warming read to curl up with this winter Page 27