by Eve Devon
‘Well what about my job here? I’ve made a commitment.’ She could feel her breath getting shaky. ‘I can’t possibly leave you in the lurch.’
‘Sweetheart if it’s something you want we’ll manage. I could even get Gloria to take over, seeing as she’s not, like, you know, totally useless.’
‘I bask in your praise,’ Gloria said, looking at Kate like she was mental for encouraging Emma to go.
‘But what about the play?’ she said stupidly.
‘Oh yes, because in comparison, the Whispers Wood Christmas show is not only equal to, but seen as better than a Hollywood movie,’ Kate said. ‘You’ve worked towards this all your life, haven’t you? If you want it, take it.’
No.
This was silly.
She lived here.
She worked here.
She was in love here.
She couldn’t make that work elsewhere.
Her gaze swung back to Jake and she licked her lips. ‘Jake?’
‘What they said,’ he answered, looking back at her like she was the only person in the room. ‘You can’t let this slip through your fingers if it’s what you want.’
‘What if it’s not what I want?’ she said bravely. Hopefully.
‘What if you’re just too afraid to say that it is?’ he asked, walking slowly towards her. ‘What if I say it for you?’
‘What if you tell me to stay?’ she countered, tears clogging her throat because he was really telling her to go? Rejecting a future together? Rejecting her?
‘I can’t do that, Hollywood.’ He reached for her hands.
‘I’m not Alice,’ she whispered. She knew he’d been hurt. Knew he didn’t trust easily. But did he really believe she’d be happier in Hollywood, than here with him?
‘I know that.’
Ask me to stay. Why won’t you ask me to stay?
‘The chandelier,’ she suddenly said and that was when everyone else must have sensed her desperation and that this was a conversation they shouldn’t overhear because they began leaving.
‘Is just a chandelier, Hollywood,’ Jake said gently, reaching up to tuck her hair back behind her ears.
‘But what about Sir Wolfie?’ she whispered, seeing her dream of next Christmas disappear.
‘Hollywood, I have no clue who Sir Wolfie is, but I do know that if you don’t go, you’ll never know for certain—’
‘Stop calling me Hollywood, I know you only do it when you’re—’
‘Ho Ho Ho,’ Trudie interrupted in her cheerful, booming voice, as she made a grand entrance, oblivious to the undertones as she sprang into action, rolling up her sleeves and heading over to the table to start clearing it. ‘Had a good lunch, did we? Fandabbydozy. Right then, let’s start moving the tables out of the way.’
‘We’ll talk later,’ Jake said, stroking his fingers over her cheekbone, and then he was stepping back and turning around and reaching for a stack of chairs.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, taking a step backwards too. ‘Later.’
‘Give me a hug then, Jakey,’ Trudie said.
While Trudie reached forward to give Jake a Christmas hug, Emma slipped quietly out of The Clock House doors.
Chapter 42
A Blue, Blue, Blue Christmas
Emma
Emma ran through the snow.
Damn it.
She’d just allowed that to happen?
She hadn’t thrown back her head, opened her mouth, stuck her hand down her throat and grabbed hold of her heart so that she could rip it out to offer to him?
What the hell was the matter with her lily-livered self anyway?
Call herself a woman?
She should turn around right now and march right up to him and tell him that she – that she…
He didn’t want her to.
The knowledge crept painfully up her throat waiting to sob itself out in the privacy of Wren Cottage.
He wanted her to go back to Hollywood.
She wasn’t good enough.
Not at showing him how good they could be together.
She thought she had, but he would have fought for her to stay if she had.
Would have told her to stay here in Whispers Wood.
For him.
Why hadn’t he?
How could he have just stood there while everyone celebrated?
Watched her without passing comment while she accepted everyone’s congratulations?
And watched her still as the most horrible chill invaded her person, turning the blood running through her veins icy and setting her teeth achatter.
By the time she let herself into the cottage she’d thought of as home for the past few months she was shaking from head to foot.
Bloody heating still wasn’t working properly, she thought, pacing back and forth across the lounge carpet trying to get warm, trying to thaw out, trying to think.
After a few moments mostly what she thought was that she couldn’t wait to get out of here.
As if she needed a Viking Jane Austen hero with a super sexy British accent anyway?
She had the part of her dreams to fall back on.
Slipping her phone from her pocket she looked up flights out of Heathrow and wondered how much a taxi to the airport would cost on Christmas Day.
Probably like a gazillion dollars.
Or pounds.
She could Uber it.
Running up the stairs to the bedroom she pulled her case out from under the bed and threw it on top of the beautiful white duvet and blankets.
Flinging open the wardrobe doors she started pulling out clothes and squishing them into her case.
No time for the life-hack packing tips she’d tried out to save her clothes from creasing on the way over.
Of course why she was bothering to pack anything to go back to LA with, she didn’t know.
She was going to have to go on a diet the minute she landed anyway because she’d been eating, well, like a normal person, all the time she’d been here.
Maybe instead of stupid starvation, she’d hit the gym instead.
Do some actual krav maga classes.
Throw in some yoga for good measure.
She’d need the meditation because she could already feel the familiar tension cracking her spine at the thought of going back to it all.
Zipping up her case she was surprised she didn’t have more stuff, but then when you left to go on an adventure, you never took all your belongings with you, did you? You didn’t want anything too comfortable with you in case it held you captive. Held you back.
If she left her heart in Whispers Wood at least it would be one less thing to carry.
It was all such hard work, she thought.
This going backwards simply to start going forwards again.
But as soon as she started filming, well then, she’d be so excited, wouldn’t she?
Before she knew it she’d be so caught up in it all, she’d be happy again.
Yep.
Hands down, doing this film was going to be her greatest adventure yet.
She should start packing her bag – purse – she’d need to start calling it a purse again.
And then she’d call Penny and ask her to email over the script. She could read it on the plane. Get a head-start. Or at least catch up.
The tension ratcheted up another notch and yet as she descended the stairs her legs felt like lead.
In the lounge she picked up her bag-purse and half-heartedly started dropping things into it.
She absolutely did not want to go.
There.
She’d said it.
Acknowledged it.
But she couldn’t stay here.
She’d said if things didn’t work out between her and Jake then she would stay anyway.
But that had been when she was feeling smug.
Now, she was just feeling defeated.
Emma sunk down onto the sofa.
She so didn’t want to feel defeated again.
She’d felt that when she’d slipped into bed the first time Penny had told her she hadn’t got the part.
To feel it now though, after she’d been so happy, was so much worse.
Choking back another sob, she reached for her phone and called Penny who answered on the first ring with a, ‘Hi, you want I should email you the script? Good idea.’
‘Penny, I’m not coming back.’
Wait—what?
Emma blinked and looked around to check someone else hadn’t uttered the words.
‘We seem to have a bad line. Did you say you weren’t coming back?’
‘I don’t want the part, Penny. I don’t want any part,’ she offered truthfully. ‘What I want – what I choose – is to stay here in Whispers Wood. I’ve—’ she stopped talking as her gaze fell on the Christmas present lying on her coffee table. The Christmas present Jake had dropped off for her the day after the tree-lighting ceremony. ‘Penny, I’ll call you back, ’kay?’ and without waiting for an answer she hung up and reached for the gift. She’d been saving opening it until today but because she’d stayed at Knightley Hall last night she’d forgotten about it.
Now she remembered on the day he’d stopped by, before he’d given it to her, he’d rushed forward asking if she’d hurt herself when he’d seen she was upset. After his experience with Alice he must have assumed the worst and she felt sad for all he’d been through.
Had he not asked her to stay because he’d been doing what he did with Alice and avoiding the difficult conversations?
She held the gift in her hands.
The present was book-heavy and book-shaped.
He’d given her a book.
With trembling hands she started to unwrap it and the second she saw the leather binding she knew.
Another sob slipped out of her throat as she stared down at an early edition of Jane Austen’s Emma.
He’d given her something he knew she’d love.
Because he knew her.
Cared about her.
She was being given the opportunity here to choose.
Not to go from opportunity to opportunity because it got her out of a hole, or a rut or because it effectively got her out of having to make a decision about what she really wanted.
She knew what she really wanted, didn’t she?
She’d been happy for weeks.
She didn’t feel like she was hanging on, waiting for the drop, like she so often had with acting.
Being at Cocktails & Chai – being with people, helping them, looking after them – made her feel like she was connected to something real.
Being with Jake was real.
And it made her happy.
The happiest.
With a giant sniff, she sat up and reached for her phone.
‘Penny, I’m so sorry to keep phoning you on Christmas Day, but the thing is, I’ve met someone and—’
‘Well this isn’t the twentieth century, Cannellini Bean, bring him with you.’
‘That’s not going to work. He has responsibilities here. I have responsibilities here,’ she added, thinking that she really did like Gloria, but she wasn’t ready to let her run Cocktails & Chai just yet. ‘And, besides, I really don’t want to act anymore.’
‘Is this all just because of a man?’
‘It is, but it isn’t. There are other things here that I love too. And I’m not with the man.’ Her gaze strayed straight to the book. ‘I mean, I hope to be. If I can get him to listen.’
‘I have to tell you, Lima Bean, this guy is sounding less and less of a prize.’
‘Oh, he’s being a complete and utter idiot, but I love him.’
‘You—well, look at that, your British accent came back.’
‘I’m sorry I won’t be putting it to proper use in the movie.’
‘Just go and tell that complete and utter idiot that he’s what you want and you’re not taking no for an answer.’
‘Penny, you really are the loveliest agent a person could ask for.’
‘So go get your man, Twinkie.’
‘No beans now I’m off the books?’
‘I’m swapping to cakes now I know I’m going to get to come to the UK one day and meet your guy.’
‘I’ll talk to you soon, just because I want to, okay?’
‘Okay. Happy Christmas, Cupcake.’
Putting down the phone, Emma picked up her book but when she felt the tears welling up again she put it back on the coffee table to protect it.
She knew the text of the book inside out but she would treasure this copy. Because it was the first Christmas present Jake had given her.
Reaching for a tissue she blew her nose and sank back onto the sofa, forcing herself to think about what she was going to say to Jake.
She’d never felt so unscripted in her life.
Maybe if she acted the confident brook-no-argument woman in love, he’d finally believe her. Or at least find the act sexy for long enough to distract him while she came up with another plan.
She stared at the book, hoping for inspiration and then suddenly she was frowning and sitting up to grab the book off the table and inspect where the pages weren’t lying flat.
Curious, she turned the book upside down, and shook it lightly.
A piece of paper slipped out and seemed to float midair until she reached out to catch it.
A letter?
Slipped inside the book, either as a bookmark, or so that it could be treasured?
She turned the paper over and on the front she saw written, in bold precise handwriting, Lillian.
With a pounding heart, she unfolded the letter and began to read.
Five minutes later she was crying again as she shoved her feet into boots that were two sizes too small for her, but at least not freezing cold.
Wrenching open the front door of Wren Cottage, the letter tucked safely in her pocket, she set off through the snow for The Clock House.
Chapter 43
The Show Must Go On
Jake
How stupid could he get?
Jake couldn’t believe he’d been thinking about proposing to Emma and now he was standing at the side of The Clock House stage in a tux, waiting to do his song in the Christmas show and she was back at Wren Cottage probably packing.
Earlier, when he’d looked up from the chairs he’d been setting out and spied her through the window, running across the green like she was running to a better life, he’d felt as if his heart was being ripped out.
He was so used to being dealt the hand of something or someone ‘better’ coming along but now he knew he’d started believing that they were each other’s ‘better’ coming along. Poking his head around the curtain at the side of the stage, he looked out past the audience, and as his gaze caught on the chandelier – that bloody chandelier – he cursed. Could not have been more wrong, could he?
‘Did you just use a profanity in the presence of a minor?’
Startled, Jake looked down at his side to see a boy about the age of eight or nine dressed as an elf.
The sight made him want to swear again. The last thing he was in the mood for was company.
Biting back another curse, he admitted, ‘You’re right, I did. And that was very wrong of me. Very wrong indeed.’
‘It’s all right.’ The boy grinned up at him. ‘I’m an elf anyway, so I’ll let it pass.’
‘Right.’
Jake went back to staring at the chandelier. He had to do the show … for the children, as Emma loved to say. But the end of this show – the end of this Christmas – now couldn’t come soon enough as far as he was concerned.
‘So have you got stage-fright?’ the elf whispered. ‘Is that why you swore?’
Jake gritted his teeth and said under his breath, ‘No, I swore because I let the love of my life slip through my fingers.’
He should have told Emma he loved her before practically shoving her back in the direction of Hollywood, shouldn’t he?
&nbs
p; Should at least have given her the choice and given himself the chance of her choosing him.
‘That was pretty careless. Why didn’t you hold on tighter?’ said the boy, like he had the wisdom of Solomon or at least Old Man Isaac.
‘Because,’ Jake answered testily, ‘if you love someone you’re supposed to set them free.’
‘Huh?’
He’d wanted her to be happy.
And she’d been rejected for part after part yet every time she’d risen back up, all Terminator like, to brush off the hurt, and put herself out there again.
Someone who showed that much resilience deserved their happy ending.
‘Why don’t you just go and catch her again?’ asked the boy.
‘Because you can’t catch people who don’t want to be caught.’
‘Except for if you’re the police.’
Jake’s mouth formed a half-smile at the faultless logic and then found himself sighing again when his shadow said, ‘So you seriously let the love of your life slip through your fingers? Just like that?’
Jake looked down to find the boy shaking his head sadly at him and adding, ‘Because even I knew at age five when I asked Poppy Druthers on a play-date and she said no, that I should ask her if that was her final answer.’
‘And was it?’ he found himself asking.
The boy rolled his eyes. ‘You know I’m beginning to worry there’s not enough time between acts to tell you all the things you should already know by now – what with you being the adult here and me being an elf.’
‘Interesting. I’m not sure where a sarcasm act fits in a Christmas show,’ Jake said, looking behind him for the boy’s parents and thinking that possibly Gloria Pavey had a son walking around Whispers Wood that she didn’t know about.
‘Good job my act is comedy then,’ replied the elf.
‘Comedy? You’re sure about that, are you?’
The elf huffed out a, ‘Suddenly everyone’s a comedian,’ then said, ‘I’m a last minute stand-in … I’m guessing for The Love of Your Life?’
Not wanting to be reminded of how stupid he’d been, Jake said, ‘Unless you get a lot funnier, and a lot taller, I’m not sure you’re going to be anyone’s love of their life.’
‘First the swearing, then the elfism … I sincerely hope your act isn’t comedy.’