Christmas at the Dancing Duck

by Daisy James

  Every December a cornucopia of porcelain Santa Clauses, reindeers, antique fairies, and vintage glass baubles would appear as if by magic to clutter every spare nook and cranny alongside the largest fir tree Don could get his hands on, which would be draped in a proliferation of decorations, old and new. It had been her mother’s favourite time of the year, as well as her daughters’, until the tragedy two years ago when the world changed for ever.

  Kirstie swallowed down hard as a surge of grief, always so close to the surface, threatened to overwhelm her in the deserted train station waiting room. She glanced out of the window and was relieved to see it had stopped snowing.

  She made a decision – she had to allow Harry and Olivia to rush to George’s bedside without feeling guilty about leaving the pub at such a critical time. She would step into the breach with a beaming smile and a confident tilt of her chin just like she did every day when she faced the FMTV cameras. She would make the Dancing Duck’s last Christmas under the Harrison name the best one ever, and make her sister, and her parents as they looked down on her, the proudest they had been. It was her turn, after all.

  ‘No problem, Livie. Go to Ireland and tell George to get well soon from me. Don’t worry about the pub. Emma is the best barmaid ever, so together I’m sure we will manage to deliver the village of Cranbury the absolute ultimate in Christmas celebrations, one that everyone will remember for years to come. I won’t let you down.’

  ‘Thank you, Kirstie. I knew you would do it. Oh, and by the way, you’ll have the benefit of an extra pair of hands to help you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I haven’t had chance to tell you yet, but I’ve taken on a new bar manager to help out when I’m busy with Ethan.’

  ‘You did? Well, that’s a great …’

  ‘It’s Josh. Josh Turner.’

  ‘Oh, no, Livie, I …

  ‘Sorry, Kirstie, got to go. The taxi’s arrived to take us to the airport. If you make your way to the station car park Josh will be waiting to give you a lift home.’

  ‘Livie …’

  But her sister had disconnected. Kirstie stood there, her phone still clamped to her ear, as memories ricocheted around her brain before crystallizing into a clear image of Josh Turner. Heat rushed through her veins and her heart hammered against her ribcage to the tune of ‘Last Christmas’.

  Chapter 4

  Kirstie inhaled a deep, steadying breath, grabbed the handles of her bag, and stalked out of the waiting room. She had no intention of accepting a lift from Josh Turner so she could be interrogated once more about the choices she had made. She remembered the last time she had seen Josh, disappearing into the distance without a backwards glance. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, swiftly followed by an invasion of guilt.

  She made her way to the taxi rank but was dismayed to see that she would be seventh in line for a ride to Cranbury. It had only been an hour, but she missed London already, with its proliferation of black cabs and Uber cars. There was no way she could stand in the queue without a coat to protect her from the biting wind, so she let out a sigh, gritted her teeth, and made her way to the car park.

  She couldn’t fail to spot the vehicle that belonged to Josh. He had always been totally predictable when it came to his choice of transport – the flashier, the better. An old, lipstick-red Alfa Romeo Spider purred softly in the third bay from the entrance, reggae music rippling from within.

  She rapped on the window and was gratified to see his initial reaction was a wide welcoming smile: a smile she had dreamed of every night for months after he had screeched away from the car park of the Dancing Duck that dreadful night over eighteen months ago. She should have been at his side; after all they had been planning the trip together for months. She could still recall the jagged pain of those first few weeks after his departure. She had craved some kind of contact, but there had been no email or text or even a postcard, and Josh had never been a fan of social media. It had been like starting the grieving process all over again.

  ‘Hi, Kirstie!’ That familiar grin with the cute dimples curling like brackets to frame his lips – lips she had kissed so often that they were as familiar as her own.

  ‘Hi, Josh. I’m sorry Livie sent you to collect me. I had no idea you were working at the Dancing Duck.’

  ‘Well, someone had to help the poor girl out. And if you had come home more often you would have known I’ve been managing the bar for the last three months.’

  Josh’s mouth tightened at the corners, his mahogany eyes boring into hers as he leapt from the driver’s seat to stow her suitcase in the back seat. Kirstie groaned – this was going to be an even more uncomfortable experience than standing in the taxi queue freezing her butt off. She glanced over her shoulder to see that only two people remained in line and she contemplated making a run for it. However, the car was warm and Kirstie was starting to get the feeling back in her fingers. Maybe if she feigned sleep, the ride wouldn’t be so uncomfortable? She was the Queen of Wishful Thinking!

  ‘Look, Josh, can we just …’

  ‘Forget what happened? Take the easy option? Nothing new there then, is there, Miss Harrison?’

  Josh fired the ignition and the engine thrummed into life with a powerful surge. Through the windscreen, twilight had morphed into dusk and ripples of indigo and violet streaked across the sky like an artist’s palette. She decided to try again, this time with a smile and a conciliatory tone.

  ‘I’ve promised Livie that I’d make sure this was the best Christmas ever at the Dancing Duck before it’s sold. If we’re going to work together over the next two weeks, we should try to put our differences aside and …’

  ‘So you’re happy about the pub being sold, are you?’

  ‘Well, not happy as such, but it’s probably for the best.’

  ‘The best for who?’ Josh asked, rubbing his palm over the dark stubble on his chin as he took a bend in the road at speed. ‘Livie and Harry have been working their socks off to keep the pub afloat after what happened to Don and Sue. Every spare penny has been ploughed back into the business. Livie might not have said anything to you but she’s devastated about losing it. And all you have to say is that it’s for the best? One more thing you can erase from your past, eh?’

  ‘Josh, that’s not fair …’

  ‘It might not be fair, but it’s true. Your sister loves the village and everyone in Cranbury loves the Dancing Duck. However, for Livie and Harry it’s more than just a place to have a few drinks or enjoy a summer fayre or the Big Christmas Baking Bash. It’s Olivia and Harry’s home and they hoped to make it Ethan’s home too.’

  ‘But Livie and Harry aren’t planning on leaving the village. They’re buying Bramble Cottage. Ethan will have a garden to play in and …’

  ‘Livie’s just trying to emulate her younger sister, trying to move on and forget the past, but unlike you, she doesn’t really want to. Her heart is breaking to see the pub being sold. Did she tell you about the guy who’s buying it?’

  ‘Yes. Miles Morgan …’

  ‘Did she tell you what he has planned for the pub and the Old Barn?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘And you’re still happy to go ahead with the sale?’

  ‘It’s not a question of being happy,’ snapped Kirstie, her temper rising. Josh always knew which buttons to press to fire up her emotions. ‘It’s a question of having no other choice – which I’m sure Livie and Harry will have already explained to you.’

  Josh did not respond but spent the next ten minutes concentrating on the winding roads that led to the village of Cranbury. Kirstie allowed her thoughts to drift. Josh was right. Deep down, even though it had come as a huge shock when their accountant had told her they would have to sell their childhood home and break the final tie to the business their parents had left them, she did think it was the best solution to the problem. Running a village pub meant working long, unsociable hours and now that Ethan was around it was a mammoth task for Ol
ivia, even with Josh employed as bar manager to help out when Harry was at work.

  However, she also knew from Olivia that there had been fierce opposition from the villagers. Every single one of them, even old Mrs Didcot who had never so much as set foot in the pub, had rallied round since they had announced the sale to try to bolster their flagging finances with a well-attended summer fayre – and Kirstie had seen the photographs on Facebook of a fabulous Hallowe’en disco and Bonfire Night party. But it had all been to no avail.

  The least painful option was to sell quickly and move on. But it was tough knowing the strength of local feeling, especially delivered through the dulcet tones of Josh Turner.

  They had arrived in Cranbury. Its familiarity sent a spasm of nostalgia and homesickness through Kirstie’s veins. Topped with a sprinkle of snow, it really would look like a scene from a traditional Christmas card. St John’s parish church, where she and Olivia had been christened and where Olivia and Harry had been married, and where their parents’ funeral had attracted the largest congregation for a decade, loomed to her left. She looked quickly away to her right to feast her eyes on the impressive façade of the Dancing Duck on the opposite side of the village green. The sight whipped the breath from her lungs and sent tears burgeoning along her lashes.

  The sun had disappeared over the horizon, but the whitewashed frontage of her childhood home was charming, illuminated by the amber glow of the street lamps, its golden letters declaring boldly to the thirsty visitor that they had arrived at the door of The Dancing Duck. Out of habit, she reached for her phone to take a photograph to upload to Instagram, but she thought better of it. After the Facebook comments, did she really want her followers to know where she was hiding out for the next two weeks?

  She experienced a sharp nip of loss that she would have to curtail her inclination to share her every move with the world. Then again, she thought with a sinking feeling, would anyone be interested? Cranbury was as far from the glitz and glamour of London’s West End as a disgraced TV presenter could get.

  She stared up at the wrought-iron sign swinging from a post, depicting the silhouette of a duck suspended in mid-air. She could remember with absolute clarity the day her father had returned from the sign writer’s. It was the first time she had been allowed to taste champagne at the age of fifteen. She and Olivia had pretended to be drunk and had spent the afternoon dancing to Robbie Williams in the Old Barn with all the other teenagers of the village who had accompanied their own parents to join in the unveiling celebrations, Josh and Harry among them.

  ‘Well, the least you can do now you’re here is to throw yourself into the Christmas celebrations Livie has been planning for the last three months. It’s just a shame that I know for a fact you wouldn’t have been here if you hadn’t revealed to the whole world your pathological hatred of Christmas.’

  Kirstie cringed as Josh strode though the arch of the oak front door. So much for hoping the villagers would have better things to do than be glued to their TV sets at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning when Kirstie’s Kitchen was broadcast. And for all those who weren’t, she was certain that Josh would have relished the opportunity to fill them in on the details of her humiliation.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Kirstie! Ah, I’m so pleased to see you!’ squeaked Emma, rushing out from behind the polished mahogany bar, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  Despite not having seen her since she’d been down to Cranbury to visit her sister after Ethan was born, Kirstie felt like she had only just left her best friend and fellow teenage conspirator the previous week.

  ‘Emma, you look amazing! I love what you’ve done to your hair, and is that one of your new necklace designs? I love it!’

  Kirstie feasted her eyes on her friend, taking in the wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair, which now sported a pale pink streak through the fringe. She had always envied Emma’s courage in experimenting with her appearance, although she didn’t know what Brad would say if she turned up for filming one morning with pink highlights, never mind Lionel who thought pierced ears were deplorable.

  A spasm of resentment shot through her chest as she thought of Flora, the person Lionel had replaced her with as a special guest presenter for the Christmas kitchen episodes.

  Flora Swift was a fabulous chef and Kirstie knew she would do a great job, but that was also what she was worried about. What if Lionel decided to make her short, temporary stint, more permanent? She determined to spend the whole two weeks of her enforced exile researching the best new year recipes for a healthy and fat-free lifestyle. She already had a few ideas swirling around her head and just needed to spend some quiet time jotting them down and expanding them.

  ‘Well …’ Emma was holding out her delicate silver and jet necklace for Kirstie to inspect more closely, mischief playing around her eyes ‘… if you like it, and you’re on Santa’s “Nice” list, you might just find one in your Christmas stocking this year.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous, but then everything you design is gorgeous. You’re so talented, Em. How’s Bijoux Baubles going?’

  ‘Just secured an order to stock the hotel gift shop up at Craiglea Hall and I’ve been commissioned to design a couple of wedding tiaras and matching necklace, bracelet, and earring sets. But enough about me. What on earth possessed you to …’

  When Emma noticed the expression on Kirstie’s face she clamped her mouth shut, pursing her lips theatrically. Both girls cast a look over to where Josh was busy pulling pints, completely at home behind the bar. A group of regulars laughed at something he said, then they all turned in unison to send quizzical looks in Kirstie’s direction. She groaned inwardly as a blast of heat rose into her cheeks. She suddenly felt exposed, as though she was standing in the bar of her childhood home stark naked.

  ‘Sorry, Em. I just need to …’

  She grabbed her bag, which Josh had abandoned in the middle of the room, and dashed up the stairs to the flat where Olivia, Harry, and Ethan lived, Emma following in her wake. When she had ditched her luggage in the spare room, she returned to the tiny kitchen, which her sister had redecorated in pastel pinks, mints, and baby blues and grabbed the coffee Emma had made for her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kirstie. I know how hard this must be for you. I know what Christmas is like for you and Olivia after … well, after what happened to Don and Sue. Do you want to spill the whole sorry tale about what happened at the studio on Monday?’

  ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said what I did, but the sound guy, Martin, has always had it in for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it on purpose. It certainly didn’t surprise me that he was the first person to upload the incriminating video to YouTube and Twitter.’

  Kirstie was about to enlarge on her conspiracy theory, but she was suddenly engulfed by a dark sweeping lethargy. She sunk down into her sister’s chintzy sofa and heaved a sigh. No good would come of blaming anyone but herself. She glanced at her best friend. Her turquoise eyes were filled with such compassion that a surge of self-pity tumbled through her chest and she burst into tears.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about Martin. What happened was totally my responsibility, but oh, Em, you know what I’m like when I get a sniff of anything associated with Christmas. I can just about manage to get through the main celebrations: birthdays, anniversaries, Mother’s Day, but when I get so much as a hint of cloves, or cinnamon, or worst of all, crushed pine needles, well, my resolve just crumbles and I’m an emotional wreck.’

  ‘What did Brad say?’

  ‘He was really lovely about it. He knows what happened to my parents, but even so, he had no choice. Flora Swift is doing the Christmas episodes for the next two weeks instead of me.’

  ‘I know, I saw her this morning …’

  Kirstie stared at Emma, desperate to ask what she thought of the diminutive blonde with a penchant for stilettos and displaying her impressive cleavage, but she feared the answer.

  ‘Brad’s asked me to come up with s
omething innovative to kick off the new year, something that will appeal to the health-conscious and those anxious to lose the Christmas pounds. It’s the first time he’s asked for my input on programme content so I’m really excited. I’ve got a few ideas about who I might want to appear as guests too. I’m sure the Christmas fiasco will just be a blip in the scheme of things.’

  ‘So, does that mean you’re definitely still selling the Dancing Duck and staying in London?’

  ‘Of course I am!’

  Kirstie realized too late that she had replied to Emma’s question a little too quickly. She saw from the smidgeon of optimism on her friend’s face that she had hoped that because of the Kirstie’s Christmas Kitchen fiasco, she had come home to help Olivia turn the fortunes of the pub around.

  ‘Emma …’

  ‘Sorry, I just thought, maybe, you’d decided to … well, get involved a bit more. Perhaps with your undeniable hospitality skills, we’ll be able to make the place viable. I just hoped …’

  Kirstie’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak but words failed her. How could Emma say that?

  ‘Em, you know we had no choice but to sell, don’t you? Livie and Harry have tried everything to boost the pub’s income, even restructuring the finances, before they announced they would have to put the pub on the market. There really isn’t any other option. Apart from winning the lottery and we both know that’s not going to happen. Not with my luck!’

  With her eyes, she begged Emma to support what had been a very painful decision – for God’s sake, she needed someone on her side. With Olivia missing in action, she couldn’t possibility face the next two weeks by herself, especially when everyone would be ramming the Christmas spirit down her throat. She suspected she wouldn’t find a single person within a five-mile radius of Cranbury who agreed with their decision to hand over the business their parents had nurtured and cherished to a complete stranger – a wealthy London lawyer to boot. It was almost treason! She had no idea where Miles Morgan chose to spend his downtime – Knightsbridge probably.