by Daisy James
‘Did you see Leon? I thought if he moved any faster steam would start gushing from his fingers.’
Kirstie giggled. ‘I know.’
Leon had blazed through the evening, running on adrenaline and the exhilaration of having a full restaurant. He possessed a feverish culinary imagination, a lightness of touch, and the patience of a saint as he illustrated his instructions to Michel with deliberate clarity. They had both turned down the opportunity to join them upstairs to dissect the events of the day, pleading an acute desire to reacquaint themselves with the wonders of their pillows.
‘I saw you chatting to Miles,’ said Rachel. ‘You didn’t tell me he was going to be at the Craft Contest. Surely he wasn’t there to get ideas for next year? The Old Barn will be turned into cottages by then. So why did he come?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘Something tells me there’s more to his visit to the sticks than lack of anything better to do.’
Kirstie flashed a quick look at Rachel, the helix of steam from her cocoa misting up her glasses. She too had dark smudges beneath her eyes and a blade of guilt cut through Kirstie’s chest. All the help and support the Dancing Duck had received that day had been given freely, for no reward, by people who cared about the village, about the future of their village pub, and the legacy left by her parents. All that kindness – despite the fact that Sue and Don Harrison’s daughters were in the process of selling up.
Kirstie was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Emma who came tumbling into the kitchen. She flopped down onto the sofa, kicked off her ballet flats, and began massaging her toes.
‘God, my feet are absolutely killing me. I don’t think I’ve sat down once in eighteen hours. I could murder one of those hot chocolates, if there’s one going. Extra marshmallows, please.’
Rachel leapt up and sloshed some milk into a pan. ‘It’s been a fantastic day, hasn’t it, Em? You, Livie, and Josh are absolute geniuses. Everyone I’ve spoken to said it was the best Christmas Craft Contest ever. I can’t wait for next Saturday now. We need to pull out all the stops to make the Big Christmas Baking Bash even better. The Rev and Sandra are relying on us. Don’t forget that all the food entered in the five competitions is being donated to their Christmas Day party – so it’ll be quiche and tartlets for starters, followed by Sandra’s famous roast turkey dinner and all the trimmings, then apple pie and custard for dessert rounded off with home-made mince pies and gingerbread.’
‘Did you see the relief on the Rev’s face when Livie suggested the idea?’ Emma giggled. ‘You know Sandra isn’t exactly famed for being the most, erm … how should I put this … the most gifted of cooks. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything she’s baked that hasn’t been flavoured with the essence of burnt charcoal!’
‘I think I’ll have to ask the Rev to reserve a place at one of the dinner tables for me,’ said Josh, appearing in the kitchen and flicking the kettle on, leaning his buttocks against the counter as he waited for it to boil. ‘Would you believe that Mum and Dad have just informed me they’ve decided to spend Christmas with Zach and Helen and the kids in Tenerife? Charming! Way to make their youngest son feel wanted!’
Kirstie watched Josh carefully as he made himself a coffee. She knew him better than anyone and she could see how upset he was about being left alone at Christmas. It had always been his favourite time of the year. She looked around the room at her closest friends, friends she had grown up with and had never replaced despite her evacuation to London. She knew their secrets and they knew hers.
Except was that still true? She hadn’t spent much time with Emma or Rachel since leaving Cranbury, and as for Josh, she had only seen him for five minutes when she had come back to meet her nephew. Whilst she had no juicy gossip to share with her friends unless it was connected to her career, how did she know that Emma and Rachel led similarly boring personal lives? What secrets had Emma been hoarding? Why was she dating random guys from internet dating sites when there was a gorgeous French chef who clearly adored her right before her eyes? More to the point, why hadn’t she spent time with Emma to ask her those questions instead of allowing them to roll around her brain unanswered?
‘You can come to our house for Christmas dinner if you like,’ offered Rachel, smiling at Josh. ‘We always have far too much food. What did you think of the Christmas Craft Contest?’
‘A fabulous success all round! But not enough for our Kirstie here to reconsider her decision to sell, I bet.’ Josh met Kirstie’s eyes with a challenge.
‘Josh, I …’
‘Ah, guys,’ interrupted Rachel, her pretty features creasing with determination to avoid witnessing an argument. ‘It’s late and I have to be up early in the morning to go shopping in Salisbury with Mum for the last of Dad’s Christmas presents. Look, Emma’s falling asleep. And there’s no way either of us are staying here to referee of one of the famous Kirstie versus Josh slanging matches.’
Rachel dragged Emma up from the sofa, then drew Kirstie into a three-way hug before they made their way towards the door. She paused on the threshold and tuned her head over her shoulder.
‘See you later. Be good to each other. Remember, you’ve spent more time together than you have apart!’
As soon as the door slammed behind her friends, Kirstie said, ‘Look, Josh …’
‘No, why don’t you listen to me for a change? And this time no flouncing away when the conversation gets too tough. I know we have a lot to talk about, you and me, but what I want to concentrate on at the moment is the future of the Dancing Duck. Today we made more money than we did for the whole of November and I’d hazard a guess that it’ll be the same with the baking competitions next Saturday. I have some other ideas I want to run past you for next year that could …’
‘Josh, it’s too late to start talking about …’
‘It’s not too late! You haven’t signed the contracts yet. For God’s sake, you haven’t even started with the packing. Doesn’t that tell you something?’
‘Yes,’ she shot back at him, clenching her fists in her lap to keep a grasp on her temper. ‘It tells me that I can’t face the job of sorting through the things my parents loved, not that I don’t think selling the pub is the best solution to the fact that if we don’t we’ll be bankrupt by March.’
Josh’s eyes flashed. ‘How can you talk like that? Doesn’t The Duck mean more to you? The brasserie breaks even. We just need a bit more time. I know you’ve spoken to Angus and he’s offered you an injection of cash. Why did you turn him down?’
‘Look, Josh, it wasn’t my decision to sell the pub. It was Livie and Harry’s and I went along with what they wanted because it was their decision to make and not mine. Their life is here and mine is not. Not any more,’ she added sadly. ‘Don’t you think they researched every available alternative? Harry no doubt showed you the accounts when they took you on as bar manager. Why are you being so hostile now?’
‘Because I thought you still loved this place. If you had come back home more often instead of partying every night with the glitzy celebrity set, we could have all fought this together.’
‘For your information, I do not party every night. I work extremely hard.’
‘Why are you really here, Kirstie? We don’t need your help. Emma and I can manage until Olivia and Harry get back. Why don’t you rush back up to your boyfriend in London and talk about the Footsie 100, or whatever it is you do? Sandra told me you’re going to a New Year’s Eve party with Miles – the same guy who’s buying this place and turning the Old Barn into holiday homes for the rich and famous. You do know what that will do to the village, don’t you? Do you even care?’
‘Josh, that’s so unfair. I …’
‘Sorry, Kirstie. I’m leaving before I say something I’ll regret.’
Josh slammed his empty mug down on the table, stormed down the stairs, and slammed the front door behind him. Kirstie watched f
rom the window as he revved his car engine and disappeared from the courtyard. Tears gathered along her lashes over the loss of their easy intimacy of the past, but whilst she regretted it, she had to accept it. His animosity towards her was totally her fault.
After her parents’ deaths, the oscillating emotions of that difficult time had been so tumultuous that she had often felt seasick. Josh, and his family, had been so supportive, showering her with affection and guiding her through everything that had to be done. But Josh had wanted to stick to their plans to go travelling whilst she was desperate to cling on to the familiarity of home. Their opposing desires had tugged at their hearts, each trying to persuade the other to relent, and before she knew what was happening, their happy relationship had morphed into a battleground of accusatory glances followed by conciliatory words and promises.
She eventually crawled into bed at one-thirty but her brain whirled with so much indecision that she couldn’t sleep. One moment she hated Josh for blaming her for their financial predicament. How was it her fault when village pubs all around the country were struggling in the current economic climate? The Dancing Duck was not the only casualty of the credit crunch. Why couldn’t he understand that accepting Miles’s offer was not a personal insult to him or to the village she still loved and still called home?
Then the pendulum swung downwards as she realized that she had indeed accepted without argument the decision made by Olivia and Harry as the best in the circumstances and had made no attempt to see if she could come up with an alternate solution to their problems. Maybe there wasn’t one, but shouldn’t she have at least tried?
However, the subject that caused her the most pain was the look of disgust she had seen on Josh’s face at her lack of interest in the pub’s future. It was true, she had avoided coming home for two years, preferring to sidestep the inevitable ambush of grief as soon as she drove into the village, never mind stepping into the Dancing Duck.
What she had also learned in the time she had been there was how hard it was working behind the bar every day. She had been there for less than a week and she was utterly exhausted, not only physically but also mentally. Add to that the worry about the finances and she realized what her sister had been through since she had left her to run the pub, almost single-handedly, only a couple of months after Olivia had lost her parents too. Now things were even more complicated with the arrival of Ethan in the mix. She understood how much her sister must have wanted to protect her from what was happening until she could no longer do so.
She loved Olivia more than anything. Her sister was the only family she had left now and she had to do whatever she could to support her. But how could she do what was best if she didn’t know what was going on in her life? If she was more concerned with hiding herself away in the capital and cramming her daily life with activity for fear of having to think about her past?
Was Olivia actually grateful to be relieved of the heavy responsibility of running a failing business? Was she looking forward to a quieter life in her cosy cottage on the outskirts of the village where she could be a full-time mum to Ethan and maybe add to their little family? Or was Olivia crying inside in the knowledge that their last tangible connection to their parents was being wrenched from her hands, along with the majority of the bric-a-brac they had amassed with such love over the years?
Finally, as dawn tiptoed over the horizon, spreading its weak ivory light through her bedroom, she sunk into the welcome oblivion of sleep and realized she hadn’t asked the one question she had been avoiding. What did she want to do?
Chapter 13
Kirstie groaned and rolled over, clutching her pillow to her head. Her eyelids refused to open and her shoulders and neck muscles ached – probably from the unaccustomed burst of heavy lifting the previous day.
The hammering on the door continued and she reluctantly had to accept that she would get no more sleep. She squinted at her alarm clock and was shocked to see it was ten o’clock. She dragged her dressing gown on and padded across the living room to answer the door.
‘At last! I was about to call the paramedics!’ Josh exclaimed, striding past her into the kitchen.
‘Come in,’ muttered Kirstie, tossing her wayward curls over her head and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She sauntered to the table, rolling her shoulders to ease their stiffness.
‘So, I just wanted to apologize for my outburst last night. It was uncalled for. And as today happens to be my day off, I’ve decided to make it up to you. I have a fun-filled day planned, except you will have to dress a little more suitably – none of that designer gear you’re so fond of splashing all over Instagram.’
‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘It’s a surprise. Chop, chop. Go take a shower and I’ll sort out breakfast. Scrambled egg on toast okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Off you go then.’
For a brief moment Kirstie continued to watch Josh as he sliced the loaf of wholemeal bread he had thoughtfully brought with him. Of course, past experience had taught him that there would be nothing in her cupboards worth eating. She had once adored this man, had thought naively that they would be together until their last breath, but now it felt strange having him in her kitchen.
As she blasted her aches and pains away under a jet of hot water she recalled the many adventures they’d had when the school day had finished. Josh Turner had made her life exciting, exhilarating even, as he taught her to climb trees in the woodland at Angus’s farm, to build dens in the cornfields and to make dams in the river like a pair of children from Swallows and Amazons.
She recalled with absolute clarity the day their friendship had become a relationship – a golden sun-filled day at the end of June when he had kissed her to celebrate the end of their final exam. That first kiss had turned into two, then three, and they had spent the rest of the longest day of the year in each other’s arms, exploring another sphere of their exciting life together. She had loved him with every fibre of her body and she had never stopped appreciating how lucky she was that the handsome, adventurous man that was Josh Turner had chosen to be with her when there were hordes of other girls dreamily hanging round the cricket pitch waiting for him to notice them.
As she towelled her hair dry and brushed on the minimum of make-up, she remembered Josh’s shock declaration when he got his A level results two months later. He had decided not to go to university, but to study business management at the local college alongside an apprenticeship instead. His dream was to own his own pub, one just like the Dancing Duck, a place that had offered him a second home, its resident proprietors an additional family. His decision had meant they could still be together every day whilst Kirstie was studying for her own A levels.
She returned to the kitchen and a companionable silence descended as she devoured the best scrambled egg on toast she had eaten in a long time.
‘Enjoy that?’
‘Mmm, delicious. You were always better at making breakfasts than me. Even with all the contact I have with celebrity chefs at the top of their game!’
Josh cleared away the dishes and turned to face her. Her stomach muscles contracted as she took in the man standing in front of her: the same person whose heart she had broken when he had been forced to leave her behind, but slightly more ragged around the edges, the lines on his forehead more pronounced, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes more deeply etched. If she looked closely there was also a smattering of grey at his temples. When had that happened?
Josh slotted his arms into a faded black leather jacket, the smell of tannin and cologne assaulting her nostrils. Memories rushed at her, of the day he had bought it with his first paycheque from the bar that had agreed to take him on as a trainee manager in Winchester whilst she slogged her way through drama school. Like its owner, the jacket was looking well-worn and frayed, which only served to heighten his attraction.
‘So, what exactly do you have planned for us, Mr Turner?’
‘I told you, w
ait and see. But you might want to grab a pair of Olivia’s Wellingtons and her Barbour jacket.’
Kirstie groaned – more physical activity. She didn’t have time to go to the gym in London and her lack of stamina showed; her muscles were screaming their objection to the unfamiliar demands she had asked them to endure since she arrived back in Cranbury.
Josh laughed. ‘Fresh air and hard work never hurt anyone.’
‘Fresh air? So it’s not a trip to see It’s A Wonderful Life at the cinema, then?’
‘No, couldn’t stand all the sobbing!’ Josh smirked, referring to the time he and Harry had unwittingly agreed to accompany Kirstie and Olivia, Emma and Rachel to see the film.
‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
The day held a sharp nip in the air but the canopy overhead was a clear aquamarine. The sun struggled to make its way above the horizon, its golden rays lighting their path.
‘Grab that hat from the back seat. You’ll need it where we’re going. I’ll sort out a pair of gloves for you when we get there.’
Kirstie reached over the seat and grabbed a scarlet woolly bobble hat with a streak of white reindeers running around the band. ‘You want me to wear this?’
‘Yes.’ Josh laughed. ‘Sorry, I knew it would clash with your hair but it’s the only one I could find. I can assure you there won’t be an audience where we’re going, at least not one who will be bothered about such trivial things as the design of your headgear.’
Kirstie pulled the hat over her bushy curls and flipped the visor down to check the sartorial disaster. She regretted not paying more attention to her appearance before she left as her cheeks looked pale and a swipe of mascara would have improved the smudges under her eyes.