Dinner was exceptional and not only the food. The company, Meredith found, was to her liking. She was starting to feel in better health and she was certain much of it was down to the easy way Amelia ran her chaotic household - with lots of love. So, too, her dinner parties were events to which one could aspire. She had to applaud Amelia - she knew how to bring out the best in everyone and every situation. Looking around the table, Meredith saw only beaming smiles, heard only raucous laughter and intermittent giggles. She felt truly honoured to be part of it and hoped there would be many such occasions in the future.
Long after her mother had gone to bed, and that was late as they had played board games for a few hours first, something they hadn’t done since she was a child, Rebecca sat cradling a glass of wine and chatting with her father. Too much time had elapsed since they had done this properly - they were still close, but it was never the same over the phone. Normally she would have discussed in great detail the situation with Ethan, the flat move, and her new career, with her dad before making a final decision. With her parents’ move to Oxfordshire, which had almost exactly coincided with her taking up with Ethan three years ago, those cosy chats had become a thing of the past. She was glad to resurrect it here on Christmas Day.
She told her father of her hopes and aspirations for the future, explaining how much she had loved her job and particularly her boss, who was a sweetheart, but how she had felt trapped, that there was nowhere for her to go and she was stagnating. The joy she felt at this new career opportunity could clearly be heard in her voice; her excitement apparent. Equally when she spoke of Rose Cottage, it was with a sense of contentment, rightness. She described how that had come about.
Her father remarked how odd it was that life sometimes threw us the answers quite by chance. If she hadn’t happened to moan to Jacob about having to move, he would never have thought to mention that Natalie was leaving in a few days and that Rose Cottage would then become vacant.
As soon as Rebecca had set eyes on the picturesque cottage, she had fallen in love with its postcard-like exterior and its homely interior. She could so imagine living there. From the ivy covered trellises, to the Aga in the lovely country kitchen, to the amazing shower room complete with rainforest shower, all of it was to her liking. She’d literally clapped her hands together in delight when she’d toured the cottage. It didn’t get better than this, especially after the dumps she’d visited and the bland new build on which she’d almost signed the lease. When she’d returned to Sugar and Spice, she’d hugged Jacob and Natalie and immediately asked how to get in touch with Mrs Williams, just in case anyone else got in before her. After a brief chat with her new landlady, she’d called the estate agency to cancel the signing of the lease.
Next year was going to be a year that heralded changes for her. Romantic relationships didn’t even figure on her agenda, although you could never tell. For now she had enough to keep her occupied and she couldn’t wait for the New Year to start.
‘I so miss blue cheese,’ grumbled Tabitha, patting her stomach, which was replete with her three course Christmas dinner, mints, crackers and cheddar, and now several Roses she’d snaffled from the tin.
‘You’ve hardly been underfed today,’ Jacob pointed out, as he removed the yellow and purple wrapper, then popped the caramel into his mouth.
‘I’m eating for two, remember,’ she grinned.
‘That’s a fallacy. You’re only meant to eat for two in the last two months and only by two hundred calories a day.’ Jacob had been checking out all the information. He wanted to be able to help Tabitha properly throughout her pregnancy, and surely it was part of his duties as godfather?
Tabitha regarded Jacob with tenderness. She was so happy he had blossomed since her revelation about the baby. Always a kind, generous person, Jacob, when faced with the advent of a new family member, had stepped up and not only done his duty, but had become even more involved than Tabitha could ever have hoped. He so much wanted to be a part of her child’s life, in many ways he would be a substitute father to it, or at least a father figure, and Tabitha could think of no-one better. All a child needed was love and Jacob had plenty to give.
‘I’m going to put some music on. Do you fancy anything in particular?’ Jacob asked.
‘Normally I’d say something Christmassy, but we’ve been listening to Christmas songs all week. What about something classical, but soothing?’
‘OK, I’m sure I can find something suitable.’ Jacob fiddled with his iPod for a bit and then the sound of Chopin filled the air.
‘This one’s supposed to be suitable for babies,’ he said.
Tabitha laughed. Her brother was going to be a nightmare, but in a good way. He wanted everything to be just right for the baby, whereas she was much more laid back.
‘I hadn’t planned on playing the baby The Funeral March or anything, but I’m sure it could cope with the 1812 Overture,’ she remarked.
Jacob looked doubtful.
As they sat in silence, letting the music wash over them, each lost themselves in their thoughts, Jacob imagined what the future might hold, whilst Tabitha caressed her stomach and told the baby everything would be all right. They would be all right - the three of them. Tabitha became aware of something digging into her back and shuffled around until she could remove it; it was the baby rattle Natalie had given her. How it had got there? She was sure she had put it in her room. She turned it over and over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. It really did look very old. She said as much to Jacob, who shrugged and returned to listening to the music.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Tabitha turned on her tablet computer and typed a description of the rattle into Google. After much searching she came across one almost exactly like it - she read through the information provided and there was the date manufactured - 1820. It was almost two hundred years old! Surely not. She showed Jacob the page and he agreed that it did look identical to the one Natalie had given her. According to the website only five had ever been made and only one was known to remain, but no-one knew of its whereabouts. Had Natalie given Tabitha an even more precious gift than first thought?
For some reason Jacob went to pick up his snow globe. He still couldn’t get over the fact Natalie had managed to get one depicting the street where their bakery was. It was so cool. She must have contacted a specialist supplier. As he picked it up, he noticed the scene had changed. The shops were in darkness, but now a few lights came on in the windows above the shops; the flats overhead.
Must be a trick of the light, thought Jacob, until he saw a door open and a young boy come out, dressed in a thick winter coat. He started walking down the street, past the bakery, and Jacob recognised him as a boy who often came in to buy bread and cakes for his mum. Unsure of how to approach Tabitha with this discovery, he sat mouth agape for a good few minutes, before Tabitha asked him what was up.
Taking the snow globe over to her, Jacob sat it down and pointed. Now the young boy was walking back. Had he had been delivering something for his parents, perhaps a belated Christmas card? Tabitha took in the scene, her jaw dropping in a fashion similar to the way Jacob’s had. Once the boy had gone indoors, they waited a while, but nothing happened. Jacob picked up the snow globe and shook it. It began to glow. When the snowflakes settled, they both gasped. There was Natalie, sitting by the fire, knitting, in what they presumed was Rose Cottage. Had she actually told them where she was spending Christmas? They tried to think back. No, she’d only said she’d be moving on and Christmas Eve would be her last day at the bakery. She seemed perfectly happy and not remotely upset that she was spending Christmas Day alone. Unexpectedly, Natalie looked up, smiled and then waved at them. Jacob and Tabitha almost fell off their chairs in shock. Had they really just seen what they thought they had? If it wasn’t for the fact that Tabitha was pregnant and thus one hundred percent sober, they would have assumed they had just partaken of too much alcohol.
‘Am I going mad, or was that
Natalie, and did she just wave at us?’ Tabitha asked.
‘You’re not going mad, either that or we both are, but how is what we saw even possible?’ Jacob was stumped. He and Tabitha debated this well into the night, but never solved the mystery.
Natalie stretched and yawned. It had been a busy month, but she was glad to see her work was up to her usual exacting standards and that everyone was right where they belonged on this important day, even her. She liked to spend Christmas Day seeing how the fruit of her efforts had turned out and she wasn’t disappointed this year. She had grown fond of Jacob and so she had been a little naughty and given him the snow globe. He had been partly right in thinking it had been specially commissioned, but not in the way he thought. Likewise, giving Tabitha’s baby the rattle she’d kept in case she ever had children of her own, which now she’d passed three hundred years of age, was unlikely to happen, had seemed the right thing to do. Tabitha’s child would, as a result, always have Christmas spirit.
Each year Natalie changed her name to something different; call it a quirk, but she felt it necessary to protect her identity. This year it had been Natalie Hope, which she particularly liked as it embodied who she was; Natal - from the Portuguese for Christmas, with Hope, what she tried to create in those she sought to help. In the past she’d been Joy Makepeace, Charity Goodwill and Gabriella Goode, but Natalie Hope felt the most satisfying.
As she cradled her glass of wine, she thought back to some of those she’d helped in the past; Sigmund Freud in Vienna in 1899; Florence Nightingale in 1909; 1920 saw her with Molly Brown, survivor of the Titanic; 1937 with the athlete, Jesse Owens; 1944 - Winston Churchill, then Prime Minister of Great Britain; 1956 - Sylvia Plath; 1963 - Jackie Kennedy; 1972 - Freddy Mercury; 1981 she spent in Calcutta with Mother Teresa. Although celebrities, each in their own way, they were still normal people with everyday concerns and Natalie had helped them through some of their darkest moments.
Natalie was glad she had packed earlier today. Since everything had gone according to plan, she’d be setting off the following morning. Transport had been arranged for her, so she could leave Winstanton unnoticed. She would miss the town and its occupants, but by now she was used to this feeling. She always had to remind herself that her purpose was to create happiness and restore Christmas spirit. Once it was done, it was time to move on.
Even the Christmas Spirit needed a little holiday every so often. She’d packed light; swimsuits, flip-flops, sunhat, sun tan lotion. It was hard work restoring peace and goodwill and Natalie had decided Tobago was the perfect antidote to the freezing cold Scottish weather. As she put out the lights and headed for bed, she thought, Tobago, here I come!
Other Works from the Author
To whet your appetite, a short extract from my second novel, The Dating Game
Chapter One
‘You are not setting me up with anyone ever again!’ Gill McFadden said, clattering her wine glass on the table. ‘It has been a disaster every time. I should have seen this one coming, too.’
‘Oh come on, Gill, they’ve not been that bad,’ said her best friend, Debbie.
‘Yes, they have,’ Gill said grimly.
‘Let’s just start with last night’s fiasco, Graham, shall we?’ sighed Gill, who then took a gulp of her Pinot Grigio, as if to give her strength for the tirade she was about to unleash. Lisa and Angela, making up the remainder completing the quartet of friends that evening, exchanged a glance. They knew they were about to get an ear-bashing.
‘How did you describe Graham to me, Lisa?’ When Lisa didn’t reply, her answer stuck in her throat, Gill continued, smoothing a strand of her lustrous chestnut hair behind her ear.
‘OK, let me remind you. You assured me I would get on well with Graham as we were almost the same age and he had no baggage. I think you said he was a workaholic like me, but also liked going to the gym, so pretty fit, in both senses of the word. Oh, and he liked reading and foreign films. Am I close?’ At silent assent from her friends, Gill went on, ‘what you didn’t tell me was that he’s five feet four, so three inches shorter than me, and in the heels I had on last night, make that seven, and that he has the personality of a gnat!’ Drawing breath and getting back into her stride, Gill counted out on her fingers for emphasis. ‘He talked about the gym all night. He didn’t once ask anything about me, apart from if I was a member at a gym, as he looked me up and down. I now know more about pectorals, abdominals, protein shakes, and the pros and cons of taking steroids, than I ever thought possible.’
Gill tried to glare at her friends, but Lisa was looking at the ceiling, Angela at her shoes and Debbie had found the Guinness beer mat on the table fascinating.
‘And, yes, he is divorced, but he’d only been married two minutes and then got divorced. What does that say about his attitude to commitment?’ Not waiting for an answer, by now not expecting one either, Gill carried on.
‘Then, there’s his favourite book, or rather lack of. The last novel he read was The Da Vinci Code and before that a text prescribed for O’ Grade English! How does that make him interested in books?’
A particularly keen reader herself, Gill couldn’t fathom how anyone couldn’t read a book a month at least.
‘And his love of foreign films? He looked a bit of a perv, so yes, if they’re Swedish and include the words, “Yes baby, give it to me harder!”’
Debbie snorted. She couldn’t help it. That set off Angela, and as Lisa started howling, tears running down her face, before long even Gill saw the funny side of it and her face visibly relaxed. Then she was laughing, protesting between gulps for air, ‘It’s not funny. How would you have liked it? I’ve barely been out for months, as you know. What a waste of a night. Here was me trying to talk to him about Aldo Giovanni and Fellini and all he knew about foreign film was Borat!’ The giggles from Debbie, and the fact that Angela had to get up and run to the loo at Olympic speed, attracted the attention of the vigilant barista,
‘Everything all right, ladies?’
‘No, I think we can quite categorically say, everything’s all wrong,’ Gill managed to squeak. ‘But we’ll be fine, thanks.’
As the barman shrugged and walked away, Lisa said, ‘What about him?’
‘What?’ asked Gill, ‘Brett?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s barely out of nappies.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s about twenty-five.’
‘Yes and much as I would enjoy the stamina of a twenty-five year old, I would probably have as much in common with him as the workaholic, iron pumping bore you set me up with last night. No, I think I’m much better off on my own.’
‘You can’t give up, you’re only thirty-seven,’ Debbie put in her tuppenceworth.
‘Yes, I can. I’ve had enough, really.’
‘There must be another way,’ agreed Lisa, as she readjusted her charm bracelet, which had snagged on the fine hairs of her arm.
‘I don’t think so. We did have one thing in common, Graham and I. Like me, he works a lot and didn’t I get to hear about that, too. Riveting. I might be a workaholic, but at least I‘m not a bore about it. Am I?’ Gill searched her friends’ eyes for confirmation when they didn’t answer.
‘No, no,’ Lisa added hurriedly. ‘You never talk about your work,’ at which point the three friends dissolved into laughter again.
‘I don’t talk about it all the time,’ said Gill.
‘No of course you don’t,’ Lisa didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
‘Just ninety percent of the time,’ said Debbie.
‘I’m not that bad,’ said Gill.
‘Yes, you are,’ broke in Debbie, ‘and that’s why we need to find you a good bloke.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen. Maybe I should just throw myself even more into my work.’
‘Oh that would be just great. Then you will have so much more free time,’ dead-panned Lisa.
‘Gill, you already work from seven in the mornin
g until eight or nine at night, at least five days a week and you’re always on your laptop at the weekend. There’s got to be more to life. You’re meant to work to live, not the other way round.’
‘Really? Well thank you Miss Ross for that illuminating insight, but I think I’ll just try and find more people jobs. I’m obviously far better at that than I am at finding a partner.’
Note from the Author
I hope you enjoyed The Christmas Spirit. Please feel free to follow me on Twitter @susan_buchanan or Facebook www.facebook.com/susan.buchanan.author or via my blog http://www.susancbuchanan.blogspot.co.uk where I post updates on my writing progress and book reviews. My fourth novel, What If, should be out in summer 2014.
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