Cornwall for Christmas: A Polwenna Bay novella

by Ruth Saberton

  “Can I join you?” he asked softly.

  Kat looked up. Her face was shadowed in the half light and Alex couldn’t see the expression in her eyes, although he could sense the tension coming from her in waves. He took a deep breath.

  “Look, Kat, I know this is awkward and I’m probably not your favourite person on the planet—”

  She laughed bleakly. “That’s putting it politely.”

  He’d asked for that, thought Alex.

  “And it’s a shock to see me again after all this time,” he continued, “but since it’s Christmas it might be nice if we could put the past behind us and make the most of being here. Be friends? Call a truce?” But even as the words were on his lips, Alex knew he’d got it totally wrong. He could feel Kat bristling.

  “Put the past behind us?” she echoed. “Call a truce? This isn’t the playground, Alex, even if you and Tom are playing some pretty childish games!”

  “You think I’ve cooked this up with Tom? I hardly think so!” said Alex, stung by the accusation. “Spending Christmas with an ex isn’t my idea of fun.”

  “It’s my idea of hell,” said Kat angrily. “Especially one who dumped me in front of everyone I know at my eighteenth birthday party. I’m sorry if you think I’m overreacting here, but that’s something I don’t think I can ever put behind me. You think I’d want to be friends with the kind of person who could do a thing like that? I don’t think so!”

  “I’m so sorry about what happened. I was young and I know I was a coward. I should have handled it differently and—”

  But Kat wasn’t having this. She leapt up from the bench, her hands on her hips and her dark eyes glittering with anger.

  “Don’t you dare try and apologise to me! Don’t you dare!”

  “But, Kat, I am sorry. What can I say to prove it? I was a total cock and I messed up. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Her top lip curled with scorn.

  “So it was an accident to finish with me on my birthday, was it? You didn’t think it would be totally humiliating for me to have to try and explain where you were? Can you imagine what that felt like? How hard it was to have to try and smile all night when I wanted to curl up and die? Can you?”

  Alex didn’t know what to say. The dreadful truth was that he’d done everything he could not to think about any of this, telling himself it was for the best and that this way he wouldn’t hurt her even more later on. These had seemed liked reasons at the time, but now he saw them for what they really were. Pathetic excuses.

  “Of course you can’t and any apology is ten years too late!” Kat yelled. “Ten years overdue, you thought you’d say sorry – and even then it’s only so you can stay in a hotel room. All you care about is yourself. It’s all you’ve ever cared about.”

  That accusation was like a punch in the guts. It wasn’t true either. He’d cared about Kat and he cared about his daughter: cared so much that it hurt. Oh God. How would he feel if anyone treated Emmy the way he’d treated Kat? It would crucify him to see her heart trampled on. He’d want to kill anyone who hurt her.

  “You’re right, Kat. I was selfish and thoughtless and I didn’t think about what I was doing to you. I was young, and I know that’s not an excuse but it is a reason. I’m not that person anymore, I swear.”

  Kat said nothing. Her breathing was ragged and puffs of breath rose in the cold air.

  “Come on,” Alex said gently, reaching out to take her hand, “let’s go inside and talk properly over dinner. Let me prove to you that I’m truly sorry. Give me a chance, Kat, please. It’s Christmas Eve after all.”

  But Kat snatched her hand away as though scalded.

  “As if I’d ever have dinner with you. I’d choke. Just stay away from me! Do you understand? Stay away! Find somewhere to spend the night because I’ll be blocking the door!”

  Then there was a crunch of gravel and she was on her feet tearing away from him, down into the garden. The darkness wound itself around her like a cloak. Where she was going Alex had no idea and he didn’t think Kat knew either. He felt dreadful that his clumsy attempt to make amends had only succeeded in upsetting her more.

  Alex sat on the bench and stared into the night, struck by the realisation that he was going to have to do an awful lot more than apologise in order to put things right with Kat James. He’d really messed up. Suddenly he knew that he had to sort this out. Maybe Tom wasn’t so far off the mark after all? Certainly no woman had ever moved him like Kat did.

  Alex squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He was going to do this no matter what it took. It was time to take Tom’s advice.

  Now there was something Alex never thought he’d say.

  Chapter 7

  At almost nine o’clock on Christmas Eve, the Reverend Jules Mathieson was readying St Wenn’s, Polwenna Bay’s pretty church, for the service later on. It was that period of calm in between the excitement of the carol service on the village green and midnight Mass. Somehow she’d managed to get through the stress of the nativity play earlier. It had been quite an event this year: the borrowed donkey had chosen to deposit a manure delivery mid-performance, which Joseph had promptly slipped in, sending Mary and the Angel Gabriel into fits of laughter that had continued for the rest of the performance. Aside from that, Jules had been racing around all day – which was par for the course when you were a vicar and it was Christmas. At last, as she placed the final hymn book on the front pew, she felt a little less fraught.

  Sitting down, Jules decided that she could afford a few moments of quiet time with her Boss. She knew He must be pleased by just how hard the villagers had worked to prepare St Wenn’s for the Christmas celebrations. The church really was the heart of the village (although admittedly there was stiff competition from the pub), and Jules never failed to be moved by the lengths her flock went to in order to care for the old building. Thank you for all of them, she prayed, and thank you too for the most wonderful year of my life. Thank you for my friends here and their love. But thank you most of all for Danny.

  There was a lump in Jules’s throat because twelve months ago she would never have believed that she could be so happy and so blessed. In all her wildest dreams (which could be pretty wild, given her penchant for late-night snacking on cheese and crackers), Jules had never imagined that her life could unfold in such a way. This time last year she’d been preparing to leave the village and had felt utterly miserable. Her love for Danny Tremaine, serious and determined Danny who was the bravest and truest person she’d ever known, had been kept silent and locked away inside a heart that was shattering. The future had felt as bleak as the snowy world outside the church. Then, like a Christmas miracle, everything had changed in a heartbeat and Jules had known beyond all doubt that all her prayers had been heard and answered.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she said softly. “I just wish everyone could be as happy as Danny and me. Wouldn’t that make for a perfect Christmas?”

  St Wenn’s was silent but Jules knew she was listened to; the old building never felt empty. Maybe it was the prayers of all the years? This was such a special place and had a tranquillity that never failed to soothe her heart and soul.

  As she rested on the pew, the wood worn smooth by centuries of Polwenna Bay posteriors, Jules gently herded her thoughts away from Danny in order to run through her trusty mental to-do list. She was pretty sure everything was done and that she was free to nip home for a couple of hours and relax before the next onslaught of Yuletide activities. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to count things off on her fingers just in case. Her verger, Sheila Keverne, would soon spot any errors and probably be delighted to point them out. It might be the season of goodwill but that wouldn’t stop Sheila looking to find a fault or two!

  The carol service and nativity play were done and dusted; St Wenn’s erratic heating was cranked up as far as it could possibly go and gasping out enough puffs of warmish air through the grilles to prevent her parishioners from becoming hypothermic; Alice Trem
aine’s mince pies were in Tupperware tubs in the vicarage kitchen; and Big Roger Pollard had resurrected the church’s ancient tea urn so that after the service everyone could thaw out with cups of scalding tea. The brass altar rail gleamed from the hard polishing of the WI; all around the church fat pillar candles were ready to be lit; beautiful arrangements of ivy and red roses filled the building; and Jules’s Christmas robes were ironed and hanging up in the vestry. That was everything ready, surely? Alice Tremaine was taking care of Christmas dinner, Danny had delivered the Christmas cards, and at the vicarage all her gifts were wrapped up and placed under the tree.

  Trees! That was it! The church’s Christmas tree needed to be plugged in before she nipped back to the vicarage to warm up and put her thermals on. Nobody wanted a vicar turning blue or with chattering teeth to lead the most important service of the year. The tree had been a bone of contention with Sheila, who’d muttered and grumbled about pagan origins, until Jules had gently pointed out that lights shining in the darkness were very Biblical. She’d refrained from adding that St Wenn’s was built on an ancient pagan site in any case. Experience with her verger had taught Jules that it was wise to remain silent about such things.

  She was just crouching down to plug the lights in (and hoping that Big Rog Pollard’s rewiring job was as good as he’d promised) when the church door swung open and, with a swirl of icy air, a young woman stepped inside. The stranger stood in the entrance, catching her breath after the steep climb up to St Wenn’s. She seemed not to notice Jules, but from beside the tree Jules could see her perfectly. Jules noticed straight away that the young woman’s pretty face was blotched from weeping. As the stranger gazed around the church, she dabbed her eyes with her cuff and drew a shuddering breath. Seeing this, the vicar’s tender heart went out to the girl. Jules flicked the switch, filling the nave with rainbow light, and rose to her feet. She cleared her throat tactfully. Whoever this new arrival was, she was clearly upset – and like so many before her, had been drawn to the sanctuary of St Wenn’s. As a woman who’d shed many tears on a cold Christmas Eve before this one, Jules recognised heartbreak when she saw it.

  Maybe she could help.

  Kat couldn’t remember the last time she’d set foot inside a church. Her nephew’s christening maybe? Or perhaps an old school friend’s wedding? In any case, it was so long ago that the details were hazy. As she stepped into the quietness of the nave, Kat felt a little tingle of guilt. If God was up there watching, then He was probably wondering what on earth she was doing in His house and why she wasn’t in the pub or watching Morecambe and Wise repeats at home. It was a fair question and even Kat wasn’t sure of the answer.

  After Alex had joined her on the bench and had the utter nerve to suggest that everything was in the past and they could have dinner as though he’d never smashed her heart to smithereens, Kat had stormed off into the darkness. She’d been so desperate to get away before she made a total fool of herself by crying that she hadn’t spared a thought for where she was going. All that mattered was that Alex didn’t know just how floored she was to see him again or realise how hurt she still was. Her only focus had been on putting as much distance between them as possible before she crumbled.

  Blinded by angry tears, Kat had plunged down the stone steps into the hotel’s gardens and hurtled along a steep path. How could he even imagine that they could eat a meal together and reminisce about old times? Did he have no idea just what he’d done to her? A tsunami of panic and anguish had swept over her, just as brutally as it had all those years ago. The direction in which she was headed had bypassed Kat totally, but as the path had become steeper, carrying her downhill and away from the hotel, she’d picked up speed until she was running. Her high-heeled boots had caused her to lurch several times, pitching her forwards into the blackness, until finally she’d tripped and landed on her hands and knees on the stony path.

  There was nothing like skinning your knees and ripping a big hole in your tights to bring you up short, Kat had thought bitterly. Her palms stung from where the frozen ground had bitten into them, and her left knee was grazed and stinging. At least dealing with physical discomfort took her mind off Alex and the infinitely deeper hurt he’d caused, Kat had reflected as she’d hauled herself back up. And bits of dirt and gravel could be picked out of her hands and knees, whereas picking Alex out of her heart had proved far more difficult. Over the years, Kat had thought she was over him, but now she was starting to wonder. Had she just pushed the problem away and refused to deal with it instead? Was she still in love with Alex?

  Surely not? But then again, why did just seeing him again feel a thousand times more painful than the breakup with Ed? Kat had shaken her head in frustration. Why, oh why, had Tom decided to rake up the past? She’d been doing just fine on her own and she’d been looking forward to a quiet few days just to regroup and rest. Now everything was ruined.

  Talk about rubbish timing. Here she was on Christmas Eve, alone and supposedly getting over Ed, when along came Alex. Mind you, crap timing always had been his forte. Ten minutes before they’d been due to set off for her eighteenth birthday party, and while she’d still been desperately trying to tame her hair with her straighteners, Alex had knocked on her bedroom door. When she’d let him in, the expression on his face had alarmed Kat.

  “What’s happened? Is something wrong? Has somebody been hurt?” Kat had felt dread churn deep in the pit of her stomach. “Ally? What is it?”

  “I can’t come to the party.”

  She’d stared at him. “What? Of course you can!”

  “Something’s come up.” Alex couldn’t meet her gaze. He was staring down at the toes of his Converse boots as if they were suddenly fascinating.

  “Don’t be so ridiculous, Ally. It’s my eighteenth! We’ve been planning it for weeks. If a gig’s suddenly come up then you’re just going to have to say ‘no’ for once. I don’t care even if Simon Cowell’s there!”

  “It’s not a gig,” Alex had said, looking up now. His eyes were shadowed and there was something in them which terrified her. Kat had never seen him look so bleak or so determined.

  “So what is it?” Her heart had felt as though it was crashing against the boned bodice of the green prom dress she’d saved so hard to buy. Every instinct Kat possessed was telling her something very bad was coming her way.

  “It’s everything. Us. Being here.” His mouth, that gorgeous, sexy mouth she so loved to kiss, tightened into a line of misery. “I can’t do it, Kat. This life’s too small for me. I need more.”

  More. That word more than any other was what had shattered Kat’s heart. Alex wanted more than her. More than the life they’d planned together. In an instant her world was turned inside out – because, for her, he was enough. More than enough. Kat loved Alex with all her heart. She knew they were young, too young probably, but what did age matter if you knew that person was your soulmate? Your other half? The way Kat saw it they were lucky to have found each other now rather than wasting years stumbling about searching.

  There was a lump in her throat and all she could do was stare at him. No wonder he’d seemed so distracted lately. She’d secretly hoped he’d been plucking up the courage to propose (how stupid she felt now at those cherished little fantasies that he’d go down on one knee tonight in front of all her family and friends), when in reality he’d been trying to find the right way to tell her it was over. Kat’s world was spinning on its axis.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex had said quietly. Stepping forward, he’d pressed a letter into her hand and curled her icy fingers around the envelope. “It’s all in here. Try not to hate me, Kat. You’ll never hate me as much as I hate myself anyway.”

  Then he’d dropped a kiss onto her cheek and was gone. Kat hadn’t yelled or pleaded with him to change his mind, or even demanded an explanation. She’d seen the determination in his eyes and heard the steel in his words and had known there was no point in begging. Instead she’d crumpled onto her bed and, fe
eling sick, read the letter. It had explained how he needed to go away to discover whether he could make it as a musician. There was a job in the States, Alex had written, maybe the chance of a lifetime; he had to take it, otherwise he would never know what he could achieve. He loved her and he was sorry, but he had to go. He was setting her free.

  To Kat this hadn’t felt much like freedom; it had seemed more like being thrown headlong into an empty chasm. Her head was reeling. Why hadn’t Alex talked to her about it? She wouldn’t have stopped him. Maybe they could even have travelled the USA together. She could have applied to universities over there instead. Then she’d realised that Alex didn’t want her there cramping his style: he wanted to be single and free. Whereas she was feeling terror and pain and bewilderment, he was filled with excitement. She understood exactly why he’d chosen this particular moment to do it, too. Having already made the decision, there was no way Alex could have stood by her side at her eighteenth birthday party, playing the role of devoted boyfriend and letting Kat believe all was well. He was far too honest for that.

  But how she wished he wasn’t.

  Somehow Kat had made it through the party as though in a dream. She’d been numb with shock and by the end of it number still with alcohol. The engagement ring she’d so hoped for had been traded for a Dear John letter, and it took a lot of alcopops for a girl to deal with that – and even more to keep making excuses for her boyfriend’s absence. She’d danced and partied and then wept on Tom’s shoulder outside, and later on had been very sick too. All in all, it was an eighteenth birthday that she’d never forget – for all the wrong reasons.

  And now Alex was giving her a very similar Christmas.