Saving Mr Scrooge (Moorland Heroes Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

"Saved her life?"

  "Oh, yes. Turns out, Christopher Carroll was the hunk in The Blue Lamp."

  "Never!" Don's eyes widened, then he grinned. "Mouth to mouth, were it?"

  "Oh, shut up," I muttered.

  Olivia watched me thoughtfully. "He was the only boy you ever seemed to genuinely care for. You thought your heart was broken, when you had to go up to St Hilda's without him."

  I tutted. "Honestly, where do you get these stories from?" I demanded. "He was a cute kid, and I liked him, that's all. When he left, I never gave him a second thought. You watch too many chick flicks. Besides, he's calling himself Kit these days. How pretentious is that?"

  Olivia eyed me shrewdly. "Hmm. If you say so."

  My face burned. Did Olivia remember the endless nights I'd sobbed into my pillow, devastated that the boy of my dreams was going away, and I'd never see him again? It had felt like the end of the world at the time, but, seriously, I was eleven years old. Opening your packed lunch to find your mother's made you fish paste sandwiches, instead of ham or cheese, like your best friend has, can feel like the end of the world at eleven. I should know. Dratted Claire Walker and her doorstep granary sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate biscuits. Made my two slices of white bread and an apple look paltry. Serious packed lunch envy. Every. Single. Day.

  David shovelled fried egg and chips into his mouth with indecent haste, while Olivia pushed her plate away and said, "Suppose we'd better be getting back to it."

  "Give us a chance," he protested. "I've only just sat down."

  "That's your own fault," she told him. "I saw you both over there, having a laugh with your mates. You should have started your dinner earlier. Now you'll have heartburn all evening, and it serves you right."

  "You're all heart," he told her, shoving chips into a slice of bread and butter and folding it over to make a bulging sandwich.

  I watched, appalled at his slovenly eating habits. Honestly! David was a nice enough bloke, but refined he wasn't.

  It occurred to me suddenly that I'd eaten my own jacket potato without worrying about choking to death. Christopher Carroll always could distract me from everything else.

  "What are you thinking?" Olivia demanded suddenly.

  I blushed. Good job she couldn't read my mind. "Er, I was just wondering what we should get Mum for Christmas."

  Olivia rolled her eyes. "Crikey, I don't know. Haven't thought about it, really." She glanced at David and grinned suddenly. "I think she just wants something to keep her warm at night."

  "Really?" I said, doubtfully. "Like an electric blanket, you mean? Not very exciting."

  Olivia rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination, Marley."

  I stared at them all. Don took a large gulp of tea, while David nudged Olivia and winked at me. "Are you saying—do you mean, Mum has a bloke?"

  Olivia tutted. "Crikey, Marley, you're a bit behind the times, aren't you?"

  "What? You mean she has?" Realising I'd squeaked that last sentence, I tried lowering my tone. "Since when?"

  "Not a bloke, exactly," Olivia backtracked.

  "Well, what, then? A boy?"

  "No, I mean, it's not just one bloke."

  My mouth dropped open in shock. "What the hell are you saying? What's been going on?"

  Olivia giggled. "I didn't mean it like that. She's on a dating website. She's been on a few dates, although I don't think any of them have particularly floated her boat, so to speak."

  "What sort of dating website? Is it reputable? Are these men vetted? She could be meeting anyone."

  She shrugged. "It's very popular and well-known. Stop fretting."

  "Mum's dating?" My voice sounded faint. I'd had no idea. Mum was just … Mum. "I didn't know."

  "No, well." Olivia sounded uncomfortable. "Have you ever asked her?"

  "Why would I? Aren't you worried about her?"

  "She's a grown woman, Marley," David said with a sigh. "Stop trying to control her life, and let her get on with it."

  I glared at him. "I'm not trying to control her life. I'm just looking out for her, that's all."

  Don patted my arm. "'Course you are, love, and quite right, too. Nowt wrong with that, is there?" he said, nodding at David and Olivia. "But try not to worry, eh? Your mum seems sensible enough to me. I'm sure she'll be fine."

  Really? I wasn't so sure. She was quite innocent, my mum. I didn't want some loser taking advantage of her. If I was being really honest, though, Mum having some kind of love life again was way overdue. She'd been alone for sixteen years, after all, and she was still an attractive woman. Well, she was only in her late forties. She'd had me when she was just nineteen. Far too young to be a mother, although she'd made a pretty good job of it. Much like Olivia, I supposed, who’d only been twenty-two when she had Sam.

  I picked up the salt pot, turning it round and round in my hand, deep in thought. What sort of mother would I have made, I wondered wistfully. I probably wouldn't have been anywhere near as competent as my sister. She had the whole maternal thing nailed, and at least she had David to help her, providing he didn't bail on her, of course. Olivia was adamant that David wasn't the type, and I could see why she'd think that. He was dull as ditch-water, but he was as steady and reliable as they came.

  But then, hadn't Dad seemed steady and reliable, too? A proper family man, with a neat, little council house, and a job, and a pair of slippers, and everything. Appearances could be very deceptive. It worried me sometimes that Olivia was taking a huge gamble, saddling herself with three children, in the belief that she would always have David around to help. What would happen if he woke up one day and realised he was trapped? That maybe kids and a mortgage weren't his idea of heaven, after all? Could any man really be trusted?

  "Perhaps we ought to meet this fella of hers," I began, but Olivia shook her head. "Oh, no. We leave this well alone."

  "It's none of our business," David said firmly.

  "But—"

  Don gently took the salt pot from my hand. "Maybe leave it with your Mum, eh? When she's ready, I'm sure she'll tell you. Now, what were you saying about getting her a nice Christmas present?" He smiled brightly at my sister. "Marley's right, you know. Time you gave it some thought. All mums deserve summat nice."

  "Yeah, all right, Don," Olivia said grumpily. "I do know."

  "Well, we should put our heads together," I said, determined to shake off my worries—at least for now, and concentrate on Christmas. "Not long ‘til the big day, you know. We're on a countdown now."

  "Can we get November out of the way before we even start to think about it?" Olivia moaned. "Honestly, you and your Christmas countdown."

  "But it's Christmas!" I said, suddenly optimistic. "It takes a lot of planning, a lot of preparation."

  "Do you think you have to tell us that?" David asked, waving his fork in the air as if to emphasise his point. "We've got three kids under five. We start hearing about Christmas in September. They've ticked just about every toy in the Argos catalogue, and every advert on the Disney Channel is for some other flipping thing they've decided they want. At least let us have another couple of weeks without giving in to the madness."

  "I love Christmas," I said dreamily. "It's such a magical time of year."

  "What, with the birth of Baby Jesus, you mean?" Olivia sounded cynical.

  "I was thinking new clothes, presents, and piss-ups," I admitted.

  "Thought as much. The only Christmas spirit you care about is Bailey's Irish Cream," Olivia said. "I may take longer to get into the festive mood, but at least when I do, it's for the right reasons. You miss the point of Christmas entirely."

  "I do not!" I said indignantly. "I love it all, everything about it. Just because you two are old miseries, it isn't going to stop me from starting my countdown right now." I paused. "I must make a list tonight. Start planning the colour scheme for Mum's tree this year."

  Olivia shook her head. "Colour scheme!"

  "These things have to be done properly," I prote
sted, though I suspected I was wasting my breath telling my sister that. Olivia's Christmas tree always looked like an explosion in a tinsel factory—clashing colours, garish lights, homemade decorations, and an angel that appeared to have had a stroke, perching lopsidedly on the top branch. No taste, whatsoever. "Besides," I added, because the thought had just occurred to me, "I should celebrate even more this year. Think about it. I've been given another chance at life. I mean, I died."

  "Oh, not that again," said David with a sigh.

  "Thank God for Little Chrissie Carroll," Olivia said, giggling. "He brought you back from the dead."

  "Oh, shut up," I said, but I couldn't deny how galling it was that, of all people, he should be the one to save me. The uncomfortable truth was, as sickened as I was that he'd turned up at the factory and taken over, I owed him. I owed him my life.

  Infuriating, or what?

  Chapter Five

  Kit was glad to get back to his office and close the door behind him. The sweet smell which pervaded the factory floor was making him feel nauseous—although, if he was being really honest, he didn't think that was the only cause. He sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. Hell, it was worse than he'd suspected. Touring the factory with one of the foremen, he'd been made very much aware of how many lines were given over entirely to LuvRocks products.

  So much so, it had been a welcome relief to find a section of the factory that was churning out Carroll's own brand of chocolates, and when he reached the line working on their sticks of seaside rock, he could have wept. That was the Carroll's Confectionary he remembered. What the hell had gone so wrong?

  He wrenched the tie from around his neck, unfastened the top button of his shirt, and loosened his collar.

  Thank God for that.

  Wearing a suit and tie made him feel constricted. He was so used to T-shirts and jeans that he felt awkward and uncomfortable in such formal wear. He'd toyed with the idea of wearing his usual clothes to work, but had reluctantly concluded that Carroll's needed him to be the sensible corporate boss. He had a responsibility to the company, and if that meant buttoning himself into a starchy shirt, smart suit, and tie, so be it. Right now, though, he needed to breathe.

  "Good morning, Mr Carroll." Colin Henry's voice was surprisingly calm, when Kit finally plucked up the courage to ring him. No point putting things off any longer. No doubt he'd been expecting his call.

  "Kit." How many more times?

  "Kit. So, is it as bad as you feared?"

  "Worse. I don't understand how Jack could have been so stupid. They haven't paid us in months. Why keep supplying them? How could he have been so gullible?"

  "I think Jack thought he had little option. He was in too deep. Besides, he wasn't the only one, was he? Bayford's are in it up to their neck. Why else do you think they applied for the winding-up petition?"

  "At least they had the guts to do it. Looks like Jack just turned a blind eye."

  "I suppose he's had other things on his mind."

  "I know, I know." Kit bit his lip, feeling a wave of guilt. It wasn't Jack's fault. He'd done his best, and Kit should have been there a lot sooner to take the burden from him. If he hadn't been so selfish, maybe things wouldn't have got this bad. "So, what will happen next?"

  "We wait for the court hearing. According to The Gazette, it's next week. After that, we'll be in a better position to judge what's really happening."

  "Will it go into administration?"

  There was a definite hesitation. "Depends if there's any hope of salvaging the company. Though, from what my contacts have told me, that seems unlikely. If that's the case, Halliwell & Stephenson's will go into liquidation, and that will be the end of LuvRocks."

  And possibly the end of Carroll's. Kit almost said it out loud, but couldn't bring himself to do so.

  "We'll talk again," Colin said. "In the meantime, I'd get on with Plan B. It's not over until it's over, and Carroll's has been through tough times before."

  After he’d ended the call, Kit stared at his phone, his mind a maelstrom of terrifying thoughts. He needed a strong coffee.

  He strode into Marley's office and headed over to the kettle.

  She glanced up, her eyes wide. "I can make you a drink. You only had to ask."

  "It's fine.” To be truthful, he was glad of the distraction. “Do you want one?"

  She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks. White with—”

  "No sugar," he finished without thinking. His face flooded with colour. Damn! At her arched eyebrow, he muttered, "I've watched you make enough drinks these last few days."

  He didn't want her to know he remembered even that little detail about her. Not after he'd played it so cool so far. He wasn't sure if she believed him, or not, but she said nothing. Relieved, Kit handed her the coffee and sank down into a chair against the wall.

  Marley took a sip of her drink, but winced like it’d scalded her lips. Placing the mug back on her desk, she asked, "Something I can help you with?"

  "Just been for a tour of the factory floor."

  "I know that. And?"

  He hesitated. How could he put it without alarm bells going off in her head? "I'm not very happy with the way things are going."

  "What do you mean?" She sounded defensive already.

  "I think we've given over far too much time, money, and manpower to LuvRocks," he said carefully. "Everywhere I turned, they were churning out some of their low-grade products. That's not what Carroll's is about."

  She eyed him steadily for a moment, then shrugged. "I agree."

  She did? "You do?" Kit couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. The last thing he'd expected was for Marley, of all people, to agree with him.

  "I think they're really tacky, and Carroll's is—was—a traditional confectionery company. We should go back to doing what we do best—seaside rock and gifts for all the family, and quality chocolates."

  Kit couldn't have put it better himself. He stared at her, open mouthed, and she tutted and flicked back her chestnut hair, a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

  "You look surprised."

  "I am. I thought you'd argue with me, even if you didn't want to," he admitted.

  "Well, you know what thought did," she said primly. After another sip of coffee, she said, "So, what are you going to do about it?"

  "Ease off the LuvRocks products and up production of the Carroll's stuff," he said thoughtfully. "We'll start on the Easter eggs this week. I need to make new contacts, and find new customers. Maybe an advertising campaign, too."

  She sighed. "Jack tried all that," she pointed out. "It didn't do much good. You need a new angle. Something different."

  "Like what?" He realised he'd sounded a little snappier than he'd intended. He wasn't Jack. Just because his brother hadn't managed to drum up business, didn't mean Kit couldn't. He loved his brother, but he wasn't like him. Marley, of all people, should’ve known that.

  "I'm not sure." She put down her cup and tapped her fingers on the desk. "Maybe you should call Gina at Clarke and Howell's? They've worked with us on marketing before. I can get you her number?"

  "No thanks." He stood, cupping his mug in one hand, as he opened the door to his office with the other. "I can sort this out myself."

  "But, clearly, we need help," she began. "If you're going to up production of our stuff, we need to have someone to sell it to, and that being the case—”

  "I'll figure it out," he assured her, and ignoring the look of frustration on her face, he went back into the office and closed the door behind him.

  He could picture her expression right then, as he leaned against the door. She would be angry, scornful, no doubt. Another black mark against him.

  Oh, well, if he was being honest, what Marley thought of him was the least of his worries.

  Kit picked up the bundle of papers on his desk and perused them once again. thinking, suddenly, that a beer seemed a much better idea than coffee.

  Sighing, he pick
ed up the telephone receiver and punched out a number. It took about ten rings before Serafina answered. He'd almost given up on her.

  Hearing her voice, he felt a stab of relief. "Serafina?"

  "Kit, darling! I thought you'd vanished off the face of the earth. I take it you went back, then?"

  "I did. It's good to hear your voice, sweetheart. Look, you know what we were discussing on the phone the other week? Well, how do you fancy a trip to Yorkshire?"

  Chapter Six

  The shops were already decorated for Christmas, and had been for several weeks. Olivia had agreed to go shopping with me, although it was against her better judgement, as she pointed out several times.

  "York?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. "What the heck do we have to go all the way to York for? What's wrong with Helmston, or Whitby?"

  I rolled my eyes. The trouble with Olivia was that she had no aspirations. There was nothing wrong with Helmston, or Whitby, but if you wanted a big day out shopping, where was the fun in heading up the road, when you could head to the beautiful city of York, with its medieval walls and ancient, cobbled streets, and masses of shops all teeming with interesting and exciting things that you just couldn't get locally? Olivia needed to think bigger, a fact I pointed out very forcefully, as I motioned for her to fasten her seatbelt.

  "And what's the point of that?" Olivia demanded. "All a trip to York means is more shops, more choice, more temptation, and more money. It's all right for you. You've only got yourself to worry about. I have responsibilities. Three of them. Four, if you count David."

  "Actually," I said, "it's my responsibility to decorate Mum's house, and I have a colour scheme to plan, and loads to think about. This isn't going to be easy, you know."

  Olivia rolled her eyes. "It's Mum's house. Why can't you just leave it to her?"

  I started the car, my face grim. "You know why. Since when does Mum bother with Christmas decorations?"

  Olivia didn't reply, and feeling that I'd made my point, I didn't expand on the subject.

  We both knew that Mum hadn't so much as put up a Christmas tree since Dad left. For one thing, she'd had no money. She had rent to pay, and even five separate cleaning jobs hadn't left her with any spare cash to spend on luxuries. Worse, she hadn't had the heart for it. All the joy had gone out of Mum when Dad abandoned us. It had taken years for her to get back to anything like the woman she'd been before he betrayed her. Christmas was just a painful reminder of everything she'd lost.