I'll Be Home for Christmas: A heartwarming feel good romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

  ‘Travel blog,’ I said loudly, trying not to squirm. Why did it sound so silly spoken aloud, when in my head it seemed such a brilliant idea?

  ‘Travel blog?’ Dolly sounded startled, as though I’d sworn, but quickly recovered. ‘Does your mum know?’

  ‘If she did, you would too,’ I said wryly.

  Dolly gave an affectionate eye roll. ‘That sister of mine was never any good at keeping secrets,’ she said, and I didn’t like to point out that Mum would have said the exact same thing about Dolly – usually followed by the words, but that’s a good thing, because keeping secrets is bad for your well-being. ‘Which is probably a good thing, because keeping secrets is bad for you,’ Dolly added.

  I tried to hide a smile. ‘It’s not a secret… well, I suppose it is, but I don’t want to get Mum and Dad’s hopes up, in case it doesn’t work out.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it will,’ said Dolly, suddenly beaming. ‘You can do anything, if you put your mind to it, and Chamillon’s a great place to start.’ She patted my arm. ‘Now, get up whenever you’re ready and come down to the café for breakfast.’

  She rose and left the room, leaving the door ajar, and I leapt out of bed to close it. I didn’t want Ryan looking in – my morning hair wasn’t fit for viewing.

  I leaned against the door, considering my options. I didn’t fancy climbing back under the duvet, and all the talk about my plans had left me not so much fired up as unsettled. I straightened the bedding and plumped up the pillows, then padded barefoot to the window with my coffee. Peering at the view, I couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. From my last visit, I remembered lush vineyards and poppies in cornfields, sand dunes and salt marshes, long white beaches, and yachts sparkling in the harbour. I’d thought Chamillon was pretty, but a place best enjoyed in summer, yet under a covering of snow it had taken on an almost magical quality.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed, then looked round, embarrassed in case someone had overheard. Blowing steam from my mug, I returned my gaze to the street below. There were plenty of people about, as though drawn from their beds by the unusual weather, their faces ruddy with cold, smiling as they called out greetings, and I cleared a patch on the window where my breath had misted the glass so I could see better. I put down my mug and picked up my phone to snap a photo, but as I clicked, a seagull hurled itself onto the ledge outside, filling the frame with its open beak and a beady eye.

  I waited for it to move so I could take another – more appealing – shot and sent the picture to Ben, adding

  This is Steven. He likes fish, doughnuts and martial arts. (Steven Seagull – Seagal, get it?) X

  It was an old gag, from a time when my brother never got jokes, even when they were explained to him in detail. He was probably helping Dad with the cows right now, I reflected, or maybe they’d finished and were tucking into an enormous breakfast.

  The thought of food made my stomach growl. Deciding to leave the picture-taking until after I’d eaten, I dressed in clean jeans and one of my chunky sweaters – the sort Scott would have said didn’t ‘do me justice’ (he’d preferred outfits that clung, which had required a reduction in carbohydrates that I’d never been comfortable with), pulled on my socks and boots and headed to the bathroom. Coming out, I paused on the landing, hearing voices from the living room. The door was ajar and I clearly heard Charlie say, ‘I’m really sorry, mate, I don’t know what to suggest.’

  I sidled closer, even as the words curiosity killed the cat and a saying about eavesdroppers never hearing any good of themselves popped into my head.

  ‘… just wish she’d stop calling,’ Ryan was saying as I hovered outside the door and held my breath. ‘I could hear Lulu asking for her daddy in the background, and Jackson has started wetting the bed.’

  ‘It’s not fair of Nicole to put that on you,’ Charlie said grimly. ‘You need to put your foot down and tell her to leave you alone.’

  I inched closer, curiosity brimming over.

  ‘I just can’t help wishing that I hadn’t got involved in the first place.’ Ryan sounded wretched. ‘I wasn’t even sure I was ready to be a husband, let alone a father.’

  ‘Well, you know my feelings about that.’ Disapproval had leaked into Charlie’s voice. He generally saw the good in everyone – unless he’d drastically changed – but I wondered whether his own dad walking out had coloured his feelings about Ryan leaving his children.

  It certainly coloured mine. The time to decide you didn’t want daddy duties was before having children, not after.

  ‘You promise you won’t discuss any of this with your cousin,’ he went on and I stiffened. ‘I feel bad enough as it is, and I don’t fancy having to defend myself to her.’

  I bristled. I wasn’t intending to discuss anything personal with him, and no defence would make a difference anyway – I simply wasn’t interested in hearing his reasons or excuses.

  ‘Mum’s the word.’ I imagined Charlie pretend-zipping his mouth, but then he added, ‘Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say under the circumstances.’

  At the sound of Ryan’s chuckle, my hackles rose. ‘Nina seems nice on the surface,’ he said, ‘but she’s really jumpy and, like I said last night, I caught her looking at my laptop.’ As Charlie started to speak, he continued, ‘It’s just, after Nicole, I’ve had enough of high-maintenance women.’

  I stifled an outraged gasp. I was anything but high-maintenance. I’d barely asked anything of Scott, other than he be faithful to me – although maybe that’s where I’d gone wrong. I’d been too forgiving.

  ‘Nina’s not like that,’ Charlie said. ‘She’s actually really cool.’ Thank you!

  ‘You haven’t seen her for a while,’ said Ryan. ‘She seemed to be a bit unstable—’

  I rapped loudly on the door and entered the room to meet Charlie’s startled gaze. ‘Good morning.’ I fixed him with my sweetest smile. ‘Can I please say something?’

  ‘Er… of course you can, Nina.’

  My gaze shot to Ryan, standing by the Christmas tree in his dressing gown. ‘If we’re going to be sharing this apartment, I suggest you find somewhere else to gossip, where I can’t hear you,’ I said. ‘Or, better still, don’t gossip about me at all.’

  Charlie immediately apologised, but as Ryan began to speak, I rounded on him.

  ‘Obviously, we’ve both been through a lot, but how dare you call me unstable and high-maintenance to my cousin when you don’t even know me?’ I blasted. ‘You of all people should know better than to judge a book by its cover.’ Ryan stared at the floor, head shaking slightly – whether in denial of my words, or because he felt bad, was hard to tell. ‘Charlie and Dolly are my family.’

  ‘They’re like family to me too,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Yes, but my actual family,’ I said hotly. ‘If you’re going to hang around here causing trouble, maybe I’d be better off staying with Dolly.’

  ‘Nina, you don’t have to do that,’ Charlie said, putting his hands up. ‘Honestly, it won’t happen again.’

  I turned to him. ‘Why did you tell him about me cutting up Scott’s shirts and burning his wallet?’

  ‘What?’ He rose off the sofa – a vivid orange in daylight – and took a step towards me. ‘I didn’t tell him.’ His eyes were clear and his words had the ring of truth.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, deflated. ‘It must have been your mum, then.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ His eyebrows pulled together. ‘Mum wouldn’t discuss something like that with anyone outside the family.’ His eyes flicked past me. ‘No offence, Ryan.’

  My gaze moved back to Ryan, who was rubbing a hand over his beard and looking shifty. ‘Actually, neither of them told me.’ He flashed Charlie an apologetic look. ‘I overheard you and Dolly talking about it yesterday morning,’ he confessed. ‘It was just before I came into the kitchen for a couple of croissants.’

  ‘Right.’ Now Charlie looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, Nina, it was just that your mum had told Dolly about it a
nd we were saying how unlike you it was to react like that—’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I threw up my hands. ‘It was hardly anything, just a few photos in the fire that weren’t even very good. I had my eyes shut in most of them.’

  ‘I thought it was pretty funny, to be honest.’ A smile nudged Charlie’s mouth. ‘You could have done a lot worse.’

  ‘See!’ I swivelled back to Ryan. ‘You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,’ I said, ignoring my rampant hypocrisy. ‘And you definitely shouldn’t have used what you heard against me.’

  ‘I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just happened to overhear a conversation.’ He shoved his hands in his dressing gown pockets, as if resisting the urge to strangle me. ‘There’s a difference.’

  ‘Oh well, excuse me.’ I’d definitely been eavesdropping.

  ‘But, you’re right,’ he said, unexpectedly. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything, and I shouldn’t have judged you by your cover. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well… OK.’ Flustered, I turned to Charlie, who’d picked up a Christmas card and appeared fascinated by the snowy woodland scene on the front.

  ‘From our old neighbour, Dorothy,’ he said into the strained silence that followed Ryan’s apology. ‘She sends one every year, with all the local gossip.’

  ‘I remember her.’ Ryan’s tone lightened, presumably thinking he was forgiven and keen to move on. ‘I was at your house once when she came round to complain about the neighbour on the other side, sunbathing in the nude.’

  ‘God, that’s right.’ Charlie’s grin was nostalgic, and his expression invited me to join in. ‘The next time it was sunny, we climbed out onto the garage roof to try and get a look, thinking she meant Georgia Cavendish, but it turned out to be her husband.’

  ‘And Dorothy was looking at him out of her bedroom window.’

  ‘Through a pair of binoculars.’

  I made a half-hearted attempt to join in with the laughter. At least Ryan’s laugh was nicer than the sound of his annoyingly calm voice, putting me right on the difference between overhearing and eavesdropping. Or asking Charlie not to discuss his personal life with me because I was obviously unstable.

  ‘Right, I’m off to work,’ Charlie said, putting the card back on the mantelpiece. ‘Coming down for breakfast?’

  Ryan’s forest-dark gaze slid to me and away, as if seeing something in my face he wasn’t sure of. ‘I’ll probably grab something later,’ he said, rubbing his fingertips through his hair. ‘I’m not hungry right now.’

  ‘Count me in, I’m starving.’ As I followed Charlie out of the room, I turned, sensing Ryan was watching, but he was eyeing his laptop on the table as if it had teeth and might bite him. ‘Good luck with your writing,’ I said pleasantly, and slammed the door behind me.

  Five

  At the bottom of the stairs, Charlie turned and eyed my outfit. ‘At least you’re not dressed as a marsupial,’ he said with a grin. ‘I might treat myself to a giraffe onesie. Elle would love that.’

  ‘Or, she’ll realise she’s made a mistake and stay in England,’ I joked, feeling better already for being out of Ryan’s orbit. High-maintenance. The insult still stung.

  ‘There you are!’ Dolly looked up from rolling out dough, a dusting of flour on her forehead, her beam so wide her eyes were in danger of vanishing. ‘Go through and order some food,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron before handing a tray of cinnamon swirls to a woman in an identical apron with neatly parted hair scooped back in a ponytail.

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  Dolly shook her head as if the suggestion was outrageous. ‘Celeste will bring you whatever you want,’ she said, adding something in French to the woman that I interpreted as This is my niece, look after her. Celeste nodded and flashed me a dimpled smile as she left with the tray of swirls.

  ‘Just make yourself at home,’ said Dolly as I sidestepped the young waiter I’d seen the day before, who was transporting a stack of plates to the sink, while another male – surely his brother, judging by their matching hair – efficiently unloaded the dishwasher. ‘Find a nice table, or even sit with someone, if you want to. We have lots of people your age come in, so you won’t be lonely.’

  By people she probably meant eligible young men. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d invited a few in, especially to meet me. ‘Thanks, Dolly,’ I said, with a smiling shake of my head. ‘I don’t think I’ll be lonely, though.’

  Charlie winked at me as he picked up a half-eaten croissant and dropped it in the bin. ‘Just don’t ask her to cook anything, Mum, or she’ll drive our customers away.’

  Dolly leaned over and swiped Charlie’s arm. ‘I’m sure Nina’s come a long way since the day of the fire.’

  ‘Why do you still call it that?’ I gave a groaning laugh. ‘All I did was put some toast on the highest setting by mistake and a bit of smoke came out. No one needed to call the fire brigade.’

  ‘I think it’s the fact that you literally burn toast that’s funny,’ said Charlie, grinning. ‘And the firemen were sympathetic in the end.’

  ‘Thanks for that reminder.’

  He inclined his head. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be going to the bank?’ Dolly gave Charlie a mock-stern glare. ‘Make sure you wrap up warm, it’s brass monkeys out there.’

  ‘I’m a grown man,’ he said good-naturedly, giving me a little salute as he moon-walked out of the kitchen. ‘Gotta go, buffalo.’

  ‘See you soon, racoon.’

  Dolly laughed indulgently. ‘You two,’ she said. ‘It’s like the old days.’

  Smiling, I made my way into the bustling café and immediately felt underdressed among the customers, who all appeared to be wearing festive jumpers. Dolly must have ordered a job lot for her ‘British Christmas’ assault. The waiter was trying to hand one to a striking middle-aged woman with a laptop bag, who seemed utterly mystified – as if he was handing her a bag of dog poo.

  ‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ She held up the garment, which was styled to look like a Santa jacket, with white pom-poms down the front and a black, knitted belt around the middle, and inspected it closely. ‘Très bon.’ She handed it back with a polite smile before drifting to a nearby table and shaking off her mustard ankle-length coat.

  The waiter approached me, the sweater over his shoulder. ‘Hello, I am Stefan, and you are Nina.’

  ‘I am,’ I confirmed, returning his cautious smile. ‘Hi, Stefan.’

  ‘C’est le pull Noël.’ He pointed to a chalkboard on the counter where a matchstick couple were wearing Santa sweaters under today’s date. Three days before my non-wedding. ‘I do not have a pullover for today, but my maman is making one with wool.’ He mimed knitting, holding imaginary needles so close to his face, I wondered whether his mother was short-sighted. ‘I will put it on tomorrow, if it is ready.’

  ‘You could wear that one.’

  He held out the rejected Santa sweater. ‘It is for a lady,’ he said. ‘You would like it?’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m warm enough just now.’ I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. It was impossible not to appreciate his fine manners, even if I was jealous of his luxurious hair and thickly-lashed eyes, which were the colour of dark chocolate. A pair of sleek-haired females at the table closest were vying for his attention, laughing too loudly, then looking to see if he’d noticed. I would have been too, at their age. ‘I’ll have a black coffee and a pain au chocolat, s’il vous plaît.’

  He inclined his head and darted to the huge, chrome coffee machine squatting behind the counter, its handles and dials reminiscent of an aeroplane cockpit. Not that I’d ever been in an aeroplane cockpit. Cups and bowls were arranged haphazardly on top and I itched to move them to the shelf that ran along the length of the wall, where they’d be easy to reach and would look more attractive.

  Also, decanting the tea and coffee into labelled jars wouldn’t go amiss – pretty and practical – and the empty jug on the side c
ould double as a spoon-holder. Cutlery was spilling across the worktop, taking up valuable space, and I rejected the idea of taking a quick photo for my blog. The Café Belle Vie may serve the best coffee and pastries on the island, but the counter area needed a bit of tweaking to make the grade.

  ‘’ello, Nina.’ The woman – Celeste – had finished serving a man with a nose so red, I couldn’t help thinking of Rudolph, and turned her attention to me. ‘If you go to that table over there, I shall bring your order.’ She spoke slowly, as though experimenting with her English. ‘It has a… belle vue.’

  I looked at the table she was pointing to, which was by the window overlooking the snowy harbour. ‘Merci.’ I weaved my way there, ducking round the fairy-lit tree, offering a cheery bonjour to the smiling faces tilted to greet me as I passed. No handsome strangers, as far as I could detect, just some curious but friendly glances, as if the customers had been primed for my visit by Dolly and were keen to make a connection. She’d always had a way of drawing people in; of making them care about her life and the people in it – which had made it all the harder to understand why Charlie’s dad hadn’t hung around.

  It’s not you, it’s him, I’d heard Mum consoling her on the phone. Even if he’d married Madonna, or… I don’t know, Mother Teresa, he wouldn’t have stuck around. It’s not in his nature, Doll.

  Sinking onto one of the bistro-style chairs, I took my phone out of my pocket and checked the photos I’d taken of the café the day before, my heart sinking when I realised they were wonky – I must have tilted my phone by mistake. I fiddled with the editing buttons and accidentally chopped the first picture in half. Sighing, I decided to leave it until later, and turned to admire the view instead. It looked even more like a Christmas card, with snow-topped boats in the harbour, and rosy-cheeked cyclists passing in brightly-coloured bobble hats and scarves. A pair of children were scooping snow off the railings opposite and shaping them into balls, reminding me of epic snow fights at the farm in winter when Ben and I were children.