A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall: The most heartwarming Cornish Christmas romance of 2019!

by Jane Linfoot

  I’m smiling at Miranda to move this on. ‘It’s a shame you missed Rob, two minutes earlier you could have told him your news and showed him how sparkly your ring is.’

  Her right hand slaps over her left one and if she’s trying to hide her empty finger it’s worked. ‘I left it upstairs for now, it’s a little loose – I’d hate for it to fall off and get lost.’

  As if that would happen. Now she comes to mention it, it hits me what her diamond reminds me of. You know when people have bunches of keys with tennis balls attached, so they don’t get misplaced? Well, that. A tennis ball’s about the size of it anyway. Just saying. She might not want to wear it, but if she tied it to her key ring at least she’d always be able to find her keys.

  Fliss grins at her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Mum, it’s such a rock, if you dropped it you’d be more likely to cause an obstruction in the street or break a leg falling over the thing than lose it.’

  It’s one thing thinking it, and quite another saying it. Maybe I’m not the only one Willow’s hit with a truth collar.

  ‘Let’s go and get you a tea, Miranda, there are lots of delicious muffins in the kitchen too.’

  She pulls a face. ‘Tea would be lovely, sweetheart, but I’d better give the muffins a miss.’

  Fliss rounds on her. ‘Why?’

  ‘You know Ambie, he’ll definitely want a slender bride.’ When did Miranda ever have a tiny voice? She usually booms like a fog horn. If sea glass makes you blurty, it’s like Ambie’s diamond has turned her into the Queen with a teensy voice overnight. ‘He’s always telling me, when Betty turned sideways she was so thin she used to disappear.’

  Fliss lets out a squawk. ‘Jeez Mother, Betty died of cancer, that’s why there was nothing of her. You’ve always been curvy, that’s why you’ve got guys buzzing round your boobs like …’

  ‘Like surfies round a big wave?’ That was me, with an effing great push from my necklace. ‘Or, if you don’t mind a honey pot cliché, bees work just as well.’ As I hear a door slam and footsteps in the corridor, I pick up Harriet and push her at Miranda, and shoo Fliss and Oscar towards the door. ‘This could be Bill – you make tea, I’ll clean up in here. Hurry up, off you go.’ I can hear Oscar yelling his Daddy Facetime chant all the way back to the kitchen.

  We were talking about regrets last night. As the others leave and I take in the enormity of the muffin spread I’m certainly regretting this particular tidying offer.

  I look down at Merwyn and let out a loud groan. ‘Jeez, blueberry muffins knee-ed into a white duvet cover! Quel désastre.’

  He looks up at me, puts his front paws up on the bed, then looks at me again. If he were Tom, he’d be saying, Mother, it’s bloody obvious, stop messing, just do it.

  I’m looking back at him. ‘I don’t know, Merwyn, if Tansy catches me using you like a hoover, I’ll never hear the last of it.’

  I nip and close the door and wedge a stool in front of it. A second later I’ve scooped him up by the bottom, lowered his nose to duvet level, and I’m skimming him around the bed. I let out a sigh. ‘Sorry, Merwyn, desperate times and all that … we’ll call this your one Christmas treat … after this you’re back to your Lily’s Kitchen Rise and Shine Doggy Specials all the way to New Year.’

  Then despite the stool, the door bursts open, and as Bill appears I’m kicking myself for not using the Do Not Disturb sign, and pulling Merwyn close to my chest so it looks like Bill just walked in on us having a quiet Sunday morning cuddle.

  ‘Were you talking French back there?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to – it must be catching.’ Like a lot of other things round here.

  He’s scrutinising me now. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit pale that’s all. And you’ve been in here ages, yet there’s a completely unstarted muffin next to your laptop. That’s very telling.’

  I’m going to have to give him something here. ‘Someone I know in London is possibly making a huge mistake. If I were there I’d be straight round to sort them out. But as I’m not I’ll just have to forget about it, and get on with my day.’

  He’s screwing up his face. ‘And are those wet splodges on the bed?’

  I’m hoping he won’t be too cross. ‘Ooops, sorry, Fliss’s tinies were in here with breakfast earlier Facetiming their dad.’ I’m kicking myself. ‘Ooops, sorry again … shouldn’t have said that. Lovely muffins by the way, please pass my compliments on to whoever does your baking.’

  ‘You don’t have to tiptoe around me, Pom Pom.’

  He has no idea what a relief it is to hear that. ‘In that case, as we’re here … I’ve been thinking …’

  He drags in a breath. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Christmas, it’s the season of goodwill, it’s the perfect opportunity to ask Gemma to let you see Abby. I mean, from what you said everything’s still informal between you, technically you’re both still looking after her.’

  ‘What?’ He blinks. ‘It’s Sunday today, they’re flying out to Davos early Tuesday until after New Year.’

  ‘Which leaves you plenty of time, then.’ I grin at him.

  He stares up at the ceiling. ‘How well do you know Gemma?’

  However difficult Gemma is, I’m going to have to throw something else in here. ‘Fliss’s dad died when she was ten, she hated growing up without him, please don’t do that to Abby. You’re actually really lucky to have the choice here, so don’t throw it away.’

  Even after he swallows his voice is still extra gravelly. ‘Thanks, Ivy-star, I know I need to wake up. A whole year on, I still haven’t made it happen.’

  I do understand how hard it is but he’s going to have to accept that things have changed forever. ‘I know it’s gutting that you and Abby might never live together full time any more. But you have to find a way to spend time with each other – make new patterns, be sure to spend the holidays together, use Facetime for the bits in between, things like that.’ It’s so tough, but there’s no point him just wishing things are as they were, because they never will be again. ‘You’re the only person who can fight for this, it has to be you. And you need to get on with it, the longer you put it off the harder it will be.’

  ‘I know you’re right.’ At least he’s nodding. ‘We have arranged things – holidays, weekend visits, trips. But every time something more important has come up, or they’ve been ill. Every time Gemma’s found an excuse to put them off.’

  It’s so important, I have to push him. ‘So spring a surprise, it’ll be over before she has time to change her mind. You don’t have to ask for a lot, keep it low key and she’s more likely to agree. Just message or text, and be really clear about what you want – ask for a couple of hours to take Abby out. You’ll feel so much better once you have. It’ll be like a Christmas present for both of you.’ I know if it happens it’ll mean him being away when I don’t have much time left here, but that’s a sacrifice I’ll have to deal with. I can count the days we’ve got left here on one hand now, that’s how fast it’s whizzing by.

  ‘Great idea, I’ll get onto it now.’

  I smile at him and put Merwyn back on the floor. ‘And I’ll go and make some coffee, if you’re hoping for a muffin with yours, don’t leave it too long.’

  He’s already opening his laptop. ‘I won’t.’

  In fact, the kids take ages to wake, and when they do, they just roll over and go straight into watching CBeebies with Oscar and Harriet and eating a pile of last night’s leftover pizza. Which leaves Merwyn and I sitting together on the kitchen sofa, watching the waves sliding up the beach in the distance as I work my way through the muffin stack single handed. I’m saved from bursting when the latest Waitrose delivery arrives and I head off to the pantry to put away the cratefuls of shopping.

  I’m drooling over sides of smoked salmon, hampers of wax covered cheeses, and cartons of thick cream flavoured with brandy as I stack them into the fridge, when Keef arrives.

  ‘Anything I can help with?’

  For some
one who rides the wave of life whilst giving absolutely no fucks whatsoever, his forehead has a lot of deep furrows.

  He’s tapping his bead braids on his teeth. ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Live more, stress less, Keef.’ I can’t believe this is the same laid back, chilled out guy who told me not to be uptight not so long ago. ‘What the hell’s the matter?’

  He hitches up his harlequin check jogging pants and pulls a face. ‘It’s Miranda, she’s really not happy, but I can’t help without looking like I’ve got an ulterior motive.’

  ‘And have you?’ Damn, that one was hundred per cent sea glass.

  ‘What a question, Ivy. I stay fit running away from relationships, my middle name is no-commitment.’

  I stare at him. ‘Commitment is an act, not a word, Keef.’ It’s fun seeing how far his eyebrows shoot up as I tease him. Then I take pity. ‘It’s okay, you can care about someone without wanting to get involved. Would you like me to have a word?’

  His face relaxes. ‘I’d feel a lot better if I knew she was getting proper support from a good place.’

  ‘Leave it with me, I’ll have a chat.’ I’m leaning down to pick up a humungous luxury Christmas pudding, tied in authentic muslin when I hear Bill.

  ‘Dad, what are you doing in here?’

  Keef makes a zip sign across his mouth to me, then turns round to Bill. ‘The heating engineer just rang, I came to give Ivy an update.’

  Bills eyes are popping. ‘And? I wouldn’t mind knowing too if it’s not too much trouble.’

  Keef blinks. ‘Sure, of course. Well the good news is, he’s finally tracked down the boiler part he needs.’ He wiggles his eyebrows at me. ‘It’s good going too, it’s the only one in the country.’

  Bill’s nodding. ‘Great, so what’s the hold up?’

  ‘It’s at a plumbers’ merchants in London, they’re open tomorrow morning, then they’re shut until the New Year. With couriers flat out, it’s going to be touch and go.’

  Bill nods. ‘No worries, I’ll pick it up myself, I’ve got to go anyway.’

  My heart does a leap. ‘You’ve heard back already?’

  There’s no mistaking the shine in his eyes, or the width of his beam as he turns to Keef. ‘With Ivy’s help I’m doing lunch with Abby tomorrow, and we’re hanging out for a couple of hours before, while Gemma packs for the holiday.’

  Keef makes the hang loose sign, waggles his hand at Bill and goes all Australian. ‘Rippa, mate, that’s beaut, well done Ivy-leaf, that’s the best news we’ve had on Ramsay Street all day.’ He pauses then he qualifies that as he pulls Bill in for a hug and pats him on the back. ‘Even better than the boiler part.’

  Bill’s still grinning as he turns to me. ‘So, are you up for a quick trip to the shops, Store-girl?’

  ‘Sure.’ It’s nice to be asked and I’m desperately trying not to mind how long he’ll be disappearing for. Realistically, he stokes the fires and fails to mend the boiler quickly. We can completely manage without him and that disgustingly amazing smile of his. And it’s coming back to me now. When he really smiles it’s not just creases in his cheeks – there are dimples too. And eff, shit, bollocks for what those are doing to my back-flipping stomach. And obviously his first thought is the presents he’s going to take with him for Abby. ‘The Deck Gallery? They had nice things.’

  He wrinkles his nose. ‘I wasn’t thinking of St Aidan, Pom Pom, I meant are you coming to London?’

  Fuck. I try to ignore that my insides just left the building. And that my voice has turned to a squeak. ‘Really?’

  ‘Didn’t you say you had business to sort out there? This way you can. Merwyn can come too, we can share the driving if you want, I’m sure Libby can manage her own Instagram for one day, we’ll be back before you know.’

  Seeing as the sea in Yorkshire is made from melted igloos, and I come from a family that only recently succumbed to oven chips, items like wetsuits never featured in my childhood. So the nearest I ever got to surfing was doggy paddling on a float in the local swimming pool which dated back to Victorian times. But the surge in my insides at the thought of this trip to London is so enormous, in my head I’m upright on my surf board, and riding one of those huge waves you see on YouTube, the height of a house, that stretches for miles, and goes on forever. I know it’s stupid, it’s every kind of irrational, I’d always promised myself I’d never get my hopes up. Yes, I know all of the above, that my chances are totally zilch etc. etc. And yet I still feel like I won the lottery. Better actually. Everybody knows money only takes you so far, it’s no guarantee you’ll be happy. What I’m feeling now is a happy rush that’s closer to ecstatic. Or beyond.

  And all the time I’m riding this MAHOOSIVE wave, I’m working my way backwards trying to find another reason for him asking. And I just can’t think. And then suddenly, there’s a flash in my head, and it hits me. ‘You want me to take my Corsa because it’s easier than the Landy?’

  And shit shit shit, because we’re talking dimples again. Bill just laughs and says one word. ‘Rumbled.’

  That brings me crashing down to earth again faster than a tumbling wave. Which, once I pick myself up … and spend quite a while having imaginary CPR due to the fake water in my sodden lungs … is actually no bad thing.

  Three guesses who the lifeguard is? I really promise when January comes I’m going to reassert my grip on reality. For now, I’m a bit stuffed.

  30.

  Cocoa served here

  Have I ever been on a road trip with Bill before? Only about a hundred times. Always in my head, and strangely … never in my Corsa. They were always in an unnamed super-comfy car, obviously one a lot less ‘eff off’ and blingy than Ambie’s, and I don’t think I even specified a leather interior. But they always had the kind of inordinately huge back seats where the making out could easily slide into so much more.

  And it’s funny how the minute Bill gets into my Corsa I’m seeing marks on the seat covers I never even noticed in the previous six years. And then there’s the passenger side knock. Obviously Merwyn – bless his little Tibetan paws – his bed, blankets, food, and enough clothes to keep him going for the next thirty-six hours are taking up the entire back seat anyway, not that I begrudge him the space. That’s the other embarrassment – the car is way too old have Bluetooth, so I’m stuck with the CD player. When I loaded up the stacker before I set off it was with all five CDs from one of those really cheap 100 Hits sets that I bought for a fiver in the supermarket. I was thinking of singing along when my Christmas tunes CD and Pirate Radio got too much. I certainly wasn’t thinking of showing my best self to anyone at all other than Merwyn. And definitely not Will-Bill.

  We get as far as the second bend and I decide to come clean. ‘You’ll notice that knock on the front passenger side?’

  Bill grins. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s probably only a grumbling wheel bearing, we’ll soon have that sorted once we get back.’ Truly, we won’t, by the time the parts departments open up again I’ll be long gone.

  When Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On comes on, Bill shoots me a look and I manage to hold in my singing, even though it’s almost bursting out.

  Instead I give a sniff. ‘I’m hoping the classy dashboard fairy lights will make up for the terrible choice of music.’ Then as Celine finishes and Bonnie Tyler starts to croak I say, ‘Yay, Total Eclipse of the Heart!’

  Bill looks across at me. ‘On balance, would that have been better or worse as Ambie’s proposal song?’

  I look back at him. ‘Oh my, how long have you got?’

  And, call us shallow, but that’s what we pass the next three hundred miles discussing. Every time a new song comes on, there are so many things to say, the next song’s starting before we’ve finished. And it’s sweetened by many packets of gummy bears and Haribo Christmas mix, all washed down with bottles of Pepsi Max. The time flies by so fast, we’re half way, at Yeovil and stopping for petrol and we’re barely half way through the CD sta
ck. Bill swaps into the driving seat, Merwyn and I have a dash around the car park for a comfort halt, then we set off again.

  It’s one of those journeys where everyone is in their own bubble of happiness for completely different reasons. Bill’s all smiley because he’s going to see Abby, Merwyn always pretends he’s disapproving, but once you get to know him well enough to see past the side eye, he’s a sunny character who’s just happy to be with you whatever adventure you’re on. And we all know about me. From where I’m sitting, the A30 and the A303 never looked better. As we skim past Dorset fields, the daylight’s fading to dusk, by the time we’re zooming along the M3 towards London all we’re seeing is the white flash of headlights in the dark although those dimples of Bill’s are so deep I can still see them in the shadows across the car.

  And we’ve got a plan. There was no point paying for two rooms at a Premier Inn when we could stay at mine for free. Did anyone mention all my dreams, in the world, ever, coming true? It’s good that I’m grounded by the whole friends label, because if it wasn’t there, I’d have probably exploded already.

  As James Blunt starts singing You’re Beautiful, I let out a groan. A lot of these songs are my oldest faves, but the minute I imagine Ambie wiggling his hips to them, they change entirely. ‘Oh my, if Ambie had sung this we’d have had to pass round the sicky buckets before he started. Can you imagine?’

  Bill rubs the stubble on his chin and taps the steering wheel. ‘Listening to the lyrics there, for a moment they sounded really fitting – you’re not getting that?’

  I’m staring at the slices down his cheeks in the darkness, then I get it. He does this to me every time and I never realise. ‘You’re joking me, aren’t you?’

  My steering wheel … it’s hard to believe we made such a big leap he’s actually got his hands on it. And after all these hours driving, the car’s going to smell of him so much, I won’t be able to sell it. Probably not ever. Which might be really inconvenient eventually if this one breaks and I have to get another car because that’ll mean I’ll need a second parking space. And they’re like gold dust where I live. I suppose I could always leave the car outside my parents’ house, but my dad isn’t that keen on me parking there when I’m visiting, and realistically how often would I get to smell it if it was in Yorkshire?