Once Upon a Winter: A totally perfect festive romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  The tempo of the music moved up a gear, and Hannah soon found herself struggling, even with Ross’s help.

  ‘I’ll have to sit this one out,’ she panted.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to go and steal your sister from the vicar then,’ Ross laughed.

  Hannah wobbled on her heels as she made her way back to their table.

  It was disappointingly empty of drinks – although there were plenty of empty glasses – and Hannah was gasping, not to mention sobering up rather quicker than she was happy about. Grabbing her purse from where she had stowed it underneath the table, she tottered over to the bar. The balls of her feet were throbbing, but the music still had her itching to dance and she drummed her fingers to the rhythm on the bar as she waited to be served. Maybe she’d grab a quick drink and throw herself back in, difficult steps or not.

  It took a good ten minutes for any of the bar staff to get to her and she watched the dance-floor while she waited. Ross’s dad, Paul was now dancing with Briony, and they looked so happy. Briony giggled like a schoolgirl as Paul swept her around and dipped her low to the ground in his arms as if she was weightless.

  Gina had somehow managed to end up dancing with one of the Hinge and Brackett women, but she was laughing at something the woman had said. Hannah guessed that her sister might well be drunker than she was, but she’d lost count of Gina’s shots after the first five.

  Once she’d finally got her drink, and an extra one for the road (clearly now too drunk to remember what she’d said to Gina earlier about looking like a lush), she flopped into a chair at their table and sipped happily. Then Gina spotted her from the dancefloor, made a time-out sign and bounced over to join her.

  ‘Give us that spare one,’ she said as she sat down.

  ‘No chance! Do you have any idea how long I just queued for that?’ Hannah swiped it out of her reach.

  ‘Oh, come on… you have two and I’m parched. Stop being so mean!’

  ‘Get your own, lazy cow.’

  Gina pointed across the room theatrically. ‘Oh look! Johnny Depp just walked in with his widger out!’

  ‘Nice try,’ Hannah laughed, ‘but you’re not getting this drink.’

  Gina pouted. ‘Fine… I’ll just have to get Ross to buy me one.’

  ‘You do that.’ Hannah gave her a tipsy smile. ‘I’ll just sit here and love my spare.’

  Gina grinned and seemed to pirouette out of her chair, taking a strange, lopsided route across the dance-floor in search of Ross. Hannah’s smile was wide as she watched her try to walk straight, doing her best to look sober. She was so glad they’d decided to come tonight. There’d been so many moments when she’d decided against it but now she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had so much fun together out of the confines of her cottage.

  Hannah should have known that whenever she let such a smug thought creep into her head, fate would make certain that it backfired spectacularly. She’d been minding her own business, just her and her hard-won Bacardi (at least she thought it was Bacardi but she couldn’t quite remember what she’d ordered now) when the doors to the ballroom opened and two newcomers walked in.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Hannah groaned. She watched as Briony glided over to greet the couple, and the man turned to scan the room until his gaze fell upon Hannah. Mitchell didn’t smile, but looked as shocked to see her as she was to see him. Hannah quickly looked away, but not before she clocked that Martine had seen her too. Had Hannah been closer, she might have seen how cold her smile was.

  Shit! There was no escape now. Hannah had been having a perfectly brilliant night, and now this. It wasn’t fair. Please, God, don’t let them come over here…

  God was obviously washing his hair or checking his lottery numbers or something, because even as she uttered the prayer, Mitchell and his perfect wife began to make their way over to Hannah’s table. In a life that now seemed to consist entirely of coincidences, Hannah shouldn’t have been surprised that Martine and Mitchell would know Ross’s mum. It was so obvious – Briony was a tireless fundraiser and local busybody with a reach into the surrounding area, and Martine was the glamorous GP with an equally attractive and successful husband, the sort of people who would be invited to everything. Why wouldn’t they be here? Hannah was only surprised that it hadn’t occurred to her before.

  She looked up as they stopped at her table and tried her best to smile.

  ‘Hannah…’ Martine said, ‘what a pleasant surprise to see you here.’

  ‘I was thinking just the same thing when I saw you,’ Hannah replied, hoping that they couldn’t see through her thin veneer of courtesy.

  ‘Do you know the organisers?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Briony’s a sort of neighbour. I mean, in the sense that she lives on Holly Way, though I can’t see her house from mine. Do you know her?’

  ‘Not terribly well,’ Martine said. ‘We’re friends with the Olivettis though.’

  Hannah looked blank.

  ‘The hotel owners,’ Martine clarified. ‘Mitchell worked on the hotel renovations… at least his men did.’

  ‘It seems I did a good job too,’ Mitchell said with a faint smile, ‘although I can’t actually remember doing it.’

  ‘You still can’t remember?’ Hannah asked. Her tone was incredulous, perhaps even a little accusing, but she couldn’t help it. It was as if he didn’t want to remember. Was this normal? It had been three weeks since his accident on Christmas Day. ‘Sorry…’ she added and blushed as she realised just how rude her comment probably sounded. ‘I’ve had a bit too much to drink…’

  Martine’s gaze swept the table full of empty glasses. ‘It certainly looks as though it’s been a good party so far.’

  ‘They’re not all mine,’ Hannah said, her blush deepening as she arranged them into a neat cluster at the centre of the table, as though collecting them up would somehow make them look less incriminating.

  ‘I’m sure they’re not,’ Martine said. ‘It just makes me cross that we’ve arrived so late.’

  Hannah tried to smile again, but as she looked at Martine, she was suddenly and acutely aware of what a drunken sweaty mess she must look right now. Before Mitchell’s gorgeous wife had arrived, with her floor-length black evening gown, her hair cascading down her back in perfect blonde curls, her lashes supernaturally long over sapphire-blue eyes, Hannah hadn’t cared that her own lashes were now sliding down her face from bloodshot, tipsy eyes, because she was having too much fun. Suddenly, it was all such hard work again. Her attention turned to Mitchell. In his black tie and crisp white shirt he looked incredible. Her treacherous heart skipped a beat. Damn it, now she felt even more of a mess.

  ‘Mind if we sit with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Hannah lied with as much grace as she could muster. She would rather wrestle an angry porcupine, but there wasn’t a lot she could do without being downright rude, and that wasn’t in her nature no matter how drunk she was.

  Martine didn’t look much happier about the situation than Hannah, but she perched herself on the seat that had previously been occupied by Ross. Hannah glanced across the dance-floor. Ross had taken a breather too, and was standing on the other side of the room, clutching a glass of what looked like Coke and deep in conversation with his dad.

  Martine smiled sweetly at Mitchell. ‘Be a love and get me something to drink, would you?’

  He nodded. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Oh, anything… you know the sort of thing I like.’ She waved her hand vaguely like a lord dismissing his servant. Mitchell frowned.

  ‘I don’t think I do.’

  Martine’s smile slipped. ‘I’ll have a spritzer. Make sure it’s a good wine, I hate that house rubbish.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Mitchell turned to Hannah. She shook her head. Actually, she really did want another. Perhaps another three or four in quick succession would blur the edges of this prickly situation, but she didn’t feel right accepting his offer.

>   ‘I’m okay, thank you; I’ve got one here.’ Hannah gestured to the almost empty glass.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think it’s Bacardi, only to be honest I’ve forgotten. But please don’t worry.’

  ‘You seem to have another one lined up anyway,’ Martine cut in. ‘Did you forget that too?’

  ‘So I did.’ Hannah emptied the contents of the almost finished glass into the new drink before taking a large gulp.

  Mitchell threw one last uneasy glance at the two women before making his way to the bar.

  ‘He’s finding all this very difficult,’ Martine said in a low voice as she watched him go.

  ‘The memory loss?’ Hannah asked, a little taken aback by Martine’s sudden candour.

  ‘Amongst other things, yes. He’s not himself at all. In the old days he’d bury his problems in work and I’d never even know about them. Now he just mopes.’

  ‘I suppose that’s understandable,’ Hannah said, wondering what else she was supposed to say. What had made Martine tell her that? And was her idea of moping everyone else’s version of normal? It didn’t seem very charitable coming from a doctor who, perhaps, ought to understand Mitchell’s situation better than most.

  ‘Do you know, you made quite an impression on him at Christmas?’ Martine continued.

  ‘Did I? I don’t know why. I mean, I do, but it was nothing really. I just happened to be in the nearest house to the road.’ Drink always loosened Hannah’s tongue, and all the questions she had wanted to ask the last time they’d met were in danger of tumbling out if Mitchell didn’t come back soon. She chewed her lip as she searched the dancers for Gina.

  ‘You’re enjoying the evening?’ Martine asked, breaking in on her thoughts.

  ‘It’s been lovely,’ Hannah replied. Where are you Gina? She scanned the dance-floor again, looking for anyone to save her. If Ross was still free, perhaps he would dance with her. Even his dad would do right now. If only she hadn’t stopped dancing in the first place she wouldn’t be stuck having this excruciating conversation.

  Hannah had to endure another ten minutes of ever more stilted small talk in which she found it harder and harder to hold back the questions that jostled noisily inside her brain. More than anything, she couldn’t believe that Mitchell’s memory was still so fractured that he had no recollection of his wife’s favourite drink. What did that mean? This was his wife, supposedly the most important person in the world and, since they had no children, the centre of his universe. If he still couldn’t remember her, what did that say about their marriage? Or perhaps it was merely as simple as forgetting a favourite drink, just like Jason often had with Hannah. More importantly, the fact that Hannah was even contemplating this revealed more than she wanted to know about her own emotions and her attraction to Mitchell.

  Thankfully, his return with a spritzer for his wife and a glass of water for himself ended further rumination.

  ‘Are you driving?’ Hannah asked, nodding at the water.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not all that bothered about alcohol anyway.’

  ‘You never have been,’ said Martine, with such irritation in her voice that Hannah found herself staring in shock.

  Mitchell was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I think I was abstaining though recently… for a good reason… before the accident.’

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about that now,’ Martine cut in. She had been happy enough to discuss it with Hannah in his absence, so why the sudden change of heart?

  ‘You weren’t drinking either…’ Mitchell added slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle.

  ‘Of course I was,’ Martine replied impatiently. ‘I like a nice drink and I don’t see why I shouldn’t have one after a hard day. Do you?’

  Mitchell stared at her. Then he seemed to blink and shake himself. ‘I suppose not. I must still be mixing things up.’

  ‘Have you gone back to work?’ Hannah asked him, scrabbling around for a topic that wouldn’t supercharge the already tense atmosphere.

  ‘I went into the office… but I didn’t really know what to do once I was there. It was sort of familiar and yet I didn’t have a clue. Like a name on the tip of your tongue… you know?’

  ‘He has this fantastic right hand man, though,’ Martine added. ‘Graham. He’s running the ship until Mitchell is well again.’

  ‘I am well,’ Mitchell said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Physically, no, there isn’t,’ Martine stated.

  Hannah quickly took a gulp of her drink to stop herself from commenting. Physically he was very, very alright… and that was why she found it so hard to be around him – at least when he was with his wife, although God only knew how much more dangerous the situation might be without her there.

  ‘Mentally…’ Martine continued, ‘well, all I can say is that I’m a GP and I still don’t know what’s going on in your head. I’ve never come across anything like it.’

  ‘Is this rare then?’ Hannah asked, before she could stop herself.

  ‘I’d say,’ Martine replied. ‘A lot rarer than films and books would have you believe, especially almost total memory loss like this. It’s more common for short-term memory to suffer than established memories, and even then it will generally only last for hours – days at most – in a lot of cases.’

  Hannah nodded. She wanted to ask so much more but she didn’t think her questions would be welcome. She also wanted Martine to disappear in a puff of smoke so that she could throw herself at Mitchell and ravish him… but that was just because she was drunk.

  Martine stood up, and Hannah was filled with panic as she realised that, in a roundabout way, she was about to get her wish. She knew that being left alone with Mitchell would be a lot more awkward than the erotic daydream that kept plaguing her suggested.

  ‘I’m just popping to the ladies,’ Martine announced. Mitchell looked at Hannah.

  ‘Don’t you normally go in pairs?’

  It took a great deal of restraint not to tell him how that particular phenomenon only applied to women who liked each other. Martine offered him a withering look.

  ‘I suppose it was a bit of a lame joke,’ Mitchell said as she stalked off.

  ‘Why do you let her talk to you like that?’ Hannah asked, and the sharpness of her tone shocked even her. ‘Was it always that way?’

  Mitchell frowned. ‘I don’t have the vaguest idea. But I don’t think the Mitchell Bond who ran his own property development company would let his wife boss him around.’

  In spite of his certainty, he looked lost and vulnerable and Hannah regretted her question. She had to keep reminding herself what he must be going through, and what a strange and terrifying experience it must be to lose all sense of oneself. And perhaps Martine only spoke to him that way because she was tired, and it must be very hard for her – his not remembering anything about her… It was hard to imagine what that must be like.

  ‘I think about Christmas day a lot,’ he said.

  Hannah’s head flicked around to see that he had a peculiar look on his face as he gazed at her.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I can’t explain it – I wish I could. It makes me feel…well, it gives me a nice feeling to think of it. Your little house… it was such a happy place.’

  ‘That might be down to all the brandy we downed that day,’ Hannah smiled. ‘You’re confusing happiness with drunkenness!’

  ‘Maybe, but I liked it. And you… you were so sweet and kind… like a guardian angel or something.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘I sound like a nutter, I know, but I can’t help feeling that some higher power meant me to fall onto your doorstep that day – I mean yours and no one else’s.’

  ‘Perhaps you were there to save my life. You did jump in front of a car for me, after all.’

  ‘Or perhaps you were meant to save mine,’ he said softly.

  ‘Anyone would have done the same.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the injury,’ he said, holding her
in a gaze that suddenly made her feel as if she might combust. She tore her eyes away from his. Was this a joke? What was he trying to say?

  ‘I… I don’t know what you mean,’ Hannah said.

  He paused. ‘I’m not sure I do either. Everything is confused and muddy all the time, but then I think of you and it’s all clear. You’re the only part of the last few weeks that makes any sense.’

  ‘I suppose it’s because I’m the first person you met after the accident. I’m like the first new memory that you’ve saved on a blank slate.’

  Mitchell smiled. ‘Like I’ve imprinted on you or something? I sound like a duckling.’

  ‘I suppose you do,’ Hannah smiled.

  ‘But I almost wish I could have that day back,’ Mitchell continued. ‘I mean, I know it was horrible and stressful, but in a weird way it was nice too. Everything was simpler because you were there. I wish you were around now too.’

  Hannah’s glass stopped halfway to her lips. ‘I um… I have to find Gina… excuse me…’ She stumbled as she shot up from her chair. This conversation was getting dangerous and it couldn’t continue. Frantically she searched the dance-floor for a sign of her sister. There was no Gina, but there was Briony, chatting to the vicar beside a table of nibbles. They both turned at her approach.

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ Hannah began, ‘but have you seen my sister anywhere?’

  ‘Not for a little while now,’ Briony replied. She peered more closely at Hannah. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes… I’m not sure. Probably overdone the gin.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘No… thank you. I just need Gina.’

  ‘Have you checked the ladies’?’ Briony added helpfully.