Christmas by the Lighthouse

by Rebecca Boxall

  When they said goodbye, Prinny proffered a paw to each of them, just as he had when they’d first met him at the animal shelter, and both Jude and Summer crumpled.

  ‘Goodbye, old chap,’ Jude whispered into his silky ear, inhaling the dog’s scent for the last time. ‘Thank you for sharing our journey with us. When I think about how it all began,’ he said, looking up at Summer. ‘I was living such a boring life, squandering every minute of it before I got ill. Then I met that old man in the hospital, then you, and Di, and Dennis, and your parents. And dear Prinny. I’ve got more out of life in the last eighteen months than I could ever have imagined.’

  ‘You’ve been incredible,’ Summer told him. ‘And I think Prinny enjoyed coming along for the ride. Come on,’ she said sadly. ‘Let’s not prolong the agony. It’s time for us to go.’ She gave Prinny one last hug and stood up, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘Perhaps it was too much to ask for both of you to defy the odds.’

  Arriving home from the vet’s feeling despondent and yet needing to get on with the many tasks involved in caring for a young baby, Jude received a telephone call. He was staring sadly at the empty dog bed when his mobile began to ring.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  ‘Mr De Carteret?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Ah, jolly good. My name’s Humphrey Blampied. I believe you knew my client, Di Smithson. I’m her solicitor.’

  ‘That’s right. She was my grandmother’s best friend.’

  ‘I think she might have considered you one of her best friends too. I’m dealing with her will. Di has left you her cottage.’

  ‘Her cottage? But she lived in a home.’

  ‘So that she could be cared for. But she never sold her main residence, which has gone to her children along with the rest of the estate, or the cottage. They’ve been kept in good repair.’

  ‘But this must be a mistake. I’m not even family!’

  ‘There’s no mistake – I promise you. Would you like me to drop the keys off to you tomorrow? There will be a certain amount of paperwork to deal with but I imagine you might like to have a little look round?’

  Jude could barely think straight but, ‘Okay, yes please,’ he said, and Mr Blampied promised to drop the keys off to him on his way to the office the following day.

  ‘I can’t accept it,’ Jude said to Summer the next day when they finally located the place – Hilltop Cottage – in Millais, just a few miles away from Mandla. It was in a rural spot not far from St George’s church, with incredible sea views. There was a primary school just along the lane, too, which felt like a sign – perhaps Jude would finally return to teaching.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ replied Summer, who had a slumbering Sabine strapped to her chest. ‘Jude, it’s what Di wanted. And we’re going to be homeless before Christmas. Oh Jude, just look at this place!’

  It was a granite cottage, with a little pathway leading to it from a pale-green gate. To the side of the cottage was a vegetable patch and when they walked around to the back they found a surprisingly large garden with a children’s swing hanging from a crab-apple tree.

  Inside, it was tired but well maintained. A cosy sitting room to the left, with a granite fireplace and faded carpet and curtains. A dining room opposite, on the right, which Summer immediately earmarked as a playroom for Sabine. Then, at the back of the cottage, looking on to the garden, a large kitchen. The cottage dated back to the 1800s but the kitchen must have been new in the 1950s, by the look of it.

  ‘We could update the kitchen . . .’ Jude suggested.

  ‘No,’ whispered Summer. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said, inspecting the Rayburn stove.

  Upstairs there were three bedrooms, each with far-reaching sea views, and a spacious bathroom containing a well-worn yet perfectly useable white bathroom suite.

  Their tour complete, Jude pulled the pale-green front door to. It shut with a comfortingly solid clunk. The winter sun was low in the sky and Summer sheltered her eyes from it as she took in the sweeping view of St Ouen’s Bay below, the lighthouse gleaming.

  ‘I told you the lighthouse wouldn’t look any different in winter,’ Summer said, smiling as she remembered a long-ago conversation they’d had.

  ‘But it does,’ Jude argued. ‘It’s whiter than ever in this light, and the sea’s much steelier.’ He sighed. ‘I could never get bored of this view.’

  ‘Are you going to keep the place?’ Summer asked hopefully. ‘Please say you are!’

  ‘Yes,’ Jude said eventually as he turned towards her and Sabine with a smile. ‘It’ll be ours. A place to be,’ he said, mirroring Summer’s words the very first time she’d visited his flat.

  ‘A place to be together,’ Summer finished. Jude looked at her, a new intensity in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not prepared for this,’ he began. ‘I haven’t got a ring or anything. But Summer, will you marry me? I mean, not quite yet, but once your divorce comes through . . . maybe in the spring?’

  Jude watched Summer’s face and saw the dimples spring to her cheeks as she smiled. ‘There’s nothing I’d love more,’ she replied.

  Epilogue

  JERSEY

  CHRISTMAS EVE 2018

  It was Christmas Eve and Summer was tucking Sabine up in her cot in the nursery. Jude had only finished decorating it a few days earlier – as soon as they’d moved in, the pair of them had set to giving the cottage a thorough ‘scale and polish’, as they called it, as if the house were just a rather old mouth in need of a bit of dental attention.

  It meant Christmas had taken a bit of a back seat and the last few days had been spent in a frenzy of excitement as the pair of them rushed about with Sabine, buying a tree, lights, decorations, presents, wrapping paper and – of course – all the food and drink they’d need for the festive period. They’d expected to have a very quiet Christmas Day, just the three of them, but at the last minute they’d invited Cat and Eddie and their children, and Sylvie and Dennis, too. Then they’d received a message saying Vita and Frank were on their way, though it was getting late and there hadn’t been any sign of them so far.

  Satisfied that Sabine was drifting off, Summer crept stealthily towards the door. She could hear the rattle of pots and pans downstairs as Jude made a start on supper. She tiptoed across the landing into their bedroom and opened the window a little to try to lessen the powerful smell of fresh paint. Then she bent down and checked the box she’d kept hidden in the corner of the room since earlier in the afternoon. It was time to give Jude his gift. Summer picked up the box and carefully navigated the steep staircase, then deposited it in the sitting room, next to the fire. Jude had clearly just thrown another log on and it was blazing away, enveloping the room with its warmth and mellow light. Jude’s television had been broken in the move, but the radio was playing gentle Christmas music and the slightly lopsided tree twinkled, adding to the cosiness of the scene and offering up that unmistakeable scent of Christmastime.

  ‘Here,’ said Jude, interrupting Summer’s appreciation of the cosy sitting room. ‘I’ve got you a drink,’ he said. He was carrying a small tray loaded with two glasses of champagne and a bowl of nuts.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ Summer smiled, taking one of the glasses. ‘I have a gift for you. An early Christmas present. Close your eyes.’

  ‘But what if I’d rather wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘It won’t wait!’ Summer laughed. ‘Come on, close your eyes and put out your hands.’

  Jude put down his glass and did as he was told, while Summer passed a small white ball of fluff into his arms.

  ‘Gah!’ Jude laughed. ‘I wasn’t expecting a living creature! Oh, it’s beautiful. And so happy! Listen to it purring!’ He looked thrilled.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re pleased. I know how much you loved Prinny, so I thought about another dog, but it just felt too raw. And as we’ve decided not to have any more kids, I thought we could give Sabine a pet sibling instead . . .’

  ‘We can call her Santa P
aws,’ joked Jude.

  ‘Actually, she already has a name . . . I got her from a farm down the road and the farmer’s little girl had been calling her Snowdrop. I mean, we could change it . . .’

  ‘No,’ said Jude firmly. ‘No, Snowdrop is perfect. Hey, listen . . . on the radio . . . Remember us listening to this song at Mandla exactly a year ago? “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” . . .’

  Summer listened and heard Judy Garland’s dulcet tones comfortingly singing of troubles being overcome by the following year.

  ‘It’s true,’ Summer mumbled as Jude pulled her towards him. ‘What a difference a year makes . . . I mean, to think we might never have got back together, and then there was my phobia . . . I know we can’t ever be complacent about our happiness, especially with everything you’ve been through health-wise. But somehow that makes what we have even more special.’

  Summer looked up at Jude, about to kiss him, when the sound of something like a firework disturbed them.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ asked Jude, leaning towards the window to look outside. But Summer didn’t need to look to know exactly what it was.

  ‘The orange camper van,’ she laughed. ‘Frank and Vita. Of course. Just in time for the celebrations . . .’

  Bibliography

  A Doctor’s Occupation: The dramatic true story of life in Nazi-occupied Jersey by John Lewis and John Nettles, Channel Island Publishing, new revised edition (July 2010)

  The Hypnobirthing Book: An inspirational guide for a calm, confident, natural birth by Katharine Graves, Katharine Publishing, revised edition (2017)

  Article from Ancestry.com re the 1911 Channel Islands census

  Acknowledgments

  Huge thanks, as ever, go to my incredibly supportive husband, Dan, my wonderful children – Ruby, Iris and Joey, my cats, my family and my friends (a special mention to Kate Mills for her invaluable assistance on the medical facts). My heartfelt gratitude also goes to Sammia Hamer (who has been so accommodating during the rather particular circumstances involved in editing this novel), Victoria Pepe, Melody Guy, Jenni Davis, Bekah Graham, Nicole Wagner and the rest of the Lake Union team. Finally, my thanks go to my loyal readers, whose on-going support and interest I truly appreciate.

  About the author

  Photo © 2015 by Charlotte Huish

  Rebecca Boxall was born in 1977 in East Sussex, where she grew up in a bustling vicarage always filled with family, friends and parishioners. She now lives by the sea in Jersey with her husband, children and cats. She read English at the University of Warwick before training as a lawyer, and also studied Creative Writing with The Writers Bureau. Christmas by the Lighthouse is her fifth book. For the latest author updates, you can follow Rebecca at: www.rebeccaboxall.co.uk and www.facebook.com/christmasatthevicarage.