Читать книгу Wish Upon A Christmas Cake - Darcie Boleyn - Страница 9

Chapter 1

‘No. I’m not going. I just can’t face it.’ I shook my head as I used a damp cloth to wipe the crumbs from the stainless-steel worktop into my cupped hand.

‘What do you mean you’re not going, Katie? Of course you’re going.’ My best friend Ann adjusted her blue hairnet and frowned at me across the kitchen of Crumbtious, our West Hampstead cake shop. Her pretty grey eyes twinkled behind her square framed glasses. ‘Your presence is required at the Warham family Christmas.’

I sighed and dropped the crumbs into the bin. Ann was right. How could I fail to attend? The Christmas family get-together had been planned for months – a way to give my parents a proper send-off before they moved abroad – and my brother Karl would never forgive me if I didn’t go. Besides, a few days in the beautiful Garden of England at the glorious Hawthorne Manor might be just the thing I needed. It had been a good year for our business, but I couldn’t deny that it had been hectic and, of course, losing my Granny had hit me hard. I really was exhausted and needed to recharge before heading into the New Year.

Ann and I met at college on a hospitality and catering course. We’d formed a close friendship over three years of studying together. She had helped me through some really tough times – the toughest being the devastating loss of my baby and subsequent break-up with Sam, my first love.

After graduating, Ann and I had both gained some experience working for other businesses across the country, then, armed with our combined knowledge of spreadsheets and net versus gross, we had taken the plunge into the mixing bowl and set up on our own two years ago. It had been working out for us – so well that we’d even been able to move to bigger premises in the summer. I was proud of our achievements, but I really could use a break and this might be my only chance for some time.

‘Okay, smarty pants, I’m going. But will you be okay here without me? I mean, we’ve been run off our feet and it’s Christmas and we’ll be really busy tomorrow and…’ I clutched at straws but they slipped through my fingers. It could prove to be a restful break but I also knew that my family would want my time and attention, as well as explanations about my latest relationship gone wrong, and I didn’t know if I had the emotional reserves to deal with it all. Perhaps I should have booked a few days away in Lapland or some other destination I could have headed to alone.

Ann held up a hand. ‘Don’t even try that one. It’s only four days until Christmas, Katie, so you can’t change your plans this late in the day. Besides, we’ve informed our customers that we’ll only be open until twelve on Christmas Eve, so you absolutely must go on the twenty-third after closing as planned. And, don’t forget, Mark finishes work tomorrow, so he’ll be here to help out. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.’ She smiled fondly and I knew that she was thinking about spending some quality time with her very-ambitious lover. ‘We’re closed then until the twenty-eighth, so it’s a good time for you to go.’

‘Well as long as you’re sure, but I’ll drive back Sunday evening so I can open up bright and early on Monday.’ December twenty-seventh suddenly sounded like a long time away.

‘No problem. Now go on through to the shop and close the blinds while I fix us a drink.’ She waved me away and I anticipated the luxury of resting my aching legs. When you’re on your feet all day, sitting down in the evening is absolute bliss.

I walked through to the shop and stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It still amazed me how far we’d come. I was living the dream; I had my own business at thirty-two and I was doing exactly what I loved every day while working alongside my best friend. How many people get that lucky? We had settled on West Hampstead as a prime location for our cake shop, keen to maximise business potential so that our venture would continue to thrive. With our combined savings and a business loan, it had been possible to afford the rent on the shop. Nerve-wracking – investing all that we had and taking on debt – but possible. West Hampstead was also far enough away from our hometown of Sevenoaks to provide me with reasons for not visiting my parents every week, yet not too far to return for the odd weekend or during the holidays.

The L-shaped tearoom housed a counter to the left of the door from the kitchen, which curved in a semi-circle. On the counter top was a large display case that housed an array of cakes and pastries during shop hours. To the right of the door was a large fridge full of soft drinks, chilled desserts, milk and cream. There were eight circular tables, currently covered with festive red and gold cloths, spread out across the restored oak floor boards, and in the large bay window sat a soft old leather couch next to an original cast-iron fireplace. The restrooms were situated through a door set in the back wall. It was just as I’d always imagined my own cake shop would be—pretty, cosy and welcoming. It was a place people could come to alone, or with company, somewhere to sit and enjoy a warm drink and a cake over a chat or while reading a good book. Recently, we’d even had an author visiting us on a daily basis. She was twenty-something with brown bobbed hair and a shy smile. She didn’t boast about being an author but Ann, being quite forward and a bit cheeky, asked her outright. It was thrilling knowing that she’s creating her stories as she consumes our mince pies and hot chocolate while she sits on the sofa with her feet curled up under her and the world passing by outside.

I’d fallen in love with the shop building as soon as I’d seen it, even though it had needed a full refurbishment having previously housed a tanning salon then a discount clothes store. The former owners clearly hadn’t appreciated the Victorian features and they’d covered up the beautiful original fireplace with chipboard and the wooden floor with cheap sticky tiles. It had taken me two weeks to get the tiles up and to sand and polish the boards, but every time I looked at them I was filled with the satisfaction of a job well done.

I crossed to the windows and read the sign we’d had painted on the glass in a Victorian-style font – Crumbtious Cakes and Tearoom. My stomach flipped with the excitement that never seemed to die down whenever I thought about my baby; the business that is. I let the blinds down, then slumped onto the comfortable sofa that seemed to welcome me, its cushions puffing up around my legs like a big squishy hug.

It was perfect. Ann and I had been preparing for months to get our first Christmas in the new shop just right. We had decided to have a real Christmas tree to create a genuine festive atmosphere. I loved the fresh pine scent as well as the Victorian decorations Ann and I had created to adorn its prickly branches. My favourites had to be the spicy fragrant orange and apple slices which I’d cut thinly and baked until they were dry, then studded with cloves and tied up with red and green ribbon. Their scent was positively mouth-watering and reminiscent of Christmases gone by. We’d also made our own beaded Christmas tree ornaments by taking a pile of plain old red and gold baubles and gluing tiny colourful beads, crystals and tassels to them. We’d had a lot of fun combing the local market stalls and charity shops to find old decorations to use.

My heart gave a flip as my eyes landed on the one tree decoration that didn’t match the rest. A tiny pink teddy bear. I’d hung it high up on the tree, out of the reach of little fingers, but in a prime spot so that it was visible from the counter. Maybe it was overly sentimental that I’d kept it and maybe it was ridiculous that I still took it out of its soft gold tissue wrapping every year and hung it on the Christmas tree, but it was my way of letting her, my little baby, know that I hadn’t forgotten and that I never would. Whatever I achieved in life, wherever I went, she would always be in my heart.

Ann and I hadn’t put lights on the tree because of the dried fruit, but we had draped them around the windows and woven them into the lattice on the front of the counter. They flashed now in the semi-darkness, their myriad colours casting a warm rainbow glow across the shop floor.

Either side of the fireplace hung two large stockings. Throughout December, our regular customers had filled them with gifts for the patients of the children’s ward at the local hospital. The idea had come about after one of the school-mums had asked what Ann and I wanted as thanks for all the delicious cakes we’d baked, as well as for being so welcoming to their pre-school children. Apparently, not all businesses were so understanding about sticky fingerprints and constant noise before eleven in the mornings, although it didn’t seem to bother our resident author. We had arranged for the parents of one of the hospital’s long-term patients to collect and deliver the gifts on Christmas Eve.

Ann appeared in the doorway with two large mugs and I grinned, anticipating what delights she had created. When she handed me my mug, I wasn’t disappointed. The surface of the drink was frothy with whipped cream and when I sniffed it, the warming aromas of ginger and cinnamon made my mouth water. I couldn’t resist sticking my finger into the cream and scooping out one of our homemade gingerbread marshmallows. I placed it on my tongue and allowed it to slowly melt there, the sugary surface soon giving way to a soft and gooey centre.

‘Good?’ Ann asked as she sat next to me and grinned at me from beneath a whipped cream moustache.

‘Heavenly.’ I raised my mug to my lips and blew on the liquid, eager to cool it down and drink it. We sat like that, in the companionable silence of good friends, as we consumed our calorific hot chocolates and I could feel the strains of the day slipping away from me until I was almost comatose.

Ann turned in her seat to look at me. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’ Trust her to wait until I was too relaxed to put up a fight. I shrugged. How many times could we discuss the same old things?

‘Is it just Esther that’s worrying you?’

I bit my bottom lip. Was I worried about my mother being hard work over Christmas? Yes, but it was more than that. This year, there was so much more to think about and my vulnerability might mean that I couldn’t brush off Esther’s barbs in my usual practised way.

‘I’m pretty good at dealing with her after all these years, so it’s not really that. I just know that this Christmas is going to be so much harder…you know?’ I swallowed hard.

Ann covered my hand with her own and squeezed. ‘Because of your granny?’

I nodded and blinked hard. ‘I’m going to miss her so much this year. I mean, I’ve missed her madly these past few months but it’s just harder somehow at Christmas. It seems so wrong that she won’t be there.’

Ann reached out and wiped a rogue tear from my cheek. I took a few deep breaths, determined not to crumble.

‘What would your granny want you to do, Katie?’

‘To spend Christmas with my family.’

‘And why?’

‘Because her family was everything to her.’

‘Well there you go.’

I met Ann’s eyes and tried to smile. She gave me a sympathetic one in return and patted my hand, then something seemed to occur to her. Ann stood up and headed to the kitchen.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Be right back,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I have an idea…’

I lay my head back against the sofa and thought about Granny. She had been such a character. A tiny, intelligent and witty lady, she’d been an eternal optimist, capable of seeing the silver lining in every cloud. On top of that, she’d been a layer of protection, soaking up some of the damage my mother could do by unfalteringly defending me and making me giggle whenever Esther became a bit overbearing. But now Granny was gone.

I had tried so hard over the years to let my mother’s negative comments wash over me but sometimes, even though I was thirty-two, she still managed to hurt me. But then a mother is meant to be a woman’s ultimate role model, her port in the storm, her protector. With Esther, it had never really seemed that way because she was always so bloody critical. Granny had been all the good things for me; basically another mother. It was like being in an American TV show growing up, with the good cop and the bad cop.

‘Here we go,’ Ann sang as she sashayed back into the shop. She placed a plate with a piece of our famous Christmas cake on it and a fork in front of me.

‘What’s this for?’ I asked. I was already riding the sugar high from her delicious hot chocolate.

‘Wish upon a Christmas cake!’ Ann exclaimed.

‘Huh?’ I raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

‘Well I won’t have a wishbone till Christmas Day and it’s too cloudy for shooting stars tonight so I say we wish upon a Christmas cake that this be the best Warham family Christmas ever.’ She smiled encouragingly, but I still eyed her dubiously. ‘Oh come on, what have you got to lose? It could work; Esther might be nice for Christmas and you could get a tall, dark and handsome hunk in your stocking!’ She winked at me.

My heart pounded so I inhaled slowly. It had been a good day and I really didn’t want to ruin it by becoming all melancholy. It was Christmas, Granny’s favourite time of year, and I was determined to make her proud by savouring every moment. I smiled at Ann, she was only trying to help. ‘Okay,’ I said, stabbing a piece of cake with the fork. I closed my eyes and popped the moist, brandy-soaked fruit sponge in my mouth, wishing for a happy family Christmas – even without Granny.

I knew that we would all miss Granny and that I wouldn’t be alone in that. I’d tried to avoid thinking about it by keeping busy and avoiding going back to my parents’ house but I knew that I couldn’t run for ever. My father had lost his mother, Esther had lost a mother-in-law she’d lived with for the past three years and known for much longer, and my brother Karl would miss the grandmother who’d doted on him. I realised, the more I thought about it, that I wanted to be with my family this year. Who knew when we’d manage another big old-fashioned family Christmas? If we ever would with Mum and Dad moving away. Things could change so quickly from one day to the next. So I would make every effort for Granny this Christmas; I would aim to make her proud.

I mean, she might actually be watching over me like she’d always promised she would do.

***

The next few days passed in a flurry of baking, serving customers, last-minute shopping and wrapping of gifts. Before I could doubt my decision again, it was December twenty-third and Ann and I had closed the shop for the day and were tidying up the kitchen.

‘Right, Katie Warham, go take a shower and wash the flour out of your hair then get on the road. The traffic will no doubt be bad and your mother will want you there in time for dinner.’

Ann was right; if I was late I’d never hear the end of it.

I untied the strings of my apron and hung it on a peg by the door, then lingered in the doorway. It was a small yet perfectly organised space designed to accommodate our business needs. From the island in the centre to the large ovens and the oversized fridge, it had everything we needed. A variety of delicious freshly baked cakes and pastries were cooling on surfaces, their festive aromas both mouth-watering and comforting. All the smells of my childhood were right there in my adult world. Cinnamon and ginger, brandy and mixed fruits mingled enticingly with vanilla and citrus. Mince pies shone with their rich butter coating, waiting for a fine dusting of sweet white icing sugar, and fat brown Christmas puddings glistened, recently released from their individual moulds, their plump fruits inviting and sherry soaked. Yes, Ann and I had everything to be proud of this year. It might have been nice to have someone to share it with, someone to appreciate what I’d achieved, but I didn’t need a man to make me feel whole. As a single thirty-something woman, I was doing a damned good job.

‘Hey, dreamy, get a move on while I pack a box of Crumbtious goodies for you to take as a peace offering for Esther. Not that she eats anything with sugar in…anything at all for that matter judging by how tiny she is.’ Ann shook her head, then opened up one of our gold Christmas cake boxes and began filling it for me.

***

Showered and dressed warmly in my stretchy jeans, baggy grey jumper and battered old cowboy boots, I threw my handbag onto the passenger seat of my VW Beetle. The boot was loaded with specially made delights from the shop and my modest hold all. I’d packed a minimum of outfits because I knew that whatever I took, my mother would find something to criticise. So what was the point in going overboard?

‘Hey, come on!’ Ann wrapped an arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s Christmas, honey, and you’re going to have a great time with that hunky brother of yours. I know you’ve missed him.’

I smiled as the thought of seeing Karl warmed me up inside like spiced mulled wine. It would be great to spend some time with him and his new boyfriend. I was looking forward to getting to know Angelo Fiore – the gorgeous Italian model who had stolen my older brother’s heart. Karl had posted photographs of his lover on his private Facebook page and Angelo was hot in that very groomed and toned way. I preferred my men a bit rough around the edges, more Sons of Anarchy than Hugh Grant, which was why Ann had been surprised when I’d fallen into a relationship – if you could call it that – with Harrison Monroe.

I shook my head. I wasn’t giving that cheating creep any space in my head, especially not over Christmas. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, getting involved with him. He was good-looking, ambitious, great in bed and he made me laugh – for a while at least. But after the initial excitement wore off, I soon realised that what we had wasn’t at all substantial. There was no way it could have lasted the distance. I blamed myself for hanging on to the relationship and not letting him know that it wouldn’t work out as soon as it became clear to me. It would have been so much easier for both of us. But I’d been so busy with the shop, and, admittedly, afraid to let go because it meant that I was accepting that he didn’t measure up to Sam. No one would ever measure up to Sam and that knowledge terrified me.

‘And you’re not to wallow in thoughts about what might have been…you know…with what’s-his- name.’ Ann planted a kiss on my cheek. The woman could read my thoughts, I was sure of it. ‘The cake mixes you’ve ruined because of that one.’ She laughed and wagged a finger at me but I knew that she understood. She made out that Harrison Monroe had been more to me than he was because she knew how I really felt. She’d been there for me when Sam and I split and she’d seen me sink to rock bottom before helping me to learn to live with my decision; the most difficult one of my life.

I’d had a few dates and short-lived flings but always kept something back, so the men who entered my life soon got tired of trying to break through my icy veneer and gave up. Harrison had come along at a point when I’d decided to try to make a commitment or give up completely on dating. However, it hadn’t worked out, and Ann had talked me through the way I’d reacted when my somewhat tenuous attempt at an adult relationship with Harrison had failed. We’d even discussed how he might have wiped the fragments of our relationship from his designer fawn suede boots, keen to get rid of any traces of Katie Warham – that image had emerged after several large glasses of wine one Saturday evening. But try as we might to ignore it, we both knew that Sam had been, and always would be, the only man I’d ever really loved.

So although it wasn’t heartbreak that was hanging around like a bad smell four months after my breakup with Harrison, it had dented my confidence and left me wondering exactly what I did want from a man. If I even wanted one in my life at all. Harrison had been something of a final attempt at love but I hadn’t committed enough for the relationship to progress. He had reacted by cheating. In fact, I had to admit that I had been deliberately absent from the relationship because I just didn’t want to move in with him. Something had held me back. And that something was called my past, AKA Sam.

‘Katie?’

‘I promise I won’t think about him at all!’

‘I wish I knew which him you were referring to, Katie, but just to be on the safe side, try not to think about either of them.’

I saluted my friend, then she enveloped me in an apple blossom and coconut-scented hug. I’d miss Ann over Christmas. Last year we’d spent the festive season together with Harrison and Mark. It had been fun, most of it anyhow. We’d eaten too much and drunk too much but that’s what Christmas is all about, right? I’d been happy. Or at least I’d thought I was happy. Even when I opened Harrison’s surprise gift and found one of those celebrity diet and fitness videos complete with a stretchy rubber band to use to tone and strengthen my thighs. His gift had made me wonder exactly what he thought about my curves and if he was trying to tell me something – another good reason for getting out of the relationship. Or just another excuse…

Harrison had claimed that he was doing me a favour, helping me to get my planned New Year’s resolutions off to a promising start with the latest dance-aerobic fitness craze. It was probably partly my fault that he’d decided I’d appreciate it. After all, I did tend to moan on occasion about how I wanted to lose weight, but don’t most people? In retrospect, it was highly likely that I’d actually planted the idea in his head. Had I deliberately manufactured the situation in order to compare Harrison unfavourably to Sam because Sam had always told me how much he loved my curves?

However, this year, I was putting the past behind me and heading off to be with the glorious Warhams, while Ann would have a romantic Christmas for two in our shared flat.

‘And fingers crossed that Santa brings you what you want, Ann.’

‘What I want?’ Ann placed her hands on her hips and waggled her eyebrows.

I winked at her. ‘I know what you really want.’

‘I don’t even know if I know what I want.’

‘You do, Ann. Deep down. I know what you’re hoping for.’

‘Well, we’ll see won’t we?’ Ann chewed her bottom lip and hugged herself.

‘He’s going to do it I’m sure.’

Ann rubbed her empty ring finger.

I hoped that Mark would come through for her. She was madly in love with her city banker and it was clear that all she wanted for Christmas was a proposal. She didn’t want a big wedding, which was a good thing seeing as how all her money was tied up in the shop, but she wanted to be his wife, to know that he was as committed to her as she was to him. That was another reason why I needed to make myself scarce. I didn’t want to be the third wheel. The spare part. The gate-crasher to their romantic festive celebrations. Ann was adorable inside and out and Mark would be lucky to have her as his wife. I just hoped that his gain wouldn’t be my loss. I would hate to have to deal with not having Ann around. She was an integral part of my life, had supported me through so much, and our business was so young. I was sure that it still had a long way to go – especially if my plans for online domination got off the ground. But Mark was quite a traditional guy and he’d spoken in the past about believing that once women had children, they should be supported by their husbands. That had been an interesting discussion over a takeaway with me obstinately blazing the trail for career women. I couldn’t help but worry that he might want Ann to quit work, and I would lose my business partner because she’d move away to a quaint rural village where she’d end up wearing tweed ensembles and baking for the local school fetes. I shuddered.

‘Okay, Ann, I’m going.’ I gave her one last hug, then climbed into my cherry-red car. I was so proud of my new car, evidence of our business success. I’d always wanted a Beetle, ever since I was a kid when I’d watched Disney’s Herbie movies. There’s nothing like the thrill of accomplishing a childhood dream. It had been my only extravagance. I liked clothes and shoes but there wasn’t much call for Manolo Blahniks when you were on your feet all day baking and as for the clothes…well I just kept promising myself that I’d go on a shopping spree once I’d dropped a few pounds. Then I’d go back to that little boutique in central London and tell that twelve year old who worked there – okay well she looked about twelve but was probably more like eighteen – that I was in fact a curvaceous medium and not a large as she had suggested. Oh how I would enjoy that one! I might even stick out my tongue, you know, just for good measure.

‘Katie?’ Ann waved a hand in front of my face. ‘That’s it, come back to me. Now promise you’ll text when you get there and make sure you take lots of photographs. I’m desperate to see this manor house you’re staying at. And if you meet any celebs, I want autographs. And selfies! And souvenirs…you know…see if you can get them to give you some movie memorabilia or something.’ She prodded my shoulder with excitement then rubbed her hands together.

I shook my head as I grinned at her. ‘I doubt that the celebs – who probably won’t even be there – actually carry movie memorabilia around with them, Ann. It’s not like Johnny Depp has a pirate sword and a long black wig in his back pocket is it?’

‘Johnny Depp?’ Ann squealed and waved her hands around her face. ‘Is…he…going…to…be there? Did you deliberately not tell me?’ She glared at me, her eyes wide as saucers.

‘If he was then I would have told you, I swear.’ I watched as she deflated like a week-old balloon. ‘I really don’t think that there’ll be any famous people there. It’s just my boring old family.’

‘I wouldn’t say that your folks are boring and Karl is kind of a celeb these days, isn’t he?’

Ann was right. Karl was being offered all sorts of movie roles now and whilst he might not be up there with the big names yet, it wasn’t hard to imagine him getting there soon. Especially with his latest role as a British spy who helps to infiltrate a foreign plot to wipe Britain off the face of the earth, then wins the heart of a highly successful and gorgeous French artist. I was fairly certain that Karl would soon be earning big bucks and selecting the roles he wanted rather than the roles his agent insisted he accept just to climb the greasy acting pole. It was a slippery one and I just hoped that my big brother would manage to get to the top and stay there. My only concern was that he might not be as successful as he should be because he wasn’t fickle enough.

‘He is a celebrity now, I guess. No problem, I’ll get as many pics as I can. Miss you already.’

I was about to start the engine when it dawned on me that I’d forgotten something. I chewed my lip, wondering what I hadn’t packed. Then I realized and a cold shiver ran down my spine. I flung open the car door and ran back into the shop with Ann hot on my heels. I skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree and my heart hammered as I spotted the tiny pink bear. I couldn’t believe that I’d nearly forgotten it. I unhooked the gold string from the branch and cradled the bear in my palm. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without it. The well-worn toy had always been important to me but this year it was even more so because it had been a gift from my Granny the Christmas I’d been pregnant. She’d told me to hang it on the tree that year because I’d found out at my second scan that I was expecting a girl. She’d been just as excited as I was. My throat ached as I pictured her grin when I’d confided in her that Sam and I were expecting. She’d been the first person I’d told after we found out.

I was going to miss that little old lady deeply.

So this year, having the bear with me was even more important as it would remind me of my baby and my Granny. I absolutely had to take it.

Ann had been silent and still behind me, but she now placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘You okay?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Yeah. Just…’

‘I know, Katie. It’s important that you take the bear with you.’

‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’ I squeaked.

Ann rubbed my back. ‘Not at all. Whatever helps us to deal with the pain is never silly. Are you all right to drive?’

I nodded. ‘Now I am.’

She walked back to the car with me and watched as I tucked the bear in my handbag.

‘Drive carefully, Katie. Love you!’

I blew her a kiss then watched her waving in the rear-view mirror before I pulled out into the traffic and set off.

My sat nav claimed that the journey from West Hampstead to Penshurst should take about an hour and twenty minutes. The manor house we would be staying in belonged to a film director friend of Karl. The director, whose name Karl had dropped during a recent phone call but which I couldn’t recall, was apparently famous for making those teen slasher movies. I probably didn’t know who he was because I wasn’t fussed on said films, preferring a rom-com any day. I’ve always been a sucker for a happy ending and can’t stand to watch anything that involves limbs being sawn off or men in masks chasing ridiculously naïve characters around crumbling old houses. But the generous American director had kindly invited Karl to use his English residence over the holidays, so I wasn’t going to complain. Apparently, the listed building was rarely used by the owner himself, but had featured in a variety of movies from Jane Austen remakes to World War Two epics, to a recent box office hit about an English family who all went mad during the zombie apocalypse and ended up killing each other before the zombies even started hammering on the front door. The thought of the last one made me shudder. I just hoped that Christmas wouldn’t be too crazy for the Warhams and that none of us would be forced into the insanity of murder or munching on brains.

Driving along, I peered at the sky. For weeks we’d had miserable grey drizzle that made the air heavy and damp and chilled me to the bone. Despite the bookies’ predictions, there had been no signs of snow, other than the sweet crisp frosting on our bestselling homemade Christmas cakes. Ann and I had made them using my Granny’s old recipe that she’d had from her own grandmother. Using Granny’s recipes – for puddings, cakes and mincemeat – had also made me feel closer to her, as if in baking the same things that she’d once done, I could conjure up her spirit like a medieval sorceress and feel her comforting presence in the Crumbtious kitchen. Inevitably, I’d cried a few times as I’d pored through the handwritten recipes that she’d glued into a scrapbook many years before, but I’d told myself it was okay to do so as I’d been treasuring memories not wallowing in pain.

We’d sold so many cakes that we’d had to whip up several more batches in the run-up to Christmas, which wasn’t easy when they were supposed to rest and mature, soaked in brandy, for as long as possible. But supply and demand had spurred us into frenzied action. Once the cakes had been iced, I’d enjoyed placing the tiny decorations on top of them; the fat little snowmen with their hats and scarves, the green Christmas trees and the holly wreaths. There was so much to enjoy about baking cakes then decorating them, it was an art in itself, and I got to do it on a daily basis.

Since yesterday, I’d noticed a drop in the temperature and the clouds seemed to have that heavy appearance, as if they were filled with the white stuff. The MET office forecast had remained rather vague over recent days, as they were reluctant to commit to a weather warning with so many people about to travel home, or away, for the holidays. But it definitely looked like a white Christmas was a possibility. My stomach flipped and I let out a giggle. Ridiculous to be excited at the thought of snow at my age, but it always takes me back to my childhood when we seemed to have heavy white falls that lasted for weeks and gave us countless fun-filled days off school. How I used to love extra days off, especially when I was in high school and we were overloaded with homework by grumpy teachers who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than we did. They had been good times, the white winters. Even my mother had loosened up a bit and gotten into the Christmas spirit.

I’d grown up in a comfortable five bed in a quiet cul-de-sac in Sevenoaks, Kent. Dad was the provider and Mum stayed home to keep house and raise the kids. Very traditional. Quite old fashioned. But it worked for them. Karl was born four years before me and he was the golden boy. I think I knew the moment I was born – no, make that the moment I was conceived, that I would be a disappointment. The fly in his ointment. The sprout to his roast potato. The penny to his pound. Not for Karl himself. I knew that my older brother adored me. It was my mother who seemed to resent my arrival. And even now, although I brushed it off most days and got on with my life, whenever I actually thought about her attitude, it could still hurt and confuse me.

Esther was, to all appearances, the perfect wife and mother. She kept the house spotlessly clean, kept herself toned and tanned, and ensured that Karl and I washed behind our ears and did our homework every evening before dinner. She attended parents’ evenings and sporting events. She accompanied our father on his law firm nights out, to golf dinners and charity fundraising events. It all appeared to be ideal. But as with all things that seem to be flawless, there was something wrong, something missing. I’d known it as a child but had been too young to understand quite what it was. Plus, as most children do, I’d blamed myself for the lack of maternal affection directed my way. I wasn’t pretty enough, good enough at ballet, I was tone deaf and, try as I might, I just couldn’t get the hang of algebra. Then, in my early twenties, I went and confirmed all of Esther’s suspicions about me by getting pregnant.

I leant forwards and turned up the heat in the car. Yes, there was definitely something cold about my mother and it had made me sad growing up. But reaching my thirties, I’d decided to try to accept her as she was. I only had one mother and she’d been consistent at least. Not everyone has a mother who loves them. I’d watched enough Oprah and Jeremy Kyle to know that. It’s a very sad fact of life and it happens in the animal kingdom all the time; I can’t bear to watch a nature documentary where the female abandons the weakest of her young. However, I also reminded myself how lucky I was because I’d had Karl, my father and Granny offering me love and support throughout my life.

As if on cue, my bag started buzzing on the passenger seat. I reached for it and felt around, making sure that I kept my eyes on the road. I brought my mobile in front of the wheel and glanced at it. I had a text from Karl but I couldn’t check it now. He was probably just asking what time I’d arrive. As if catching me out, the tinny female voice of my sat nav suddenly spoke, making me jump and drop my phone into the foot well.

‘There are long-term roadworks on the M25 between junction thirty and junction two. Expect delays.’

‘Dammit! You stupid machine – look what you made me do.’ I scowled at the device as I moved my left foot around, trying to locate my phone through the thick sole of my boot. The journey would take twice as long now and it was already five-thirty. Esther wouldn’t be happy at all if I was later than expected. The car in front of me suddenly braked, so I followed suit. Then waited. And waited. The traffic wasn’t going anywhere.

I leant forwards to locate my mobile and hit my head on the steering wheel which caused the horn to beep. My cheeks burned instantly. I kept my head down just in case any of the other drivers thought I’d been signalling my impatience with the wait and fumbled around until I found my mobile then popped it back in my bag. I rubbed my head where I’d bumped it but it throbbed uncomfortably. Keen for some distraction, I turned the radio on and some irritating dance track boomed through the car making my seat shake and my head hurt even more.

‘Er, no thank you.’ I changed the station and sank into my seat as Adele’s beautiful voice crooned away. I sang through a few of the love songs played on the local radio show before the traffic started moving again. I slipped the gear stick into first, then second, then…Ouch! A sudden shard of ice pierced my chest as Faith Hill’s ‘Breathe’ began. I’d forgotten how much the song made me remember – I usually required wine, cake and ice cream to survive it. ‘Breathe’ was one of my favourite songs in the early days of my relationship with Sam. It perfectly summed up how I felt about him and how whenever I was with him, everything else just seemed to fade away. I’d spent hours just lying with my head on his chest listening to him breathe and to the steady comforting sound of his heart. He’d been my first in more ways than one: my first proper kiss, my first love and my first lover. It had been nine years since we broke up but, deep down, I knew that I’d never feel that way about anyone else and, to be honest, I didn’t want to. Letting go of him and of what we had hurt so badly that I’d truly believed I would die. I never, ever wanted to go through that amount of pain again.

I quickly pressed the CD button. Yes, there we are, Seasick Steve would have to do for the rest of the journey. His gravelly voice would drag me from memories that were best not dwelt on.

The remainder of the drive passed without too much bother, or perhaps I just tuned out and went onto autopilot, because I soon found myself in Penshurst. My tinny-voiced companion – who I’m sure became more and more uptight as the evening wore on – directed me to the country estate and, before I knew it, I was ascending a gravel driveway the width of the M4. This movie director must be seriously minted. The impressive driveway was lit by Victorian-style street lamps on either side and I felt like I was driving into another time. Perhaps I had actually driven into the past and would have a true Dickensian Christmas. Wasn’t it Dickens who idealised the festive season at some point and made us all dream of the perfect white Christmas with a perfect happy family sat around a perfect roast dinner? Dickens, I love you! Really, truly I do because I love Christmas and all the little traditions that we now enjoy. It’s just the best time of the year.

As the driveway curved to the right, I felt the steering wheel lighten under my touch and I gasped as the car skidded on a patch of ice. Within seconds, everything was within my control again and I laughed at my momentary panic, though my heart continued to thud furiously for a while longer. I passed under an archway of ancient elm trees that glistened with frost, then the house came into view and literally stole my breath away. I mean, I had Googled it, but even so, in the flesh – or rather the brick – it was fabulous. The same lamps that had adorned the lower half of the driveway lit up the front of the house, highlighting the warm red of the bricks and the startling white of the sash windows. I could see why they’d chosen this location for the remakes of Pride and Prejudice and Emma. I pictured myself in a high-waisted white morning gown with a lilac satin spencer, my wavy brown hair loosely pinned, Mr Knightley running towards me, his muscular arms outstretched as I skipped along…

I couldn’t see any cars so I followed the gravel path around the left of the house until I came to some outbuildings. There, in what looked like a large open barn, I spotted my family’s cars. All of them. It looked like I was the last one to arrive. My stomach churned. Great. Now I’d have to make an entrance and seeing as how it was nearly seven, they’d probably have started on pre-dinner drinks too. I stopped the car outside the barn. I could avoid all this, just drive straight back to the flat, step into my onesie and open a tub of mint choc chip. The idea was appealing but then the thought of ruining Ann’s romantic Christmas made me start the engine again. I must be brave and stalwart. I must go onwards. I must make this a good Christmas for everyone.

I parked, climbed out and hitched my stretchy jeans up over my tummy, wriggling from side to side as I did so, then I opened the boot. As I reached over to lift out the box of cakes, I heard footsteps behind me.

‘Hi there. Need a hand?’

The voice was deep, soft and knee-tremblingly sexy. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, it sparked a memory. Sensations. Emotions. Tummy butterflies. Then I realised that whoever it was would be getting a good view of my butt and I did a mental sigh.

I turned slowly – taking care not to bump my already tender head, as I brought the box from the boot – and saw the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. I could have ironed a king-sized duvet cover on it. I gripped the box tighter, suddenly afraid that my wanton fingers would release it in their hurry to caress those gorgeous pecs so obvious beneath the tight-fitting grey polo shirt.

‘Are you okay?’ That voice again like melted chocolate, running through my fingers, over my tongue. My legs started shaking. Get a grip, Katie. Look up. See who it is. Although I already knew. I raised my eyes slowly, memorizing every muscle beneath the clothing that I didn’t want to be there and saw…

‘Sam? Is that really you?’ My stomach dropped to my boots.

‘Let me take that box before you drop it.’ He went to remove it from my hands but my fingers stubbornly held on. He tried again and I willed myself to release it, but my hands just refused to comply. Sam smiled as a flush spread over his face. Suddenly, as he tugged again, I let go and the box jolted into the air, only stopped from going over Sam’s shoulder by his quick reactions. Baked goods, however, escaped in all directions and I stared, open-mouthed, as cinnamon and cranberry muffins, mince pies and white chocolate Florentines rolled off into the darkness.

Sam carefully lowered the box and checked its contents. I ground my teeth together, overwhelmed by disbelief at how I failed to have control over my own body at the most crucial of moments. It was as if I went into useless mode whenever I really, really, really wanted to be at my calmest and coolest.

Stupid hands! Stupid brain! Stupid heart!

‘Still quite a few cakes in there so you didn’t lose everything.’ Sam nodded at the box that was now much less of a peace offering for my mother than it had been five minutes ago. ‘Sorry about that. I was just trying to help because it looked heavy. And…uh…yeah it’s me. Been a while eh, Katie?’

I gazed at his huge frame and tree-trunk thick arms that made the box I’d had to stretch to hold look like a shoe box. Sam hadn’t been this big when we were younger. I mean, he was Karl’s slightly geeky, funny friend. Always up to mischief, always making us laugh. He’d been a good-looking teenager, in spite of braces up and down, no doubt about it. I’d harboured a crush on him and been convinced that I loved him for the best part of my adolescence then that had developed into more, but now… ‘You’re a man.’

‘What?’ He grinned and his chocolate brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

Did I say that out loud?

‘Uh…what I mean is…you’re all grown up.’ No better!

I tugged my jumper down over my jeans as my cheeks burnt with heat. Why did some people just get better with age but some got softer and more dimpled?

‘Yes, Katie, that tends to happen as the years pass. I’m thirty-six now, same as Karl. I guess that’s quite grown up.’ He shifted the box to one side. ‘Do you need help with your bags?’

‘No I can manage, thank you. I’ll just grab my holdall.’ I pulled it from the boot, glad to have a moment to hide my face which I knew would be all red and blotchy by now, then retrieved my handbag. What was Sam Fairfax doing here at the Warham family Christmas? Other than making me all jittery, throwing my cakes around a barn and stoking a flame in my belly that I hadn’t felt in quite some time.

Oh those shoulders, that chest, those eyes… It had been such a long time since I’d seen him.

Sam…

Could I cope being near him again? Would he still hate me for leaving him? Would this all be too much on top of losing Granny or would it be some kind of welcome distraction? My stomach churned as I realized that I had no idea how this would affect Christmas.

Realising that I was just standing in the middle of a cold barn staring at my former lover – rather rudely he must think – I slung my bag over my shoulder then locked the car. The ceiling of the open barn was lit with those harsh tube lights and I became suddenly conscious of the fact that it was probably showing up the roots of my hair where the random whites were fast emerging from the dye. If I’d known that we were having attractive friends over for Christmas, then I’d have made more of an effort, maybe tried to resist the mince pies we’d been selling for the past six weeks. But they were so yummy and I had to test our produce before we sold it. Besides, I’d been convinced that there was no point in denying myself some comfort foods in the run up to Christmas. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see me naked anyway.

‘Everyone else is inside but I was just taking some air,’ Sam explained. ‘There’s quite a crowd of Warhams here.’ I watched his breath emerge like white smoke as it hit the chilly air of the barn.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, Sam, but how are you here?’ Nerves tend to make me blunt and I’ve never been mistress of flirtatious small talk. I was struggling to hold a whole host of memories at bay and bluntness is one of my coping mechanisms.

He cast me a sideways glance as we crunched across the gravel towards the backdoor. ‘Karl invited me. He said it would do me and the kids good to get away.’

Kids? A dagger pierced my thundering heart. He was married, of course he was, and he’d gone on to have children. I remembered Karl gently telling me that he was going to Sam’s wedding a few years back. No wait, it must have been more like seven or eight years ago. I’d swallowed hard and acted like I didn’t give a damn then drunk a whole bottle of wine and cried into my pillow. The next day I’d had a sore head but I’d got up, got dressed, gone to Waterstone’s and bought a new cookery book, then baked like a woman possessed. Kneading at bread dough and beating cake mixes had always been therapeutic for me, like a form of self-hypnosis that somehow separates me from the world and my pain.

So Christmas was going to be different to the version I’d imagined when Karl had first suggested it. A happily married couple and their children would be joining us over the festive period. Unfortunately, the husband happened to be the man I’d once loved with all my heart. The pleasant warmth of the lust I’d experienced at seeing Sam so big and brawny had now completely melted away and the biting chill of the air that swirled around the house made me shiver.

‘You’re cold,’ Sam said. ‘It’s warm and cosy inside, come on.’ Had it really been nine years since I’d last seen him, when I’d told him that it wouldn’t work between us? And all because I’d thought that we wanted different things from life and that I had something to prove to myself. I’d thought that I was doing the best thing for both of us; helping us to leave a terrible experience behind. How could we have continued, moved on and loved each other, after what we’d been through? And what if it had happened again, if I’d ever had the courage to try to get pregnant after our loss, that was. No. I’d done the right thing at the time, for sure.

Sam opened the door and the heat coming from the large brightly lit kitchen literally hit me in a wave, along with the delicious aromas of roast chicken, thyme and potatoes. My stomach grumbled automatically. My mother had clearly been busy and the woman sure could cook. Sam stood back to allow me to enter first and I walked into the room.

‘There you are. At last!’ My mother’s clipped tones stopped me in my tracks. Back out…go back through the door. Leave now before she says anything else. I shrugged the traitorous voice away. As if I could actually walk away from Esther once she got going. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pursued me, just like that time when I was seven and I told her she reminded me of Miss Piggy from The Muppet Show. She’d chased me around the streets and confiscated my favourite Barbie doll for a week as punishment. Even then, I hadn’t meant that she resembled the puppet pig physically, just that she had the same snooty self-important air and that she treated my dad a bit like Kermit.

Sam placed the box of cakes on the counter and held out a hand. ‘I’ll take your bag through to the hallway if you like. I bet you and your mum have lots to discuss.’

I allowed myself one last perusal of his lovely face with its shadow of stubble and full sensual lips and smiled. ‘Yeah. I bet we have.’

‘See you at dinner.’ He grinned at me and, in spite of my disappointment, I grinned back as I handed him my holdall. Even if he was here with his wife and kids, it would still be nice to catch up. I hadn’t seen him in such a long time and we’d once been so close.

A flush stole over my chest. At the height of my teenage crush on Sam, he’d seen me as little more than his friend’s younger sister. Yet he was always really kind, polite and considerate. He’d been bright and mature, nothing like the boys in my year at school who only ever spoke to me to comment on my big jugs. That was until I’d gotten a bit older and one night, when Sam was home from university, we’d ended up alone and realised that there was more than just friendship between us. Six years later, we’d seemed to have it all but then it had turned sour and we’d parted ways. Amicably, though it had broken my heart at the time. So yes, it would be good to hear what he’d been up to and to see how the years had treated him.

But now I had to deal with Esther and it was an experience that called for a stiff drink. I grabbed the single malt off the counter and a crystal tumbler from the tray on the side then poured a generous measure.

Here I go! Merry Christmas…