The most wonderful time of the year?

Katie Warham has just one wish this year…to have the best Christmas ever! If only she could lock herself away in a cloud of flour and sugar at her cosy little tearoom, Crumbtious Cakes, instead of spending the festive season trapped with her judgemental mother, crazy Aunt Gina and loved-up celebrity brother Carl…

But Katie never expected her ex-boyfriend, widower Sam – and his two adorable children – to turn up on her doorstep. She didn’t think that any man could tempt her under the mistletoe this year, but Sam might just prove the exception! And as the snow begins to fall and Katie puts the final touches to her famous Christmas cake, she begins to wonder, could her Christmas wish actually come true?

This holiday season, snuggle up by a roaring fire with a mulled wine and enjoy Darcie Boleyn’s festive winter warmer!

Wish Upon a Christmas Cake

Darcie Boleyn

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © Darcie Boleyn 2015

Darcie Boleyn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474045872

Version date: 2018-07-23

DARCIE BOLEYN

has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

Special thanks to my husband, you support me and inspire me. You see me as no one else does and that enables me to see the world in vivid colour. You have encouraged me throughout this journey and I love you deeply. The day we married was the day I finally became me.

My daughter, you are the sweetest girl in the world. I love how you light up when a new book is placed in your hands. Your enthusiasm and kindness are infectious and you make the world a better place.

My son, your questions keep me on my toes. I love it when we bake together. You make me more adventurous and help me to overcome my fears with your own bravery. I learn from you every day.

Jimbo, Jim and Granny. Always. XXX

Nan and Bamp, you made me feel like a part of your family from the very beginning. Nan, your love of Christmas and family was in my heart when I wrote this story. I miss you.

Thanks to my editors for your support and encouragement - Lucy Gilmour, Victoria Oundjian and Charlotte Mursell.

A huge thank you to the HQ Digital author group, where I have found friendship, support and advice. No question is too random or too awkward to ask you guys. From word races to comfort to giggles, you cover all the bases.

Finally, thank you to

Deb, Emma, Kelly, Sarah, Clare, Donna and Yvonne.

Merry Christmas!

XXX

To my nine, you are my inspiration and my world.

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…

Chapter 2

Esther Marie Warham. Sixty-two. Five foot eight. One hundred and twenty-four pounds. Shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair. Wife of Charles Michael Warham. Mother of Karl Lewis Warham and Katie Alice Warham. Currently clothed in a fawn silk gypsy-style blouse and fitted black trousers which showed off her pert gym-toned bottom and nude heels.

I sipped my Jura and held the fiery amber liquid in my mouth as I waited for my mother to begin talking herself in circles.

And waited.

‘How are things at the shop, Katie? Were you busy today?’

I swallowed the whisky and stared at my mother. What, no reprimand for being late?

‘Good thanks. We’ve been really busy.’

‘Will Ann be all right there tomorrow without you?’

I took another swig from my glass. ‘Uh, yeah, her boyfriend’s helping her out.’

This wasn’t my mother; it must be an imposter, a dopplegänger arrived to lure me into a false sense of security so it could dash my confidence to the ground once more.

‘Ah there you are, my favourite girls!’ My father crossed the kitchen and planted a kiss on the top of my head. ‘How was your journey, Katie?’

I snuggled against his chest and breathed in his familiar and lovely Dad smell of pine aftershave, washing powder and cigars. Despite Esther’s protests, my dad still indulged in an evening cigar or two; it was a habit I doubted he’d ever quit. I gazed up at him, grateful for his arrival, yet wondering if he’d noticed this strangely altered version of my mother. In the past, he’d often rescued me from Esther’s tirades before I completely crumbled into a blubbering heap or snapped and gave her a tongue lashing in return. I hadn’t really done the latter since I was about twenty-three and I was proud of my self-control. I loathed confrontation of any kind and had always been keen to avoid it. ‘Hey, Dad. There were a few delays along the way but it wasn’t too bad, thanks. How’re you?’

With his thick white hair combed back with pomade, his naturally jet-black eyebrows and his year-round tan, Dad reminded me of Blake Carrington from 80s TV series Dynasty. Of course, he could have been said to resemble Alistair Darling, but Blake Carrington was a preferable comparison in my mind. Dad was handsome in that traditional way, like the movie stars of the thirties. Somehow, the white hair and black eyebrow combo suited him. He had charisma, strength, self-confidence and that old-school British charm.

‘I’m very well thank you, angel. Thoroughly enjoying my retirement, actually. Plenty of golf, tennis and time with my wife.’ He squeezed my shoulders and winked at me conspiratorially, then crossed the kitchen to my mother’s side. She was mashing potatoes and her powerful movements had caused her well-maintained blonde waves to fall over her face. I watched as Dad tenderly pushed her hair behind her ears then kissed her cheek. She immediately coloured and stopped punishing the spuds before turning slightly to allow my father to kiss her on the lips. I’d never understand my parents. They were such a strange combination. I seemed to have come out somewhere in the middle – I had some of Dad’s business sense and drive, yet I also occasionally suffered from Mum’s neuroses. But no one’s perfect, right?

Just then my Aunty Gina floated into the kitchen. Gina is Dad’s younger sister. She’s ten years his junior. Granny and Granddad had a surprise arrival, as they liked to call her. Knowing my aunt as I do, I bet she was a surprise.

‘Ooohhh! Hello, Katie. So good to see you, darling.’ She drifted over to me. Gina doesn’t walk, she floats and drifts. She always dresses in brightly coloured billowing materials and refers to herself as a spirit of the revolution, even though she would only have been a child during the sixties. But she constantly plays The Mamas and the Papas, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix and when she gets drunk, which she does all too often, she rants about capitalism and her time on a Kibbutz and how we’ll all be sorry one day.

‘Hello, Aunty Gina.’ I proffered a hand to shake but she swatted it aside and enveloped me in a bear hug, forcing the air from my lungs. Her perfume of choice was a heady mix of patchouli and rose which I could taste as I sucked in a breath when she released me. Suddenly aware of a cold feeling in my groin, I glanced down to see that the wet patch spreading over the crotch of my jeans and the hem of my jumper was the remains of my whisky.

Gina followed my eyes. ‘Oopsy!’ She shrugged and smacked her scarlet-painted lips together. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’ She patted my shoulder, then saluted me as if we were rebels sharing a secret solidarity before drifting over to the fridge where she helped herself to a G and T.

Thanks, Gina.

Dad smiled as I stood up and attempted to dust myself off with a tea towel. ‘Why don’t you get changed and I’ll help your mother finish dinner. I hope you’ve brought some of those fancy cakes of yours because I can’t stop thinking about the ones you made for Granny’s birthday.’ I watched as his face fell for a moment but he quickly concealed his grief.

‘They’re in there, Dad.’ Apart from the ones currently freezing out in the barn. I pointed at the box on the counter and cringed as the image of Sam trying to prise it from my hands popped into my mind. ‘Of course I’d bring cakes with me. It would be criminal not to.’

Dad smiled as he peered into the box, then nodded approvingly. ‘They look good.’

I crossed the kitchen to the open doorway then realised I had no idea where I was going. As if reading my mind, Esther said, ‘Take a left at the top of the staircase then you’re the third door along. We selected a lovely room for you.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I turned away quickly, not wanting her to see the surprise on my face at how pleasant she was being. It made me want more, yet simultaneously made me a bit uneasy, as if someone was playing a trick on me.

I left the kitchen and wandered into the hallway.

And stared.

I swear that my jaw actually fell so far open as I gazed around me, that it hit my chest.

A huge staircase with a polished oak banister and ornate iron spindles ran from the middle of the hall and branched off in two directions as it ascended. There were several rooms off the ground floor hallway, one of which I assumed must be the dining room as I could hear the clink of china and the tinkling of cutlery as someone laid the table. Music came from the room adjacent to it, which was just off the grand double-front door. I realised that it must be the drawing room or lounge, depending on which century you were from. I scanned the hallway to see more rooms on the other side of the staircase too. Obviously the building was enormous from the outside but the inside reminded me of a cathedral. No, make that two cathedrals combined.

This house would need some serious exploration. Once I’d got changed, of course. I dared not hold my family up any longer.

***

I kicked the door to my room open as I was juggling my holdall, my handbag and trying not to let the whisky on my jeans seep through into my M&S knickers. I flicked through my memory to my shower at the flat then recalled popping a white pair on. Great! If whisky soaked into them it would be hard to get out, which meant that I’d never be able to dry the stained pair on the washing line. I blamed Esther for my obsession with whiter-than-white-whites. Socks, knickers, bras and aprons all had to be blindingly clean and white or…or what? I didn’t know the answer to that one but it was just a fact I’d grown up knowing. What if you get knocked down by a bus today and you haven’t got your best knickers on? What if you want to try something on when you’re out shopping and there’s a communal changing room? What if the vicar comes for tea? (Strange that one, how would he know what state my knickers were in?) What if you meet the queen? (Did Elizabeth II have x-ray vision then?) But Esther’s convictions were so strong that they could actually assume the appearance of facts. I guess that’s a mother thing.

As the door to my room swung wide, my jaw went slack for the third time since I’d arrived.

‘WOW! WOW! WOW!’

The bedroom was dimly lit by two floor lamps that stood either side of the bed but I could see that the room was huge. I could have fitted our whole flat into it. There was a king-size four-poster bed with its head against the wall to my left, an enormous mahogany wardrobe on the wall behind the door, two long sash windows in front of me and a large antique dresser to my right. Next to that was another door.

I dumped my bag on an ornate and presumably antique ottoman at the foot of the bed, then crossed to the windows. They overlooked the gravel path at the side of the house and the barn where I’d parked my car. I was sure I could see a few Florentines glowing in the darkness as they froze solid. I gave my Beetle a little wave then pulled the curtains against the inky blackness of the night and crossed the room to the other door.

Behind it was an exquisite en suite that filled me with both joy and relief. There’s nothing worse than having to leave your room when you’re staying away from home just to go for a pee in the middle of the night. At least I’d be spared such indignity. Besides, a big old house like this would be a bit spooky once everyone had gone to bed, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to creep across the landing and risk bumping into a headless nun or something. If the manor house was haunted, of course. Which it probably wasn’t. And anyway, I don’t believe in ghosts. Or – and this thought was far more pleasant – I could be innocently walking along, wearing my best silky nightie which showed off my curves – but not my lumpy bits – and bump into Sam. Oh, to crash into that wall of chest then be scooped up into those bulging arms. I’d be faint obviously, so he’d have to take me back to my room and give me mouth to mouth as his huge body covered mine and then…

Nothing. He was married. He had kids. Forget it. Forget him. That was all in the past.

I eyed the deep white tub longingly. It would be wonderful to fill it with bubbles then sink beneath them. Maybe I could jump in later, or in the morning after breakfast. But I’d better get changed and go down before steam started whistling from Esther’s ears. She’d been reasonable so far but I didn’t want to push my luck.

I opened my bag and pulled out a black shift dress made of that fabulous crinkle material that you don’t need to iron. I love this dress. It’s so easy to wear because it’s loose and flattering. I rummaged around until I found my black cork wedge espadrilles then dressed quickly.

There, that would have to do. But what about a bit of make-up? Not much but something to give me a bit of a glow. After all, I was feeling tired and some bronzer and lippie always made me look more human. We did have guests and really I didn’t want to scare them. You know, appear downstairs like Bob Marley in A Christmas Carol. I mean Jacob Marley. Bob Marley appearing would have a completely different effect now, wouldn’t it? More Could You Be Loved than you must change your ways. Although a visitation of the latter kind might make my mother a nicer person.

I placed my make-up bag on the dressing table and took out my bronzer, then flicked the thick brush over my cheeks. Hmmm. My forehead was a bit shiny, especially the bruise where I’d bumped my head on the steering wheel, so I whisked the brush over that too. And my neck for good measure. A slick of red lip-gloss, a finger comb of my mousey-brown curls and I was done. I smiled at my reflection. Not bad. Not great either but, hey, after a glass of wine, I’d feel more comfortable with myself and Esther’s inevitable critique would drift over my head like wood smoke on the breeze.

I hoped.

Well, maybe after two glasses.

***

Descending the stairs, the murmur of voices from the dining room made me smile. It was Christmas and I was lucky. Some people didn’t have anyone in their lives. I shouldn’t be ungrateful. Admittedly, sometimes I’d like to alter my family. Well, my mother. Just a bit. So that it would be easier to spend time with her. But at least I had a family.

But not a grandmother.

The thought jabbed me like a blow to my gut and I bent over for a moment as I tried to dispel the pain. It was early days, Granny had been dead for less than two months. I had to allow myself to grieve her passing. But it was so hard. Keeping busy at the shop had helped to keep my mind off things, but I knew that being with my family would mean there was no escape. I would have to face up to the fact that she was gone.

I took a few deep breaths then headed for the kitchen to check if Mum needed any help but it was empty. My stomach crashed to the parquet flooring. Uh oh! I hurried back through the hallway and through the open door of the dining room.

The talking stopped. A glass crashed to the floor and shattered. Someone sneezed. I stared at the familiar faces and they stared back at me.

‘Katie!’ My mother smiled at me. ‘There you are.’

I frowned. Where was the expected criticism or reprimand?

‘You look lovely, darling.’ I met my Dad’s twinkly eyes and smiled my gratitude. I walked around the table, nodding a very quick hello at everyone then sat next to Karl.

‘Hi, Sis.’

‘Hey, Karl. Sorry I’m a bit late.’

‘Just glad you could make it, Katie. It wouldn’t be the same without you.’ He squeezed my hand and I glanced at him. We were both thinking about how it wouldn’t be the same without Granny but neither of us could vocalize it at that moment.

‘This is Angelo, Katie.’ Karl leant backwards so I could see his lover properly and the gorgeous model grinned at me.

‘Hello, Katie. I am so pleased to meet you. Karl never stops talking about you.’

I smiled. ‘It’s wonderful to finally meet you too, Angelo. I hope that my brother hasn’t told you anything I should worry about.’

He laughed and waved at me. ‘Not at all. He tells me how sweet and kind you are and how you work too hard but never anything bad. Karl adores his baby sister.’

I flushed with pleasure. I really did love my brother a lot too.

‘I wanted to tell you also that I am very sorry for the loss of your grandmother.’

I flinched and Karl took hold of my hand again. ‘Thank you, Angelo.’ I ground my teeth together. I had to stay strong. I couldn’t lose it in front of everyone.

‘I was unable to make the funeral because my own grandmother is unwell. But I wanted you to know that I am sorry. Karl said that you were particularly close to her.’

I glanced at Karl and he nodded. I straightened in my chair and swallowed hard. ‘How is your grandmother now, Angelo?’

‘A battle-axe is the expression I think you Brits might use. She’s a tough old Italian lady and she will, I suspect, survive us all.’ He smiled and his whole face lit up. There was kindness in his gaze and I saw instantly why Karl loved him. Plus he was being very open considering that this was our first meeting and very honest. That would be a good thing for Karl. He needed a man with integrity and a big heart to love him.

As Angelo turned to talk to Sam, I said to Karl, ‘Is he always that forthright?’

‘Always. He’s incredibly open, not like us English with our stiff upper lips. He wants to talk everything through and to find a solution that offers peace of mind.’

‘That must be nice,’ I replied, watching Karl’s face carefully.

‘Yes. It is, although it can be difficult when I just want to bury my head in the sand.’ He winked at me.

‘He’s lovely.’

‘I know.’

As Dad carved then dished out the chicken and potatoes, I took the opportunity to look around the table properly. There was Mum and Dad, Karl, Angelo, Aunty Gina and her Turkish boyfriend, Aunty Gina’s daughter Rebecca and…Sam. Big, brawny, handsome Sam. He was engaged in conversation with Angelo but he glanced up every now and then to check on the two small children to his right – a boy of about eight or nine and a little girl who looked about four. Both were his mirror image, but cuter and younger, of course. As I gazed at them, an old emotion swept through me and tugged at my heart. This wasn’t going to be easy.

There was no woman. I scanned the table again. Where was his wife? Had she feigned a headache and declined dinner? Had she excused herself to powder her nose? A pang of jealousy stung me and I shivered. Even after all this time, it was hard to accept that Sam had another woman, a wife no less, and that they had children. Children that could have been mine.

‘So what do you think, Katie?’

‘Sorry, Karl?’ I met his curious eyes as he placed a hand on my arm.

‘About going into town tomorrow. I have a few last-minute things that I need to get.’

‘Yes, great idea.’

I was about to ask him where Sam’s wife was but a clinking sound stopped everyone suddenly and all eyes turned to the head of the table where my Dad stood.

‘I’d just like to say a big thank-you to all of you for coming. Christmas is a special time for a family and it’s wonderful to see you all here. This year is particularly poignant and also important for us Warhams.’ I watched as he swallowed hard. ‘Losing my mother has been very difficult for us all…and I’m sure that we’ll all miss her regaling us with tales of Christmases past…but, uh, she would want, no make that expect us to carry on and have a bloody good Christmas.’ He paused and I watched anxiously as his Adam’s apple bobbed furiously above his shirt collar then he cleared his throat. ‘In the new year, there will be changes afoot as my beautiful wife and I leave these shores to spend our retirement in France. So next December, if you can all make it, you will be welcome to join us in our new home. But now, I’d like to raise a toast to absent friends.’ He raised his glass and we all stood up and followed suit. I forced the wine past the lump in my throat and blinked hard. ‘I would also like to toast you all,’ Dad continued. ‘My wife – who will rustle up the most delicious meals for us over the next few days – my dear sister and niece…and um…Turmeric…ah…Tanic…ah…’

‘It’s Tanberk, for goodness sake!’ Gina snarled at my father, dragging a hand across her mouth and smearing her bright-red lipstick in the process. I wondered how much wine she’d consumed already; the best part of a bottle I suspected just to keep the G and T company.

‘Yes, of course, Tanberk.’ Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘And to my wonderful children who have brought light into my life since they arrived as tiny pink scrunched-up little…’

‘Enough!’ Mum laughed. ‘No one wants a rendition of Yesterday, darling.’

‘Okay…um…and to Sam. We’re glad to have you join us this year with your two children Jack and Holly.’ Dad raised his Champagne flute and we all joined the toast before returning to our seats.

As we tucked into Esther’s delicious spread, I filled Karl in on the continuing success of our business and how busy we’d been over recent weeks, but I kept sneaking glances at Sam. When had he become so…Johnny Depp but the even better version? I bet his wife had to fight the admirers off with a broom. Attractive men were trouble – unless they were gay and your older brother. But I also found myself peering at Sam’s children. With their wide brown eyes surrounded by thick black lashes and ebony hair, they were beautiful. Something inside me threatened to unravel and I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced images of another child – a tiny, fragile baby who didn’t even have the chance to take a breath – out of my mind.

Following the main course, we had dessert and coffee then Sam stood. ‘Thank you all for the company and for the food. It was delightful, Mrs Warham.’

‘Oh, Sam!’ Mum blushed and waved a hand at him. ‘It’s Esther to you and thank you for the compliment but it was only roast chicken.’

Mum’s roasts were legendary in our house because they were just bloody brilliant and all of my friends who’d tried one when we were kids begged to come round again on a Sunday. I guess I inherited my cookery skills and enthusiasm for baking from her because Dad can’t open a tin of beans without turning the kitchen upside down.

‘Well we all enjoyed the meal immensely.’ Sam smiled, then helped his children out of their chairs. ‘But I’d better get these two to bed. Santa’s coming tomorrow night and I don’t want them getting out of their routine and being tired and grumpy on Christmas Day.’

‘I don’t believe in Santa, Dad. I told you that!’ The little boy pouted and crossed his arms.

‘What have I told you, Jack?’ Sam’s tone was calm and patient and I watched him carefully, wondering how he would deal with the issue. ‘Jack?’

‘You said that if you don’t believe in Santa, he won’t come.’

‘That’s right,’ my mother said. ‘Isn’t it, Katie?’

As all eyes turned to me, including the children’s, my cheeks burnt. I must have been about Jack’s age when I realised that it was in fact Dad who was filling the stocking hung on my bedpost. Even though he was four years older than me and had started comprehensive school, Karl had still clung to the image of the jolly old fat man and his bag of gifts. However, once I’d discovered the truth, I insisted that he know it too. A precocious eight year old, I’d felt it was my duty to expose the fallacies of childhood at every opportunity. Karl had gone crying to his room and Esther had been beetroot to the roots of her hair and deadly silent. Her silence was far more terrifying than her ranting because I knew it meant she was really pissed at me.

‘Uh…yes…yes it is true. You have to believe!’ I raised my hands and shook them as I stared at the children. Immediately, I felt ridiculous. Why did I do that? Why did I do jazz hands? I took a big swig of port and stared into my glass as my cheeks blazed.

When I raised my eyes again, Jack was looking at me with the suspicion children show to strangers and I have to admit that it unnerved me. Sometimes, kids can look at you in a way that suggests that they just see right through you. Adults often fall for the façade people sometimes erect around themselves because they want to, but children still have enough innocence to wonder why someone isn’t being as forthright as they could be. I’m just not that comfortable around children; they stir too much up. Ann coos over babies when their mothers bring them into the shop and we have colouring books and crayons ready for little ones to use. I smile at the mums and dads who come to Crumbtious as they tell me about their children’s latest achievements and I bake gluten and nut free cookies for the ones with allergies, but I just keep my distance. It’s safer that way. I need to protect my heart.

‘Daddy?’ Holly clung to Sam’s trunk of a thigh, her bottom lip quivering. ‘Isn’t there a Santa?’

Sam swung her up into his arms and I nearly swooned as the muscles strained against the sleeves of his polo shirt. ‘Of course there is, Holly. Jack’s just being a bit grumpy.’

Jack pouted and hung his head but Sam shifted Holly onto his left hip then ruffled Jack’s hair with his right hand. ‘Come on, son. Sportacus and Stephanie will need to go out.’

Jack nodded at this and ran from the room without so much as a goodbye.

‘I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ Sam smiled and caught my eye. My cheeks grew even hotter. Dammit, what was wrong with me? I’d known him practically all my life but here I was like a self-conscious teenager in his presence. As if all those years hadn’t passed and I was still in awe of him like I used to be. As if we hadn’t been through so much, then walked away from each other. As if my heart hadn’t broken into a thousand pieces when we said goodbye.

But he is all grown up now and very yummy. My stomach flipped. He’s also married with two children. Off limits. Forbidden fruit. Part of my past.

And who, on earth, were Sportacus and Stephanie?

Chapter 3

We took our second coffees in the drawing room which was a large airy room at the front of the house. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto spacious gardens that glowed with solar lights in various shapes and colours. Some of the large old trees had been draped with fairy lights and they shimmered like stars in the darkness. It gave the garden a festive feeling which warmed me right through.

I sank onto an overstuffed white sofa that nearly swallowed me whole as pillows puffed up on either side. My belly was full, my legs ached and I was tired but I knew that I’d need to stay up for a bit longer to be sociable.

Aunty Gina and Karl were chatting about their social media accounts; apparently they stayed in contact that way.

‘Are you on Twitter, Katie?’ Gina asked.

I sighed. ‘I am, but only under the shop’s name. I don’t have a personal account.’ Why would I? I barely had time to tweet for the shop let alone about myself. Come to think of it, the only real social networking I indulged in was focused around the business. Yes, I was on Facebook, but that was to keep in touch with Karl when he jetted off around the world filming in exotic locations but I didn’t have many Facebook ‘friends’. I didn’t have many real friends if I was being totally honest. Setting up Crumbtious had taken up all of my time and energy. I’d had little left for Harrison. What man wants a woman who’s always working? I did hope that he was happy now, that he was moving on and enjoying the life he’d wanted to live. And that he would have a good Christmas this year. Just not with me.

‘Katie?’ Gina cocked her head on one side. ‘You seem tired, dear. Perhaps you should get to bed. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and Santa will be coming.’ She flashed me her scarlet-lipped smile and I noticed that she’d cleared away the smudged lipstick and reapplied another coat. Her eyes glistened though, betraying the effect of the alcohol she’d consumed.

‘I guess I am a bit tired. It’s been a busy month. It would be nice if Santa really was coming tomorrow.’

‘How does that joke go, Katie?’ Karl asked. ‘Oh I know. Why doesn’t Santa have any kids? Because he only comes once a year and then it’s down the chimney. Boom! Boom!’

I tried to smile but the evening had stirred up a myriad of emotions and I couldn’t help thinking: Why doesn’t Katie Warham have any kids? Because she only comes with a battery-operated device and she’s far too busy to bag a man. Boom! Boom!

‘Right, well I’m exhausted, so I’m going to head off up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire!’ Gina announced as she reached for Tanberk’s hand.

I smiled at her use of Granny’s phrase that had confused me as a child, prompting me to ask my Dad, How is there a place called Bedfordshire upstairs in Granny’s house?

Tanberk got to his feet and nodded at us all, then allowed Gina to lead him to bed. I’m sure he looked a bit scared. Rebecca followed them soon after, her iPad gripped firmly in her hand as it had been since dinner; an anti-social teenager of the technological revolution. I briefly wondered what the future held for her. Would she actually interact with other people face-to-face or would her social life and her career be conducted online?

‘I’m quite tired too,’ Angelo said. ‘I think I’ll take a soak in the bath then get some sleep.’

‘I’ll be up in a bit,’ Karl replied as he kissed him before he left the room.

Karl came over to my sofa. ‘Hey, Sis, can I finally have some of your time?’

I linked arms with him as he sat down. ‘Of course you can, Big Brother.’

‘You’ve been so busy lately that I’ve been worried about you. Mum and Dad said they’ve hardly seen you since the funeral.’ He gazed at me and I half expected to see a reprimand in his eyes, but all I saw was affection and concern. ‘You’re working too hard, Kitty-Kat.’

‘I know, Karl, I know. But the business is doing so well.’

‘Then employ another person.’

I nodded. ‘We have had two temporary employees working weekends over the Christmas period and we might well ask them to stay on next year – even if it’s just for a few hours here and there. But it’s still been really busy recently.’

‘Your problem is that you’re a workaholic. You know—’ He placed a finger on his chin and scrunched up his face dramatically. ‘I zink zat you are using ze job as a way to forget ozer zings.’

I laughed at his terrible Freud impression. ‘Stop trying to psychoanalyse me, Karl. I just want the business to succeed.’

‘It is succeeding, silly. But you need to live, Baby Sister, before you turn around and find yourself an old spinster. Life won’t wait for you!’ He wagged his finger. ‘I’m just concerned that you’re keeping busy as a way to avoid facing up to the fact that your life is otherwise empty, Katie.’

I sank backwards into the cushions and stared at the ornate Artex on the ceiling. I traced the circles with my eyes, round and round and round. Karl was right. Life wouldn’t wait for me and apart from my family, Ann and Crumbtious, there wasn’t anyone or anything else that really mattered to me. Undeniably, I had moments of panic where I wondered if I’d ever meet the right guy and sometimes I heard my biological clock ticking but I always tried to muffle the sound. Not every woman had to have kids. I was lucky. I had a job I loved and a best friend and a family. Admittedly, I had a family I didn’t see as often as I could do, but they were there and they knew I loved them. Although since losing Granny I had been more aware of the fact that I could actually lose the rest of them too and that thought had kept me awake for more nights than I cared to admit.

‘I just want to see you happy, Katie.’ Karl kissed my cheek and smoothed my curls from my forehead, then gently examined my tender bruise. ‘Harrison was the wrong guy. He messed up but there are other men out there.’

‘And all the good ones are gay.’ I grinned and tweaked his nose.

‘Hey!’ He swatted my hand. ‘But sadly, you’re probably right, Kitty-Kat. I mean, there’s me and then there’s Angelo.’

‘He’s an absolute dream.’

‘Isn’t he just? You know, I think that he might just be…the one.’

‘Oooh!’ I clapped my hands. ‘Are we going to have a wedding?’

‘Well one of us better get hitched soon to keep the matriarch happy.’ He giggled as he glanced at our mother and I joined him. I would much prefer Karl to experience her interference in his wedding any day. Just the thought of trying to please her as I made wedding plans turned me cold. Yes, Karl could be the one to get married and perhaps he could be the one to have kids. As for me, I would just have to eat cake and get a cat.

‘Oh and, Kitty-Kat, I do love you, so you’d prefer me to be honest with you, right?’

My heart sank. What did he have to tell me? What had I done, or failed to do?

‘Ur…yeah.’ I bit my lip.

‘You need to tone it down a bit.’

‘Tone what down?’

‘The bronzer. You’d fit right in on a reality-TV show with your face caked like that. Actually, you’d make a few of those girls look anaemic.’

I covered my cheeks with my hands. What did he mean? It hadn’t been very bright in my room when I’d gotten ready and I had been in kind of a rush.

I stood and peered at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. Oh no! I resembled an Oompa Loompa with cheeks to rival Aunt Sally. If Worzel Gummidge could see me now, he’d be offering me a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake. Even worse, was knowing that Sam had seen me like this. So when I’d flattered myself by thinking he was smiling at me over dinner, fantasising that he might be thinking I’d matured into a belle to rival Angelina Jolie – the wine was strong – he must actually have been laughing quietly at my toxic-orange face. How awful! I’d never be able to face him again! I’d have to stay in my room all through the holidays. I would have to hide myself away.

Suddenly grumpy, I asked, ‘Why is Sam here?’ I sank back into my seat and accepted the tissue that Karl offered.

‘Didn’t I tell you last week on the phone? It was a busy one with trying to wrangle my latest contract and jetting back from visiting Angelo’s family in Verona. I must have forgotten and I feel terrible now.’

I shook my head as I rubbed furiously at my cheeks with the tissue until my skin tingled. ‘No, you didn’t say anything about him coming too.’

‘Well he did only decide last minute really. But I thought that it would do him good to get away. I was afraid that it would be weird for the two of you but as so much has happened since…since then, I hoped that you’d be okay with it. It’s the first anniversary, you see, and I didn’t want him and the kids home alone. At least here he can have the privacy and space of the old lodge just off the driveway, whilst being near to us – if and when he needs company.’

‘Anniversary?’

I watched his lips moving as I tried to absorb what he was saying and the words seemed familiar somehow. While I’d been wrapped up in my business and trying to maintain a charade of a relationship with Harrison, one of our oldest friends had been through hell. Correct that; the man I’d once loved with all my heart had been through hell. Sam had lost his wife a year ago on Boxing Day. She was a nurse and she’d been driving to work when she’d been hit by a drunk driver. She’d died instantly and left behind Sam and their two children. My vision blurred. A family had been torn apart, leaving a husband without a wife and two children without a mother.

‘So Christmas will be a truly dreadful time for them then?’ My voice came out all thick and slurry.

Karl eyed me carefully. ‘Yes, Katie. Sam’s parents have been great but they needed a break and jetted off to Italy. They asked Sam to join them but he declined. Said he needed to start standing on his own two feet. I really admire him. He’s a strong guy and he’s doing a great job of bringing up Jack and Holly. Even if Jack isn’t a Santa believer.’ He cocked an eyebrow.

‘Well,’ I swallowed the lump in my throat, ‘we have a duty to make this Christmas a great one for them, don’t we?’ I was filled with a sudden determination. ‘I want to help those babies to enjoy a good old Warham family Christmas that Granny would be proud of.’

Karl gestured at the other side of the room where Mum and Dad were sitting. ‘You sure about that last bit? I know Mum and dad are on board but with Aunty Gina here it could get a bit…crazy at times.’

‘You mean because Granny’s not here to rein her in?’

He grinned. ‘I think she’s mellowed a bit as she’s aged. She’s not half as wild any more.’

I pictured the Christmas when Gina had quite literally climbed the Christmas tree, then the one when she’d insisted that we all stay at a cottage in West Wales and take a Boxing Day swim in the freezing cold sea. She’d certainly been wild at times. ‘Yes, let’s have a good old Warham family Christmas with Santa and a Christmas tree and decorations and crackers and carols and lots of yummy food.’

‘Well seeing as how tomorrow is Christmas Eve, we’re going to have to rise bright and early to achieve all that. Better hit the sack immediately. I’ll give you a call around five, shall I?’

Five? ‘Yeah sure. I’ll be ready.’ And I would be. I had the opportunity to think about something else other than work – though I would need to text Ann to make sure that everything at the shop ran smoothly. Time to stop worrying about whether I had the capacity to fall in love or even the compassion and understanding required by another person. It was time to think about making some other people happy. I mean, my beautiful cakes made people happy all the time, but in this case I was going to create a special Christmas to remember for an old friend and his young children. Because even though Sam and I had once been so much more, he was, ultimately, one of my best friends growing up. Yes things had gone wrong but that happens in life, not all relationships work out and life is not a fairy tale. And there had been reasons for our split that would have tested any relationship.

For the first time in ages, when I climbed between the cool cotton sheets that night, I didn’t pass out from exhaustion. Instead, I drifted gently off to sleep, with a smile on my face and the tingle of hope and anticipation in my belly.

Chapter 4

Christmas Eve I woke up bright and early feeling incredibly refreshed and positive. I bounced out of bed and into the shower, then rummaged through my clothes. After selecting black leggings, a long-sleeved tunic and pulling on my battered old cowboy boots, I was ready for whatever the day would bring. I checked my iPhone. It was five forty-five am. So early! Karl hadn’t woken me at five, as promised, but part of me had doubted that he would. My brother had always liked his bed and now that he had a hot Italian lover to share it with, he’d find it even harder to leave it, no doubt.

I ran a brush through my hair, then sighed. It just never did what I wanted it to do; instead it sprang stubbornly off in all directions. I shrugged. I’d spent my teenage years longing for different hair, a different figure, a different me altogether. I was past thirty now, so it was time to accept what I’d been given.

Right, what was it I’d said last night? I would do my best to ensure that Sam and his children enjoyed Christmas. He was a nice guy and had been a very good friend. I’d cried on his shoulder many times and fallen asleep in his arms. Of course, those shoulders and arms of his hadn’t been quite so broad back then but he had been able to make me feel safe and loved. Until the unthinkable happened and I’d been thrown into a chasm of vulnerability that no one had been able to rescue me from. Only time had helped; that and throwing myself into pursuing my chosen career, but I knew that I wasn’t completely fixed. I harboured a doubt that I ever would be.

My stomach growled. Time for breakfast and some strong coffee. Not that I needed it to wake up this morning because excitement was coursing through my veins like a fine pinot noir, but because coffee was part of my daily routine. And I liked it – a lot. Cappuccino. Latte. Espresso. With milk or without. Whatever form it took, caffeine was my wake-up drink of choice. I crossed the room and pulled the curtains apart, then gasped.

It had snowed overnight. The barn and the cars had a fluffy white dusting and when I craned my neck to peer down the driveway, I could see that the trees had the same. It was a picture-perfect postcard. I wondered if Jack and Holly would be excited. We could make a snowman and have a snowball fight with Karl and Dad and go sledging and… Hold on a moment, lady! Was I actually looking forward to spending time with children? With my family? Or was I getting carried away as I had a tendency to do? Harrison used to call moments like these my Kat-nip Hypers, when I’d have bursts of hyperactivity and be full of energy and positivity. I liked to think that it was my optimistic side, my youthful exuberance shining through. Had he been right advising me to ‘rein it in a little’, because all too often, if things didn’t go quite as planned, I could end up dejected?

I shook my head. No. He was not right about me. I did not need to be completely in control. Just watch me. Today I would be chilled, relaxed, floaty. A bit like Aunty Gina. I’d go with the proverbial flow. Gah! Well, I would try, at least.

In the kitchen, Mum was already preparing breakfast. ‘Morning, Katie.’ She cast me a sideways glance as she poured freshly boiled water onto coffee.

‘Morning. Sleep well?’

‘If you can call tossing and turning until I finally passed out from sheer exhaustion well…then…I mean, yes, thank you.’ She wrinkled her perfectly straight nose.

Did she just auto-correct herself? ‘My bed was really comfy. Wasn’t yours?’

‘Not really, Katie. For some reason our room has a waterbed.’ She shivered as if the final word was dirt encrusted.

‘A waterbed?’ I gasped in mock horror, swallowing my laughter.

‘Keep your voice down,’ she muttered. ‘All night long, every time your father moved, all I could hear was sloshing and slooshing beneath me. I felt quite seasick.’

My mother was admitting to a weakness – even if it was an aversion to waterbeds. I pressed my lips together hard. ‘Did Dad sleep?’

‘Like a well-rocked baby.’ She sighed as she poured milk into large mugs with colourful Christmas scenes painted on them. I stared at the heart lifting images of families sledging, carol singers crowded together around a glowing brazier and Santa Claus flying through the air in his sleigh pulled by a red nosed reindeer.

‘Have you looked outside, Mum?’

She nodded.

‘It actually snowed last night!’ I gave a little bounce.

‘Snow? Looks like a heavy fros— Yes, it’s beautiful. Could you give me a hand please, Katie?’ Mum smiled then and I nearly lost my balance. What on earth was going on?

‘Yeah…sure. What do you want me to do?’

She directed me to the bacon and the frying pan and I spent the next ten minutes happily breathing in the delicious aroma of smoked bacon and humming along to the carols on the radio. Mum even joined in when Elvis crooned ‘It’ll be lonely this Christmas’. It wasn’t so bad being with Esther like this. It wasn’t like we’d ever be best friends but we had cooked together quite a lot when I was growing up and it seemed to be the one time when we could tolerate being in close proximity.

When everything was ready – buttered toast, fried bacon, mushrooms, huge juicy grilled tomatoes and poached eggs – we carried it all into the dining room. Dad was there reading the newspaper and looking like the lord of the manor.

‘Morning!’ I sang. ‘How’d you get the papers so early?’

‘Your father popped out before we all woke up,’ Mum replied and her cheeks flushed bright pink. Was she hiding something? ‘I’ll just fetch the toast.’

I watched her leave, frowning with confusion as the toast was already on the table. Why had she fled to the kitchen? What were they up to?

‘Hey, Katie. How’d you sleep?’ Dad seemed to suddenly notice me.

‘Great thanks, Dad.’ I kissed him on his proffered cheek.

‘Good morning, Warhams.’ Karl entered the room followed by Angelo. They really were the most gorgeous couple. Karl was the perfect athletic blonde with his golden skin and expensively highlighted hair and Angelo was dark, brooding and tight-bodied. Their joy in each other just oozed out of them in a smug, sated, sensual way.

A tap at the front door drew my attention. ‘I’ll just see who that is,’ I announced, trying to appear calm as I left the room. As if I didn’t know. Sam, Jack and Holly bustled through the front door, then stamped their feet on the welcome mat. The three of them were giggling excitedly and I overheard the words sledging and snowman. I’d have to check the forecast because more snow was definitely needed at Hawthorne Manor. It just had to dump more of the fluffy white stuff to make their Christmas perfect. But once we’d been out to get a tree. Not before. We needed a tree.

Trying to control the weather now, Katie?

‘Hi, Katie!’ Sam approached me with a child clinging to each hand.

‘Hi, Sam.’ I tried to sound nonchalant but my heart was in my throat. He looked positively edible. His black hair and eyebrows emphasised the chocolate pools of his eyes. He wore faded jeans with a light-grey sweater and a pair of bulky black Caterpillar boots. (I have a thing for boots like that. They remind me of workmen on a building site, all manly and full of testosterone. I always think that men wearing that type of footwear must be big enough and strong enough to appreciate a full-bodied woman like me.) Sam’s fitted jeans showed off wide shapely thighs a rugby player would be proud of, and his sweater did nothing but draw my attention to the rippling muscles underneath. I sighed inwardly; there was no way that anything could ever happen between us again…was there?

‘Bacon!’ I blurted out.

‘Sorry?’ He was so close now that I could enjoy his scent. Fresh citrus shower gel mingled with something deeper and sexier like cloves and cinnamon. I closed my eyes and licked my lips.

‘Daddy, why is Katie sleeping standing up?’ I blinked quickly and my cheeks flushed. Ooops!

‘She’s just a bit tired this morning, Holly,’ Sam said to the tiny person at his side.

‘I thought she was after a kiss under the mistletoe,’ Jack said as he pointed to the previously unnoticed greenery above our heads. Who had put that there?

‘Well I’d hate to disappoint a lady.’ Sam grinned at me and my insides somersaulted. He wasn’t serious?

‘Go on then Daddy.’ Holly shook Sam’s hand. ‘Kiss her.’

‘Katie?’ Sam raised his eyebrows and released his children’s hands. He leaned forwards and whispered in my ear, ‘I guess it couldn’t hurt.’

What choice did we have? It would look strange now if I refused. I had no choice. Really.

I took a step closer to him and gazed into his eyes. They were so warm and inviting that I could have written a romance novel about them. He raised his hands and cupped my cheeks, his palms cool and smooth against my sensitive skin. My heart thundered as he moved towards me, my senses went into overdrive as his scent overwhelmed me. Then his soft warm lips met mine and I melted completely, my knees trembling as I struggled to stay upright. I was a ragdoll, a puppet to be manipulated. The room swirled and the ground swayed beneath my feet. It was at once familiar yet brand new, as if we hadn’t once been deeply in love, yet as if we’d never been apart.

But it was over as soon as it had begun, and I had to swallow a sigh of disappointment.

‘Well done, Daddy,’ Jack patted Sam’s back. ‘It was probably easier to do that this morning now that she hasn’t got her clown make-up on.’

Sam’s lips twitched and I turned away quickly and muttered, ‘From the mouths of babes and all that.’

They followed me into the dining room and took their seats while Mum fluttered around them, piling their plates with bacon, eggs and grilled tomatoes and filling glasses with freshly squeezed orange juice and mugs with coffee. I sat next to Aunty Gina and she took my hand under the table and leant in close.

‘I saw that, you know.’

‘What?’ I tried not to blush again.

‘Under the mistletoe.’

‘Oh…it was just…his children, they uh… Where’s Rebecca? Hasn’t she got up yet?’

‘Don’t try to change the subject, Katie. I hung the mistletoe in the doorway this morning. I saw how he was looking at you last night and I thought it would give him the perfect opportunity.’

I stared at her. My funny, eccentric Aunty Gina, so reminiscent of my little old grandmother. Of course, Granny had wiry white hair and thick crow’s feet etched into her tiny face. But Gina’s eyes were lit with a similar wisdom, experience and mischief. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. But it was nice to imagine that she could be. That Katie Warham could really be the girl that Sam might choose to kiss under the mistletoe. Even after all that had happened.

But life’s not that easy or straightforward, right?

***

Once the breakfast things had been cleared away, we all gathered in the spacious hallway.

‘So who’s coming into Tonbridge?’ Karl asked as he slung an arm around Angelo’s shoulder. I watched as his boyfriend leant in to him, his gaze full of adoration.

‘I am!’ I waved my hand.

‘Not me,’ Dad said. ‘I’m spending the morning with the papers and a pot of coffee.’

‘I’m with your father on that one,’ Gina said. ‘And I still have some presents to wrap.’

‘Mum?’ Karl patted Esther’s arm.

‘Oh no, darling. I have far too much to do here.’

‘It’ll be a bit busy for the kids on Christmas Eve.’ Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘So I’d better stay here. They both hate crowded shops.’ He smiled but I could sense disappointment.

‘Well I have an idea,’ Mum spoke up. ‘I have lots of baking to do and I could really use some help.’

Oh no! I should have offered to stay but I still had a few last-minute gifts to get. Especially now that Sam and the children were here. I ought to get them something. I glanced at Mum but she wasn’t looking in my direction.

‘What do you think, Jack and Holly? Can you make gingerbread men?’

She was asking the children so that Sam could go into town. Well done, Esther! Was she coming out on the other side of the menopause with a brand-new heart?

‘Yes please!’ Holly shouted. ‘Can I, Daddy?’

‘I don’t know. Are you sure, Esther? I mean, won’t they get under your feet?’

‘Not at all.’ Mum smiled and her eyes actually lit up. ‘I’d love to have their company.’

‘Can I make gingerbread soldiers instead?’ Jack asked.

‘If you like.’ Esther raised her eyebrows, probably wondering how she’d create that particular shape and if they’d have to have guns.

‘Okay. Thank you, Esther. I’ll owe you.’ Sam flashed Mum a smile and she waved her hand at him. She always did have a soft spot for him, and she was really disappointed when Sam and I split up. But she’d also said that in light of what had happened, it might be best for both of us.

‘No trouble at all, Sam. Come on then, team. Into the kitchen we go.’

‘I’ll just take Sportacus and Stephanie on a quick walk then I’ll be ready,’ Sam said.

‘We just need to brush our teeth,’ Karl said and he and Angelo headed upstairs. I tried not to notice how Karl patted Angelo’s backside. I hoped they weren’t off for a quickie. Dad and Gina went into the drawing room and I was left alone with Sam.

‘What’s up, Katie?’

‘Huh?’

‘You’re nervous.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘You are. You’re twisting your hair. You always do that when you’re nervous.’

‘Oh.’

‘So what is it?’

‘Sam?’

‘Yeah?’ He ran a large hand through his hair and I followed it, wishing I could trace its path.

‘Who are Stephanie and Sportacus?’

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