‘You weren’t a failure, Daisy.’ He kisses the top of my head.
‘It felt like it was my fault.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
‘I suppose not.’ I’d needed to grieve. I know that now, but I hadn’t at the time. Now, after losing Uncle Terence I’ve learned a bit about mourning, about grief, but back then I was just a child. I’d expected myself to just be able to cope and move on. ‘It was just one of those things.’ But I’d never been able to put myself back together again, to be the person people had expected me to be. The person I’d expected me to be.
Until now. I think I’ve finally accepted what happened. Finally come to terms with it.
I look down. ‘I felt ashamed as well.’
‘Oh God, Daisy.’ He cradles my face in his hands, and plants one small kiss on my lips. Brushes the tears from my cheek with his thumb. ‘You have got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You know what Daisy Dunkerly? You’re a triumph, you’re everything you should be, and more!’
I smile back at him. ‘I’m getting there.’
‘Oh, you’ve got there. Shall I take you home now?’
‘Please.’
Chapter 28
6 p.m., 3 December
‘Bloody hell, Daisy!’ Carrie is lounging on one of the comfy leather chairs, by the beautiful leaded window that looks over the street. Luxury hot chocolate in one hand, my list in the other, her feet up on a crate that doubles as a book display table (when it is dressed appropriately – at the moment it is naked). ‘Why not go the full hog and invite one hundred and one Dalmatians to run riot?’
I’d like to think she is exclaiming with delight about the fabulous drink I have just let her have for free from our café in the corner, but I know she’s not. The dog reference gives it away a bit.
I hunker down on the window seat, wrapping my hands round my own mug, and gaze out onto the festive scene that is both warming my heart and terrifying me in equal measure right now.
Christmas really is one of the most fabulous times of the year to live in a place like this. Disagree with me if you want, but there are times when country villages in the UK are unbeatable. And December is one of them.
When it’s cold, damp, windy, with grey skies the colour of a white bra fresh out of a wash with a black jumper, then maybe not.
Unless you’re in Cornwall, and the grey sky is actually nearly black, and thunder is rolling in, the waves crashing violently against jagged rocks, and Poldark is brooding, his eyes darker than the night sky. Then it’s fine.
I got distracted.
Today the pavements are silvery white, sparkling under the glow of the street lights. Across the cobbled road, the higgledy-piggledy buildings that house the butchers, bakers and Claire’s Accessorise have window displays that could melt the iciest heart and rival any shop anywhere in the world for pure old-fashioned festive cheer and heart-warming quaintness.
Further up the street, the cobbles merge into the sea of tarmac, and modern brick and huge panes of glass herald modern day improvements. But right here, in my corner of the world, nostalgia and whispers of yesterday rule.
The small pane of glass has steamed up, and I wipe it clear.
The sweet shop opposite has to be the oldest building, its tiled roof sagging under the weight of the years (a bit like its owner’s boobs if I’m brutally honest), and its white walls bulging slightly between the black painted framework that has managed to hold it upright for over 200 years. The leaded windows are lit brightly, jars of humbugs, liquorice pomfret cakes, pear drops, and aniseed twists surrounded by candy canes, snow drifts and a rather strange creature that could be a unicorn. I smile to myself, I think Mrs Bainbridge’s grandchildren have been left in the shop unsupervised again.
Even the butcher has a flashing Christmas tree, holly galore (plastic of course) and window decals of a turkey and a pig running away from a farmer wielding a sprig of mistletoe.
It reminds me of Uncle Terence. All that flaming mistletoe.
‘So, what do you really think then?’ I put my feet up, twist round and smile at Carrie. ‘I am totally knackered, I’ve been trying to come up with something for ages! Christmas is going to be over before I’ve got my act together, and I’ve got to plan the party!’ It’s not the actual party that has been terrifying me – it’s the fact that the shop needs to be made ready, it needs to look its best. I need a theme!
‘What does Ollie think?’
‘We’ve not really talked. He’s been so busy, I’ve hardly seen him.’ I haven’t, and when I have he’s looked so shattered I’ve not thought it fair to start quizzing him about party planning. ‘He’s got in, eaten then collapsed in bed and left me to watch TV.’
‘At least he’s warmed up the bed for you! I hate not having anybody to put my cold feet on.’
I laugh. Carrie is doing well. She can say things like that now without her face crumpling.
‘I don’t want to let Uncle Terence down.’
‘I know. But,’ she looks down at my list. I have thought about all kinds of options, bigger and better, more and more winter wonderland, ‘really? Listen! Masquerade ball, Charlie’s Chocolate factory, Holiday swap, Love actually, Elf, Grinch, lots of reindeers, too much mulled wine so nobody will remember, North Pole.’
‘They’re just ideas! I’m brainstorming, I need input! I was thinking maybe go with a movie, or more than one, or have one of those chocolate fountains and turn the place into a sweet factory?’
‘Mrs Bainbridge across the road holds that card!’
‘A real Nativity?’
‘In a bookshop? Really? Have you been hitting the magic mushrooms or something?’
‘Oh Carrie.’ I collapse at her feet, laughing and pretend crying, then look up at her. ‘Help me!’
She giggles back. Then laughs more. Then we both end up laughing until we’re clutching our sides and the tears are streaming down our faces.
For no reason at all. I think I might be losing the plot.
11 p.m., 3 December
‘Hey, stranger, how are you?’ Ollie crashes onto the settee, rests his head on my lap and looks up at me. Then Stanley, feeling left out leaps onto his chest, tiptoes along his body, sits on his face and gazes adoringly into my eyes.
‘I’m fine, thank you.’ I say, seriously, to Stanley, and shake one of his paws. ‘Is this the magic of Christmas, or do I really have a talking dog?’
‘We have a very spoiled, attention seeking dog.’ Ollie picks him up and deposits him on the floor, then reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear. ‘I need you to myself, we need to get away, make mad passionate love, drink wine and laugh.’
‘We do?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘We do.’ He closes his eyes. ‘God, I am knackered, you might have to give me a moment.’
I smile. He’s cute when he’s tired. I very gently run my finger down his nose, then rest it on his lips.
‘Does this mean things are going to get quieter at work?’
‘Got a replacement for doc Baz, you know the one that was suspended?’
‘That’s good then.’
‘Excel-leeeent.’ The second half of the word gets longer and longer and more drawn out. His breathing slows and I watch his chest rise and fall. I’ve never known anybody be able to just drop off like he does. It takes me ages to fall asleep, even when I’m worn out. I lie there, sure I’ll go to sleep. Then get bored and start to do the ‘imagine your body getting heavy game’ where you work up from your feet and should be out for the count by the time you get to your head. Never works. My feet get heavy, then by the time I’ve got to my knees my toes are twitching again.
Ollie lies down, closes his eyes and is gone.
I close my own eyes. Think about all the ways I could decorate the bookshop for the party, and Christmas in general. Think about reindeer. Wonder if Ollie will really like what I’ve got him for Christmas, and whether it’s over the top. Wonder if maybe he wants to carry on living here with me, eve
n though Uncle T said we only have to stay here together for a year. Wonder if we’ll have a Christmas party again next year, even though Uncle T only stipulated in his will that we have to do it one more time.
I just can’t imagine Christmas without the party, I’ll have to ask Ollie if he can.
My eyes are still closed but I’m smiling.
I can’t imagine Christmas without Ollie now either. He makes me feel so happy, so loved. He makes me feel that I can do anything.
And I think about Uncle Terence, and last Christmas, and him dancing with Vera. Every bit the gentleman. They look so perfect, so elegant and refined. The polished wood bookcases, leather chairs and piles of leather-bound books the perfect backdrop. Like something out of an Agatha Christie movie …
Chapter 29
5 a.m., 4 December
‘I’ve got it! I know!’ I am suddenly awake, wide awake and sit bold upright. ‘I know what we need to do.’
‘Eurgh.’
I just manage to catch Ollie, who I’ve nearly thrown off my lap.
Bugger, did we fall asleep on the sofa? How did that happen?
He nestles back into me, his face against my stomach.
‘Wake up!’ I nudge him hard in the chest and he groans and rolls over and ends up on the floor.
‘Christ, what’s happening, where …’ he looks up at me. Luckily it is not a big fall from my lap to the floor. He frowns. ‘Shit, it isn’t time to get up, I feel like I haven’t been to bed.’
‘You haven’t.’ He closes his eyes again. ‘It’s just after five o’clock.’
‘Five?’
‘Ollie, listen, I know what we need to do for the party.’
‘What?’ His words are heavy with sleep.
‘Passion, love!’
‘Sorry.’ He opens his eyes and frowns. ‘Too tired, can’t …’ He’s fighting to stay awake. ‘Maybe tomorrow …’
I laugh. ‘Not you!’
‘S’good.’ There’s a long pause, and I think he might have drifted off, then his eyes spring open. Wide open. ‘Who?’
I giggle. ‘Nobody, you noddle. I’m talking about me, the shop! We just need to make the bookshop its festive best. No gimmicks, just wonderful. Like Uncle Terence was, wonderful, old-fashioned, traditional. That’s it.’
‘Good. Excellent.’
‘Slightly eccentric, but wonderful. We’re going to make it the best afternoon tea ever, with champagne and gentleman relishes as well as …’ I stand up.
‘Where are you going now?’
‘To get a notepad, or I’ll forget. Tiny scones, macarons, he’d like macarons wouldn’t he? And mini mince pies, and Christmas cake of course. And tea. Very nice tea. Bubbly, excellent dry bubbly. We’re going to celebrate Uncle Terence. Then I’m going to bed, are you coming?’
He’s already asleep again. I pop a cushion under his head, cover him up with a throw and start to tiptoe out as quietly as I can.
‘Of course I’m coming!’
I squeal with surprise as his warm breath hits the back of my neck before I’ve even got to the doorway, and one of his hands touches my waist.
‘You were asleep!’
‘But I’m not now!’ He grins. ‘I’m wide awake and coming to get you!’
I scream again, I can’t help it – then make a run for it, with Ollie in hot pursuit.
Chapter 30
6 a.m., 24 December
‘Wake up, Daisy!’ Somebody is shaking my shoulder and shining a light in my face.
‘Go away!’ I am not a morning person. Anything before 7 a.m. does not exist in my world. Unless I’ve got to get up early to catch a plane and jet off to somewhere exciting for my holidays, then I can make an exception.
‘Come on sleepy head!’ Ollie chuckles and doesn’t go away. ‘Help me, Stanley, come on boy.’
Stanley helps. He shoves his cold nose in my ear, then starts to lick my face. ‘Eurgh, bugger off!’ I pull the duvet over my head, but he considers that a challenge and burrows under. ‘Oh God, what is the matter with you two! It’s still dark outside!’
‘You said you wanted to know what I’d been up to, so now’s your chance to find out.’
‘Can I find out in three hours’ time please?’
‘No.’ He’s laughing properly now, and it does cause some kind of stirrings in my sleepy body.
‘You can make love to me when I’m half asleep, it’s fine. Quite nice.’
‘It’s not fine.’ He chuckles. ‘You don’t want to know then?’
I can’t help it. I open one eye, because I do actually want to know what he’s been up to. ‘What?’
‘Sit up.’
‘Can’t.’ I close the eye again and pull the covers higher.
Ollie has been very secretive the past couple of weeks. He’s been guarding his laptop and his phone. ‘Anybody would think you’re having an affair!’ I challenged him one evening after his phone had been beeping with so many alerts, I thought it might spontaneously combust.
‘I am – with Ms eBay!’ He’d said. ‘I just hope she doesn’t two-time me.’
‘I thought you didn’t do eBay?’ He doesn’t really do any kind of internet stuff apart from research. He definitely doesn’t do online shopping.
‘I don’t, but this is different. Now, keep your hands off, it’s a surprise!’
‘I don’t like surprises, tell me! What are you buying?’ I’ve never really been that keen on surprises, I mean, what if people get it wrong? I hate trying to put a delighted, wow, that’s brilliant, face on when in fact the surprise is a huge let down. Like when you think you might get a pony for Christmas (it’s what you’ve always wanted! It’ll get you to school quicker! You can give it a name!) and it turns out to be a bike.
‘You do like surprises, you just don’t like to think you don’t know what I’m doing.’ This was partly true.
‘Ollie!’
He grinned. Don’t you hate it when people won’t give in? ‘Aww, poor Daisy, never mind it’s nearly over!’ Two hours later he’d whooped, danced round the living room with Stanley and then poured us a glass of wine.
‘What?’ I’d laughed, I couldn’t help it. He was so pleased with himself. So un-pompous prick like, so much more wonderful than I could have ever imagined when we were growing up. My God I love him so much it’s scary.
‘I’ll tell you on Christmas Eve!’
‘God you are annoying!’
‘I know, good innit?’ He’d chuckled and kissed me. ‘You have no idea how sexy you are when you’re annoyed!’
Then he never said another word, which was bloody frustrating.
Until now. 6 a.m. in the morning.
‘Happy Christmas, Daisy!’
‘You’re a day early, bugger off. Honestly, you’re like a little kid at times, that annoying little kid who tried to drown me!’
He chuckles. ‘You are so grumpy in the mornings! God knows why I still love you. Now come on, it’s for the shop, for tonight.’ I open one eye again and grin at him. Hearing him say he loves me has that effect. It’s something I don’t think I will ever tire of hearing.
‘Say it again!’
‘It’s for the shop.’
‘Not that bit.’
He laughs. That wonderful rich, toe-tingling laugh of his. ‘I love you, now, open it!’ He points to the very large box at the bottom of the bed. ‘Quick! I’ve got to get to work!’
I’ve always been a sucker for a big box. ‘I will kill you if this has got a smaller box inside it!’
I rip it open.
It hasn’t. It has got books. Gorgeous, first edition, wonderful books.
‘Oh. My. God. Wow!’ I feel all choked up, there’s a lump in my throat as I reach out and touch the spine of one of the books tentatively, almost afraid they’ll disappear.
Ollie grins. Very pleased with himself. ‘Did I do okay?’
‘You did amazing.’ I jump on him, monkey style, and kiss him hard. ‘Ouch.’ Hard as in, clashing noses and te
eth hard. But he did do amazing, he is amazing. ‘I love you!’
He grins. ‘I love you too, afraid I’ve got to dash, late for work, but I’ll come to the shop straight after.’
‘Sure.’ I hardly hear him. I know it’s terrible, and selfish, but I need to touch these books. I’m holding my breath, hardly daring to unpack them. Five beautiful Charles Dickens Christmas books. They smell incredible, they look totally gorgeous. Red bound, with gilt lettering. ‘Uncle Terence would have loved these.’
‘I know.’ We swap a smile, and then he’s gone.
7 p.m., 24 December
‘You can open your eyes now!’ I feel a bit like I used to feel when I was about ten years old. All shivery and excited inside, barely able to stand still because I just have to know what he thinks. But then I’m also a little bit worried in case he doesn’t like it. But I know he will, I’m sure he will, so I just want him to see. I want him to smile and clap his hands like Mum used to do when I gave her a nice surprise. Even if it was the most misshapen cake in the history of man with blue blobs of icing on top that could have been flowers, whales or man-eating dinosaurs.
Four Christmases and a Secret Page 29
