Snowflakes and Cinnamon Swirls at the Winter Wonderland

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Angus!’

  ‘You’re fairly certain that this isn’t the ring that Gavin, what?’ I asked, ignoring Catherine’s interruption.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, my dear,’ he faltered. ‘My mistake.’

  I looked first at him and raised my eyebrows and then at Catherine.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, sitting back and folding my arms. ‘I can wait.’

  Catherine shook her head and Angus’s face began to colour.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘I wonder what I’m going to do with you, Angus Connelly.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Angus, ‘sometimes I speak without thinking.’

  ‘Sometimes?’ Catherine snorted, making Floss, the springer spaniel, jump in her sleep. ‘Well, go on,’ she carried on. ‘You might as well spill the rest of the beans now.’

  Angus picked up the ring again.

  ‘The week before Gavin took you away to propose,’ he sighed, ‘he came to see me and asked if there was any possibility that I would make him a short-term, but fairly substantial, loan, so he could buy you the engagement ring of your dreams.’

  This was news to me. Shocking news. I didn’t have an engagement ring of my dreams.

  ‘Please don’t tell me you gave him the money,’ I croaked.

  ‘I did,’ said Angus, ‘but this wasn’t the ring he showed me on his phone. The one he said you were hankering after was far bigger than this.’

  ‘And I daresay a damn sight more expensive,’ I added. ‘Angus, I never had a hankering for any ring. Until Gavin went down on one knee on that beach I had no idea that he was going to propose, and we had certainly never discussed rings of any kind.’

  Seems I wasn’t the only one who had been played by the scorching scaffolder with the mesmerising blue eyes. This explained the crisp note he had used to pay for Dad’s fish and chips and his blasé attitude towards the bill for the party. He was using Angus’s loan as flash money to try to impress me. There was no way I was going to sign any dotted line and let him access our savings now.

  ‘I promise I will pay you back every penny he took,’ I said, holding my head high.

  ‘You will not,’ said Catherine. ‘Angus gave that money to Gavin and Gavin will be paying it back.’

  I had no idea how she imagined that was going to happen, but she sounded too stern to challenge.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘in that case, you keep the ring. I know it isn’t anywhere near as valuable as the other one, but I don’t want it in my sight. You can sell it and get a little of the money back.’

  Angus laid his napkin over it, hiding it from view.

  ‘Right,’ I said, tearing my eyes away and trying not to think about the future I’d lost. Not that the one I had been hoping for had ever really existed. ‘I suppose I better make a start. I’m going to work on the upstairs landings today, is that all right?’

  I wanted to keep as busy as possible until I had to go home.

  ‘No, it isn’t all right,’ Catherine tutted, ‘of course it isn’t. Sit down, for goodness sake. We have things to discuss.’

  ‘And you haven’t had a bite of breakfast yet,’ added Angus, passing me a plate.

  ‘Mick reckons your mum has been trying to get hold of you,’ exclaimed Dorothy as she came bustling through, no doubt prompted by her telepathic skills that could pinpoint the exact moment the last crumb was eaten or the teapot was down to its last cup. ‘She’s rung here half a dozen times apparently but no one picked up, so in the end she left a message.’

  I felt even worse about not filling her in on what had happened now.

  ‘I’ll text her in a bit,’ I sighed.

  I knew she must be feeling gutted about Gavin. He’d really managed to find her sweet spot with all those flowers. Dad, on the other hand, would no doubt be blaming me for everything. He’d see Gavin’s philandering as a failure on my part rather than my ex’s inability to keep his fly buttoned. What a mess.

  I wished Dorothy wouldn’t keep piling bacon on to my plate. All this family talk and the thought of heading back to town was making me feel bilious.

  ‘There’s no need to speak to her,’ said Catherine quietly. ‘Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I knew it was going to be excruciating for a while, but I’d faced it out once before and had come through it almost unscathed. I could do it again.

  ‘I really don’t know how best to put this, Hayley,’ Catherine shocked me by saying. ‘But, judging by the message she left, your mother doesn’t want you to call home, and I think she would prefer it if you didn’t go back just yet, either.’

  ‘What?’

  She must have been listening to Dad and decided it was easier to side with him. All the effort I’d made to rebuild those bridges had amounted to nothing. All that hard work had been ripped apart again, and this time it wasn’t even my fault.

  ‘So, what am I supposed to do then?’ I demanded, throwing up my hands in despair and giving in to my frustration.

  ‘I think you should move in here,’ Catherine said simply. ‘I think you should pack up in town and move into Wynthorpe Hall.’

  Chapter 7

  Catherine was insistent that I shouldn’t do any work that day and, for the first time ever, I found that my heart wasn’t pounding in joy at the thought of the few hours of vacuuming that usually formed a large part of my daily routine. But I wasn’t up for sitting about and twiddling my thumbs either.

  I cleared the breakfast dishes from the table and loaded the dishwasher before grabbing my jacket and phone and heading outdoors. Anna, Jamie and Mick were already busy at work in the stable block, which was the charity’s headquarters, and I didn’t much fancy the trek through the woods to see Molly.

  I had barely decided how I was going to spend my morning when I walked into what must have been one of the few mobile signal hotspots and my pocket began to vibrate at breakneck speed. By the time I reached Catherine’s little summerhouse in the garden, a whole host of text and voicemail messages were jamming up my inbox.

  This time they were all from Gavin, and ranged from conciliatory and apologetic to frustrated and strained, ending up borderline aggressive and confrontational.

  Listened to and read chronologically, I could pinpoint when his guilt gave way to annoyance about the fact I hadn’t given in and gone back, and then the exact moment that he’d decided he could blame me for everything.

  If I had ever harboured the belief that we could have worked things out – not that I had, of course – then the bullshit backed up on my phone would have certainly knocked that idea out of the park. I deleted every message, both written and verbal, and decided, for the sake of my sanity, not to log in to Facebook.

  ‘Anyone home?’ I shouted as I found myself walking up the path leading to Gatekeeper’s Cottage.

  The front door was open, but there was no sign of either Gabe or his hound. I was just about to head back to the hall when the strangled sound of someone singing – badly and with abandon – met my ears.

  ‘Gabe?’

  There was still no let-up in the din so I followed the noise around the side of the cottage to the little garden.

  ‘Oh my . . .’

  The sight before me was wholly unexpected and stopped me dead in my tracks.

  Had it not been for the dreadful rendition of the Foo Fighters’ ‘Learn to Fly’, I might have given in to a slight swoon, but the racket was just enough to keep me on my feet.

  Stripped to the waist, the lumberjack of Wynthorpe Hall was doing what lumberjacks do best: chopping logs. But not just any old logs. These were logs of magnificent girth and length, and Gabe was laying waste to them as if they were made out of cotton wool and he was doing it the old-fashioned way. My eyes travelled across the contours of his broad shoulders and down his muscular back before coming to rest on his mighty thighs.

  I had no idea why he was operating shirtless, but, along with the absence of clothing and machinery, I observed there was no sign
of feathery wings, either, so perhaps my rescuing angel had a devilish streak.

  I had just begun to allow my imagination to run with that idea when I felt something cold and wet nudge its way into my jacket pocket, and I let out an ear-splitting shriek.

  ‘Bran!’ Gabe called, spinning round and catching me red-handed, or should that have been red-faced?

  The dog didn’t move from my side and I rubbed his wiry head, my eyes now trained on Gabe’s heaving chest.

  ‘Hey, Hayley!’ he shouted, ripping the buds from his ears and dropping his voice a few thousand octaves. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Have you been there long?’

  He thrust the head of the axe into the stump he had been using as a base and picked up his shirt.

  ‘Long enough to hear you murdering the Foo’s finest,’ I grinned.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, grimacing in embarrassment.

  ‘It’s just as well you have a body sent straight from the gods, Gabriel,’ I teased, ‘because you can’t sing for toffee.’

  He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe I would be so cheeky, but this was me at my best again and he was going to have to get used to it if he planned to stick around.

  ‘Can I offer you a coffee?’ he asked. ‘To make up for the assault on your eardrums.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I nodded, ‘coffee would be good.’

  I had always thought Gatekeeper’s Cottage was a little on the tiny side, but the addition of Gabe and a wolfhound made it feel positively Lilliputian. I sat myself at the kitchen table to avoid taking up too much space and watched how my host expertly avoided the low beams and doorframes.

  ‘When you’re as tall as I am,’ he said, after I congratulated him on his ducking prowess, ‘you walk practically everywhere under cover with a stoop. Although, the ceiling at the top of the stairs caught me an absolute cracker this morning,’ he added, rubbing the top of his head.

  I was almost tempted to ask if it needed my attention, but I wasn’t sure I would be able to control myself should my fingers become entwined in his thick, dark hair.

  ‘So . . . about just now in the garden,’ he went on, biting his lip.

  ‘The singing, you mean?’

  ‘No,’ he blushed. ‘Not the singing. It’s hot work chopping logs and I didn’t think anyone would be about this early in the day. That’s why I had my shirt off.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said teasingly. ‘I see. I thought you were just trying to cheer me up after what happened last night.’

  ‘You’re dreadful, you are,’ he tutted.

  It was good to know he really did have the measure of me – the real me – already.

  ‘Well, the folk around here are all early risers,’ I told him. ‘So, if there’s anything you want to do without being seen or heard you’d best get it done very early.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said earnestly.

  ‘And the log store outside the hall kitchen door is packed with dry and chopped logs, but if the desire to head out into the autumn air and start swinging your axe takes over, then that’s fine by me. You might want to watch out for Dorothy, though. She’ll be all aflutter.’

  We both laughed and drank our coffee.

  ‘About last night,’ Gabe began before the silence became awkward, although I wished he wouldn’t. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I shrugged. ‘Like I said, better to have realised it now than when I’m wearing white and clutching a catering bill for feeding the masses.’

  Gabe didn’t look convinced, and Bran, huffing, ambled over and sat close to my chair, his head resting heavily on my lap.

  ‘In case you were wondering,’ said Gabe, with a nod to his dog. ‘We don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ I swallowed. ‘I’m back in my old clothes today and I’m ready to embrace the old me.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the new you?’ Gabe asked, reaching for the coffee pot to refill our mugs. ‘I thought she looked rather lovely last night.’

  ‘Too soft,’ I sniffed, ignoring the compliment, ‘the old me has served me well in the past so I’m sticking with her.’

  ‘Perhaps you could have some sort of amalgamation,’ Gabe suggested. ‘A happy union of the two?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘You know, Hayley,’ he said softly. ‘Everything in life that we go through, good or bad, changes us. The happy times and the sad times leave a mark.’

  ‘I do know that.’

  ‘And it’s up to us to decide how those marks are going to scar us. Are they going to be something we go out of our way to hide, ignore and shut out, or are they something we learn to live with and accept? If we keep pushing the bad bits down and packing them away, then one day they’ll burst out and it will be far harder to deal with.’

  I looked at him over the rim of my mug. He sounded very much like a man who was speaking from experience, but of course he was. No one landed at Wynthorpe Hall without a tale to tell.

  ‘You sound as if you know what you’re talking about,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, I know my stuff, and I’ll be the first to admit that I need to learn to practise what I preach.’ He said sadly. ‘We all have baggage, Hayley.’

  ‘Yeah, you can say that again,’ I agreed. ‘So, are you going to unzip?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your baggage,’ I said, leaning forward. ‘Are you going to tell me about your scars?’

  ‘No way,’ he said, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘Uh, I mean . . . No need. It’s all been unpacked, although I’m sure I do still have lessons to learn. No unburdening necessary, though.’

  ‘Well, I have to warn you,’ I said, joining him at the sink. ‘No one keeps secrets round here. It all comes out in the end.’

  Lunch that day was far lovelier than it should have been, given the circumstances, and it was good to see Gabe and Bran slip seamlessly into place, even if they did take up twice as much room as everyone else.

  Both Floss and Suki had fallen head over heels for Bran and lolled at the gigantic dog’s feet trying to catch his attention. He bore it all with good humour and eventually the three of them settled down, Bran sprawling in front of the Aga and the other two draped around him.

  ‘So,’ said Mick, ‘are we definitely all set to collect your things from town tomorrow, Hayley?’

  ‘Yep,’ I confirmed.

  Catherine’s earlier suggestion, combined with Gabe’s timely words of wisdom, had set me thinking and I had decided to just go for it. I was going to head home – whether Mum liked it or not – pack up the rest of my things and move into the hall.

  ‘And the earlier we go, the less fuss there’ll be. Mum will have gone to work and Dad will still be in bed. I don’t want to have to see either of them.’

  ‘And what about Gavin?’ Anna asked.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, don’t you need to talk to him?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything that’s happened,’ she said, colouring slightly.

  ‘He knows where to find me,’ I shrugged. ‘But, to be honest, there’s nothing to say. We were engaged, now we’re not. I was shown the light just in the nick of time.’

  ‘I’m sure you feel more strongly about it than that,’ Anna began.

  ‘I’m sure she does too,’ said Gabe quickly, ‘but perhaps sitting around the lunch table in the company of a relative stranger isn’t the place she feels like talking about it.’

  Anna looked rather taken aback.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘And I didn’t mean to sound so rude,’ Gabe quickly added.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I told them both. ‘I know you’re all worried about me, but, please, don’t fuss.’

  ‘Have you got enough boxes?’ Angus asked, thankfully pulling the conversation back to the practicalities. ‘There are plenty stacked in the woodshed if you need some more.’

  ‘Dorothy has given me enough, b
ut thank you, Angus,’ I smiled, ‘you’ve reminded me that I need to show Gabe where to go to store the log pile for the cottage.’

  Gabe looked at me and shook his head as I began humming his favourite Foo Fighters track.

  ‘Right,’ said Jamie, rushing in and dumping a pile of manila folders on the side before taking his place at the table. ‘I have good, bad and good news.’

  I felt bad for not noticing that he’d been missing from his usual seat, but these days there were so many people around the table it was easy to lose track.

  ‘Well,’ he went on, ‘when I say good, bad and good news, I suppose that depends on how you feel about what I’m going to say.’

  Catherine was already looking a little apprehensive, whereas Angus favoured a far more optimistic expression.

  ‘Out with it, then,’ tutted Dorothy as she handed him a plate.

  ‘OK,’ he said, taking a breath and then a bite of sandwich as he marshalled his thoughts. ‘The first bit of good news is about the kids who were coming to stay with us next month.’

  ‘The two sisters and their younger brother?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Yes,’ Jamie confirmed. ‘They were our only booking for November and, as you all know, we’d already decided to close for December, unless an emergency were to come up.’

  ‘Were these the little mites who lost their parents in that car accident?’ asked Mick.

  A hush fell around the table. All of the children and teens who had been to stay at the hall had been through terrible things, but these three had really tugged at our heartstrings. They hadn’t lost just one parent, but both, and in the most horrific of circumstances.

  ‘I thought we’d decided to make them a priority,’ frowned Anna.

  ‘We had,’ said Jamie again, his face splitting into a grin. ‘And they’ll still be coming to us at some point, but not just yet, because, as of next week, their adoption will be official and they’re moving, all together, into a new home.’

  This was the best possible outcome imaginable and we toasted both the children and their new family.

  ‘I’d say that was better than good news,’ said Anna, drying her eyes on her napkin.