by Clare Lydon
Fran gave her one back.
It was like they were six years old, both being scolded by their parents.
“Anyway, have another sausage roll,” Mary told Fran, breaking the tension. “You looked like you were enjoying the first one until you spat it onto Ruby’s slipper.”
The road from the farm to the bar had minimal street lights. At 8pm on a Saturday, it was also deserted. Fran took in a fresh lungful of country air; the faint whiff of manure lingered in her nose. She could see no animals nearby, but maybe that was just what the country smelled like? She had no idea. She’d grown up on the not-so-mean streets of Surrey.
Was walking on a road like this safe? She’d never do it in London. Then again, London had wider pavements and tons of cars. They’d been walking for five minutes and hadn’t encountered one. Their parents were up ahead, chatting merrily, their phone torches guiding them. Ruby was walking beside her. They hadn’t spoken a word in the past couple of minutes. If Fran had been hoping that meeting Ruby in her natural habitat might break down her barriers, it appeared to be doing the opposite.
“Sorry again about your slipper.” Was that a good opening gambit? Fran couldn’t think of anything else.
“No problem,” Ruby said. “I don’t normally have that effect on women, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Fran smiled. A little warmer. “I was just surprised it was you. When my dads told me I was meeting someone, I could almost tell they wanted to say, ‘she lives in London, you might know her!’ I never expected it was going to be true.”
“At least that’s something we can agree on.” A few more moments of silence.
“How long have you lived here?”
“I live in London.”
Fran suppressed an eye roll. “I mean your family. They seem quite settled.”
Ruby nodded. “They are. We moved here when I was nine. So, 20 years. At first the farm paid its way, but as time’s gone on and people don’t come to farms to get their Christmas trees, things are always hanging in the balance. But somehow, my parents make it work. Doing up and selling Hollybush Cottage kept them in business for a good while. They inspired me to go my own way, too.”
Fran stuffed her hands further into her pockets. The chill wasn’t just coming from the air. “I admire that. I’m not out to change that. You made your feelings very clear when we met before.” She glanced at Ruby. There was maybe six inches difference between them, but Ruby seemed a few feet taller tonight. “Do you earn enough doing it on your own, though? I’m genuinely curious.”
Ruby took a moment before she answered. “I do. I have a core group of fans, I gig, and I’m a voice coach. I get by. My parents told me to audition for a reality TV show, but I never think they’re about singing. I don’t want to be judged on my looks or who I am. I want it to be about my songs, my art.”
Fran nodded. “I get that. But if you were judged on your looks, it wouldn’t deter from your music. You’ve got a great voice, great songs, and a great look. You’re the full package. I know you don’t want to sign with me, but you will get other offers.”
“I’ve had other offers. I’ve turned them all down.” Ruby’s tone held a warning. “I signed with a label a few years ago. It didn’t work. They blew very hot, and then very cold when I didn’t want to do exactly what they wanted. It wasn’t a great experience, to say the least. I like having full control of my life, now.”
Fran was getting that. “But isn’t it a whole lot of work? Wouldn’t you like some help?”
“I cope just fine.”
“I won’t say another word about it.” Fran clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and they walked in silence to the end of the road. Mistletoe Stores was on the corner of Mistletoe’s one and only junction. Propped up on the bench outside was a chalkboard, with ‘This way to The Bar’ written on it.
Ruby pointed. “My sister and her husband run Mistletoe Stores and its attached bar. They named them both. I think I got the creative gene.”
Fran smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Chapter 4
“Ruby O’Connell! Look at you! Did you get taller in London? Are they feeding you some kind of weird magic beans that make you shoot up?”
Audrey Parrot said this to Ruby every time she came home and they met, invariably in The Bar. Audrey was one of the many locals who’d known Ruby since she arrived in the village in knee-high socks, with ribbons in her hair. Ruby had altered drastically in that time, but Audrey hadn’t changed much at all. Her grey hair had always been welded to her head, and she had far too many opinions about everything under the sun. Including Ruby.
“Just the usual, Audrey. Tofurkey and vegan bacon, you know what London’s like.” Even though Ruby ate meat, she always replied with what wound Audrey up the most: veganism. She wasn’t sure why Audrey was so offended by those who shunned meat and dairy, but she was.
Audrey leaned forward and patted Ruby’s flat stomach. “You should be eating steak, and lots of it.”
“I do eat steak, Audrey.”
But Audrey wasn’t listening. “It makes you good and strong and it’ll fatten you up. If you just eat plants, how are you going to stay healthy? Look at that girl who won Strictly Come Dancing who announced she was vegan. Nothing but skin and bone.” Audrey wagged a finger in Ruby’s face. “Shall I come to visit you and bring some steak-and-ale pies?”
It was tempting. Audrey’s pies were the stuff of legend. However, telling Audrey her address would be a catastrophic error, because she’d definitely use it.
“Who’s this you’ve got with you? A new friend?” Audrey might as well have put the word ‘friend’ in air quotes, such was her stress on the word.
Fran wasn’t a friend. She’d simply landed in Ruby’s lap tonight. It wasn’t how Ruby had expected her Saturday night to go, but then again, Mistletoe always held twists.
Mum came to Ruby’s rescue. “This is Fran, Michael and Dale’s daughter. She’s visiting from London. Would you believe she works in music and knew Ruby already?” Mum pushed Michael and Dale towards Audrey. “This is Audrey, the village oracle.”
“Village gossip, more like,” said Sue. She was the village yoga and Pilates teacher, as well as the local artist. If you looked close enough, there was always a splash of paint on Sue. Tonight was no exception; Ruby spotted flecks of yellow on Sue’s elbow. Her wife Penny looked at her adoringly. Sue and Penny were what Ruby aspired to be.
“I was being polite the first time we introduce her to the newbies,” Ruby’s mum replied. “Audrey will know what’s happening in your life before you do. You might be surprised at first, but the sooner you accept that, the better.”
Michael and Dale laughed like that was a joke.
Ruby smiled; they’d learn. She moved past Audrey and towards the bar, where her brother-in-law Eric was pouring a pint of cider. Her sister Victoria sat on a bar stool. Ruby gave her a hug, before blowing a kiss to Eric. She had a lot of time for both of them, and after opening the village shop and bar, they seemed to have found their calling. Victoria claimed she’d always wanted to be like EastEnders landlady Sharon Mitchell as a young girl, and now her dreams had come true.
“Busy in here tonight,” Ruby said.
“There was something on at the church today, so everyone’s having a debrief.” Eric ran a hand up the back of his closely cropped hair. This time last month, he’d had the biggest afro Ruby had ever seen. He’d shaved it for charity, but now kept complaining his head was cold.
Ruby swept her gaze around the bar. It was compact and bijou, with room for two bar stools and nine tables, along with four keg taps and two wooden pumps. Seven of the nine tables were filled, with all the usual suspects present. Each table had a bowl of peanuts and Twiglets, but Eric had resisted adding tinsel to the optics as yet. Victoria thought you needed to wait until at least November for that. For Ruby, tinsel was an appropriate decoration all year round.
Michael, Dale, and Fran rocked up
alongside her, and Ruby made the introductions. The newcomers ordered their drinks, then stood back, looking awkward. Ruby avoided Fran’s gaze, hoping they’d move soon.
Thankfully, Ruby’s parents moved the two empty tables together, then ushered the trio to sit. Now the bar was full to capacity, and their double-table was in the middle. Michael, Dale and Fran were the star attraction, whether they liked it or not. Her mum guided Ruby to the seat next to Fran, before sitting, too.
“How did the church thing go, Audrey?” Mum leaned back on her low stool and almost fell into Audrey’s lap.
“We voted for a midnight mass, and it went through. Good thing, too, the number of hours we all put in at that place. Penny and I were there for two hours this morning, getting it spick and span for the meeting.”
“We’re the god dusting squad, aren’t we, Audrey?” Penny gave the group a wry smile.
“We certainly are, so it’s a good job the vicar listened to us. Now there won’t be a service on Christmas Day in the village. I’ve already told Victoria and Eric they need to stay open until 11.30pm on Christmas Eve, then we can walk over to the church after.”
Victoria pulled up a stool. “That’s against our license, Audrey. We need special dispensation for extended hours.”
“Who’s going to shop you? I defy them. They’d have a whole bar after them, and we can be mean when we want to be.” Audrey raised her voice. “Can’t we, everyone?”
Cheers from every table. That was the thing with The Bar. The tables were all within touching distance, so the whole place could be involved in the same conversation with ease.
“You tell them, Audrey!” That was Norman, who lived opposite the farm and owned the local funeral directors. He claimed to be partly deaf, but had incredibly good hearing when he wanted to.
Mum sipped her drink and smiled at Fran and her parents.
They looked a little stunned.
“You have to come along to the midnight mass on Christmas Eve,” Mum said. “There’s no better way to see Christmas in.”
Michael frowned. “We’re not really church-goers.”
Dad laughed. “You don’t need to be a church-goer. I’ll be there and I’ve no religion. But who doesn’t love a sing-song? It’s all about wetting the baby’s head. The baby being Jesus. We do that in here first, then we sing. It’s tradition. The church went against tradition last year when they banned the midnight mass. They said we were too rowdy.”
“Us! Too rowdy!” Audrey bumped shoulders with Mum. “I told them at the meeting today, I’d give them rowdy if we weren’t reinstated. That Christmas Day mass last year was terrible. Too early and we were all hungover. Get us at our best when we’re in full flow, that’s what I say!”
“And Ruby can sing us a song like she did when she was a teenager!” Sue added, nodding in Ruby’s direction.
Embarrassment blazed up Ruby’s spine. It was true she’d been a singing prodigy when she was growing up, and she’d often led the singing at midnight mass. But it wasn’t for her anymore. Whichever way she looked at it, she couldn’t support a church which didn’t support her.
“My church singing days are over.” Ruby made sure her tone was firm. Any weakness on this and before she knew it, she’d be on the altar with a microphone in hand.
“What about you, Dale and Michael? Any vocal talent? Gay men are normally theatrical, and we welcome fresh talent in the village.”
Ruby winced. Audrey was never going to win any prizes for her tact, was she? Imagine if they were vegan, too. Audrey might combust.
Both Michael and Dale shook their heads with some vigour.
“Not really our scene,” Michael replied. “I can’t hold a note, and Dale’s more a sing-in-the-shower kinda guy.”
There was an uncomfortable moment where Ruby was sure Audrey was picturing that. “What about your daughter? Didn’t you say she was something in music?”
Panic flared in Fran’s bright blue eyes as she shook her head. She ran a flustered hand through her dirty-blond hair. “Oh no, I’m very much behind-the-scenes, not on the mic.” She guzzled her wine. “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be here for Christmas. It’s a very busy time of year, and I’ve told my boss I’m working the whole time, so I plan to stay in London. Christmas is just another roast dinner, after all.”
Every muscle in Ruby’s body tightened, and she closed her eyes. Had Fran really just said that, to this crowd?
Mum was first to crack. “Just another roast dinner?” Mum’s frown was deep. “It’s certainly not just another dinner in Mistletoe. Not coming home for Christmas is almost a criminal offence.”
Ruby glanced at Fran. “She’s not wrong. When you move here, it’s kinda written into the contract.” Did Fran not like Christmas? Ruby could not compute. It wasn’t a sentence any of the village would utter.
Fran didn’t meet Ruby’s eye. “The final quarter of the year is the busiest time for sales. I don’t make the rules for the record industry. I just follow them.”
“Maybe you need to re-jig your priorities.” Ruby gave Fran a pointed stare. Music execs were all the same: money, money, money. Fran probably didn’t even listen to Christmas music.
“Maybe you should open yourself up to new possibilities that might further your career,” Fran countered.
Beside Ruby, her mum sat up a little straighter.
Ruby’s vision flared red. “My priority at Christmas is to come home and help my family business.” She wasn’t going to be wound up by Fran. She glared at her.
“Even if I could give you some fantastic exposure in the weeks leading up to Christmas?”
“Even then.” Fran really didn’t take no for an answer, did she?
The whole bar took a collective intake of breath.
Victoria clutched her half of lager and lime.
“Twiglet?” Michael held up the bowl between them, signalling a time-out.
Ruby shook her head.
Fran did the same.
Honestly, who worked through Christmas? Ruby hoped Fran stayed in London, if only so Ruby could have Mistletoe all to herself. Her home town was Ruby’s refuge, the place where everyone knew her from old. When she was here, she wasn’t a struggling musician. She was just Ruby.
She certainly didn’t need to be pestered by the likes of Fran Bell.
Chapter 5
Fran hadn’t been kidding when she said she was busy in the run-up to Christmas: it was now a little over six weeks to the big day. One of her many gigs was this independent artist showcase that Damian had dragged her to in Hackney. He wanted to approach the headliner, Tom Darby, and he wanted Fran’s opinion.
The smell of weed hit her nostrils as she walked through the front bar. Damian stopped to say hi to a couple of friends. This was his manor, after all. Fran lived a bit further out in Stratford, where the Olympics had been held. Hackney Wick was more her local hangout, or Greenwich if she was being fancy. Damian, however, was in his element.
When an artist had a label behind them, a showcase — where the artist performed a handful of songs for press and invited fans — was normally held in a private members club or swanky Soho bar, with free drinks a prerequisite. Fran was intrigued to see how it worked without a label. The location was different, for a start: a pub in Hackney.
“Did you listen to the link I sent you for this artist tonight?” Damian’s eyes lit up when he spoke about music. It was one of the reasons Fran had taken him on. That, and the fact he made her laugh with his random facts in the interview. If she was going to work closely with someone, the ability to make her laugh was high on Fran’s list of wants.
She nodded. “I did. He sounds immense.” The music was a crossover of country and folk, and Fran had loved the artist’s depth on his vocal, as well as the fiddles. She was a sucker for a fiddle. Fran was keen to see if his voice was the same live.
They walked through to the back bar, where a healthy crowd was already gathered. The stage was on the far side of the room,
with a drum kit and three mics set up. A double-bass loitered to the rear, and a bushy-bearded man was testing the guitars.
“You know who this bloke tonight would sound great with?”
Fran shook her head.
“Ruby O’Connell. Imagine his timbred voice with her smoky vocals. The folk world would go mad for it. It’d be like The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl, but with Tom and Ruby, both of the leads can sing like angels.”
“Careful, people love those artists.” But Fran had to agree. Ruby and Tom Darby would be a dream ticket.
“So do I.” Damian leaned into her ear so she could hear him above the music, which had just been turned up. “But I have it on good authority they know each other, so it could happen.”
Fran gulped, then let her gaze wander the room. Ruby O’Connell might be here? That was just what she needed. Although, if they were destined to be neighbours of sorts, perhaps she could try to talk to her. Smooth things out. Fran’s parents would be pleased, at least.
Damian leaned in once more. “Your dads really moved to a village where Ruby O’Connell’s parents are their neighbours?”
Fran winced at the memory. “Uh-huh. And I had a coughing fit in their kitchen, and spat her mum’s delicious sausage roll onto Ruby’s slippers.”
“I can’t believe the super-cool Ruby wears slippers.” He paused. “Tell me at least they were ruby slippers, like in the Wizard of Oz.”
Fran shook her head. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings. They were snowmen. Or snowwomen, I didn’t stop to look too hard.” Fran grabbed two Heinekens from the ice buckets set up on the bar. It was that or wine. Wine was dangerous on an empty stomach, so beer it was. She opened two bottles and gave one to Damian.
“Maybe you can wear her down to sign with us over Christmas drinks.”
“That is doubtful. I wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgeways in the only bar in the village. It’s the epitome of a local bar for local people.”
“The village is really called Mistletoe?”
