Snowflakes at Mistletoe Cottage

by Katie Ginger

  To see if it’s cooked, test it in the middle with a skewer. If the skewer comes out clean, it’s done.

  Enjoy! And let me know how you get on!

  *

  After the snack, Esme checked the counter again. Still nothing. It was four o’clock and the bright afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting the brown fields in a warm orange light. Writing the post had been difficult. Esme struggled with how much to say and how much to hold back. She didn’t want the world to know every little detail of her life, but she wanted to be open and connect with her readers on a personal level. Some of the blogs she’d read were so cold; just a list of direct instructions that read like orders. She wanted people to read hers and feel like they were with a friend. That they weren’t alone. But sitting staring at the counter wasn’t helping her mood so Esme changed into her running clothes and laced up her trainers.

  She’d missed running when she was in London. Leo always used the posh gym, saying it wasn’t safe to run outside. Esme hated it. A treadmill just wasn’t the same as the ground beneath your feet. As Esme left the house and began running through fields with nothing and no one around, she felt a strange sense of freedom. As she ran, the wind blew away the few stray hairs that had escaped from her ponytail and it cooled her cheeks, even though she was hot and sweaty. Her lungs filled with clean air and her heart, beating hard, reminded her she was alive, fit and healthy, even if that heart still ached for the man she’d loved so much.

  An hour later she opened the front door, her lungs burning from the effort, her body fired up and igniting. The smell of the orange tea bread still hung on the air, making her smile. With the energy that had been pulsing through her body now spent, Esme ran a bath, washing her long red hair with a jug. After changing into clean pyjamas and adding four more long jumpers to keep out the cold, she checked the counter again. Still nothing.

  This was excruciating. How long did she have to wait for someone to read her blog? There were millions of people in the world – surely one of them wanted to read about cooking? Esme sighed and grabbed her phone to call Lola.

  ‘Lola, this is horrible. I’ve posted some stuff and no one has even looked at my blog. What do I do to get people reading it?’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby, ‘Lola laughed. ‘Why don’t you do some research? There’s loads of stuff online all about blogging. Have a look and write yourself a marketing plan. You can find templates for those online too.’

  ‘Can’t you do it for me?’ asked Esme in mock petulance.

  ‘No, I can’t. I have a job to do.’

  Esme winced. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

  ‘I know. It’s okay.’ It had just been a slip of the tongue but it stung. Right now, if things were normal, Esme would have been working with Helena and Mark on Felicity’s TV show. She wondered if they were shooting her recipe today. The one Felicity had stolen. And all the hurt and injustice that had sent her back to Sandchester in the first place came flooding back. With an empty evening ahead of her, Esme sighed. ‘All right then, I’ll start reading up on how to get my name out there.’

  ‘Atta girl.’

  ‘But can’t you be my marketing manager or something? I’ll pay you in cake.’

  ‘Hmm … tempting, but no. You can do this. I know you can. I’ll advise, but you need to learn all this stuff.’

  Esme picked at the threads of the blanket next to her. ‘Oh, all right. I guess I’ll get started on all this research you won’t do for me then.’

  Lola laughed. ‘Do you remember that time you did my maths homework for me because I didn’t understand it and you said you did then got it completely wrong?’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ Esme laughed.

  ‘The teacher knew what had happened and we both got detention for a week.’

  Thinking back to their school days, she suddenly realised she hadn’t told Lola about Joe. ‘Oh my God, I didn’t tell you, did I? You’ll never guess who the estate agent was who got me in here.’

  ‘Go on, who?’

  ‘Joe Holloway.’

  Lola’s voice grew louder and Esme heard her intake of breath. ‘No way? He was absolutely gorgeous at school, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He still is,’ Esme replied. She gazed around the living room, remembering him showing her around.

  ‘Is he now?’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky. I may be recovering from a broken heart, but I can still appreciate a nice face when I see one. Anyway, rumour has it he hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Says who?’ Esme could hear Lola fidgeting in her seat. She loved a bit of gossip.

  ‘Alice. She said he’s got a bit of a reputation for one-night stands.’

  ‘Oh well, some men never grow up. Do you remember when me and everyone else were crushing on New Kids on the Block, you were madly in love with Joe because he listened to Nirvana and was all deep and moody? What do you think of him now?’

  Esme considered. ‘He was nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ Lola didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Professional. We didn’t really chat, but he was … I don’t know, understanding when I told him about my situation.’

  Lola’s voice was gentle and Esme knew she’d be playing with her pen as she spoke. ‘How are you, honey? About Leo, I mean?’

  ‘I’m okay. Honestly.’ It was a lie; she wasn’t okay. And hearing someone else say his name out loud, the stinging in her chest returned. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to work? We’ve been talking for ages.’

  ‘Nah, I sold loads of advertising space this morning so I can doss this afternoon. Are you really doing okay? You sound like you’re trying to avoid the subject.’

  ‘I’m not avoiding it, it’s just there isn’t much to say. I’m kind of okay. I’ve stopped crying all the time. It’s just most of the time now. It’s quite embarrassing bursting into tears at the supermarket staring at a steak because that was the last meal I cooked for him. People start edging away from you thinking you’re crazy.’

  ‘Yes,’ laughed Lola. ‘They would, I suppose. They might think you’re an ardent vegetarian mourning the cow.’

  Esme laughed, but then her eyes darted down to the finger she’d thought would soon be sporting an engagement ring. ‘I thought he was going to propose that night, Lola. Was I a complete idiot?’

  ‘No, of course not. He should have proposed. You’d been together for ages and with that shopping thing and the secretiveness we all thought he was planning some big proposal too. Leo’s the idiot, Ezzy. He’s lost the best thing in his life and sooner or later he’s going to realise it and come crawling back.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see on that one, shall we? Mark said his new woman’s got long legs and blonde hair.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It sounds like his boss, Veronica, and she’s gorgeous. I met her once. She’s one of those super-focused, ambitious people. I thought she was amazing. Now I feel stupid for admiring her too.’

  ‘You don’t know that it’s her. It might not be. It could be some random blonde who has long legs but a face like a butt. You’re gorgeous and amazing. And even if it is Veronica, work things don’t always end well. It sounds dangerous to me.’

  ‘You have to say that, you’re my friend.’ Esme picked a hair off the outermost jumper. She was fairly warm now with three others underneath. ‘Thanks though. Anyway, I better get on with my research.’

  ‘Esme,’ Lola said cautiously. ‘I’m really proud of you.’

  Tears welled in Esme’s eyes, and she blinked them away. ‘Are you? Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve been so strong and dignified through all this. You haven’t let it beat you and you haven’t gone all psycho killer like your mum would. I think you’re amazing.’

  ‘I bet I’m still in shock. At some point I’ll come out of it, realise what’s happened and walk to London to destroy Leo’s flat and put raw fish behind his radiators.’

  ‘Yep, that definitely sounds like your mum,’ laughed Lola. Esme g
roaned. ‘You won’t do anything like that. You’re a much nicer person. That’s why we love you.’

  ‘Love you too, sweetie,’ Esme managed before wiping her nose on a tissue. There would be no more crying in her new house. Not if she could help it.

  Chapter 8

  Sandchester

  Joe changed into third gear, thinking what a successful viewing that had been. The young couple had loved the two-up, two-down and he was sure they would put in an offer. They said it was perfect for them and their little boy. Joe loved the sense of fulfilment when he matched someone to a house and helped them move on to the next stage of their lives. Ironic, considering he couldn’t.

  The bare branches of the trees resembled long, thin fingers stretching out into the ashen afternoon sky. The privet hedges lining the fields were still green, but the colour was dulled and dark. He drove down the long winding road on the outskirts of town and saw Esme running. Her beautiful red hair, scraped back in a ponytail, bobbed behind her, her eyes focused on the ground. Even in sweaty running clothes she looked amazing. Something in him stirred and reminded him of Clara. She’d been sporty. Though she had blonde hair, like all lithe Australian women you saw on TV shows, and blue eyes that matched the colour of the clear stretch of sea near their house. Her limbs had turned a deep golden brown within a week of them moving to Australia and for three years they’d been happy, but then, things had started to change. Joe’s heart sped up as he thought of her again. When he’d flown back after the break-up he was broken, but he’d hoped that being at home would help him get over it.

  He concentrated on the road, on the music playing from the radio – anything to break his mind from the path it was going down. The path it always went down. He recited the first few lines from the new song the DJ had introduced and the cold sweat started to abate. Joe glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Esme running back towards the cottage. She was braver than he was. She’d been dealt a rough hand but wasn’t crying and feeling sorry for herself all the time. She was keeping her head high and tackling life head on, trying to make a new future. He wished that, somehow, he could too.

  Even his photography obsession wasn’t helping. He loved taking photographs of the world around him. The way light and dark played together, creating shadows, capturing a perfect moment or place, especially places unspoilt by man, like Parkin Wood. But his tendency to sulk had stopped him going out again.

  Clara always said his sulking was his worst trait. He’d tried to pull himself out of it, but it was no use. Nothing seemed to help. Deep down he feared it was more than mere sulking but didn’t know how to tackle it. His parents didn’t either. Neither did his friends. And because he gave the world an image of a smiling Joe who seemed to be coping, everyone thought things were okay, or at least, pretended they were. His mother had suggested counselling a few times, but Joe knew it wouldn’t help until he felt ready to talk. Sitting in a room with a sympathetic therapist charging him goodness knows what an hour while they sat in silence would only have made him worse. It still would. He was waiting for the day to come when he could sit down and describe how he felt, but that day hadn’t arrived yet.

  Joe took one last look in the rear-view mirror at Esme and pressed the brake, pausing at the junction. Checking the road three times, his hands gripping the wheel and his mouth dry with anxiety, he continued on his way. But then he felt a strange urge to turn his car around and go and see Esme. Why, he wasn’t sure. As a new tenant he should probably see how she was settling in, especially as the place had no central heating. He’d give her time to get back and sorted out first, but he would definitely call in later, on his way home, just to see how she was.

  When closing time approached, Joe couldn’t wait to drive out to the cottage. Even as the rain battered the window of the car and he flicked the wipers up faster, his mood was lifting. He pulled up outside and noticed there was nothing coming out of the chimney. Surely she’d learned to light the fire? She’d been in for a couple of days and it had been freezing all this week – literally. It had actually hit below zero last night. How the hell was she keeping warm?

  After huddling down out of the rain and giving a firm knock, Esme opened the door and he realised exactly how she was managing to keep from freezing – she was wearing about twenty layers of clothes and seemed three times bigger than she actually was. She was even wearing a hat and gloves. A grin broke out on his face and the tightness lifted from his features. It felt like a long time since he’d experienced such a weightlessness. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ Esme said sternly, but a smile was lifting the corners of her mouth too.

  ‘What? I’m not laughing.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Or at least you’re trying not to.’

  He rubbed his chin as if it would help hide his grin. ‘I take it you haven’t learned to light the fire yet?’

  Esme’s eyes flicked down. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to show you?’ Without speaking she opened the door wider and let him in. It was arctic in the old cottage and the orange glow from a tiny ancient four-bar fire looked dangerous rather than warming. ‘Geez, it’s absolutely freezing in here.’

  ‘Is it?’ she said, nonchalantly. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ A teasing smile brightened her eyes. ‘Do you want tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Joe went over and surveyed the fireplace. Esme had cleaned it out but left it bare. ‘So, shall I teach you to light a fire then?’

  ‘When did you learn to light a fire?’ she asked, filling a teapot with actual tea leaves. Joe didn’t even own a teapot; he simply threw teabags into a mug and added the water. He should have known Esme would do things properly.

  ‘I was always bunking off school, remember? My mates and I used to go to Parkin Wood and hide up there. We’d light a fire in the winter to keep warm. My mum used to do her nut when I came home stinking of smoke.’

  Esme shook her head disapprovingly. ‘Well, I didn’t think you’d learned in the Boy Scouts, you know.’

  ‘Ha, ha! Do you know where the wood store is?’

  Esme nodded and brought over the teapot, a strainer, cups and some biscuits she’d made. He took a bite. They were delicious. So much better than anything he’d ever bought, even from Marks and Spencer.

  ‘I found it when I was exploring the other day. It’s really lovely around here. I’d forgotten how much space there is and how nice it is to be surrounded by fields.’

  ‘Well, after this I’ll go and grab some and show you how to light the fire. It’s quite simple when you know what you’re doing. These biscuits are delicious.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied, pouring the tea through the drainer, then removing it and adding milk. She passed a cup to Joe.

  ‘Do you have any newspaper?’

  ‘There’s millions over there.’ She pointed to a pile in the back corner. ‘I found them in the spare room. Why anyone would keep that much newspaper I have no idea.’

  ‘Maybe they knew we needed them for the fire?’

  She grinned. ‘Maybe. That was very thoughtful of them.’

  A silence descended and Joe glanced around the cottage. It wasn’t especially different, but there was something homely about it now. Esme’s presence was bringing it to life. Then he pushed the thought away and reminded himself any tenant would have brought it to life, filling it with knick-knacks and personal things. ‘Are you settling in okay?’ he asked to get the conversation moving again.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. It’s a lovely little cottage. Central heating would be nice though.’

  He popped his half-empty cup on the table having necked it to try and warm up. It had been the tastiest cup of tea he’d ever had. ‘You’ll feel better when we get the fire working. Come on.’

  Esme stood and he gestured for her to lead the way to the wood store at the back of the house. Luckily there was still a lot left. Grabbing some logs and handing a couple to Esme they hurried back inside as the icy wind whipped around the cottage and the r
ain grew fierce. ‘Can you get some paper, please? And some matches.’

  Esme went to the kitchen and Joe lay the logs down on the hearth then shook off his coat. Esme came over with the newspaper and knelt beside him, handing him the sheets. Each time he’d scrunch one up and place it down, then he added some kindling and stacked the logs on top. From the corner of his eye he could see Esme’s head craning, watching how he built the fire. The smell of her coconut conditioner filled his nostrils and he felt an overwhelming urge to touch the silky strands of her hair. He turned slightly away, forcing the idea out and busying his hands by folding a sheet of newspaper to make a taper.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’ asked Esme.

  ‘Well, you don’t want to shove your face into the fire to light it so best to make a nice long taper and not burn your eyebrows off. You might want to get some firelighters too.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  Before long the fire was roaring away and the room was losing its glacial feel. Esme pulled down two cushions from the old sofa and they sat on them next to the fire as it crackled and roared into life. Joe began to feel his fingers and toes again. Esme even turned off the terrifying and useless four-bar fire and began removing some of the jumpers until she was down to just two big sweatshirts.

  ‘This feels amazing,’ she said, her eyes twinkling in the glow from the flames. ‘You know what we need, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, smiling at her excited tone.

  ‘Hot chocolate!’

  Joe laughed as she leapt up and went off to the kitchen. ‘What are we, five?’

  ‘Don’t be grumpy! Everyone loves hot chocolate.’

  ‘Do you have marshmallows?’ he asked, warming to the idea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk a hot chocolate.