Snowflakes Over Moondance Cottage

by Rosie Green

  Ah, so he bought the jewellery box for Bella!

  Seb saunters over, hands in his jacket pockets. ‘She’s my world,’ he says simply, by way of explanation.

  ‘I can tell. She’s lovely,’ I say truthfully. ‘You must be really proud of her.’

  I’m dying to ask if he’s with Bella’s mum, Aleksandra, but if I did, he’d see right through my question and feel sorry for me, and my pride won’t allow that. So I make an excuse, saying I need to go to The Treasure Box to chat to Jonathan, and I collect my things from the studio and hurry away.

  I decide to call at the gift shop anyway, just to see how things are going.

  Jonathan isn’t there, but Hannah is. She’s leaning on the counter, arms folded looking bored but she brightens up when I walk in.

  ‘Hi, Jess. Love the latest lot of baubles! And so do the customers.’

  I smile. ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘You’ve even managed to put a smile on Jonathan’s face.’

  ‘Have I?’

  She nods. ‘Sales are up. I mean, not mega-enormously or anything, but enough to stop Jonathan’s talk of giving up. At least for now.’

  ‘It would be awful if he did. Along with the pub and the store, this gift shop is the heart of the village.’

  She frowns. ‘I know. I just wish people would shop locally, instead of always heading out to the big supermarket. Poor Lucy is losing her job now that the bakery is closing down.’ She nods at the shop next door.

  ‘The bakery is moving?’

  ‘Not moving. Closing down altogether.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame. She must have been there for about twenty years.’

  ‘How’s the delectable Seb? Hey, did you know he’s actually a daddy. And a really doting one, at that. I’m not sure what his relationship status is. But he brought his gorgeous daughter, Bella, into the village store the other day apparently.’

  I decide not to tell her about the statuesque model that is the lovely Aleksandra. I wouldn’t want to get the female community in a jealous flap!

  I flick my eyes to the ceiling. ‘Now she tells me!’

  He’s a really decent bloke. I think he has problems.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ she says with a philosophical sigh.

  ‘How’s Mickey?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Don’t even go there. He says he’s never moving out of his mum’s house because she makes the best steak and kidney pie ever. He wasn’t joking, either.’ She shrugs. ‘How can I drag him into the modern world?’

  I snort as I head for the door. ‘Get him cookery lessons for Christmas. Then he can make his own pies – for both of you!’

  ‘Nice.’ She nods approvingly. ‘Where are you off to now? Back to the baubles?’

  I hesitate, wondering if the coast is clear of supermodels at Moondance Cottage yet. My heart sinks into my boots. Even if it is, do I really have the heart to make more baubles today? I feel as if my spirit has been crushed to death under one of Aleksandra’s spiky heels.

  I think longingly of my cosy flat. I could get into my PJs and watch a boxset, and there’s chocolate in the cupboard. Then an early night with that book that’s been calling out to me for ages. Some quiet pampering might restore my spirits. I seriously doubt it but it’s worth a try.

  ‘I’m going home to have a well-earned rest,’ I decide.

  She nods. ‘Sounds blissful. The only time we get peace and quiet in our house is when the match is on at the pub. Enjoy!’

  I wave goodbye and head out onto the high street, glancing sadly at Peggy’s boutique window. It’s the end of an era. Already the ‘closing down sale’ signs have appeared.

  Driving home, I’m already thinking of the rice pudding in the cupboard. Call me weird but it’s one of my all-time go-to comfort foods, guaranteed to banish the thought of Seb with Aleksandra completely from my head. Well, almost. Eaten cold, straight from the tin.

  Parking up, I walk dejectedly inside. My mobile rings and Isla’s name flashes up.

  My heart sinks. I’m really not up to talking to my sister right now. I dither so long, the call goes to message, so of course I have to listen.

  ‘Hi Jess, I’m all packed ready to move in. I’m driving over now so I hope you’re in. Let’s get Chinese tonight, okay? I’m starving.’ There’s a pause. ‘Oh, Jess? Make sure there’s hot water for a bath, will you?’

  I make an incredulous face at the phone.

  Whaaaat?

  Sighing, I let myself into the flat, dump my bag and coat and sink down onto my lovely sofa. It’s a two-seater, but it’s perfect for one. It’s where I do all my reading, stretched out, my feet dangling over one arm.

  But my dear sister is on her way over. She’s moving in tonight.

  Oh, God.

  Seb’s partner is a supermodel and now Isla is about to invade my nice, quiet life.

  It’s the perfect end to the perfect day.

  Not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It’ll be fine. Living with Isla will be more than fine. It will be fun!

  I smile wryly to myself. Yeah, right.

  But no, I need to approach this sisters-flat-share thing in the right spirit, otherwise we’ll be doomed to failure from the start. I’m still puzzled as to why she wants to leave the luxurious surroundings of her hotel suite for a poky one-bed flat, but maybe she’s feeling lonely. She must be really missing Jamie.

  I flick on the immersion heater. (So much for the lovely long soak I was planning.) In the interests of a happy home, I decide Isla can have the hot water first. And I’ll agree to the Chinese take-out tonight, even though I’m not in the mood. But I won’t allow her to boss me about. I had enough of that when we were kids!

  The big sticking point will be the TV. Isla doesn’t have a TV in France. She says she and Jamie are always too busy to actually sit down and watch it, so they haven’t got round to getting one. This makes my sister an alien as far as I’m concerned. TV, to me, is as necessary as haute couture labels are to Isla. So I guess we must be as shallow as each other.

  But if Isla is sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room, how will I get my fix of box sets and soap catch-ups?

  The doorbell rings and I hurry to answer it.

  I’ve barely stepped out of the living room before she starts stabbing at the bell, the impatient clanging suggesting she’s worried I’ve taken a detour via Manchester or something.

  I paste on a smile and pull open the door. ‘Did your finger get stuck on the bell?’

  She doesn’t even dignify that with a reply; she just frowns and walks past me, disrobing as she walks through to the kitchen. Throwing her coat, scarf and bag onto the table, she turns and says cheerfully, ‘I’d forgotten quite how tiny this place is. Just as well you haven’t got a cat that needs swinging regularly.’

  ‘That’s why I thought you’d be better staying at the hotel.’ I shrug. ‘I won’t be offended if you’ve changed your mind.’

  ‘No, no,’ she says quickly, turning away and delving into her bag. She brings out her phone. ‘The hotel’s fully booked tonight so I couldn’t have my suite back anyway.’ She spins round with a smile that looks as fake as mine. ‘It’ll be nice to spend some time together, just us sisters.’

  ‘Yes, won’t it? Shall I run you a bath?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Her eye lights on the fridge. ‘I’m absolutely starving.’ She pulls it open and brings out my last chocolate éclair. ‘Plates?’ She starts opening cupboards and slamming them shut.

  I get a plate out for her but she’s already got the éclair between her teeth, so she can prise the lid off the biscuit barrel. ‘Christ, I didn’t think people actually bought custard creams any more. How retro.’ A glob of cream squeezes out from the éclair and falls onto the floor but Isla doesn’t appear to notice. She’s too busy filling the plate I’m holding out with ‘retro’ biscuits and peering into the cake tin.

  ‘Is that madeira cake?’

  ‘Er, yup. I made it last week,
though, so it might have gone a bit dry.’

  She scoops the last wedge onto her plate. ‘Can’t have it going to waste, can we?’

  Gritting my teeth, I go and start her bath. And when I return she’s nowhere in sight. Grabbing a cloth to wipe up the cream on the floor before someone skids in it, I hear her shout, ‘I’m just settling in. A cuppa would be lovely.’

  I pop my head into the living room but she’s not there.

  She’s actually made herself comfy on my bed, the pillows plumped up behind her, and she’s chomping her way through a custard cream when I go in. She sighs. ‘You know, it’s really nice to be in a room that hasn’t been interior designed to within an inch of its life.’ She looks around with a critical eye and nods. ‘This will do very nicely.’

  I’m about to point her in the direction of the sofa bed, when it occurs to me that giving up my room to Isla while she’s here might actually be a good thing. It would mean I’d have more time to myself. She can make her phone calls to Jamie and run her business from behind a closed door, leaving me to relax on my sofa with my books and box sets.

  But she can bloody change the bed herself!

  Fetching clean linen from the hall cupboard, I bring it through and dump it on the end of the bed. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, barely looking up from her phone. ‘God, the sooner we get the house on the market, the better. I must see Seb and find out when he thinks he’ll be finished.’ She glances up. ‘You never know, we might be lucky and get a sale by New Year.’

  I shrug. ‘What’s the hurry?’ My calm query belies the fact that my insides have started to churn at the very thought of Seb finishing up and leaving.

  Before, it was the mess in Moondance Cottage that was tearing me in two. But now, my heart is aching more for the man who’s been taking his sledgehammer to its walls! That’s some irony, right there.

  ‘How’s Jamie by the way?’ I ask.

  ‘Fine.’ She looks away, staring sullenly at her phone.

  I nod, wondering if they’ve fallen out. ‘Your bath’s ready.’

  ‘Bath?’ She looks up vaguely, her mind clearly somewhere else altogether.

  ‘You said you wanted a bath.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m too comfy to move now. Do you mind if I don’t bother?’

  I supress a sigh. ‘No. It’s fine. I was wanting a bath myself anyway . . .’

  ‘Great! Listen, can you order the Chinese takeaway? And do you mind paying for it and I’ll pay you back later?’

  ‘Erm, yes. Okay. But I’m going for that bath first.’

  ‘Can’t you phone for the takeaway first?’

  ‘The water will get cold.’

  ‘Not if you’re quick.’

  ‘Look, you phone for it and I’ll give you my debit card. Okay?’

  She sighs. ‘Go on, then. But don’t be too long in the bath.’

  After hunting out a menu from the back of a drawer, I leave Isla in charge of my bank card and escape to the bathroom. As I slide thankfully into the perfumed hot water, I can hear her in the kitchen, on the phone to the take-away place. She seems to be ordering enough food to keep an army energised for a week. And muggins here is footing the bill! I make a mental note to make sure she pays her way in future. My sister has eye-wateringly expensive tastes that my meagre earnings simply won’t cover. And what’s wrong with her bank card, anyway? Having so much money through her hands, Isla really has no idea what it’s like to live from one day to the next, never sure when your next influx of cash will arrive.

  I stuff toilet tissue in my ears to block out her voice and sink back into the water with a sigh. But next moment, she’s banging on the door and shouting something. Wearily, I remove the ear plugs.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Talk to Seb!’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You must see him all the time when you’re at the studio. Ask him when he’ll be finished.’

  ‘Why not go round there yourself and speak to him? You’re not doing anything else,’ I call, having no intention of seeking Seb out just because Isla’s telling me to.

  ‘Erm, excuse me, but I happen to be running a business?’ she squeaks, her voice rising in agitation. ‘It’s not a walk in the park, I can tell you. But then again, what would you know about having to work hard? Everything comes so bloody easily to you, Golden Child Jess.’

  I stare at the locked door. What? Where did that come from?

  ‘Isla? What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, you never had kids slagging you off for getting the letters in your own name mixed up! I was nicknamed Isal for years. Did you know that?’

  I frown. I didn’t actually. That must have been awful for her. ‘Isla, I know you went through hell with your dyslexia but look what you’ve achieved?’ I call back. ‘You’ve done bloody brilliantly. Against all the odds. You should be really proud of yourself.’

  No reply.

  Sighing, I rise from the bath and wrap myself in a towel. Poking my head round the door, I can hear her crashing about in the kitchen. I’ve obviously touched a nerve but I’ve no idea how. Is the business becoming too much for her?

  She barges into the hallway, bearing a plate loaded with more biscuits and a satsuma.

  ‘Are things okay with the patisserie?’ I ask.

  She looks at me as if it’s a crazy question. ‘Everything’s fine. Why?’

  I shrug. ‘You seem . . . tense.’

  ‘Well, perhaps if you stop pressurising me into going over to Moondance Cottage? I’ve got quite enough on my plate without having to deal with the house as well,’ she snaps.

  ‘I wasn’t pressurising you.’

  ‘It felt like it.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I’m sorry.’

  She heads for the bedroom, calling back, ‘Is there some reason you don’t want to talk to Seb? He seems like a nice, decent guy.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘There is no problem.’

  ‘So talk to him.’

  I grit my teeth and don’t reply.

  She puts her head into the hallway. ‘Has something happened between you two?’

  ‘Who?’ Heat sweeps into my cheeks.

  ‘You and Seb.’

  ‘No, of course nothing’s happened.’

  She comes out and stands with her arms folded, a cynical curve to her lips. ‘So why are you blushing, Jess? Oh God, you haven’t got a crush on him, have you? Like when you were in sixth form and had a thing for Ryan Pettifer, and couldn’t even look him in the eye, never mind speak to him, because you were fainting on the floor with lust.’

  I bark out a laugh. ‘Well, thanks, Isla, for reminding me of my first love. Totally unrequited. But I can assure you, I do not have a crush on Seb Morgan.’

  She grins at me and shakes her head. Then she disappears into the bedroom.

  I stare at the door in frustration. ‘Bloody hell, Isla, only twelve-year-olds have crushes.’

  If only she knew . . .

  Back in the bath, I lie there, thinking about Seb and Aleksandra. Wife? Girlfriend? Maybe they’re engaged. Even the hot bath can’t disperse the cold feeling inside, thinking about them together.

  Little Bella is so sweet and she obviously adores her daddy. I get a lump in my throat recalling the broad smile on Seb’s face as he opened his arms and she ran into them. Those two have quite the mutual admiration society going on there. It’s the only time I’ve seen him look genuinely happy. It might be my imagination, or maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Aleksandra doesn’t seem to make him very happy.

  The bath water is growing cold now so I haul myself out, get into my cosiest pyjamas and go through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Then I take my tea through to the living room and settle back to watch TV. I see Isla briefly when the take-away is delivered, but after we’ve shared it onto plates, she says, ‘You don’t mind if I take this to my room, do you?’

  I sha
ke my head. ‘Fine.’ I’d been hoping we might have a proper talk but actually, I can’t really be bothered tonight. ‘Have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Thanks. Yes. By the way, what’s that box sticking out from under the bed? I nearly tripped over it before.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s just stuff I need to sort through. I’ll get it now.’

  I grab the box, and she wanders past me, plate in one hand, phone in the other.

  ‘Jamie,’ she mouths at me with a beaming smile. ‘God, yes. Missing you madly, too, babe,’ she purrs. ‘I know, I can’t wait to see you. I’ll be back in time for Christmas.’

  My heart squeezes at the affection in her voice. Having someone special on your side when the going gets tough makes all the difference in the world.

  ‘You want laptop sex?’ she squeals. ‘Jamie Foster! You naughty boy.’ Looking back, she grins apologetically at me. ‘I mean, I’ve never actually . . . but there’s always a first time.’ She laughs throatily and kicks the bedroom door shut behind her.

  Sighing, I head for the sofa with the plate of chicken and noodles that I didn’t want in the first place. At least someone in this flat is anticipating a good night – even if it is all thanks to a reliable broadband connection!

  I’m feeling restless now, for some reason. Not even an episode of my gripping thriller series can hold my attention, so in the end, I give up.

  Knocking softly on Isla’s door, after making sure her raunchy conversation with Jamie is over, I peek inside, hoping we might be able to chat about what’s going on with her. But she’s lying flat on her back - the remains of the take-away plate teetering dangerously on the edge of the bed - snoring fit to wake the entire street.

  I rescue the plate and leave.

  The chat will have to wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I wake early, wondering where I am.

  It’s pitch black but I can see the time in luminous green floating in mid-air. Ah, yes, I’m on the sofa and that’s the TV digital clock.