The Hygge Holiday: The warmest, funniest, cosiest romantic comedy of 2017

by Rosie Blake

  Joe made a mental note to think of something they could get her, something that would really show her work had been valued, noticed. Then his cheeks coloured again as he realised he didn’t know the first thing about her, had only ever spoken to her about work, deadlines, clients. He’d allowed her to bat his questions away so that he had stopped asking and only ever treated her in their stiff, professional way. He regretted that now; he hoped she was going to do something fabulous in her retirement.

  ‘Andrew has been asking to see you when you’re in, Joseph,’ she said on her way past. ‘He’s asked twice, in fact.’

  That was one more time than he liked to ask, and Joe found himself hurrying over to the lift. He straightened his tie on the way up, already starting to forget the other things on his mind, running through the latest deal, ready to dazzle, to smooth-talk. He cleared his throat, tapping his foot impatiently. With every floor he passed, Suffolk seemed further and further away.

  He stepped into the polished foyer, a marble fountain in front of him, a glossy desk opposite, manned by a woman wearing a telephone headset. She had bright red lips and smooth dark hair. A few weeks ago he might have asked for her number. Now he simply asked to be buzzed into the room.

  They left him waiting a while, twitching on the sofa, idly flicking through the FT, unable to concentrate on the articles. Shares going up, companies going bust, money being made, same old, same old. He felt a sharp shock at that thought, returning to tapping his foot, realising he’d left his phone downstairs. After an age, the smooth-haired woman beckoned him through.

  Andy was there, seated behind his enormous glass desk, Karen perched on the edge of it as if Joe had just interrupted them chatting casually. He knew them better than that, knew she had wanted to be here, that the casual stance was a carefully thought-out pose. Andy looked up and acknowledged him. Karen stood to shake his hand, bracelets jangling, the lines on her face reduced by recent surgery. Joe found himself staring at her hand, the liver spots and slight creasing of the skin the only hints to her age.

  ‘So fire away,’ said Andy, a man who could only talk in clichés and figures. ‘Tell us about this latest merger and what’s next.’

  Joe brought them up to speed on developments, pausing every now and again to dredge up the finer details, slipping up for a moment when he couldn’t recall the name of one of the companies they’d just closed the deal with. Karen corrected him, scratching at her neck with one pink talon.

  ‘Well, Joe,’ Andy said at last, ‘ it’s been a good year, a good year, but we’re concerned about this latest deal. The rumour mill has been whirring, and as you know, we tend to feel there’s often no smoke without fire.’

  Joe wondered what the rumours were, starting to feel sweat prickle on his hairline.

  ‘We thought Matt’s formal warning might help streamline things, but we’ve been told it’s not been completely smooth sailing since. You’ve spent a bit of time away from the office in the last few weeks and your team have had to really roll up their sleeves to keep things on track. Some of them tell us you’ve been visiting clients a lot…’ Andy paused and lifted an eyebrow, ‘yet your diary seems strangely empty and you’ve not mentioned any new clients.’

  Joe found himself leaping to his own defence, used to having to fight for survival in this industry. There was always someone snapping just behind you, desperate to take your place. ‘I’ve been directing operations, updating the team all the time, and we’ve discussed the importance of delegation before. I need my team to all be aware of the whole process from start to finish, and they have been more than capable of running things, as was evidenced when we pulled the deal off.’

  He wondered which of them had slunk up here to the bosses to whisper in their ear about his absences. He thought of their faces waiting downstairs. He didn’t blame them. He’d have done the same himself a few months ago.

  ‘So this working remotely – that will all be coming to an end, will it not.’ It was not a question. Andy stood, staring down at Joe, using his not unimpressive height to intimidate, an old trick. He placed his hands behind his back, an expectant look on his face, a man not used to waiting. ‘We wouldn’t want to lose you,’ he said, giving his bark of a laugh.

  Joe noticed the warning in the sentence. He found himself nodding automatically, watching as if from afar as his life picked up pace, as if he were getting on a roller coaster and the bar was coming down over him. No more thoughts of heading back to Suffolk, no more dreams of taking his foot off the pedal. This wasn’t a job you could do out of town; you had to protect it, be available twenty-four hours a day. The thought used to get him leaping out of bed in the morning, proud to be chauffeured to one of the finest buildings in London, complaining in a loud voice about the eighteen-hour days, the overnight stays, the takeaway food, the client meetings that ended up in Mayfair nightclubs. Suddenly he felt weary thinking about it all, knowing he’d need to find that energy again, that spark.

  He was dismissed soon afterwards, Karen staying behind so she and Andy could discuss him. They watched him in silence as he left the room, their heads cocked to one side. He wondered what they were thinking, whether they could sense the shift in him.

  He got through the day on automatic: answering emails, checking figures, laughing with colleagues. A split second late, perhaps, responses sometimes dredged up from where his mind had wandered off to. It was dark as he left the building, the pavement slick with rainwater, a damp smell lingering in the air. He rested his head back on the car seat and tried to will away the headache that had emerged at lunchtime.

  He paused outside his block, feeling as if everything had changed since he last stepped through the doors. Then, taking a breath, he headed up in the lift, feeling his heart sink at the thought that he would step out into an empty flat.

  He stood for a moment as the lift doors froze on either side of him, the whole place in darkness, the chill whistling through the place. Then he turned on his new lamps with a decisive push, moving across from the living room to the kitchen, every surface polished, the place spotless, his belongings tidied away.

  He searched for a box of matches in every drawer, unable to light the many candles he’d bought. He moved back to the living room, his leather sofa too stiff to get comfortable. He switched on the television, flicked through the channels, not settling on anything, watching programmes zip past, faces come and go, music burst and then silence.

  He couldn’t settle, got up to stare at the bathroom. He had had the bath taken out when he’d first moved in, replaced it with a double shower. A bath had seemed pointless; there was no time to lounge about. The room couldn’t be more different from his mum’s small bathroom. The walls lined with black onyx, the chrome heated towel rail sparkling, the mirror surrounded by spotlights, the underfloor heating just coming through. It was worth about ten times as much for a start. So why did he miss the free-standing bath, the window that looked out on the fields behind the village, the bottles and tubs on the side that all made the water smell so good, the loo you needed to flush twice in quick succession to make it work?

  He moved back through the living space, not sure what he was doing, ending up in his bedroom. He pulled out a brand-new pair of pyjamas from their box, and changed into them, feeling instantly more relaxed. Normally he went to bed in just his pants; sometimes even fell asleep on top of the duvet fully clothed.

  He sat up in bed and stared ahead, thinking about the day, the past few weeks’ happenings zipping around each other, muddled. He reached out a hand for the emergency pack of pills he kept in the bedside table, popping two into his hand, staring at them for the longest time.

  He shifted under the duvet, realising what felt wrong: no hot-water bottle. Clara would often leave him one out to take to bed. His feet felt chilly, the bed enormous. He wondered for the tenth time that day whether she had left the village.

  He’d got an email from his mum earlier: she was going to sell the shop. Roz had made a decent
offer and she didn’t have the energy to run it by herself. He was relieved she seemed to know what she wanted, had seen the way her face had lit up when Gavin had appeared. Still, he hadn’t been able to stop himself scanning the high street as he’d left that morning, looking out for a curtain of shiny blonde hair, a purple hat and a chunky knit jumper. She hadn’t been there, though, and he cursed himself again for letting her walk into the night.

  Now he was back in London, where Clara had once lived and worked. He wondered whether they had ever walked past each other in Canary Wharf, attended the same conferences, talks. He couldn’t imagine her in that world, in a sharp suit and spiked heels, it seemed all wrong. Would she stay in the village? Had she already moved on? He needed to sleep, to get his head in gear. Taking one last look at the two pills in his hand, he swallowed them both in one mouthful.

  Chapter 33

  Clara knew she should feel more grateful. Gavin and Louisa had taken her out for a wonderful farewell dinner the night before, and had been working on a surprise when they got back and all through this morning. She’d heard rustling and giggling from the corridor and had a sneaking suspicion it involved Gavin’s spare room. Louisa couldn’t do anything quietly, knocking glasses over with her wildly flailing hands every time she told a story. Clara already adored her.

  She’d felt lonely, though, staring at them both across the table, their easy joking, Gavin placing a hand over Louisa’s, his face constantly breaking into a smile, his eyes creasing when she spoke. Clara was happy for them, but their togetherness had seemed to accentuate her own single status. She’d never minded life without a boyfriend before, had always chosen to be on her own, free to do her own thing, rather than remain in a half-hearted partnership. Now, though, she felt the tug, had glimpsed a future in a moment of pure happiness on the rooftop of the flat under the stars.

  She kept returning to that night, the dip of his head, how right it had felt. Then she thought back to when she had felt something shift, remembering how he’d emerged from the bathroom, utterly at ease with himself, a broad grin on his face, and then the wild-eyed panic as he realised that his face was covered with mud. She grinned at the ceiling, then, with a pang, remembered that that was all over now. She wasn’t back in the flat with Joe in the room next door, trying his damnedest to be hygge. He had left and she was back where she’d begun, in the single room under the eaves in the pub.

  A knock on the door roused her. ‘Thirty minutes and we’ll see you at the shop,’ Louisa trilled. ‘In this, please.’ A pink satin blindfold appeared under the door and Clara couldn’t help smiling at it.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she called back.

  She needed to get a grip, put on a big smile, shake off this mood. They’d been so generous, Louisa offering to pay her for her time in the shop, Clara adamantly refusing the money, but touched by the gesture.

  ‘It was never about that,’ she’d insisted. ‘It became home.’

  She’d bitten her lip after the words had left her, realising as she’d said them that it was exactly how she felt. Quietly allowing Louisa to give her the largest slice of tiramisu instead of money, the pudding sticking in her throat as she swallowed each mouthful.

  She dragged herself to the bathroom, staring at her face in the mirror and reaching for her make-up bag. Bronzer, mascara, lip salve: she felt better with each stroke, emerging into the bedroom a glossier, shinier, more together version of herself. Pulling on one of her favourite dresses, she looked at herself in the thin strip of mirror on the back of the door. The dark-green material brought out the blondes in her hair. She smacked her lips together, reached for her coat and scooped up the blindfold, ready to head into the high street, determined to enjoy her send-off.

  ‘She’s here.’

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘There!’

  The whispers hit her as she approached, amazed to see such a swell of people outside the shop. The little boy whom Joe had drawn a duck for gave her an energetic wave. Gavin was handing out drinks on a tray; she could make out mugs topped with marshmallows, which he almost dropped on seeing her.

  ‘Blindfold, Clara, NOW!’ he called.

  She hastily obliged, pulling it over her eyes, feeling more than a little silly as the world was plunged into darkness and she inched her way along the pavement, waving both arms in front of her so she didn’t bump into anyone in the crowd.

  With relief, she felt an arm looped through hers and smelt basil as she was steered down the pavement by Louisa. ‘Take it slowly… I am sooooo excited… Oh, watch out for that child, that was a close one…’

  ‘Louisa,’ Clara protested, feeling people squeezing past her, the brush as she knocked against someone.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only Roz. It would be a desperate shame for her to spill her drink down that camel coat of hers. Chocolate is notoriously difficult to get out… Oops, I think she heard. Hi, Roz…’

  Clara found herself giggling quietly. ‘Is the blindfold quite necessary?’ she asked.

  Louisa ignored her, of course, keeping up her spiel. ‘Oh… there are children everywhere, it’s such heaven, and they’re all delighted by Lady CaCa. Gavin carried her cage down from the flat but she does keep calling them all shitheads so he’s thinking of taking her back upstairs… So thoughtful,’ she breathed, pausing to sigh like a lovesick teen. ‘He can’t bear the thought of missing your reaction, such a big heart…’

  Clara had started giggling again as they came to a halt. She could hear Lady CaCa screeching ‘SHOW ME THE MONEY.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ Louisa nudged her, ‘this is it, take a peek.’

  Slowly Clara removed the blindfold. She was standing in front of the shop, surrounded by the crowd, and she gasped as she took it all in. The entire window was crammed with Gavin’s vintage teddy bear collection, piled high with soft toys in every colour, stitched-on smiles all facing out to the street, where children were pressing their noses against the glass to see them all. Bears in clothes, bears sitting in a variety of poses, bears piled higgledy-piggledy on top of each other. The effect was incredible, and Clara couldn’t help grinning as she moved inside to see shelves of teddies lining the store, jaunty music piped through speakers in the corner.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, catching sight of a group of teddy bears sitting on the counter having a tea party with some Barbies. Lauren gave her a quick thumbs-up from behind the till, inundated with customers in a queue that snaked all round the shop.

  ‘It’s all been inspired by you, my darling. Look,’ Louisa said, sweeping an arm around, bracelets clashing. ‘Packed, smiling, laughing, you’ve brought the place back to life. It was like this when we first moved here, just me and Joe running the place…’

  Clara felt her face fall at the mention of his name, the familiar sting she was already growing accustomed to. He would love to see this, to see his mum looking so fired up, back in love with it all. How sad that she was really going to sell.

  ‘Actually, there was something I want to ask y —’

  Louisa didn’t finish, interrupted by Gavin appearing with a shy smile on his face. She had clearly forgotten all words and was just staring up at him as if she’d never seen him before. ‘Looks better than them being scattered all over my spare-room bed, doesn’t it?’ he said, a blush moving up over the tattoo on his neck.

  ‘It looks brilliant,’ Clara said.

  ‘It was silly of me to keep them hidden away all these years. They should be shared. The kids love them.’

  ‘DO YOU FEEL LUCKY, PUNK? WELL, DO YA?’

  ‘God, we must ban that bird from watching telly,’ Gavin said, cringing as the call came through the shop. ‘We’ll get complaints,’ he said, snaking an arm round Louisa.

  ‘She can’t be tamed,’ Louisa said. ‘She’s a free spirit, like me.’

  ‘Just less pretty,’ Gavin said, kissing her hair and then blushing a deeper red as he remembered that Clara was standing there.

  ‘We’ve got you
a little something actually, Clara,’ Gavin said, pulling away and heading to the counter, where he produced a bear holding something in its paw.