by Clare Revell
“Local girl, Haley-Jo Fuller, 8, told Father Christmas this week that all she wants for Christmas is a mummy to keep her lonely father company.”
He put the paper back on the shelf. He left the corner shop in a hurry, his heart in the soles of his polished work shoes. So much for trust.
His phone rang as he headed back to the car. He pulled it from his coat pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but decided to answer it anyway. “Hello.”
“Stan, it’s Carly Jefferson.”
He scowled. She was the last person he wanted to talk to. He hung up. The phone rang again. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you.” This woman was nothing but persistent.
“How did you get this number?”
“Your mother gave it to me. I’ve just seen the paper, and I am so, so sorry. My editor changed my story, and then ran it without telling me and…”
“I trusted you.” He pointed the keys at the car, barely hearing the click as the lights flashed.
“He changed what I wrote.”
“It’s your byline and now the entire village knows what a failure I am as a single parent. Plus, I’m now going to have every unmarried woman within a hundred-mile radius queuing up to become the next Mrs. Stan Fuller.”
“That wasn’t my intention, and I promise you that article isn’t what I originally wrote. Can we meet?”
“I don’t think so. I’m on my way to work. I’m flying to New York this afternoon, and I have a lot of stuff to do before I leave.”
“Please.” The woman sounded desperate. “It won’t take long. Ten minutes is all I need.”
Stan opened the car door. “Fine. Ten minutes, but it’ll have to be at the airport.”
“That’s fine. Which terminal?”
“Heathrow terminal four. I’ll meet you at international departures in…” he checked his watch, “…ninety minutes.”
“I’ll be there. Thank you.”
Stan ended the call and got into the car. This was the last thing he needed. The flight was going to be busy, full the last time he’d checked and with a new copilot on her first long-haul flight, he had enough stress without this. He pushed a hand through his hair and speed dialed his mother’s house.
Haley-Jo answered the phone. “Hello, Gramma’s house. Haley-Jo speaking.”
“Hey, wombat, it’s Daddy. Put Gramma on, will you?”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, honey, you’re not. I just need to speak to Gramma.”
“OK. Gramma, Daddy’s on the phone for you.”
There was a short pause before his mother came on the line. “Stan.”
““Why on earth did you give that woman my mobile number? Mum, I’m headlines in the local rag. ‘Lonely pilot seeks wife for Christmas.’”
“That is not what it says,” his mother scolded. “And don’t you raise your voice to me. It’s a very nice article and a lovely photograph of you and Haley-Jo. I’ve already cut it out and put it on the fridge. And I’ve ordered two color prints direct from the paper so you can have one, too.”
“What am I meant to do now? I fly out today, and I’m not back until Tuesday. I don’t have time to deal with this.”
“By the time you get back, all this will have blown over.”
Stan scoffed. “Yeah, right. Of course it will.”
“You do need to let go of the past, Stanley, and move on.”
“I have.” He scowled at the driving mirror. She never called him Stanley unless she was about to lecture, and he didn’t have time for that.
“Properly. Remarry and give the child a mother.”
His fingers whitened on the steering wheel. “We’ve had this conversation a million times. May I remind you that Nanny never remarried. She was widowed far longer than she was married in the first place. I have to go, or I’m going to be late.” Now wasn’t the time to point out that Mum had never remarried after Dad died either.
“Do you want to speak to Haley-Jo first?”
“I’ll call her from the airport before I leave, the same as always. If I don’t head off now, I won’t have time to do so.” He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration. “Oh, Haley-Jo. Why couldn’t you just have asked for a new doll like a normal kid?”
~*~
Carly stood at the international departures desk. This was such a depressing place. Sure, some excited people were going on holiday, but mainly it was full of those being left behind. She looked at her watch, then glanced through the crowds, but couldn’t see him. Maybe he’d stood her up. She wouldn’t blame him if he had.
He was right. She’d betrayed his trust.
“Miss Jefferson?”
Carly turned. “Wow…” Had she said that aloud?
His navy uniform with four gold stripes on cuffs and epaulettes, white shirt, and black tie fitted him perfectly. The peaked cap covered his tight dark curls and his clear blue eyes were clouded. His photo on the airline website didn’t do him justice. There was something about a man in uniform. And this man in this uniform sent her head spinning.
But she was back to being Miss Jefferson. Nothing more than she deserved, and they weren’t even friends, so it was fine. “Captain Fuller. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Stan nodded. “The coffee shop is this way.”
Carly followed him, trying to tell herself there was no need for her heart to skip a beat and for butterflies to fill her stomach. This wasn’t a date. It was an apology. Coffee and a massive slice of humble pie on her part, and nothing else; no matter how much she’d like it to be something different.
She hadn’t so much as looked at a man since her husband betrayed her, but Stan Fuller was different. Self-assured, Godly, although why that should matter when she no longer went to church she wasn’t sure.
He grabbed a tray. “Go and sit down, and I’ll be over in a bit.”
She nodded and headed to the window. She sat and gazed out over the main concourse. Cars and buses moved outside, dropping off and picking up passengers and bags; a whole humdrum of life, and she was on the outside. It was as if she’d stopped living the day of the car accident and everything since had been a dream. Tinny carols echoed through the loud speaker system, and for the first time in a long time, Carly missed the way Christmas had once made her feel.
She’d always loved Christmas. The tree, carols and the nativity set she’d grown up with. Cuthbert the donkey had a broken ear, but she’d loved him the best. Made of wood, it had been out every year since she was ten. Until the car accident when her mother had gotten rid of all her things and cleared out her house. She just hoped that whomever had it now got as much joy from it as she had.
Stan put the tray down. “I got ordinary coffee. I hope that’s all right.”
“Thank you.” She dumped several sachets of sugar into the steaming mug and stirred slowly. Then she glanced up. “I really am sorry. If there was something I could do to make it up to you, I would.”
“You gave me your word, and against my better judgment I decided to trust you.”
“I know.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. “This is my original copy.” When he didn’t take it, she opened it and held it in front of him. “You see it has a different title and everything. It was meant to be on page seven, in my usual column. That article on the school was the first time I got center spread.”
Stan held up a hand. “Slow down.”
Carly sucked in a deep breath. “My brief was a human interest story.” Then she sighed. “No, actually, that isn’t entirely true.”
Stan raised an eyebrow. “I’m beginning to think you’re the same as every other journalist out there.”
“I’m not. I’m leveling with you, because you’re a nice bloke, and you don’t deserve this. My editor told me to dig up as much dirt on you as possible. Make out you were neglecting Haley-Jo in favor of your career.”
Stan scowled and pushed his chair back, almos
t knocking it over in his haste to stand. “I’ve heard enough.”
“Wait…please.” She reached out and grabbed his hand, ignoring the almost electric feeling that shot up her arm. “Please. I didn’t do it. In fact, I told him outright that breaking up families and getting kids put into care wasn’t in my job description. Especially at Christmas. He called it investigative journalism. This is his idea of payback. He’s getting at me, not you.”
“It doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”
“Please, sit down and give me another minute.”
Stan looked at his watch. “Fine. One minute.” He sat and put his hat on the chair next to him.
“I told him I’d quit if he doesn’t let me do the rest of the series the way I want.”
“Rest of the what?” Stan spluttered, rage glinting in his eyes.
“Hear me out.” Carly knew she had to speak quickly before he stormed out of here. Because he was in no frame of mind to fly anywhere, never mind be in charge of a fully loaded plane on a long haul flight. “What I want to do is write a couple of articles on how you celebrate Christmas. How you decorate the tree, go to church, and so on. And maybe come to church with you, if that’s all right.”
“It’s a free country,” Stan muttered. He sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t think you believed in God.”
“Actually, I said I wasn’t talking to Him. I still believe in Him.” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Stan studied her for a long moment without saying anything, while a myriad emotions shone in his clear blue eyes. “OK,” he said, “but any more sensationalism, and I’ll sue both you and the paper.”
“I told my boss you would.”
He stood. “I really do have to go now.”
“Have to fly,” she quipped.
A slight smile crossed his lips. “Yeah. I’ll see you on Wednesday, about half past six to do the tree.”
“OK. How about I bring supper? I should be able to stretch the newspaper budget to chips or something similar.”
“Sounds good.” He put his hat on, tugging it over his brow. “Oh, there is one more condition.”
She glanced at him, warily. “What’s that?”
“I want to know about you. What makes you tick and so on. And why you reverted to your maiden name after your husband died.”
“Quid pro quo?”
He nodded. “It’s only fair.”
Carly sighed. That was dangerous, but she didn’t really have a choice. “OK. But we can’t have that particular conversation in front of Haley-Jo.”
“OK, fine. Wednesday lunch time, but not in the village. I’ll meet you at Turbridge Mill. Do you know it?”
“The windmill?”
He nodded. “Yes. One o’clock. I’ll book a table.”
“I’ll be there.” She leaned back in the chair as he strode across the café, every inch a professional pilot. What had she agreed to do? Tell him what? Her dark past and the real reason she and God and she and her mother were no longer on speaking terms? Did she really know what she was getting into? Or was this just a reason to spend more time with him.
Because, face it Carly, that is exactly what you want. Isn’t it?
~*~
Stan hung up his jacket and slid into the captain’s seat on the cockpit. He rubbed his hands over his face. “What have I done?” he muttered.
“I don’t know, Captain, what have you done? Broken the plane already?” Jerry sounded even more cheerful than normal as he sat in the other seat.
Stan looked at him. “I thought Chrissie was working this flight.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Stan. She’s off sick.”
“Already?” Stan sighed. Maybe he’d been too hard on her, but she’d tried to take off without clearance.
“So, what have you done?”
“That is a long story. I’ll tell you once we’re over the Atlantic. Let’s just do the pre-flight and walk round. I don’t want anything going wrong today.” He paused. “And when I tell you to call for take-off clearance, you jolly well do it, or I’ll bawl you out, too.”
Jerry raised an eyebrow. “We thought that was just rumor…”
Stan shook his head. “Nope. Come on; let’s get this done and everyone boarded.”
Twenty minutes later, he gave the all clear for the passengers to start boarding. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, listening to the chatter from behind the door. Finally, the chief stewardess, Hattie, came in with a clipboard. “Good afternoon.”
“You’re happy.” Stan commented, noting the sparkling eyes and new haircut.
“And why not?” Hattie beamed and waved her left hand.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. He’s back there in economy. I have three weeks leave accrued so we’re spending Christmas in New York.”
“Nice. You two behave.”
“Of course. Everyone’s on board. We’re full to bursting. Two hundred and seventy-five souls, five infants, ten crew.”
“Total of two hundred and ninety.” Stan took the clipboard and checked it. “OK. Go do the emergency drill. I’ll put the seatbelt sign on and get this show on the road.”
An hour later they were over the Atlantic. Jerry glanced at him. “I have the plane. You talk.”
“You have the plane,” Stan confirmed. He released the controls and eased back in his seat. “Haley-Jo asked Father Christmas for something stupid at the school party. The press was there and wanted to do a follow up interview. I gave them one, and they basically blew the whole thing out of proportion and plastered it all over the front page of the local rag.” He glanced at Jerry. “She wants a mother for Christmas.”
Jerry whistled. “What are you going to do? Speed date? Rent a bride?”
“I have no idea. Anyway, the reporter wants to do another follow up piece, and I asked her to lunch.”
His copilot raised an eyebrow. “Lunch?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure why. Except she’s pretty. Long dark hair, nice rounded figure, cute Welsh accent, single and…”
“So why is it a problem? Because it sounds to me like a business arrangement. Only this time you record what you say and sue if they misquote you again.”
The problem was he couldn’t keep the appointment businesslike, because being around Carly did things to him. His pulse raced, and his head swam and thinking straight was impossible. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was falling for her, but that wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen.
He took a deep breath and glanced at his watch. “You OK for five if I go on a walk around?”
Jerry nodded, reaching for his straps. “Sure.”
Stan stood. “Time to go put the company face on.” He straightened his tie and opened the door to find Hattie standing there, her hand raised to knock. “What’s up?”
“Captain, do you have a moment? The lady in 48H would like a word.”
“Sure, I was about to come back for a walk round anyway.” He indicated the rear of the plane. “Lead on, McDuff.”
5
Carly sat by the fireplace, rain pouring down outside, trying to picture what the room would look like with a tree and decorations. She couldn’t even imagine it. On her lap lay the photo album, the only thing she’d managed to keep because it had been with a friend at the time of the accident.
There were photos of her and Tony when they were engaged, on their wedding day and honeymoon. Silly pictures, sensible ones, along with postcards from his overseas trips and a birthday card. Her eyes blurred as she reached the pictures of her pregnant stomach getting bigger and bigger.
Tears fell unrestrained as she reached the final photo. It showed her, holding a piece of paper which said alone and free, you and me, together forever baby. It had been taken just before she’d left on that final car trip. Yvette had taken the camera to print off all the pictures and put them into the album.
Slowly, she removed every single picture of Tony, bar one. That way, i
f her daughter ever found her, she could at least see what her father had looked like. Carly picked up the scissors and cut every photo in half before chucking them all into a bag and sealing it.
Carly tossed the bag into the dustbin and rubbed her eyes. She should have done this a long time ago. Move on, let go of the past and start over properly. She glanced at the clock. Time to go to work and try to persuade Stan to…
What? Give her a second chance? He wanted to know the real story behind her. She’d never told anyone. Could she trust him?
What if he did to her what her editor had done to him? Did she have a choice? On reflection, Stan didn’t seem the type of man to gossip all over town. He was honorable and upright and… Carly shook her head. Tony had professed to be a Christian, and that was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get.
Stan however was different. Perhaps he was the genuine article.
She stood and glanced in the mirror. She looked dreadful. Well, too bad. This was as good as it was going to get. She grabbed her bag and headed to the car. Driving still sent shivers of fear running through her, even now. But she was determined to face that fear. Going everywhere by bus or train simply wasn’t practical.
Turbridge Mill was a huge windmill on the edge of the Chilterns. Now a restaurant and craft center rather than a working mill, it was a fairly popular tourist destination. Carly found a parking space and stifled a smile as she saw the Christmas shop appeared to be really busy. Maybe she should call in there, pick up a new ornament for Haley-Jo’s tree.
Compared with the warmth of the car, it was freezing outside, but at least it had stopped raining for now. Carly pulled her hat tightly around her head and tugged on her gloves. She put her bag on her shoulder and glanced around the car park, wondering where Stan would be waiting. A car door shut behind her, and she turned.
Stan crossed the gravel towards her. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
“Shall we?” He led her over to the door in the base of the windmill and opened it for her.
Carols played, and fairy lights and tinsel hung from everywhere possible. An enormous tree stood by the huge cogs that once turned the mill’s sails. “You suppose they got that tree from the shop next door?” Carly asked.
