CHRISTMAS EVE AT PICCADILLY CIRCUS
BY
KELLY MATTHEWS
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Christmas Eve at Piccadilly Circus
Copyright © Kelly Matthews 2018
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
There were days when Darcy wished she hadn’t inherited her grandmother’s pub, and today, as she ran up the steps of Bond Street tube station, she wished she hadn’t come to London at all. A downpour of rain greeted her as she reached the busy pavement, soaking her to the skin.
‘Oh, thank you very much!’ she grumbled, cursing the rain that only added to her ever-increasing despair. She pulled up the collars of her biker jacket, tucked in her scarf and walked down Davies' Street, turning onto Oxford Street. Standing on the curb, waiting for the passing traffic to stop, she glanced up at the Christmas decorations strung across the buildings, batted the rain out of her lashes and saw that Christmas had arrived in London. But not even cheery old Santa Claus swinging precariously from the wire could offer her respite from the worry that plagued her today. When she made it to Old Bond Street, she took shelter under the awning of the Chanel store, soaked through to her skin. As if she didn’t have enough to contend with today, her friend Trudy had rung her early to ask if she’d meet her at a dress shop. It wasn’t where Darcy wanted to be the first thing on a Saturday morning, but she figured she had to be there to support her friend. They had known each other since they were both at nursery school in Wales. Trudy shared her packed lunch with Darcy and from that moment on they were inseparable until Trudy went to university in London.
Time was getting on and the rain kept pouring. Darcy knew it wouldn’t stop soon, but as she was leaving, a black Mercedes with blacked-out windows pulled up on the roadside that piqued her interest. As a self-confessed nosey parker, Darcy watched as the driver dressed in a dark suit get out and opened the passenger door. The one thing that excited her about walking around London and that was the celebrities she’d spot. Only last week she met Boy George, one of her favourite singers. With one hand on her phone inside her pocket, she brought it out to snap a picture when she saw a walking stick touch the pavement and a small old lady in a green coat heaved herself out of the car. At first, she thought it may be Angela Lansbury but the woman’s thick Scottish accent soon ruled that out. Disappointed she didn’t recognise her, she smiled at the woman entering the store and thought she’d better leave because the window dresser was looking at her suspiciously. She stepped out of the shelter, wincing as icy raindrops ran down her neck to her bra. Shivering and feeling underdressed for such a posh shop she tried to assemble her now soaked hair into a neat bun. She ran the rest of the way and arrived outside the entrance to the shop. Trudy was waving her inside and Darcy pushed the door open, aware that her shoes were squelching and squeaking as she entered.
She noticed there were a few side glances her way from the shop assistants, but she smiled at them and went to join Trudy standing beside a rail of white designer gowns. One of which cost more than she had spent on clothes in her entire lifetime.
‘So, I just about made it,’ she shrugged off her sopping wet jacket.
Trudy arched an eyebrow and looked at her from head to toe. ‘Haven’t you heard of umbrellas?’
Darcy threw her jacket towards a white-backed chair with velvet lining and heard Trudy gasp with horror. Realising her mistake, she picked it up and put it down on the floor before taking her seat, except she knew that her wet hair was dripping onto the plush lining.
‘I forgot. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.’
‘Like what?’ She asked; concern in her voice.
‘Oh, let's forget it today.’
‘No, no. Tell me what's wrong.’
‘The pub is in trouble. Nan left behind a huge debt, unfortunately.’
‘I didn’t know. Why don’t you tell me these things?’ She shook her head. ‘Here,’ she stooped down to her bag and handed her a box of chocolates. ‘I brought us a treat while we shop and please use the wipes for your hands before touching anything.’
‘You know me well.’ She opened the box and Trudy reached over, snatching a few and popping them in her mouth.
‘If you eat anymore, you’ll have to get your wedding dress adjusted.’ Darcy joked, biting into the soft caramel centered chocolate with no regrets. She gave Trudy a smug look and popped another into her mouth, oblivious to the drips of rain rolling down her cheeks.
‘He’s marrying me for my inner beauty...’
‘That’s what you’re hoping for,’ Darcy remarked, watching her pluck a hideous dress off the metal rack.
‘Now tell me what you think about this one?’
Darcy shot back in her chair, grossed-out by the peach number she thrust in front of her face.
‘If you fancy yourself as Peaches and Cream Barbie, then knock yourself out.’
Trudy’s face lit up. ‘Really? Do you mean...’
‘No,’ she scoffed; mortified, she’d even consider the monstrosity. ‘You’re not buying it, so pick something else. Please. I can’t be seen with you wearing that, no way.’
‘But I loved Peaches and Cream Barbie,’ she mockingly pouted. ‘Oh alright, be honest, it’ll do us a favour. No, you’re right. I’ll look a right bloody frump, won’t I?’
Both laughed and Trudy went back to the large rack of dresses. ‘So, what are you going to do about the pub? Sell it and make a tidy profit?’
Darcy shook her head and shrugged. ‘No idea. I’m having to rent out the upstairs flat to make ends meet. I’ve got a guy coming tomorrow to look at it. He’s a university professor, so I’m guessing he’s a boring old git that won’t give me too much grief.’
‘I hope he’s rich and handsome for your sake.’ Trudy blurted it out so loud that one of the shop assistants giggled.
Darcy wished the ground would swallow her friend up, spitting her out on the other side of the door. Even though she was grateful she offered to buy the bridesmaid dresses, Darcy still felt uncomfortable. There was no way she’d be able to afford to shop on Bond Street otherwise, more like TK Maxx if she was feeling plush.
‘As long as he pays his rent on time I don’t care. So, have you picked the bridesmaid dresses yet?’ She asked when her phone rang. She fished around her bag for her phone and checked the caller ID. ‘It’s work. I need to take this.’ She pressed the accept button and the moment she did she heard her barmaid, Jess, begging her to come back to the pub to sort out a stroppy customer. ‘I won’t be long. Just offer him a packet of crisps or something in the mean-time. Maybe that will pacify him until I get there.’ She looked up at Trudy and said she had to leave.
‘You’re hoping a packet of crisps will help?’ she laughed. ‘Before you go,’ Trudy went through her handbag. ‘Take this Oyster card and get the frickin’ bus. Oh, and wait. You can take the rest of the chocolates, too. I’d bett
er watch my waistline.’
‘Thanks,’ said Darcy, trying not to laugh as she grabbed the box and shoved it into her handbag.
Chapter Two
Back in Paddington, Darcy pounded up Praed Street, wondering what would greet her when she walked into the pub. She had only owned it for the last couple of months and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to sell it on or make a go of the business. Having packed up her life in Swansea, a city by the sea, and moving to a hectic London, she found it was taking a lot more adjustment than she originally thought.
The Churchill was situated on a corner, next to a newsagent and a takeaway on the side street. Its gold letterings above the green-painted framework was in desperate need of a fresh coat and needed an extra L. Several of the windows were cracked and needed replacing – but that would involve money and that was something she just didn’t have. As she approached, a short, slim man wearing a brown suit stepped out of the pub and waved to her. It was Mr. Jones. A few of the locals had told her he was a permanent fixture of The Churchill, a part of the furniture, even. And as she found out, he was very knowledgeable about the pub’s history and the local area. He became her support when she opened the doors for the first time so she didn’t mind letting him in early as she wasn’t sure if he had anywhere to go.
She waited for the on-coming taxi to pass and crossed the road, still carrying the sodden chocolate box. She had just made it to the opposite side of the road when she felt the box break from underneath and the contents fell by her feet.
‘Not having a good day, are you?’ Mr. Jones exclaimed in his Cockney accent.
Darcy threw the empty, mangled box on the floor and took a deep breath.
‘No, I’m not, Mr. Jones.’ She dropped to her haunches to pick up the chocolates now covered with cigarette ash. Mr. Jones swooped in to help her.
‘Left the coffee ones, eh?’ He asked, blowing the ash off and checking one out.
Darcy looked at him incredulously. ‘You’re not going to eat that, surely?’ She asked, screwing her face.
‘We used to eat anything in my day it’s how we built up our immune systems.’ He popped it in his mouth. ‘It’s no wonder kids these days are catching everything under the sun.’
She shook her head in disbelief, stepped around him, and went inside the pub, half expecting to find the place trashed by an angry punter. Her tense shoulders drooped when all she saw were two elderly gents sitting around a table watching the latest news on a television that stepped out of the eighties. Arthur, one of her regulars raised a hand to say hello and then pointed to the screen.
‘They’re forecasting a bad winter. My arse. They say that every year.’
‘Hello, Arthur,’ she said. ‘Maybe the news report is as old as the television,’ she laughed.
Darcy wondered what the fuss had been about and walked toward the arched shaped bar where Jess, her part-time barmaid, and fashion student was stood wiping glasses.
‘Where’s the drama?’
Jess waved a dismissive hand. ‘It was fine. Sorry I had to drag you from your shopping trip. It was lucky your new tenant stepped in to help.’
Surprised to hear this as she wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow, Darcy glanced around the room. ‘My tenant?’ She questioned, confused. ‘I don’t have one yet.’
‘Yes, it’s that guy who called you a week ago to arrange a viewing.’
‘Yeah, I know that, but he’s not coming until tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ she pointed over Darcy’s shoulder. ‘He’s here.’
Darcy swung around, staring into the ice-blue eyes of a dark-haired stranger smiling down at her.
‘It’s Darcy Tanner, isn’t it? We spoke on the phone last week.’ He proffered his hand.
‘Yes. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’ She shook it. He had a firm grip.
‘My flight was early, so I’d thought I’d take a chance. If it’s not convenient, I can come back later.’
‘Oh, no, no that’s okay.’ She panicked. ‘Would you excuse me for one moment? I need to get the key.’ She turned to Jess serving behind the bar. ‘Give Mr. Hanlon whatever drink he wants - on the house.’
She hurried to the other side of the bar where Mr. Jones was sipping his pint.
‘Why the ants in your pants?’ He asked, holding his glass mid-way to his mouth.
Darcy called over Jess.
‘I can’t show him the flat because I haven’t even finished the decorating upstairs. I meant to do it this evening.’ She whispered.
Darcy noticed Jess went quiet and raised a brow at Mr. Jones. She followed her gaze and gave him a questioning look.
‘What have you done?’
‘Don’t worry, take him upstairs. It’s all been sorted for you.’
‘It was a tip when I left it this morning. Hang on, what do you mean it has been sorted?’
‘Trust me. Take him up and show him around the place. It’ll be fine.’
‘Why?’ She insisted. ‘What have you done?’
‘I overheard you talking about it and so I asked Jess to let me and Harry there up there. We cleaned it up for you. No charge.’
‘You did?’ Her voice was surprised.
Mr. Jones nodded. ‘Alright, I’ll accept two free pints for the service.’
Relieved, Darcy didn’t know what else to say and thanked him. She called over Mr. Hanlon.
‘It’s Gareth, please.’ He rose to his feet and strode over to the bar.
‘Sorry about that. I’ll show you the flat now.’
They exited through the main door of the pub, turned the corner and walked along the pavement to the lane around to the back of the building. Darcy pushed open the back door and walked up the garden path. She pointed to a metal staircase leading the way to flat’s front door.
‘I know it’s a pain to get to, so may I suggest that you don’t walk up here drunk,’ she laughed, looking for the correct key on the chain. ‘Although, there’s an entrance through my flat you could use but it’s locked, so you don’t have to worry about creepy landlords sneaking up on you.’ She stopped, realising what she had said. ‘I didn’t mean that the way it came out.’
Gareth laughed. ‘I get what you’re saying,’ he said, ‘Hey, I thought of something. If I want a pint, do I ring the bell and you’ll deliver it?’ He said. ‘Or could I just use your door?’
Darcy chuckled. ‘Delivery is extra on top of the rent.’
When she arrived in London she intended to live in the flat above the pub herself, but the financial constraints meant it was wiser if she rented it out until she got the business back on its feet.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open, hoping Mr. Jones had cleaned it like he said he did. The amount of free drinks she had given him over the last month when he had been short of money, she thought it was a nice gesture of him to help. Besides, as she found out, he liked to feel useful and would often offer to collect the empty glasses.
‘I hope you’ll feel at home...’ Darcy froze by the door unsure whether she should allow him to enter. She flicked on the light switch to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her and stepped inside the flat. She swallowed hard, looking at the walls that were once a beautiful magnolia. ‘It’s like a seventies revival. What the bloody hell has he done?’ She shrieked, trying to take it all in.
Gareth snorted with laughter.
Mortified, Darcy walked around the living room, staring at the multi-coloured floral explosion that was beaming back at her. She turned to Gareth who was now in hysterics. ‘I don’t know what to say. It wasn’t like this when I left the pub this morning, I promise.’
‘It’s okay, honey. I saw the before pictures on the internet and I know that it wasn’t like this. Bloody hell, it reminds me of those viewfinder things we had when we were kids.’ He laughed and took out his phone to snap a picture.
Darcy realised what had happened and felt her blood boiling with anger. ‘I can’t believe that idiot. I found that wallpaper in
the cupboard last week. I was meant to take it to the charity shop but obviously forgot and left it lying around.’ She exhaled and shook her head at his handy work.
‘Don’t worry about it, it’s an easy fix.’ Gareth put a friendly hand on her shoulder to reassure her that he was alright with it and laughed again. ‘It’s not like I’m going to be here permanently is it? Look, where do I sign?’ He touched her shoulder again trying to regain his composure, except he couldn’t and laughed even harder.
Darcy finally saw the funny side too and laughed.
‘What’s going on up here?’ Called Jess from the bottom of the stairs.
‘See, there’s the spare door,’ she went to open it. ‘Come up here and fetch my phone and that twit with you.’ She shouted down to Jess.
‘By “that twit” I take it you mean Mr. Jones?’
‘Who else?’
There was the sound of feet clomping up the stairs. Jess poked her head around the door and her mouth fell open with shock.
‘What is this?’
‘Ask him,’ Darcy pointed at Mr. Jones, surveying his work with pride.
‘What’s wrong with it? You left the rolls on the table. I assumed that’s what you wanted putting up.’
Gareth stepped forward. ‘It’s fine. I’m still taking the place. But if you want it repainted, I don’t mind doing it one weekend.’
‘You’re too kind,’ Darcy said, catching Jess winking at her. She glared at her back.
‘I think I will love living here. Is it okay if I bring my stuff around tomorrow? I’m staying at a hotel tonight just across the road.’
‘Sure. I’ll get your key before you go.’ She turned to head down the stairs Jess had used. ‘We may as well use this now. But I’ll lock it for you.’
‘Don’t mind me, it’s convenient anyway.’
‘Why don’t you stay for a drink or two if you’re not in a hurry to go anywhere?’
‘I’d love to, but I have a meeting at the college. Maybe another time?’ he took the key she handed him, took out a car key and added the small metal key to the keychain.
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