‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Meg said, and pulled a face when Emily raised an eyebrow.
‘You sound like Dad.’
‘You’re a little too wise for one so young,’ Meg murmured, turning so she could take another look in the cage.
‘Blitzen’s fine,’ Emily soothed. ‘I fed him earlier, he’s probably passed out because he stuffed the lot. I adore animals but I didn’t realise they all had such different personalities – Blitzen’s greedy.’
‘True.’ Meg grinned and sat on the bed. ‘Mum was always too worried about allergies to let us have pets, so I guess you never got to know one that well.’
‘Dad told me we had fish until I was three.’
Meg screwed up her face, reaching for the memory. She would have been around fifteen. ‘Dory and Nemo, I’d forgotten about that.’
A door slammed in the hall and another opened, but the flat remained silent. It was an odd kind of quiet, as though the world had been paused and was waiting to restart. Meg’s eyes met her sister’s. ‘Shall we go to the cafe and get a hot chocolate – with marshmallows?’
Emily’s face lit. ‘With sprinkles, like we used to?’ They hadn’t made hot drinks together in about ten years.
‘I always reserve my sprinkles for special occasions,’ Meg said, opening the door so she could creep into the hallway. ‘But I think this might just be special enough.’
She followed Emily down the stairs, padding past the kitchen where her parents were now talking in soft whispers, thinking that perhaps reconnecting with her sister could be one silver lining to this whole thing.
Ten
Tom sanded the edge of the wooden worktop in the cottage kitchen smooth, before pushing it into place underneath the set of grey cupboards he’d hung earlier. The radio was playing in the background and the house was hot, even though he’d switched the heating off hours before. Cooper got up so he could examine Tom’s handiwork, sniffing at the new cupboard before wagging his tail in approval.
‘Walk?’ Tom asked the dog, and was instantly rewarded with a woeful moan. ‘Sorry. We both need some exercise, but there’ll be plenty of treats if you don’t fuss.’ He scrubbed a hand over the dog’s head, picked up his boots and put them by the door. Then he opened the cupboard in the boot room so he could pick up a lead, spotting the Gibson guitar sitting inside. It was still in the same place he’d put it when he’d moved in. Tom stared at the instrument for a moment, fighting the need to pick it up. He knew exactly how it would feel – the weight in his hands, the way the strap would dig into his shoulder before finding the natural dip all those years of playing had moulded. Once, merely strumming his guitar would have had people falling at his feet. He shook his head. He’d loved every moment of it. Every second of adoration. As if the simple act of playing an instrument somehow made him special and set him apart.
Meg’s face flashed into his mind at that moment. The anger in her eyes when she’d seen him picking up the baubles by the Promise Tree. She didn’t adore him. He wasn’t sure she even liked him that much, aside from in that fleeting moment when he’d helped her with her dad’s suitcase. In a strange way he found that appealing. Being disliked felt a lot more honest.
Had Marnie, his beloved ex-wife – who’d been so determined to stay Marnie Riley-Clark that she’d hidden her true feelings from him for years – ever looked at him with such passion? He doubted she’d had enough emotion invested in him to summon up any kind of strong feelings. But it had been no more than he’d deserved. He wasn’t special, never had been. Music had been an illusion, had given him a gloss he’d thought was real. Until he’d been forced to face the truth. It was nothing more than a transaction with no authentic emotion underneath.
As if the world were conspiring against him, ‘If Every Day Was Christmas’ began to play on the radio and Tom marched back into the kitchen to switch it off. He grabbed a coat and headed for the hall, sliding on his walking boots just as someone gently tapped on the front door. Cooper wagged his tail and barked. It was freezing outside and Tom ushered Davey in, dodging the over-excited dog who was now pawing for attention. ‘I need to walk him,’ he explained, and Davey laughed when Cooper began to back down the hall.
‘I’ll join you.’ Davey looked towards the corner of the room, to the empty space where the guitar had stood. ‘It’ll give us a chance to talk.’
Tom closed the door behind him and clipped the lead onto Cooper’s collar so he could encourage him to follow. It took a couple of gentle tugs before the dog would move from the doorstep into the snow. He whimpered when his paws hit the cold, but he followed with his head bowed, looking up at Tom every now and again with a gloomy expression. ‘If you keep complaining, I’ll get you one of those dog coats when we next go to Meg’s, to keep you warm,’ he joked. ‘You’d make a lovely reindeer.’
The air was frigid, but it wasn’t snowing anymore. Tom had been holed up ever since he’d left Meg in the Christmas shop with her parents the day before. He ignored the stab of guilt. It wasn’t like he could do anything to help, and she’d wanted him to leave. But he hadn’t been back – instead he’d hidden himself away, intent on putting as much distance between them as possible. Because he was afraid of the way she made him feel. Which was ironic for a man who’d vowed to spend the rest of his life helping people.
‘Jason Jones called me,’ Davey said, naming the saxophone player from The Ballad Club. Tom didn’t say anything as they walked along a snowy track next to the road which would lead them into a huge field that would ultimately end at the bottom of the mountains framing Lockton. ‘He said he’s been emailing and trying to call. He’s in talks with the record company about re-releasing some of your old songs. He talked to Britney Dahl and she’s all in.’ An image of the band’s drummer flashed into Tom’s mind. ‘He just wanted you to know…’
‘So now I do.’ As they reached the field, Tom unclipped the lead from Cooper, picked up a stick poking out of the snow and threw it – but the dog stayed put.
‘They do say that after a while people begin to resemble their dogs. In this instance, I think it’s the other way around. Cooper seems as determined not to enjoy life as you.’ Davey adjusted his dark wool hat so it covered his ears. ‘You know one of your songs is being used in a Christmas ad for the supermarket, FoodAll?’
‘Nope,’ Tom said as a thought occurred to him. ‘Is it “If Every Day Was Christmas”? That’s why I can’t get away from the damn song – it seems to be playing everywhere I turn.’
‘Yep, and three of The Ballad Club’s other tracks are marching up the charts behind it. You’re having a resurgence. Apparently the PR people want you and the others to come back to London. Jason said people are begging to interview you all. He can’t go but he wondered if you wanted to. There’s a whole world down there waiting for you to get back in touch.’
‘Well, they can keep waiting,’ Tom shot back. ‘Because I’m not going back. Jason’s in France making pots – in between negotiating with the record company, apparently – and Britney’s opened a nightclub and had two kids. We’ve all moved on. As far as I’m concerned, that chapter of my life is over.’ He picked up another stick and threw it hard – more for himself than for Cooper. It felt good as he watched it hit the snow and land, poking up like a long arrow.
‘I get how all that attention and fame might bring you down,’ Davey said dryly. They crunched across the field in silence for a while before he added, ‘In all seriousness, I understand Marnie hurt you. It must have been hard finding out she’d been seeing someone else. Waking up on Christmas morning to find out your wife has left you and your present is a set of divorce papers would be enough to upset anyone.’
Tom almost laughed. In truth, it had crucified him. But the day had got far worse. He’d had a headache, he remembered. He’d been working in the studio for three weeks straight. Marnie had been hosting a Christmas Eve party. His house was filled with strangers who’d all wanted to shake his hand. He’d been like an em
pty vessel. Moving from day to day in a dream. Relishing all the attention, the so-called success. Until that morning, when his whole world had come crashing in and he’d been forced to face the man he was. An unhappy, lonely sucker. As far away from a star as you could get.
‘Your grandmother wouldn’t blame you,’ Davey said gently.
‘I blame me,’ Tom snapped. ‘My grandad had been calling all night. Twelve hours, when she was in the hospital fighting for her life after the stroke. He had to handle the whole thing alone because I was so obsessed by my music. I’d left my mobile at the studio and Marnie had unplugged the house phone because of the party. I didn’t even say goodbye…’ He shook his head.
‘You were busy,’ Davey said, and winced.
‘That’s not an excuse. They took me in after Mum decided having a kid was too much trouble and took off. I owe them everything. Grandma died and I didn’t know until I reconnected the phone to call and wish them happy Christmas. I hadn’t seen them for weeks.’ He swallowed the lump of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
‘Your grandad doesn’t blame you,’ Davey said quietly.
‘Because he’s a good man. They were good people. They raised me to be the same. Shame I ended up as such a disappointment.’ He stood still for a moment so he could admire the view. The blue of the sky, the snowy mountains at the horizon. The scenery in Lockton had a way of making you feel small. Making you recognise how insignificant you were. It was a lesson he needed to keep front and centre of his mind.
‘Seems to me whenever I met your grandparents they were nothing but proud. I’m not sure you’re seeing things clearly.’ Davey let out a soft breath. ‘I came to ask if you wanted to play in the Christmas concert. I saw the way you looked at the Gibson when you arrived. I see the way your foot taps when a song comes on. That faraway look you get when you’re thinking – like you’re coming up with lyrics because I know you can’t help yourself. You’re not happy, Tom. I can see that. Music’s part of who you are. You can’t pretend it’s not important. It’s not something you should turn your back on. It’s like you’ve shut down that whole side of yourself and you’re pushing everyone away. Because you can’t bear for anyone to care for you.’ Cooper whined, suddenly stopping in the snow and swivelling his head so he could look over his shoulder.
‘He’s cold.’ Tom plucked a treat from his pocket and offered it to the dog, who gulped it down like Captain Scott enjoying his final meal. ‘We ought to turn back. I appreciate everything you’re saying. But I don’t need anyone except Cooper – and I really don’t need music. I’m happy serving behind the bar, helping to put in your kitchen. Doing those things makes me feel good about myself in a way that music hasn’t for a long while. I’m helping – doing something meaningful with my life.’
‘Giving up your soul.’ Davey’s shoulders slumped. ‘If you change your mind, you know I’d love to see you perform. Music didn’t turn you into a bad person, Tom. I worked in the business for long enough to spot one of those. I was surrounded by them for years. You were always different.’ His forehead scrunched and he stopped so he could study Tom’s profile. ‘You had something about you. A need to perform and a desire to work harder than anybody. You were always kind and polite, regardless of who you were talking to. You didn’t let people down. You gave more than you took. So you lost your head for a few years, married the wrong woman, partied a little too hard. Who didn’t in their twenties?’ He shrugged. ‘Turning your back on the kind of talent you have is a crime.’
‘Picking up that guitar would be a worse one,’ Tom said, wishing he could make his friend understand. ‘Music turns me into someone I don’t want to be. I’ll lose myself, forget what and who’s important… People stop seeing me, love me for something I’m not.’
‘Without it, you’re going to be miserable,’ Davey said sadly. ‘It’s like you’re turning your back on yourself. Shutting everything and everyone out.’
‘I disagree,’ Tom said, but the words fell flat. As they walked on in silence, he wondered if his friend might be right. But he knew he wasn’t brave enough to find out.
Eleven
Meg swiped a hand over her forehead as she ticked off another twenty snowman baubles on her stock list. She’d been working all day, counting tinsel, decorations and everything else she could find in the stockroom in the back of her shop, ready for a promotion she planned to kick off tomorrow. She picked up a reindeer salt shaker and spun it in her hand, watching the surface sparkle under the overhead lights. They had snowman shakers at her parents’ house which were only used on Christmas Day. Last year, her dad had put on silly voices and made them dance, and her mother had laughed – the lines around her eyes deepening with something other than worry. They’d pulled crackers and told stupid jokes, the kind her dad would tell all the time. But on Christmas Day, her mum’s eyes had sparkled and she’d laughed instead of frowning – the sound had been joyful and light. Her mum and dad had smiled at each other with love shimmering in their eyes. Then, on Boxing Day, they’d retreated back into their offices and silence had once against reigned, punctuated by random squabbles over nothing at all. The whole thing had felt like something out of Groundhog Day – the uncomfortable feelings had followed Meg up to Lockton until she’d walked into her Christmas shop and everything had been okay again.
Meg swallowed and put the shakers away, ticking them off her list. The shop was in semi-darkness when she crept out ten minutes later and found Cora mopping the floor.
‘Evening, lassie.’ The older woman looked at her with a frown. ‘You look tired. I’m guessing you didn’t take a break? No good will come of working yourself to the bone, lass. You need to have some fun.’
‘You sound just like Agnes. I’ve almost finished. I’m working on a promotion. I just need to reprogram the till and put posters up.’ Meg picked up a cloth so she could dampen it in the sink behind the counter. The tap, which had been dripping for a few weeks now, had a steady stream of water dribbling out. ‘What happened?’
‘Ach, I tried to turn it off,’ Cora said. ‘Maybe I’m stronger than I look because the drip got worse. Our usual plumber’s doing a big job in Morridon and he’s staying out that way because of the weather. Don’t worry, I called that laddie, Tom. He was supposed to come earlier, but got held up. He’s popping over in a minute.’
Meg stroked a hand over her hair, smoothing it down. She’d put some glitter on this morning, but most of it had rubbed off. She searched behind the counter, pulled out a sparkly compact she’d stashed there to stop her mother from tidying it up and patted her cheeks.
‘We’re lucky we don’t need an electrician. I’ve heard tales of month-long waits. This snow has caused utter chaos around here. Do you mind if I head home?’ Cora took the mop and bucket into the back. ‘Marcus has been out all day, and I’ve a new jam for him to try. It’s called Eager Elk and has cranberries and oranges in the recipe.’ She looked excited. ‘I think it’s going to be the one. While I remember, he asked me to tell you he’s had no luck tracking down your vandals. But there have been other reports of Christmas decorations going missing.’ She shrugged. ‘He’ll keep looking – we’ll want to catch the dunderheads before they do some real damage.’ She tugged off her red pinafore and hung it up behind the counter, picking up her coat.
‘Do you want me to drive you?’ Meg checked outside the shop. Snow was still fluttering down thickly and you could barely see the other side of the street.
‘Nae lassie, Marcus is going to pick me up.’ Her phone pinged in her pocket. ‘That’ll be him now. You’d better wait here for the hot toddy. He’ll be arriving any moment.’ She winked. ‘He’s a good-looking laddie – remember, sometimes differences can be a good thing. Just look at Agnes and Fergus.’ With that she swept out of the front, setting off ‘Jingle Bells’. Meg stood, staring after Cora for a moment, feeling something flutter low in her belly. She busied herself putting out posters ready for tomorrow and programming the till, listening all the t
ime for movement outside.
Half an hour later there was a tap on the door, and she went to open it. Tom was covered in snowflakes and Cooper came bounding inside, almost knocking her flying before sinking onto the wooden floor with a whimper.
‘He’s sulking because I made him leave the house.’ Tom looked amused. ‘Cora mentioned you had a problem with your tap and it was an emergency?’
Meg groaned. ‘It’s no emergency. She shouldn’t have dragged you out, we’re hardly battling a flood.’
‘I’m here now, you might as well show me.’ When she didn’t move, he added, ‘Do I need a password?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Let me guess, mince pies?’
Meg chuckled – Tom always seemed to find a way to make her laugh. Was that how it had been in the early days with her mum and dad? What had changed everything? Or hadn’t they been right for each other from the start – how did you know? Confusion made her frown as she pointed towards the cafe. ‘It’s behind the counter.’
He strode ahead, carrying a large black toolbox. She watched as he stripped off his coat and hat, placing them onto one of the chairs in the cafe, before walking behind the booth. He turned on the tap and examined it more closely.
‘You need a new washer, this one’s perished. I’ve got one in the box somewhere.’ Tom pulled the toolbox open and searched inside, scattering hammers, screwdrivers and other tools to the side.
‘You not working in the pub?’ Meg let her eyes drop to his fingers. He kept his nails short and even though his hands were large, they were graceful. He picked out a washer and gave a short cheer, grabbing a wrench.
‘Davey gave me the evening off. He said he’s not expecting to be busy because of the snow.’ He walked behind the counter again and Cooper trotted into the cafe, pressing his body up against Meg’s legs until she scratched his head.
If Every Day Was Christmas: A gorgeous and heart-warming Christmas romance Page 8
