by Agatha Frost
Flavio grabbed her arms and pulled her in before planting a heavy kiss on her lips. She leaned into it, her eyes closing as their lips met. She’d never looked at Flavio like that before, but his hands felt nice against her arms.
“Sorry to interrupt!” she heard Damon cry from behind. “It’s just the police are literally swarming in, and there’s a riot van.”
“This way,” Flavio said, voice deep as he pulled away from the kiss.
Claire hurried behind, wiping off the lipstick and the lingering taste of Maggie’s gin.
“What happens at the Christmas party, stays at the Christmas party,” she whispered to Damon as they followed Flavio through the kitchen’s fire exit. “We never speak of this again.”
“Deal.”
The fire door threw them out on the other side of the wall, looking down over the lit-up village. Claire could just about see the police’s flashing lights beaming up from the courtyard.
“Good luck,” Flavio said, after shaking their hands. “I hope to see you both on Monday.”
“Yeah.” Damon waved after him before whispering to Claire, “He knows we’re probably not going to get arrested, right?”
“Probably is doing the heavy lifting in that sentence.”
Claire linked her arm through Damon’s and dragged him back the way they’d come. Further down the hill, they ran past the farm and into the light cast by the farmhouse’s windows. Halfway across, Ian Baron came out, shaking a fist and screaming about property laws.
“Sorry, Ian!” Claire called over her head as she pivoted towards her parents’ fence. “Last time, I promise!”
“Has he got a shotgun?”
“Probably not.”
“Now where is ‘probably’ doing the heavy lifting?”
Claire scrambled over the fence before pulling Damon over. The shed was silent, but the house wasn’t. Through the window to the open-plan kitchen and dining room, she saw her father and uncle sitting at the table with their arms around each other’s necks, singing at the top of their lungs.
“Every year!” Janet cried, flinging her hands into the air as she marched across the kitchen. “Every year it ends in the sea shanties, and the closest either of you has got to the sea was an all-inclusive cruise!”
Janet hurried down the hallway to stop the last of her guests from leaving, but their polite smiles only tightened as they bowed out through the front door.
When it closed, Pat and Alan stopped abruptly.
“Did it work?” Alan whispered.
“Like a dream,” Claire replied, winking. “You’ll have to switch it up next year. She’s going to notice.”
Janet stalked into the kitchen with a face of thunder.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Mr Harris!” She planted her hands on her hips before turning to Claire and demanding, “And where have you been? Your flying visit dominated the conversation for most of the night! I couldn’t move them on.”
“I think I was at an illegal warehouse rave,” she mused.
“No need to take the Mickey.” Janet returned her attention to the table. “Pat, home. Alan, bath. Claire … grab bin liners and help me get the house together. I’ll be up until the crack of dawn resetting this place.”
While Pat and Alan said goodbye at the door, Claire pretended to search for bin bags as slowly as she could while she caught Damon up on everything that had happened.
“So, it was Nicola,” he said, shaking his head. “Who told her?”
“Dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe she found out by herself. Too many moving parts.”
“I thought it was too good to be true when it felt like we were actually going to throw another Crimbo Bash.” Damon sighed and looked up at the factory. “I can’t believe she’d do that. Well, I can, but that she actually did?”
“Not just that,” Claire said, pulling out the roll of liners. “I think she was trying to send a message. She could have just called the police, but she went out of her way to ruin every aspect of the evening. She let us think we were getting away with it to destroy it anyway.” She tore off a bag. “Which is why we can’t tell anyone she did it.”
“People deserve to know.”
“They do,” she said, closing the drawer with her hip, “but if no one knows it was her, the message will never be delivered. That’ll probably annoy her more than the party. Let’s not give her the satisfaction.”
Damon shook his head as this sank in and chuckled. “Good idea.”
“Besides, people got what they wanted.”
“Which was?”
“A legendary secret work Christmas party to talk about for the next two decades.” Claire started gathering the discarded gold paper plates from the island. “About going to Manchester…”
“After walking up and down that hill, all I want is my bed.” He laughed and pushed up his glasses. “Are we getting old?”
“Almost certainly,” she agreed. “Let’s go for lunch tomorrow and be the only sober – and not hungover – people in the pub the day after Mad Friday.”
“That sounds … kind of nice.”
Damon, still wearing Alan’s clothes, left with Pat, still singing. Alan went for his bath while Claire and her mother got through bagging up the rubbish. When they finished, they sat at the counter and enjoyed a small glass of creamy Bailey’s together. Claire could tell her mother needed it just as much as she did.
“Some ladies were talking about their sons tonight,” Janet said as she slid off the stool. “Single sons.”
“No, thank you, Mother.”
“How can you say that when you haven’t even asked about them?” Janet sighed as she tossed the creamy ice into the metal sink. “One of them is a doctor, and another works in a bank. Sheila insisted her son was perfect for you, but he works at the abattoir and I can’t bear to think about the smell of—”
“A man kissed me tonight.”
Wide-eyed, Janet dropped the glasses on the floor. After sweeping up the shards of glass, Claire indulged her mother with the tale of Flavio kissing her in the kitchen. It hadn’t been particularly romantic, and she doubted anything would come of it, but it changed the skipping record in her mother’s mind for the rest of the night. A small part of Claire just wanted to prove that such things could happen; she couldn’t remember how long it had been since her last encounter.
After stretching out every tiny detail of the barely-there story, Claire suggested they get back to cleaning, an offer Janet never turned down. While her mother vacuumed the sitting room, Claire picked up the stuffed bin bags and took them outside.
As she threw them into the wheelie bin, a warm glow in the garden next door caught her eye. She glanced over, surprised to see Nicola laid out on a lounge chair with a fur blanket draped across her under the glow of a patio heater. One hand poked out, holding a chilled glass of wine, and even though Claire couldn’t be certain where Nicola had fixed her gaze, there was only one place the chair could be pointed.
Claire glanced up at the factory where flashing police lights still glowed from the courtyard. She looked back at Nicola, thoughts coursing through her mind.
She shouldn’t say anything.
Nicola was her neighbour.
Nicola was her boss.
Nicola was cruel.
“You know,” Claire called over the fence, bin lid still held open, “word has it your father knew all about the Candle Crimbo Bash of 1999 and let it happen anyway to help boost morale. Funny that, don’t you think?”
Nicola glanced at Claire and sipped her wine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, gaze returning to the factory. “I’ll see you on Monday, Claire.”
Claire let the lid fall and walked away. She stomped up to her room and, holding fluffy Sid close to her chest, looked down at Nicola enjoying the view. Claire didn’t know what she would do or how she would do it, but the itch had become even more inescapable than ever.
This wa
s her last Christmas working at the Warton Candle Factory.
It had to be.
Want to see Claire chase her dreams? Her story continues in the 1st Claire’s Candles book, Vanilla Bean Vengeance, or why not check out the Book 1-3 Boxset!
Boxing Day Bingo
A standalone story featuring Dot and Percy, husband and wife extraordinaire, from my Peridale Café series.
Dot never accepted invitations for Boxing Day. The day after Christmas was for locking oneself in the house to recover from the festivities. If the phone rang, she ignored it. Meals comprised of leftover turkey and stuffing sandwiches, and no sale was worth rushing down to the shops.
This bitterly cold Boxing Day morning, however, Dot found herself on the outskirts of the Peridale, staring up at Oakwood Nursing Home. The invitation to attend their annual Boxing Day Bingo event had come out of the blue, but considering who’d sent it, Dot simply couldn’t justify staying at home.
The turkey and stuffing sandwiches would have to wait.
“What do I say to her?” Dot asked Percy as she wrapped her hand around his frosty fingers. “It’s been so long.”
“You say hello, dear.” Percy chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Adrienne invited you. No need to be nervous, my love. We’ll be amongst our people today.”
Percy meant ‘old fogies like us’, but Dot had never felt comfortable at Oakwood. There were worse places to end up than the former stately home, she mused as she pulled open the heavy front door, but she was grateful for every year she kept her independence.
With her eighty-sixth birthday around the corner, Dot wasn’t naïve. As spritely as she was now, it never took much to flip life upside down at this age. She’d seen it happen enough times. A place like Oakwood was inevitable if she lived as long as she hoped she would.
Passing the looming Christmas tree in the reception hall, they followed the sound of laughter and conversation to the recreational room at the back of the building. Residents sat in large armchairs all over the room, but today their visitors outnumbered them. Huge windows overlooked the sprawling grounds where only a few souls braved the frosty morning air, and a fire roared opposite a television on wheels.
“I can’t see her,” Dot whispered to Percy as she scanned the faces of everyone seated in the fluffy armchairs. “What if I don’t recognise her?”
“How long has it been?”
Dot searched her memories. She’d been friends with Adrienne on and off for most of her adult life. No matter how far their lives had drifted in different directions, they’d always floated back. Each time, they met as slightly different people, but always with the same wicked sense of humour that had first bonded them. Their most recent stint of regular contact had taken place in a bingo hall where they’d met up weekly to play and laugh together.
A couple of missed dates, and before Dot knew it, they’d drifted again.
“Tony Blair was the Prime Minister,” Dot said, still scanning. “He doesn’t seem so long ago, but then I remember we’ve had four since – and that’s before you count all the marriages, deaths, and births. It’s been far too long.”
“All the more reason to be here.” Percy released Dot’s hand and stepped in the path of a nurse wearing a navy-blue tunic adorned with tinsel around the collar. “Hello there, we’re looking for an Adrienne. Don’t suppose you know where she is?”
“Adrienne?” the nurse – Hannah, according to her name badge – skidded to a halt, her arched brow adding further wrinkles to her already lined forehead.
“Is there a problem?” Dot asked.
“No.” The nurse shook her head quickly. “She’s not had a new visitor in a while, that’s all.” She gestured. “This way. I’ll take you to her room.”
As they followed the nurse down a corridor and away from the noise, Percy gave Dot a ‘don’t feel guilty’ look, but it was no good. She’d once called the woman a friend, and yet, despite living only a fifteen-minute walk away, Dot hadn’t given her a second thought in years.
“Between us,” Hannah whispered as they slowed down near the end of the corridor, “I’m glad you’re here. She’s not been doing so well lately.”
Dot held her breath as Hannah knocked on the door to Room 31 before softly twisting the handle. Dot braced herself, her imagination conjuring vivid images of a frail shadow of the vibrant, loud woman she used to know. She’d be lying if she claimed she hadn’t wondered if Adrienne had called her to Oakwood to announce she was dying – as so many old friends had done over the years.
But Dot wasn’t greeted by a near-ghost.
Adrienne wasn’t in bed on death’s door. She sat upright in a chair by the window, clad in her best formals, stamping bingo dabbers onto an empty notepad. The years had aged her, but nothing matched the feeble, weak image Dot’s mind had cooked up. In fact, Adrienne was plumper and looked better for it, and her soft, frizzy curls were still mousy, valiantly defying the silvering that had conquered Dot’s brunette years ago.
“Dorothy?” Adrienne squinted across the room as she stuffed the lid back on the chunky pen. “I can’t believe it, you actually came!”
Adrienne pushed herself up from the chair almost effortlessly and held out her arms just as she had always done after the previous long breaks in their communication. Nurse Hannah bowed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Dot said as she hugged her old friend. “I shouldn’t have waited for an invitation.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Adrienne pulled back from the hug and looked Dot up and down. “You don’t get to this age without knowing how life works. We all get caught up in our own things. I didn’t expect to see you today, but I’m all the happier for being wrong.”
“I didn’t hesitate when your invitation landed on my doormat.”
“Then I’m glad to know I still have at least one friend in this world.” Adrienne looked past Dot before striding over to Percy with an outstretched hand. “And you must be Dorothy’s husband. I read all about your crazy wedding in the paper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dot’s cheeks burned hot. She’d invited near everyone she’d ever spoken to in the village, and yet no invitation had made it as far as the nursing home.
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Percy grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Dot’s told me all about your adventures together.”
“Has she, now?” Adrienne grinned over her shoulder. “I hope she wasn’t too honest. We got up to some antics back in our day.” She laughed. “Remember the time we accidentally let that donkey loose at the Christmas fair? The thing went wild and kicked right through the window of the shop that sold those wooden children’s toys.” She shook her head. “Is it still there?”
“It’s my granddaughter’s café now,” Dot revealed, “and I wish I could remember that story, but I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Oh, how could you forget?” Adrienne returned to her seat and motioned for Dot to take the chair across from her – Percy perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. “You were wafting away a fly, overshot it, and fell right into the paddock gate and opened the pen. That donkey bolted out of the church grounds and across the village green. You must remember.”
The story must have taken place with someone else because Dot had no memory of it; it wasn’t ringing the slightest bell. Not wanting to embarrass Adrienne, she gave a polite laugh and smiled as she cast her eyes down at the notepad onto which her friend had been dabbing the pens. It looked like she’d been playing a game of bingo minus the numbers and in all different colours.
“Are you expecting more people?” Dot asked as she counted the eleven bingo dabbers.
“You mean my family?” Adrienne’s thin lips pursed as she glanced out the tall window at the frosty grounds. “I was only good for a flying visit on Christmas Eve. Apologies and promises to come more often, as per usual, but at least I got a new pair of slippers out of it.”
Dot’s guilt deepened. She
’d spent the entirety of Christmas with generations of her family, from her only son all the way to her great-granddaughters.
“You look like a green sort of fella to me,” Adrienne said as she passed a dabber to Percy. “And red for fiery Dorothy.” She pulled the lid off another chunky pen and dabbed it onto the page before passing it to Dot. “Always losing the things, so I searched my entire room. I came across all these – and it’s a Christmas miracle because only one of the lot is dried out.”
The door opened after a soft knock, and a smiley man with a head of white hair and a full white beard pushed a trolley into the room. Though Dot guessed he was somewhere in his fifties, his tanned biceps strained against the arms of his white tunic, giving him the appearance of a rather muscular Santa Claus.
“Here he is!” Adrienne announced. “Phil the Pill Man coming to make me feel good. What’ve you got for me today?”
“Just the usual,” he said, chuckling as he handed her a plastic cup of pills. While he filled in some paperwork on a clipboard, his eyes darted up to Dot and Percy. “Are you two new? I haven’t seen your faces before.”
“Just visiting,” Adrienne said after swilling down the pills with some water. “Dorothy is an old friend of mine. She still has her own place. Are you still in that little cottage near the green?”
“The very same.”
“If that ever gets too much for you,” Phil said as he slotted the clipboard back, “rooms are always opening up here, and we’re very welcoming of newcomers, aren’t we, Adrienne?”
“Maybe you are, dear,” Adrienne said with a strained smile. “That nurse, on the other hand…”
Phil sighed. “Not this again.”
Suddenly stiff in her chair, Adrienne clasped her hands in her lap, her expression void of the joy she’d shown since they arrived. She didn’t relax until Phil pulled the trolley out of the room and closed the door behind him.
“What did he mean?” Dot pushed when Adrienne didn’t say anything. “‘Not this again’?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Adrienne wafted a hand as she picked up another dabber to test. “It’s just … my things are being stolen. It started small, at first. A few coins off the side table, then a ring, and then my pension stash under the rug started to feel lighter. This morning, one of my bracelets was gone.”
