Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2)

by Holly Martin

  She couldn’t speak either, so she simply nodded.

  ‘I need you.’

  She found her hands were trembling as she reached up and touched his face. She watched as his eyes filled with desire and suddenly his mouth was on hers.

  * * *

  Seb’s heart hammered against his chest. There was so much heat in that kiss, so much pent-up need, passion and desire. Amy was already reaching for his jeans, undoing his button. He had planned to take her upstairs, to do it properly, but he wouldn’t make it, he would have her here, on the floor of his pub.

  He moved his mouth to her neck, tasting her, devouring her.

  ‘Shit, Seb, stop,’ she muttered, trying to push him away.

  He didn’t think he could.

  ‘What?’ he growled, but then he saw the look of guilt and horror on her face and he whirled round to see what she was looking at, but he already knew.

  Judith was standing horror-stricken in the doorway.

  ‘Judith…’ But there were no words he could find which to explain.

  ‘How could you?’ Judith said, her voice choked with grief. ‘With her of all people, did Marie mean nothing to you?’

  ‘Judith. I’m sorry,’ Amy started.

  ‘Don’t talk to me, you disgusting… you whore.’

  ‘Judith!’ Seb said. ‘Don’t talk to her like that.’

  ‘I should go,’ Amy said quietly, and he watched her leave, his heart aching for her.

  He turned back to Judith, not sure what he could do or say to make this better. If he had taken Amy into the office or upstairs Judith would never have known. Greed was a horrible thing; he hadn’t given Judith a single thought as he had kissed Amy, his only thought had been of Amy, of touching her, kissing her, being with her. Shamefully, Marie hadn’t entered his thoughts either.

  ‘I left my handbag here.’ Judith stalked back to where she had been sitting and snatched it up.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

  ‘For kissing her or that I found out?’

  That she found out obviously; he never wanted to hurt her. But he could never regret that kiss.

  ‘And in case you’ve forgotten, tomorrow is the fifth anniversary of Marie’s death. I didn’t want to mention it, thought you’d honour her in your own way. I had no idea you planned to do it by jumping into bed with the town slut.’

  Seb opened his mouth to protest but she was already gone.

  He sat down in a chair with his head in his hands and Jack nuzzled against him, sensing he was upset. He pulled the dog’s ears absently – he hadn’t remembered. The date of Marie’s death had meant nothing to him. When she first died, he had no idea what date it was. For the six or seven weeks immediately after her death, he had been a mess, life had moved as if in a thick fog, and he had very little recollection of those weeks, even the funeral was a blurry haze. His friends had rallied round and kept the pub running in his absence, while Judith had arranged the funeral, sorted out all the paperwork, cooked and cleaned for him, made him get dressed in the mornings, until slowly he could cope on his own, until the grief became manageable. But if he thought his grief was bad, it was nothing compared to what Judith went through a few weeks after Marie’s death. It shocked him to his core to see this woman, who had always been so in control, now a complete wreck. The grief did not subside for months and there was now a role reversal where he did everything for her instead. Judith eventually stopped crying, but he knew she’d never really got over it.

  About two years after Marie’s death, he had been asked out on a date and had said yes. When he had told Judith about it, she was livid. They’d had a big row and she’d stormed off. That night she’d had a heart attack. Seb, still recorded as her next of kin, had been called out in the early hours of the morning, and to see her looking so vulnerable, so small, made him writhe with guilt. He also felt an enormous amount of responsibility too; he was all she had now and Marie would have wanted him to look after her. He felt so ashamed, as if he’d nearly killed her. Judith had insisted it wasn’t anything to do with him, that she had been feeling a bit poorly for a few days, but it was a bit too much of a coincidence for him. He swore to himself he would never put her through that again. The girl hadn’t been anyone important, she was lovely, but not someone he could see himself spending the rest of his life with. So why fight with Judith over her? Why hurt her over someone who was just a nice girl, no one special?

  But if that had been Judith’s reaction when he was tentatively going out on a first date, what would her reaction be to him falling in love again? Would it be different now that so much time had passed?

  Five years. He shook his head. He deliberately did not want to mark the day of Marie’s death. He preferred to honour her, to remember her on happy occasions, the date of their marriage and her birthday. But five years was too long to grieve. Marie was a firm believer that life was for the living, that you only have one life and you should grab it with both hands. If she had been here now, she would have slapped him round the back of the head – as she used to do when he did something to infuriate her – to see that he hadn’t moved on in the last five years, that he was honouring a promise he had made to her mum across her death bed. It was high time he moved on, found someone else to love, someone he could take to Judith and say, this is the person I’m going to marry. So why had fate decreed that the one person he wanted would be the one person who Judith hated? He smiled, wryly to himself as he stood up. If Marie was here now, she would have found the whole thing hilarious.

  * * *

  ‘Popcorn,’ Libby said, coming in from the kitchen with a large bowl. George lifted the duvet so she could crawl under and, taking her usual place on the opposite side of the sofa to him, she plonked the bowl of popcorn between them. The log fire was roaring nicely, sending golden shadows across the room, Psycho was ready to watch on the TV, everything was perfect. He hoped the film would scare her enough that she would need his arms around her for protection. One night they had been watching The Blair Witch Project and after about twenty minutes Libby had left her side of the sofa, lifted his arm and curled up into his chest. He’d barely registered what the rest of the film was about, just that there had been a lot of running around the woods and screaming, which had made her press herself tighter against him.

  He had tried many different horror films since then, and occasionally he got lucky and found one which scared the crap out of her. Usually the psychologically disturbing ones rather than the gory had the desired effect, which meant she needed his arms around her, but mostly she stayed resolutely and annoyingly on her side of the sofa.

  ‘So, as first dates go, how did ours rate, marks out of ten?’ he asked.

  ‘Ten definitely. There was romance, a great meal, the view, great conversation, and even funny moments with Mani’s violin playing, plus the incredible ice carvings afterwards. If that was a real first date, you’d definitely get a second.’

  He smiled. He wanted a second date with her, and a third and fourth.

  ‘So tell me, is this the sort of thing you’d do with Giselle on your first date – that after your meal you’d come back to your sofa to watch a scary film?’

  ‘I guess this is the sort of thing couples who have known each other for a while would do. Me and Josie used to do this occasionally, but she didn’t share the same taste in films as I did. Nor did she like popcorn.’

  ‘How can she not like popcorn?’ she asked, incredulous.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So what would your ideal first date be?’

  ‘Well, a drink down the Bubble and Froth, maybe a meal. You can tell a lot about a woman by what she eats – is she only going to be on the rabbit food, or does she like her food as much as I do? Then afterwards a walk along Silver Cove beach. It’d be cold so we’d have to cuddle together, and the wind would be whipping around us but we wouldn’t care because we would be with each other.’

  ‘Aw, George, you really are rather romantic, aren’
t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Then it might start to rain and we’d have to run back to the flat, we’d be all rosy-cheeked from the wind and giggling about getting caught in the rain, and we might share a kiss for the first time, a sweet, tender kiss.’

  ‘Aww.’

  ‘Then I’d rip her clothes off and have really dirty sex.’

  She laughed loudly. ‘How romantic, what a perfect end to the evening.’

  ‘Sounds pretty perfect to me.’

  ‘So a few years down the line, and you and Giselle are still together, would you get married again?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Just because my first marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean it won’t work out the second time. I’ve grown as a person now.’

  ‘OK, so you’re married. Kids?’

  ‘Yes, definitely, two girls and a boy.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’ Her smile was wistful.

  ‘Do you not want that – marriage, babies, the happy ever after?’

  ‘Maybe. No. I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t want children?’

  ‘Yes I do, lately more than ever, but…’

  ‘That requires trusting the man you’re with.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What happened to you, Lib, what happened that made you so scared of that?’

  She glanced over at the TV and he knew she wasn’t going to tell him; she never revealed anything from her past.

  She sat up and he thought he had pushed her too far and she was going to leave. He didn’t know why he’d felt the need to rock their happy little equilibrium. They had two weeks until she left, he wanted everything to stay wonderful between them until then. There was nothing he could do to make her stay, so why spend their last few weeks together pushing her and knocking the way she lived her life? It was none of his business.

  She moved the popcorn from in between them onto the coffee table and, to his great surprise, shifted closer to him, lifting his arm and cuddling into his chest. He didn’t do anything, unsure if she just wanted him to stop talking and watch the film.

  ‘My dad died earlier this year and you have no idea how relieved I was. He was a vile man,’ Libby said, quietly. He swallowed, tightening his arm around her. She was going to talk and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.

  ‘He was never physically abusive and I suppose I should be grateful for that but he abused my mum in so many other ways. I remember when I was little she was so full of life and joy and over the years I watched it just fade away until it was gone. She wanted to travel and see the world – when he was at work or out at the golf club we would watch all these travel programmes and documentaries together and she would tell me about all the places she wanted to see. We never went anywhere. So many times I heard her trying to persuade Dad to go on holiday to these places but he always refused, he didn’t want to fly, didn’t want to eat strange food and go to countries where they didn’t speak the language, there were many reasons. But I often wondered if the only reason was he didn’t want to do anything that would make her happy. He had a horrible temper. He would pick holes in everything she did, she never ironed his shirts well enough, the dinners she cooked were disgusting. He would scream at her until she cried. There was nothing loving about their marriage and that’s what scares me. She married him because she loved him. I saw their wedding photos and they were happy and very much in love. How does that love turn to so much hate and disrespect?’

  ‘I guess people just grow apart. Me and Josie got together so young, I guess as we grew up we both wanted different things. Maybe it was the same for your mum and dad.’

  ‘Growing apart I can understand, but I could never hate the person I had loved so much. My dad constantly put her down, insulted her and then those comments passed to me. He told me I was worthless and that no one would ever love me. There’s only so many times you can hear that before you start to believe it.’

  ‘What? You think you’re worthless?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that, not any more. I’ve proven I have worth. The stories I write bring happiness to thousands of people, the money isn’t bad either. But I don’t think I’ll ever find someone who loves me.’

  ‘You don’t stay still long enough for that, and I bet you’d be surprised at how many hearts you’ve broken when you pack up and walk away.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t think there are any broken hearts left littering the road I’ve walked.’

  ‘Trust me on this, you’re incredibly loveable.’

  She smiled up at him and he wanted to tell her how much he loved her but the fear of rejection was too much. If he told her how he felt and she still walked away at the end of the year it would break his heart just months after it had barely healed.

  ‘So you keep moving on because you’re scared of letting yourself fall in love only to have that love be betrayed?’

  ‘No. Well, maybe that’s part of it. My mom got sick. Cancer. They caught it too late and by the time they realised she was given months left to live.’

  ‘Christ, Lib, I’m so sorry.’

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘She was my best friend and there isn’t a day that doesn’t go by that I don’t miss her. But I was so angry at her when she died. Still am, I suppose. A few weeks before she died she told me she had some money put aside for me in a locker in the train station near where she worked. She said it was for me to escape so I would never have to live the life she led. She told me she wanted me to see the world, to seize every opportunity that came my way. After she died, Dad immediately passed all her duties to me, shouting at me to clean and cook for him. It was happening all over again. I wasn’t allowed out, I wasn’t allowed to see my friends. I took the locker key my mum had left me and retrieved a bag full of cash. I took it home and counted it and there was over fifty thousand pounds. She said it was all her tip money. I guess over the years it all added up. The next day I took the bag and walked away. There was no way I was going to stay and live that life. I changed my name, flew abroad and haven’t stopped running ever since. I was so scared that he would track me down and find me, so I kept moving on, but he never did. Though I don’t know whether that’s because he just didn’t bother to look or he was unable to find me. The money meant I didn’t have to worry about food or rent for the next two years and by that time I had already written three books and got them published. I was so angry at my mum, though. She should have left him, lived the life she wanted to live. Life is precious and so short and she should have seized it and visited all those places that she wanted to see. She had the money to do it and instead she wasted her life with a man who hated her. All her hopes and dreams, and she never did anything to fulfil them.’

  ‘It’s hard to walk away, Lib. You shouldn’t judge her too harshly.’

  ‘You walked away from Josie.’

  ‘It took me four years to find that courage. Probably more. Four years where I pathetically hoped things would get better, where I tried to pretend it was just a bad patch and we would get through it. We had so many good memories and it was hard to believe that we’d never get that back. Things got worse and I still didn’t leave. I loved her and it took a long time for me to fall out of love with her. Maybe it took a long time for your mum to realise there was no love left in the marriage. Sometimes you can convince yourself that one person’s love for the other is enough for both of you. It sounds to me that she was planning to leave – she saved fifty thousand pounds in cash. That sounds like an escape fund to me, not just for you, but for her too. Maybe cancer caught up with her before she could escape so she gave the money to you instead.’

  She stared at him. ‘Is that what you think?’

  He nodded. ‘For her to create an escape fund for you shows that she knew there was a serious problem. But she couldn’t just leave, she had to have somewhere to go, money to spend. So she saved up. If that was tip money, that’s quite a few years she spent plotting her escape. It’s heartbreaking that she never got
the chance to live her life and see the world. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve taken on her dreams of travelling – she would have been so proud to see what you have achieved and the places you’ve seen – but I don’t think for one minute that she ever meant for you to spend your whole life running, seeing the world at the expense of making real friendships and falling in love. Your dad is dead, there’s no one going to come banging on your door. But by constantly running and moving on, you’re letting him win and you don’t want to give him that. Maybe it’s time you stayed in one place for a while.’

  Libby was silent for a long while and he wondered whether she was even thinking about what he’d said, or just thinking of another excuse.

  ‘But what about my work? My publishers are expecting a story set in New York next.’

  ‘Then you go there on holiday. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You would?’

  ‘In a heartbeat. Seeing the world must be an incredible experience but surely seeing it with someone, having someone to share those memories with, would be infinitely better.’

  She looked back at the TV. ‘I don’t know, George. I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than six months. What if I get bored?’

  ‘What if you don’t? You love it here. I think that’s why you are struggling to finish your story because you know finishing it will mean you have to leave. What if you don’t finish it? What if you stay here and create your own story? One that involves movie nights with your best friend and quiz nights down the pub. A story that includes a stupid scarecrow festival in the spring, the summer fete with one of the few places left in the world that still does maypole dancing and scuba diving in one of the most beautiful places in the world to dive. People love you here. Amy and Kat would be very sad to see you leave.’

  She looked back up at him. ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I’d be heartbroken.’

  She stared at him for a second and then burst out laughing. ‘Put the movie on, George.’