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

by Holly Martin

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘It’s a maybe.’

  He felt the smile spread across his face. He’d take a maybe.

  ‘So.’ He broke the tension, and then put on his most sinister voice. ‘You ready to be scared?’

  She nodded and picked up the bowl of popcorn and plonked it on his lap. She didn’t move from his arms as she took a big handful of popcorn. He pressed play on the movie and the room was lit by the flickering of the old black and white film. As the haunting music drifted out from the speakers, she cuddled closer against him.

  He would just have to do everything in his power to turn that maybe into a yes.

  Chapter Six

  Libby woke the next day to snow falling in light flurries outside her window and smiled hugely. She had never really appreciated the snow before, but George’s love of all things Christmassy was obviously having an effect on her. So many Christmases had been spent moving on from one place to the next or sitting alone in the only restaurant or pub that insisted on staying open. This year she would spend it with her best friend. For the first time in a long time she was really looking forward to Christmas.

  Could she really stay in one place? Put down roots, get married, have a baby? OK, she was getting ahead of herself. She just had to work out if she could stay first, the other stuff could come later.

  It was still early, and she guessed that Rosie and Alex hadn’t started yet. Though Tuesdays, she gathered, Alex worked from home, so it tended to kick off a bit later than other days. She smiled to herself. It came to something when you set your clock by the sexual antics of the couple upstairs.

  She got up, got undressed and then pulled on her robe to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom, just in case George was in her flat. He wasn’t. She pulled back the shower curtain. But standing in the shower was a large old woman with a knife. The woman lunged forward to stab her.

  She screamed hysterically. Staggering backwards away from this maniac, she tripped over the bath mat and went flying into the wall, cracking her head painfully on the bathroom cabinet. Everything went black.

  * * *

  Judith was busy sweeping her drive when Verity Donaldson, the newest member of their book club, came round. Verity and her husband Bill had moved opposite her a few months before, after living their entire life on the beach of Silver Cove, and although Judith didn’t really have many friends it seemed that Verity wasn’t to be put off.

  ‘I bought some new books round for you,’ Verity said, indicating the shopping bag.

  ‘For the book club?’

  ‘No, for you.’ She rooted round in her bag. ‘I’m not quite sure what you like, though I know it’s not the rubbish that we read at the book club, so I bought you a selection. Michael McIntyre’s autobiography is very funny, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is brilliant, the latest book from Jill Mansell, one from my new favourite author Aven Ellis, she’s fantastic. Ooh, have you read these? I know they’re meant to be for teenage girls but I just love them.’ Verity pulled out the first two books in the Twilight series and Judith smiled; she suddenly liked Verity a whole lot more.

  ‘I’m reading Eclipse at the moment. I’ve just got to the bit where the vampires and the wolves are training for the big fight.’

  Verity smiled. ‘I knew I’d spotted a kindred spirit. Why don’t you put the kettle on and we can talk about it?’ She took her arm and started guiding her towards the house. ‘Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?’

  ‘Oh, Edward, obviously.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought that until I saw the films, but that Taylor Lautner who plays Jacob is a very fine specimen…’

  Suddenly Judith stiffened as a blue car pulled up outside next door. How embarrassing that Verity would be here to see this. Jackson Cartwright got out, flashed them both a smile and knocked on Amy’s door. Every week, without fail, he would turn up at the same time like clockwork. Amy would greet him at the door, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and a saucy smile. He’d go in and shortly after she would be seen closing her bedroom curtains. An hour later, he’d re-emerge, with a huge grin on his face. She had seen money exchange hands on numerous occasions. Slut. The worst thing was Jackson Cartwright was a respected member of the community, a teacher at the local senior school, and here he was on his one day off, clearly paying for sex.

  Amy opened the door and Jackson slipped past her into the house.

  ‘Hello, my lovely,’ Verity called, waving at Amy as if she were her new best friend.

  ‘Hello, Verity, thanks again for dinner the other night, it was lovely to see you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, any time.’

  Judith watched the exchange with some annoyance. Verity obviously didn’t know how vile Amy was, otherwise she wouldn’t be inviting her round for dinner.

  ‘I better go, Jackson’s waiting, and as he’s paying by the hour, I better get upstairs and earn my money.’

  Judith flushed with embarrassment as Amy closed the door.

  ‘Lovely girl, that Amy. Shall we go inside and get that kettle on?’ Verity said, moving back towards Judith’s house.

  Judith shook her head at Verity as she walked past; she was very naïve if she hadn’t realised that Amy was a prostitute.

  * * *

  ‘Shit, Libby, open your eyes, please open your eyes,’ George begged, kneeling by her side and shaking her gently.

  There was blood, quite a lot of it, and no amount of begging or shaking her was bringing her round. He eyed the blood-stained knife discarded on the floor.

  He stroked her face, softly. ‘I love you Lib, you have to wake up, you just have to, please.’

  But there was no response.

  * * *

  ‘How is your George?’ Judith asked, putting the kettle on.

  ‘Oh fine, still madly in love with his best friend…’

  ‘Amy?’ she asked. Surely not.

  ‘No, Libby, but he seems happy enough.’ Verity opened the biscuit tin and helped herself to a Bourbon. Judith liked that she felt comfortable enough with her to do that. ‘I don’t know, Judith, you want the best for your children, don’t you? And George hasn’t been with anyone since his divorce from Josie. He’s a lovely man, he deserves someone to love him, but Josie hurt him so badly I just don’t think he will risk his heart again.’

  Judith handed Verity a mug of tea.

  ‘But you must worry about Seb in the same way? I know he loved Marie, but it’s high time he found someone else, isn’t it? It must be nearly five years now – that’s way too long to grieve over someone, don’t you think?’

  Verity’s eyes were kind, but they were watching her carefully.

  ‘Five years exactly,’ Judith said, quietly. ‘Five years today.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry, dear, you must think I’m so callous, don’t pay any attention to me and my ramblings.’

  Judith turned away to put the milk back in the fridge. ‘You’re right though, I do want him to be happy again. Marie would have wanted him to find someone, she would have hated that he stayed on his own for all this time. And I feel obligated to him, to look out for him until someone else comes and takes the reins, when actually all I really want to do is go around the world, see the sights before it gets too late for me.’

  ‘Life is too short and too precious to live it for someone else; you have to live it for yourself.’

  Judith turned back, clasping her mug protectively to her chest. ‘I know…but I…I guess I want someone for Seb that Marie would have approved of.’

  ‘We can’t live our children’s lives for them. I know Seb isn’t your son, but he’s as good as. If I could live George’s life for him, I would march straight round to Libby’s flat and shake her by the shoulders until she saw what was right under her nose: that she and George were made for each other, that if she were to give him a chance, he would make her the happiest girl alive. But I can’t do that. If he’s too scared to tell her his feelings, I have to let him live his own life, make his own decisio
ns, and trust that those decisions will ultimately bring him happiness. It’s the same with Seb. Who you think will bring him happiness and who he thinks will make him happy will probably be two very different people and in the end you have to let him choose for himself.’ Verity dipped a biscuit into her tea and chewed it, obviously thinking how to phrase what she wanted to say next. ‘Love comes in many different shapes and sizes, and more often than not it comes in the shape we least expected. Libby, I think, would be perfect for George, but if he came to me tomorrow with a six-foot punk rocker called Bert who had a pierced face and green shaved hair and said this was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, I would be delighted that he was finally happy again.’

  Judith smirked at the thought of George hand in hand with a shaved, leather-clad punk rocker and knew Verity was right. She couldn’t choose for Seb. She had tried to choose for Marie and, against Judith’s better judgement, Marie had chosen Seb who had made her deliriously happy.

  ‘I don’t know if he will ever love again though, Verity. Like you say, it’s been five years; he should have found love by now.’

  Verity helped herself to another biscuit. ‘I think…that he hasn’t found love because he’s too worried that it will upset you.’

  Judith felt her mouth fall open. Had she really been holding Seb back all this time? She wanted him to be happy and had he been protecting her? But he couldn’t possibly find happiness with Amy, any fool could see that that was a recipe for disaster. He didn’t love Amy. She meant nothing to him surely. The night before had just been a kiss, nothing more than that. For all of Verity’s liberal attitude to George marrying some bloke called Bert, Judith couldn’t be that relaxed. In fact, Judith would prefer it if Seb did turn round and say he was marrying Bert; anyone would be better than Amy.

  * * *

  Libby was aware of pain before she could open her eyes, aware of her face lying against the cool bathroom tiles. She forced her eyes open, the bathroom was a blur but there was no one there. She tried to get up, forcing her hands under her and pushing herself off the floor, but her arms were shaky and she couldn’t get enough leverage. She groaned as she fell back to the floor.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps running from the lounge towards the bathroom, and the blurred figure of the old lady in a purple dress came towards her. Panic rose up in her again and she desperately and unsuccessfully tried to scrabble up. She reached out blindly to find something to defend herself with and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, the toilet brush, swinging it round in the direction of the old lady. It made contact with her face, and to her surprise, as she hit her, the old lady’s hair suddenly fell off.

  ‘Ewww, Libby, that’s disgusting, that’s been around your loo and now you’re smacking me round the face with it…’ said George’s voice and she stopped trying to defend herself in confusion.

  ‘George?’ she groaned.

  The old lady crouched down and Libby put a hand out to stop her getting closer, but as she stared at her, trying to clear her head of the grogginess, George’s face came into focus, his eyes filled with concern.

  ‘Are you OK, Lib?’

  Libby’s eyes closed again against her will. The pain was immense. She forced them back open again and nodded, trying to raise herself into a sitting position. George helped her sit up straight.

  ‘What happened?’ she muttered.

  She saw a flush seep over his features. ‘I’m sorry, honey, it was meant to be a joke, I thought it would make you laugh. I’m so sorry.’

  She looked at him in confusion and then, taking in the dress he was wearing, the grey curly wig on the floor lying next to what was clearly a rubber blood-stained knife, she realised what he’d done. The shower scene in Psycho had never before been so real.

  ‘Oh, you idiot,’ she laughed but doing so made her brain bounce inside her head. She groaned.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated. ‘Stay there, I’ll get you some ice.’

  He raced out the bathroom and she could hear him rooting around in her freezer and then he was back, gently pressing a bag of peas to her head.

  ‘You scared the crap out of me,’ she muttered, watching him care for her.

  ‘You know what, Lib, whatever fear you felt, times that by a hundred and you might get somewhere in the region of what I felt when you knocked yourself unconscious. I honestly thought I might have killed you. I was just about to call an ambulance.’

  ‘You don’t want to do that, you want to dump my body in the sea, before anyone found out that you killed me.’

  ‘Good point, though I’d have to cut off your fingers and take out your teeth so you couldn’t be identified by fingerprints or dental records.’

  ‘And probably pour honey or something over me so the fish eat all my flesh.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘I need to get up.’

  He put the peas down and, with his hands round her waist, pulled her gently to her feet. Her head span, the blood rushing to her brain making her feel suddenly very drunk, and she leaned heavily against the wall as the bathroom swam around her.

  * * *

  George watched the colour drain out of her; as he helped Libby to her feet, she went a very sickly shade of grey.

  ‘I think I need to lie down.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘I do.’ She took a step forward and staggered, losing her balance, but he caught her. She leaned against him and he wrapped his arms protectively around her.

  ‘I think you might need stitches, Lib, the cut is pretty deep.’

  ‘Urgh, I’m sure it’s fine.’

  ‘We really should get you to a hospital, you might have loosened some brain cells when you fell, they can push them back in, if need be.’

  ‘George, the nearest hospital is nearly an hour away. I’m sure I’ll be OK after I’ve slept.’

  ‘You’re not supposed to go to sleep after a bang to the head.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she mumbled.

  ‘OK, how about I call a doctor, and ask their advice?’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  He guided her out the bathroom and into the lounge, where she flopped uselessly onto the sofa. He found the phone book and quickly dialled the number for the local surgery.

  ‘Yes hello, my friend banged her head and knocked herself out and I’m wondering if I should take her to the hospital? Yes… Right… Just a few minutes… she’s a bit dizzy… I’m not sure, it probably isn’t that deep… Right… OK… Thanks.’ He put the phone down. ‘Yeah, they said I should bring you in just in case.’

  She giggled, holding her hands out like she had been handcuffed. ‘Bring me in.’

  He pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Miss Joseph, get some shoes on.’

  She giggled again. ‘I can’t go like this; I’m naked under this robe.’

  He had noticed. As soon as she’d knocked herself out, she had slumped unconscious on the floor, and the robe had fallen open in the most indiscreet manner.

  ‘Well, go and put some clothes on.’

  She nodded thoughtfully and started to walk towards her bedroom. She wobbled a bit, her legs not performing as she wanted them to. He caught her arm.

  ‘You might need to help me.’

  He nodded.

  ‘But no peeking.’

  ‘Right, so I have to help you get dressed with my eyes closed?’

  ‘Exactly,’ she giggled.

  Honestly, with her giggling like this, it was like she was drunk. Maybe she really had dislodged some of her brain cells.

  They went into the bedroom and she sat down on the bed.

  ‘Underwear first,’ she said, dispensing with her robe.

  His eyes bulged as he tried to look everywhere but at the beautiful, naked woman before him.

  ‘Right, where shall I look?’

  ‘Top drawer.’

  He went to the top drawer. It was filled with all manner o
f tiny, delicate things. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, a lacy black pair of knickers with tiny red roses and took them over to her.

  She giggled when she saw them. ‘Not those, George, they’re my sex knickers.’

  He laughed. ‘You have sex knickers?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I thought the whole idea of sex was that you didn’t wear knickers.’

  ‘Those are the knickers I wear when I’m going to have sex; the unwrapping is part of the process, as well you know. I have a matching bra in there too.’

  There was so much he didn’t know about relationships. In his limited experience of sex, it normally involved getting the underwear off as quick as possible.

  ‘If I wear those, the doctors will think I’m a prostitute.’

  ‘Why is the doctor looking at your underwear when you’ve banged your head?’

  She clearly thought about this for a moment. ‘Good point.’ She took the knickers and stood up. But it was like watching Bambi on ice, as she wobbled on her legs. He took her arm to steady her, as she precariously lifted one leg into the hole and then the other. She pulled them up and then sat down on the bed again.

  He went back to the drawers and pulled out a white bra and passed it to her.

  ‘Oh George,’ she sighed in disappointment. ‘Do I not even get to go to the hospital in matching underwear? The shame of it.’ She put it on anyway, sighing theatrically.

  ‘Right, jeans and a hoodie and then we can be off.’ He went to the wardrobe, dug them out and turned back. She was lying across the bed, clearly asleep.

  He sighed. ‘Libby.’ He shook her gently. ‘Libby, you really shouldn’t go to sleep after banging your head. Libby. Libby.’

  She jerked awake. ‘What?’

  He pulled her back into a sitting position, pulled the hoodie on over her head, struggled to get her arms through the sleeves, as she was now not helping at all. He pulled her jeans on up to her thighs, helped her to her feet and pulled them up the rest of the way. Doing up the flies was quite embarrassing as his hand was so close to her crotch.