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

by Holly Martin

‘She’s late,’ Seb muttered.

  Big Dave frowned. ‘Not like her.’

  ‘I think she’s trying to prove a point.’

  ‘Well, point proven: the specials board hasn’t been changed since yesterday, there’s no peanuts on the bar and I have to put up with your ugly mug glowering at me rather than her lovely face. Whatever she wants, give it to her. I know better than anyone that you’ve got to keep your women happy.’

  ‘She’s not my woman,’ Seb said defensively.

  Big Dave smiled knowingly. ‘Your women, Seb, not your woman, but lord knows you need one of them in your life. But I’m talking about all the women in your life: Amy, Judith, Sally, your mum, your sister. Keep them all happy; agree to anything for a quiet life.’

  Seb checked his watch for the tenth time as more customers drifted in. How exactly was he supposed to keep both Amy and Judith happy?

  He was going to have stern words with Amy after this stunt, though that just seemed to turn her on even more. He looked at his watch again. She was half an hour late and his friends would just be arriving at the Winston Churchill in Apple Hill now, wondering where he was. Damn her. One day a week off and she was cocking that up for him.

  ‘Can we bring our dog in?’ asked a man who had the look of someone already stressed out by the thought of Christmas approaching. Two kids, a boy and a girl, were playing tag behind him. Seb had heard the day before that White Cliff Bay primary school had closed early for the holidays and clearly this man had had enough of looking after them already. A small red setter sat patiently at the man’s feet.

  Seb indicated Jack, lying snoring in a shaft of daylight, his large belly rising and falling with each breath. ‘As long as she gets on with other dogs.’

  The man nodded. ‘Oh, she’s very friendly.’

  Seb nodded and the family moved into one of the booths. The children, having had their game of tag temporarily thwarted, fell on Jack with excitement. He opened a bleary eye and sat up so he could be stroked more thoroughly. The red setter sniffed him, Jack’s eyes lighting up at the female attention. Seb smiled, though his smile fell off as a steady stream of young couples, families and locals suddenly came through the doorway. Where the bloody hell was Amy?

  * * *

  On his way out to the tiny shop to pick up some milk, George bumped into Giselle in the foyer. Literally bumped. Not looking where he was going as he shut the door, his thoughts on his wonderful date with Libby that night, he turned and slammed into her so hard she nearly toppled over. He quickly reached out to stop her from falling.

  ‘Shit, sorry. God, are you OK?’ he said, feeling his cheeks glowing crimson.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She smiled at him politely.

  ‘Erm…’ he said, trying to find something to say. Anything would be good right now. Anything that wasn’t ‘erm’. She really was so beautiful, cute in a pixie type way and he was painfully aware that he was just staring at her.

  ‘I, er…’ This was good, he had nearly knocked her over and now couldn’t even string a sentence together. She was bound to be bowled over.

  OK, he was funny, Libby always said that he made her laugh, he just had to say something funny. Oh God, Giselle was shuffling away now, he had to say something. A knock, knock joke, he knew loads of those, or a limerick maybe, he’d written quite a few himself for his radio adverts. No, he couldn’t just launch into a limerick; he would look like a madman.

  ‘Well, see you, George, I’ve still got a bit of unpacking to do, so I better get on and do it.’ She turned away quickly.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ he blurted, pleased that he’d finally found something to say, something that wasn’t a sodding limerick.

  ‘Fine thanks, I was thinking of having a house warming party actually. Maybe in a week or two once all the boxes have been unpacked, a sort of a “get to know my new neighbours” type thing.’

  ‘Ooh, you want to be careful about doing things like that – I hear Bridget Whittaker, your landlord, is a bit of a tyrant when it comes to the “rules”.’ George used his fingers to show quotation marks in the air around the word rules, then cringed. Who actually did that – who used quotation marks?

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Yes, she doesn’t like her tenants to have parties or smoke or have pets or have guests to stay or put pictures up or cook tomato soup on a Thursday.’

  Giselle smirked and, emboldened by this, he pressed on.

  ‘I’ve never met the woman, but I imagine with a name like Bridget Whittaker she’s a horsey type.’

  ‘What’s a horsey type?’

  ‘Oh, you know, walks around in jodhpurs and riding boots, with a tweed jacket that’s too small for her big boobs. She’ll have very short hair, cut for convenience rather than style, or she’ll have it long but always tied up in a bun. She’ll carry a riding whip around with her everywhere, probably tucked under her arm, and she’ll march, not walk.’ He was getting into his stride now and as he started trotting round the foyer on his pretend horse, he put on a high-pitched posh female voice. ‘Tristan, you must work on your rising trot. Harmonica, we simply must get together at the meet next week and Magnus, why don’t you meet me in the stables for a quick romp in the hay.’

  He pulled his horse to a stop in front of her. There, that was funny, energetic and witty.

  ‘Bridget’s my mum.’

  Shit.

  ‘Oh … well, I, erm…’

  Yes, he really knew how to make a good impression.

  * * *

  The phone rang and, after finishing serving Big Dave, Seb rushed to answer it.

  ‘Seb,’ Amy croaked.

  ‘Amy, where the bloody hell are you? You were supposed to be here over an hour ago. I’m late for my friends and the place is packed.’

  ‘I… don’t think I can make it in.’

  ‘If you can’t be bothered to come in then don’t bother turning up for any of your other shifts. If you’re ill you should have phoned me hours ago so I could have arranged cover. This isn’t good enough.’

  ‘I…’ A strangled sob caught in her throat, which caught him off guard. ‘Christ, there’s blood everywhere.’

  His heart stuttered. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t feel well… I think I need an ambulance.’

  ‘Amy, what’s wrong?’

  ‘There was a car, on my side of the road, I swerved and then my car flew over the edge and… my God everything hurts. I’m not sure where I’m bleeding, but there’s blood everywhere.’

  He swallowed uneasily, the noise of the pub vanishing, his brain only tuning in to Amy. ‘Where are you?’

  There was silence from her, and her breathing sounded strange.

  ‘Amy, where are you?’

  Another sob. ‘I can’t get out the car… I’m on Cow Bell Lane, somewhere near the old wooden house.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘No, I’m OK; well I’m not but just call an ambulance for me.’

  ‘Shut up, woman, I’m coming.’ He quickly hung up. ‘Big Dave, get your arse round here and start serving. That goes for you too, Nick.’

  Big Dave and Nick immediately moved round to the other side of the bar, sensing the urgency.

  ‘Dave, call an ambulance and the fire brigade, tell them to go to Cow Bell Lane, near the old wooden house.’

  Big Dave nodded and Seb ran out the pub, not caring if it fell into complete ruin whilst he was gone.

  * * *

  Amy sat in the car wiping the tears from her face. The car had come to rest at an odd angle, her door was smashed in and the seatbelt was jammed. Everything hurt. How was it possible to feel so much pain? Blood was splattered against the windscreen, over her clothes, the dashboard; as if something inside her had been ripped open. If she was that badly injured, it was likely that she wouldn’t live through this.

  There had been so much she had wanted to do with her life – she’d wanted to travel, to see the world. But more than that she wanted to get marr
ied, have children, spend her life with the man she loved. How could she have missed out on all of that? It seemed so unfair that her life was over before it had really begun. But then life wasn’t fair. Marie had died at twenty-seven, much younger than Amy was now, leaving behind a loving husband and mother.

  Amy looked up at where the road was, though it hurt her neck to do so. What had happened to the silver car; why hadn’t they stopped when they realised they had forced her off the road? What kind of person doesn’t stop?

  She would be difficult to spot from the road from down here. Seb could be driving up and down Cow Bell Lane for ages trying to find her. What if something happened to him too?

  She had to get out, try to get to the road so she could be spotted. With trembling fingers she fumbled with her seatbelt but it wouldn’t budge.

  She heard a car approaching; it was moving fast, taking the corners too quickly. Shit, it had to be Seb, either that or the bastard driver of the silver sports car coming back.

  The engine sound stopped – or had it just driven past and she could no longer hear it? She waited but she could hear nothing now and there was no sign of any help coming at all.

  * * *

  Seb stood on top of the hill, unable to move. Amy’s little red Mini was sitting battered at the bottom and she was inside, hurt and alone. The sheer amount of blood all over the windows was horrifying. It looked like someone had been slaughtered. If she was not dead now she soon would be; no one could survive after losing that much blood. He couldn’t face it, he couldn’t face going down there and seeing her dead body, or watching her die. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her so badly injured, it was heartbreaking.

  But what if he could save her? The ambulance was on its way but maybe there was something he could do in the meantime.

  Scrabbling down the hillside, he reached the car on shaky legs and tried to wrench open her door. Inside she was moving, peering through the blood-stained glass to look at him. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw him and he wanted to hold her so badly. Her face was covered in blood too. He felt sick.

  He ran round the other side and pulled the door which came away loosely in his hand.

  ‘Seb,’ she sobbed as he knelt on the passenger seat too afraid to touch her.

  ‘Amy, shit, where are you bleeding?’ He was already pulling off his shirt ready to stem the blood when the smell of strawberries hit him.

  ‘I don’t know, I hurt everywhere.’

  He looked around the car suspiciously. Something wasn’t right, blood was everywhere but, apart from her face and a tiny bit on her clothes, it was hardly on her at all. In fact she didn’t seem to be injured in any way. Well, obviously she was injured, she was hurting but there certainly weren’t any cuts, any great gashes that had severed several major arteries. He wiped his finger down the windscreen and sniffed it. It was strawberry juice.

  ‘Amy, this is fruit juice.’

  ‘Is it?’ she asked in confusion.

  He nodded, suddenly spying the smashed carton of mixed berry juice lying in the foot well of the passenger side along with a broken packet of eggs. A squashed loaf of bread and two mutilated oranges were on the dashboard and there was a damaged packet of condoms lying next to the gear stick, ironically next to a sausage that had escaped its packet.

  He reached down to grab the carton of juice and showed it to her and she let out a weak laugh.

  ‘Oh thank God, I thought I was a goner for sure, losing that much blood.’

  ‘You and me both,’ he laughed. He tossed the carton back into the foot well and shuffled closer, almost wanting to cry with relief. ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘I don’t think so, it’s hard to tell.’

  He shuffled closer still. He picked up the packet of condoms. ‘Did you have plans for these?’

  She blushed. ‘I was hoping you might have a change of heart.’

  He eyed the pack of thirty condoms. That was some change of heart she was hoping he would have.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  She touched his face. ‘You can kiss me.’

  He looked up. ‘The fire brigade are here.’

  ‘Then kiss me quick.’

  He smiled and leaned forward to do just that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Having just finished writing three scripts for radio adverts, George had decided to go for a walk on the beach. However, as he reached the main front door of the flats he saw Giselle running down the stairs towards him. He froze. Twice in one day. He tried to decide whether he was lucky or really unlucky.

  But instead of the look of annoyance he was expecting when she saw him, she flashed him a huge smile and stopped to speak to him.

  ‘Hey George.’

  ‘Hi.’

  He should just ask her out. He could ask her out, it was easy, it was just eight little words: ‘Would you like to go out with me’. He could do this. He could.

  ‘Giselle, would—’

  Libby suddenly threw open her door with such force it shook as it banged against her wall.

  He looked at her and saw that her face was pale and shaken.

  ‘It’s Amy, she’s been in a car accident,’ she said as she ran past him and he bolted after her, Giselle suddenly forgotten.

  * * *

  Libby looked at Amy and burst into tears. She looked pale, tired and so tiny and vulnerable lying in Seb’s king-sized bed. There was the beginning of a big bruise under her eye.

  ‘Come on now, Libby, I’m fine, just a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Can I hug you?’ She knelt next to Amy on the bed.

  Amy nodded. ‘Gently.’

  Libby wrapped her arms round her and felt George hug Amy too, though one arm was round her own shoulders.

  Pulling away, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked at Seb, standing on the other side of the room. ‘What did the doctors say?’

  When Seb had phoned her he had explained what had happened, how the fire brigade had had to cut Amy out, by which time the ambulance crew had arrived and taken her to the hospital in Apple Hill. After a few hours of tests, scans and close observation, it was clear she was suffering from nothing more than a bit of mild concussion, and a few bruises.

  ‘Only what I told you on the phone, that she just needs rest. He said I’m to keep an eye on her and that she may be a bit stiff and sore over the next few days.’

  ‘Well, you need to come home with us, Amy,’ George said, wiping his eyes. ‘It’s great that you were there, Seb, and that you went with her to the hospital, but I think it’s best her friends take care of her now.’

  Libby watched Amy and a look passed between them. It was so subtle, you would barely have noticed it, but Libby received it as loudly as if her friend had shouted it.

  Seb coughed awkwardly. ‘I don’t think she should be moved. Besides, you two don’t have spare rooms like I do, I can sleep in the room down the corridor.’

  ‘Seb’s right, Amy can’t stay with us,’ Libby said hurriedly. ‘If she sleeps in my bed I’d have to sleep on the sofa and that’s not a good sofa for sleeping on, it’s hard and lumpy, I’d get no sleep at all.’ She eyed Amy to see if she was doing the right thing. The slight smirk on Amy’s lips told her she was.

  George stared at her incredulously, but finally he seemed to find his voice. ‘Well, she can stay with me. I don’t mind sleeping on my sofa.’

  ‘George, you snore,’ Libby lied. ‘You’d keep her awake.’

  ‘Well, you can sleep on my sofa then and I’ll sleep in your bed.’ He really wasn’t going to let this go.

  ‘Chenille affects my asthma,’ said Libby. ‘It’s OK for sitting on but I couldn’t lie on it.’

  ‘You don’t have asthma.’

  ‘It’s very mild.’

  Libby saw Seb roll his eyes. ‘I’ll get you some painkillers, Amy,’ he muttered.

  Libby watched him leave with a smile. He knew exactly what she was trying to do; it was a pi
ty that George couldn’t pick up on the subtleties.

  ‘I can put sheets on the sofa,’ George was saying.

  ‘I’ll still be able to smell the chenille.’

  Amy stifled a giggle.

  ‘Then what? She can’t stay here,’ George said, plumping Amy’s pillows up so aggressively, Libby was surprised they didn’t burst. ‘I’m sure Seb’s just being polite by letting her stay. She needs to be looked after by those who love her.’

  Libby tutted at him. ‘Why don’t you go and see if Seb needs help?’

  ‘With a packet of tablets? I’m sure he can cope.’

  ‘George, for goodness’ sake, I want to talk to Amy.’

  ‘Oh… well I’ll be back in a minute.’ He scowled at her as he left.

  She turned back to Amy. ‘You know you would be very welcome to stay with me. I would wait on you hand and foot and treat you like a queen.’

  ‘That’s OK, I’m fine here,’ Amy smiled and Libby returned her grin.

  ‘And you’re OK, really, truly?’

  ‘He loves me, Lib.’

  ‘I meant the cuts and bruises.’

  ‘Oh that, yes, very sore, but yes, I’m fine.’

  Libby took her hand. ‘He loves you?’

  ‘He hasn’t said it, but he kissed me. It was sweet and tender, not lust filled like the last time. He loves me I know it.’

  Libby’s heart leapt with joy. ‘Wait. There was a last time?’

  ‘The other night. It just sort of happened. Although truth be told, it’s been a long time coming.’

  ‘Then you need to drag out this convalescence as long as possible.’

  ‘I may need help bathing and getting dressed.’

  Libby laughed just as Seb and George came back into the room.

  ‘Well, Amy’s very tired so we should leave her to rest.’ Libby smiled as Amy yawned loudly behind her. ‘Do you need any clothes or anything brought from your house?’

  ‘No, Seb stopped off on the way back from the hospital and helped me collect a few things.’

  ‘He looks like he’s got everything covered.’ Libby ushered a scowling George out of the room. ‘We’ll check in on you tomorrow.’