by Jenny Oliver
Welcome back to Cherry Pie Island…the most delicious place to spend Christmas!
Hannah’s holidays are normally spent nibbling chocolate coins with her daughter and arguing with her sister about whether they’re too old for stockings on Christmas morning. But this year, she’s been offered the dressmaker’s job of a lifetime: creating a one-of-a-kind a dress for her school friend Annie’s Christmas wedding on the picture-perfect Cherry Pie Island.
Many mince pies and one hot-pink organza dress later, Hannah is set to snuggle back into her old routine…until she discovers that there are three more weddings this winter – and not a dress in sight!
Four very different themes, four demanding brides and four parties spent avoiding chef Harry Fontaine, whose cynicism is as much a wedding day guarantee as confetti and cake. Hannah has her work cut out for her! Yet, with a sprinkling of snowflakes and Christmas magic, it could be that this is the year when miracles really do happen…if Hannah will let them.
Also by Jenny Oliver
The Parisian Christmas Bake Off
The Vintage Summer Wedding
The Little Christmas Kitchen
The Grand Reopening of Dandelion Café
The Vintage Ice Cream Van Road Trip
The Great Allotment Proposal
One Summer Night at the Ritz
Four Weddings and a White Christmas
Jenny Oliver
www.CarinaUK.com
JENNY OLIVER
wrote her first book on holiday when she was ten years old. Illustrated with cut-out supermodels from her sister’s Vogue, it was an epic, sweeping love story not so loosely based on Dynasty.
Since then Jenny has gone on to get an English degree and a job in publishing that’s taught her what it takes to write a novel (without the help of the supermodels). Follow her on Twitter @JenOliverBooks
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Book List
Title Page
Author Bio
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Christmas
Endpages
Copyright
Please join Annie & Matthew for a very kitsch-mas wedding
28th December, 3 p.m., at the Folly on Swan Island
followed by reception, afternoon tea and dancing at The Dandelion Café
Chapter One
Hannah walked into chaos.
When Annie White had said to meet her at The Dandelion Café on Christmas Eve, she had been expecting something more sedate. Perhaps involving a quick coffee and a slice of cherry pie as it snowed outside. Instead it was bucketing it down with rain, water dripping down the collar of Hannah’s duffle coat as she’d run to shelter under the café awning. And it certainly didn’t look like anyone was relaxing with coffees. Everywhere she looked there was someone doing something. Annie was up a ladder fixing garlands of miniature baubles to the ceiling in artful loops while calling orders to a sullen-looking teenager with red headphones on who was lining hot-pink fake Christmas trees up along the windowsill. A man who she recognised as the husband-to-be, Matt, from a photograph she’d seen, was trying to fix a light-up reindeer to the wall, swearing loudly when it wouldn’t do what he wanted, while a black-haired guy sat in a booth seat holding a tiny baby and, opposite, someone else had their head on the table fast asleep. There were boxes piled high on chairs and some that had toppled over scattering ornaments and tinsel to the floor. Pictures were leaning precariously against walls waiting to be hung while, at the back of the café, a stack of real Christmas trees lay in their white netting alongside tangled mounds of fairy lights.
It all looked momentarily too hectic. And instead of pushing the door open, Hannah took a step back into the shadow of one of the surrounding cherry trees, still under the shelter of the awning, and took a moment to collect her thoughts. To give herself a little pep talk.
Two months ago her life had been exactly as it had always been.
Two months ago her main memories of Cherry Pie Island were school games afternoons, when they’d all traipsed over for rowing, canoeing and summer swimming in the outdoor pool, usually shivering on the sidelines as the clouds closed overhead.
Two months ago she’d just completed her degree and was celebrating the fact she would no longer be referred to as a mature student.
Two months ago Annie White had bumped into her mum in the vegetable section of Sainsbury’s and when she’d asked how Hannah was, her mum had proudly produced the newspaper clipping that featured Hannah’s degree show dress.
And suddenly Hannah was sitting in Annie’s living room, sipping on Earl Grey tea, nodding as calmly as she could as Annie pointed to a huge frothy white wedding dress and said things like, ‘Just go for it, Hannah’ and ‘I want it exactly like however you want to do it. Cut it up, chop it in half, whatever. I’m handing all design detail over to you, which for me is a huge thing. But I’ve got this dress here, and it was my mum’s and I’ve wanted to use it but I’ve basically been procrastinating for months about what to do. And then your mum showed me the picture, of the dress you made, and I swear to god, Hannah, I have never seen a dress as amazing as that. It literally popped out at me. Pop. Out from the page. The real question is, I suppose, whether you can do something with this one in only two months.’
Could she do it? Hannah had wondered as she’d reached for a chocolate digestive, trying to hide the nervous shaking of her hand.
She’d thought about what she had coming up. Her work got manic this time of year with orders needing fulfilling before Christmas, but then hadn’t she worked practically every night to get this degree in order not to have to do that job any more? And then there was Christmas. Presents. Trees. Decorations. Nativities. Last Christmas when she’d been frantically putting her degree collection together she had been sure that this Christmas would be different. Would be like the Christmases she grew up with. That she would be all serene and calm, icing a chocolate cake while sipping eggnog.
‘The theme is Christmas kitsch, by the way,’ Annie had added, pulling a box of glitter-strewn, sparkling, gaudy Christmas decorations from behind the sofa for Hannah to look at. ‘And I don’t want it to be white. Other than that, it would be up to you, I promise.’
Hannah had peered into the box and seen the hot-pink fronds of fake Christmas trees lying like umbrellas waiting to be opened. The cherry-red cheeks of skating Santa Claus models. There were plastic peacocks with giant tail feathers, stacks of concertinaed Santa Clauses and tiny plastic nativities covered in glitter.
She had looked from the tacky box of decorations across to Annie’s pleading face and then back to the hideous white puffy dress.
Could she do it?
Her brain had already started to chop away the layers of netting underneath the dress’s silk skirt to take out the weight. To cut off the sleeves and construct a hot-pink overlay embroidered with peacock feathers that cinched in tight a
t the waist and fanned out over the chest. To maybe add some detailing to the skirt, something to make it more couture, more grand. The idea of it made her stomach fizz. Made her want to screw her face up and punch the air. Made her see possibilities – a little shop, maybe, with her name above the window and a display that made people stop and stare.
She had bitten her lip.
Annie had been poised, waiting for her answer.
Two months. It would be a lot of work. A lot of late nights. There would probably be tears. There would be no serene icing of Christmas cake, that was for sure.
And now here she was, Christmas Eve, standing on the threshold of Annie’s Dandelion Café, the dress bag clutched to her chest, her heart fluttering with nerves, feeling like she was teetering on the cusp of a whole new chapter.
‘Hello?’ Hannah said, pushing open the turquoise front door, the little bell ringing to announce her entrance as crooning Christmas music escaped out into the rain. ‘Annie?’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Annie nearly slipped from her ladder in her hurry to get down. The guy holding the baby glanced up with vague interest. The teenager lounged back against a booth with his hands in his pockets. ‘Everyone leave!’ Annie shouted. ‘Leave. Matt, go!’ she said, shooing Matt and then the sullen teenager in the direction of the back door. ‘The dress is here.’
Chapter Two
Half an hour earlier…
‘Why would anyone get married?’ Harry stirred his macchiato as he sat slumped in a booth in The Dandelion Café and watched as everyone around him worked like little ants hanging decorations for the impending nuptials of Annie and Matt. He’d just got off the red-eye and felt like shit. His eyes were slits like an angry cat; the light was painful. Next to him Wilf Hunter-Brown was ramming an egg and bacon sandwich into his mouth, ketchup, yolk and brown sauce dripping onto the plate.
‘Mate. Tell me about it,’ Wilf said, mouth full. ‘Also, add to that list, why would anyone have a kid. I slept. Wanna know? I slept two hours and fifteen minutes last night. That’s it. You think you’re bad. You have a baby. A really small one that yells really bloody loudly. Then…’ Wilf paused, chewed, swallowed. ‘Then try and get excited about planning a wedding that’s not till next summer. Did you hear I’d proposed to Holly?’
Harry nodded.
‘Yeah I thought I’d told you. Anyway, at least this lot are getting theirs out the way.’ Wilf nodded towards Annie and Matt. ‘It’s a nightmare.’
Harry snorted a laugh. ‘Where is your kid?’
‘She’s snoozing in the pram in the kitchen. She, it seems, needs more than two hours and fifteen minutes sleep. Why the hell didn’t she realise that last night? Hmm? I ask you that.’
Harry shook his head. ‘Why don’t you go and lie down somewhere?’
‘Because, Harry my good fellow, I’m up. I am programmed to be up in the day and sleep at night. I can not sleep in the day.’
‘Can’t be that tired then.’
Wilf shot him a look. ‘I’m so tired I have forgotten what tired is actually like. I’m in a haze of stupefied nothingness. I’m jelly. That’s what I am, a great big wobbling jelly.’ He took another bite of the sandwich. ‘Jesus I’m tired,’ he said, then pushing his plate away put his head down on the table. ‘We will have to postpone our meeting.’
Harry nodded, as if he knew that was coming, and took another sip of his coffee.
The meeting with Wilf had been the whole purpose of Harry’s trip. He was here to discuss expansion plans of the restaurant, The Bonfire, that Harry ran and Wilf’s company owned. Currently fully booked every night for the foreseeable future and with an equally full waiting list, the feeling was that they were onto something special and should capitalise on it ASAP.
Wilf, who currently resided in the South of France, was back in the UK for Annie and Matt’s wedding and had suggested that perhaps, if Harry was coming home for Christmas, this was the perfect time to meet.
Harry wasn’t coming home for Christmas, but he was eager to pin down Wilf – not an easy task – and so had flown over anyway.
Christmas, to Harry, was a yearly irritant in his calendar. But he was actually quite looking forward to this one for the first time in his life. He’d told Wilf he was spending it with his family, but actually he hadn’t told any of his family that he was back, and planned to spend the day on his own, mooching around London, taking advantage of the empty streets to see the sights and whatever bars and restaurants might be open. Maybe even try and find a cinema. He’d been getting increasingly excited about it from the moment he’d decided on the subterfuge. The plan was hampered only by his guilt over not seeing his mum and dad, but as long as he kept shoving that to the corner of his brain he was fine.
Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Annie’s soon-to-be step-son pointing towards the stereo that was crooning out Christmas music and saying, ‘Can we turn it off now, it’s shit.’
‘I think it’s lovely. Leave it alone,’ Annie said, just as Matt walked in, looking a bit sheepish. He was soaking from the rain, his blond hair plastered to his head. ‘Where have you been?’ Annie asked, the music forgotten, the teenager putting on his headphones in protest.
‘At the pub,’ Matt said, cringing with guilt. ‘We won the regatta, everyone wanted a drink to celebrate. I’m really sorry. And I’m a bit pissed.’
Annie, who was wobbling precariously on a ladder, trying to get drawing pins to stick in the ceiling so they would hold up some strings of tiny coloured baubles, looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Screw that shit. Harry thought. All that apologising and keeping tabs on each other. He hated it. It was one of the reasons he was so looking forward to his Christmas – nowhere to be, no one to check in with, no one to expect anything. With the meeting cancelled and Wilf snoring away in front of him, his hands under his head like a pillow, Harry wondered if perhaps he should start the celebrations now. Mosey up to London, find a decent bar and drink away his jet lag.
But then a tiny wail started in the kitchen.
Annie looked round from where she was now standing on top of a table moving the garland a fraction of a centimetre to the left. ‘That’s Willow.’
Harry nodded.
Annie opened her eyes wide at him. ‘It’s Willow.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ he said.
‘Is Wilf going to get her?’
‘Wilf’s asleep.’
‘Well wake him up,’ she said, as if Harry was being an idiot.
Harry raised a brow and then gave Wilf a shove. Nothing happened. The guy was comatose. The wailing got louder.
‘He’s not waking up.’
‘Oh for god’s sake.’ Annie put her hands on her head, clearly at the end of her tether. ‘Well go and get the baby.’
‘I’m not getting the baby.’
‘Don’t be such a baby,’ she shouted down from the ladder.
‘I’m not a baby. The baby’s a baby.’ Harry scowled.
‘Just get the baby.’
The teenager had taken his headphones off and was smirking at Harry being told what to do by Annie.
Harry sloped out of his booth seat, chewing on the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Why couldn’t she get the baby? He didn’t want to get the baby.
The noise was emanating from the black pram in the corner.
He walked closer, wincing at the sound. This was not good for his jet lag.
The kid inside looked like a prune with a huge mouth.
‘Oh Jesus.’ He sighed. He had vague memories of his younger sister being born and the noise tearing through the house. He leant over the pram and watched the little face get redder and redder.
He looked around.
He exhaled.
Then he leant forward and picked the squirming little bundle up. The wailing rebounding off his ear like an aeroplane engine. He suddenly realised that Wilf probably wasn’t asleep at all, just keeping his eyes tightly closed so he didn’t have this racket rolling r
ound his head.
He nestled her into the crook of his arm like he used to do with his sister.
She was really tiny. All dressed in yellow.
He peered out the kitchen hatch to see that Annie had squatted down on the table and was checking to see what he was doing. He waved as if he had it all under control. Refusing to give her the satisfaction of another tell-off.
The noise was incessant. He winced again.
Fumbling around in the bag hanging from the pram handle he found a bottle and a carton of formula. What was the etiquette here? Could you just feed someone else’s baby without asking them? He looked up again through the hatch and saw Wilf’s mouth open as he snored gently. The kid was screaming. Annie was looking worried, like she’d have to come in and help if he didn’t sort this out pronto.
Tearing the carton and pouring it into the bottle he shook it once and then pop in the mouth, crying stopped. All the muscles in his body relaxed. He could feel the creases in his forehead iron out. The little prune guzzled away. He made a face of distaste at it then walked back into the café.
‘Ahh.’ Annie sighed from where she was standing on the top of the ladder, her arms above her head as she pressed another drawing pin into the ceiling to hold up a garland. ‘You look like an Athena poster.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Harry said, sliding back into the booth. ‘You want the baby?’ he asked her.
‘No, I’ve got decorations to hang. You know Athena posters? Black and white, bloke with no top on holding a baby? On teenagers’ walls?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Annie raised her brows and looked away as if she’d tried hard enough with this guy and had more important things to deal with. ‘River, how are the trees going?’
Harry frowned. ‘Your name’s River?’ he asked the kid with the headphones.
‘Yeah,’ he said, glaring at him from behind a hot-pink tree. ‘What about it?’
‘Nothing. Just a crazy name.’
Matt, who was trying to fix a flashing reindeer to the wall, while clearly pretending he was less drunk than he actually was, glanced over at Harry and said, ‘We were young when we had him. I liked the river.’
