Four Weddings and a White Christmas

by Jenny Oliver

  ‘Well what are we going to do?’ asked Emily, glancing round at the other two. ‘We have to have food. We can’t starve.’

  ‘You’re not going to starve, Emily.’ Annie rolled her eyes.

  ‘Well I’m hungry now so I can’t imagine what I’m going to be like later.’

  ‘I’ve got a barbecue out the back,’ said Barney with a shrug of one shoulder. ‘Best I can offer under the circumstances. Could make it quite nice. Candles, blankets. Light a bonfire if you want.’

  ‘Oh you old romantic, Barney,’ Emily said with a laugh.

  Barney blushed.

  ‘God if only Harry was here,’ Hannah said, imagining the whole thing being turned into some gastronomic barbecue feast.

  ‘If only Harry was here, what?’ said a voice from behind her.

  ‘Harry!’ They all spun round to see Harry standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in black jeans and a jumper and his hair all a mess.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Well I was meant to be here bloody ages ago but all that bloody snow…’ He paused, shaking his head as if the memory of getting there was too hideous to recall.

  Hannah’s whole body felt frozen to the spot at the sight of him. Her brain reeling through every possible reason why he was here. ‘I thought you said you weren’t invited,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said, looking straight at her and only at her.

  Emily clapped her hands together and said, ‘Well it’s brilliant that you are here. Completely fortuitous. You can cook! We’re firing up the barbecue.’

  Harry glanced at her and nodded, but seemed like there was something else he wanted to do first – not expecting or having planned for this cooking curveball.

  Wilf appeared next and surveyed the scene before clocking Harry. ‘Blimey, Harry. You’re the last person I expected to see. Aren’t you meant to be in LA?’

  Hannah took a step back away from the group – it was all too confusing.

  Wilf shrugged as if he didn’t really need an answer from Harry and said, ‘What are you all doing in the kitchen?’

  ‘There’s no oven. We’re going to get the barbecue going. Harry’s going to cook,’ said Emily.

  ‘Bloody marvellous,’ said Wilf, slinging his arm over Harry’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you, old chap. Good Christmas? Snow’s been a shocker in New York I heard. Lead the way, Barney, let’s take this outside.’

  Everyone started to move towards the back door that led into the garden.

  ‘No, wait!’ Harry held his hands up, shrugging Wilf’s arm off his shoulders. ‘Wait! I’ve been on three planes to get here. Two buses. I’ve slept on an airport floor. I left my house three days ago. I will cook for you but there’s something I need to do first. OK? So just give me a second.’

  Wilf looked blank but Emily giggled and pushed him and Barney out the door, closely followed by Annie.

  Hannah stayed where she was, next to the one candle.

  Harry ran his hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Hannah smiled. ‘What for?’

  ‘I look like shit.’

  ‘You look fine.’

  ‘You look stunning,’ he said. Then paused. Then added, ‘Perfect.’

  Hannah was finding it difficult to breathe. ‘What are you doing here, Harry?’ she asked.

  ‘I realised that I had been unstuck.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was set in my ways. And every time I was with you I found myself having to justify my set ways in my head. And I realised that that was because they were becoming unstuck.’ He held his hands wide as if the idea had been staring him in the face and was now completely obvious. ‘Hannah, I didn’t ever want any of the stuff I said I didn’t want – the being relied on and having to be somewhere, the responsibilities.’ He started to walk closer towards her. ‘Because really I’d never met anyone to want it with. I liked just being me. But…’ Harry scratched his head. ‘I had this all planned out and now I feel like I’m garbling. Did you have a good Christmas? How’s Jane’s dress? I think I saw it on my way in…’

  Hannah laughed, almost out of nervousness. Apprehension. ‘I had a lovely Christmas, thank you. You?’ She felt strangely giddy, like her heart was going so fast there wasn’t enough oxygen to her brain.

  Harry bit down on his lip and frowned. ‘I had the Christmas I’ve always ever wanted. That’s the problem. That’s why I’m here.’

  Hannah didn’t know what that meant. Couldn’t fathom if what had started as a good thing, a possibly amazing thing, was about to turn bad. ‘That’s why you’re here? To tell me that?’

  ‘No.’ Harry shook his head. Hannah held her breath. She watched him run his hand through his hair and it stay back from his face, held back with dirt. ‘To tell you that I got everything I wanted and all I wanted to do when I got it was tell you about it.’ He laughed.

  Hannah did a little laugh, too. Still nervous. Heart still thumping. Still not quite sure. Still teetering on the hope that what was happening was going to be what she wanted to happen.

  ‘The life I wanted, Hannah, is suddenly starting to feel a bit lonely, because there’s suddenly someone that I would rather be with than just me. And that’s what I never factored into the whole not wanting it thing. I’m ready for new traditions. For new family. I don’t want what I have. I want what you have. You.’ He paused. Swallowed. Then said, ‘If it’s possible, I want a family built our way.’

  Hannah thought she might be about to cry. So instead she focused on her arms. Crossing them in front of her and then uncrossing them again and then not quite knowing what to do with them so leaning against the counter with the candle on it.

  ‘I want to need you, Hannah,’ Harry went on. ‘I quite like the idea of it. No, scrap that. I love the idea.’

  Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. All she wanted to do was march over to him and throw her arms around his neck but she knew there were still so many other factors. That just because they might both want something didn’t mean it could happen. And she couldn’t bear the idea of finally having this and it disappearing just as quickly. ‘What about California?’ she asked, the candle flame flickering with the words.

  ‘I realised that sometimes the best decision isn’t the right decision,’ Harry said, taking a step closer.

  The answer caught her by surprise. She looked up at him, the beginnings of a smile hovering shyly on her lips. ‘What’s the right decision?’

  ‘Well, I’m thinking The Bonfire in London,’ he said, then he looked around at the little pub and added, ‘Or maybe The Bonfire on Cherry Pie Island.’ He took another step forward so he was practically level with her and said, ‘And I would like to ask you on a date.’

  ‘You would?’ she said, feeling her smile take hold.

  He nodded. ‘Would you like to go on a date with me, Hannah?’

  She was beaming now. Her smile as wide as her cheeks would allow. She moved closer, just a whisper between them, and looked down at her fingers tracing towards his on the metal counter. When she looked up his eyes were dancing with mischief and delight. ‘I would love to go on a date with you, Harry.’

  ‘Any chance you would you like our first date to be barbecuing in the snow?’ he asked, and she felt the warmth of his arms as they snaked around her waist.

  Hannah laughed. ‘I would like that very much.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Harry said, dipping his head so that his lips were almost touching hers.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ she replied.

  And then he kissed her.

  Christmas

  Harry was woken up by Jemima tapping on his forehead at five in the morning. ‘No, you have to go back to bed, it’s too early.’

  ‘But Santa’s been.’

  Hannah rolled over and with her eyes still shut said, ‘I know, but Santa might come back and take it all away if you’re not careful.’

  Jemima legged it out the room.

&
nbsp; ‘Can you say things like that?’

  ‘Anything, Harry, you can say anything, as long as it makes them go back to sleep.’

  It was seven thirty when Jemima came back in again, dressed in her little reindeer pyjamas and dragging her stocking behind her, she clambered into bed between them. Harry had to rub his eyes to wake himself up properly. They’d gone to bed at maybe one in the morning, two, perhaps, wrapping stacks of presents and drinking the port that had been opened for Santa.

  Hannah yawned and stretched next to him. ‘How did you sleep?’ she asked.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Harry said. ‘I was asleep.’

  She rolled her eyes and bashed him on the arm, then looked down at Jemima who was pulling little parcels out of her stocking at lightning speed.

  Suddenly there was a loud ‘Morning all!’ and the door bashed open.

  Harry looked around, startled.

  He saw Hannah rolling her lips together to stop from smiling.

  ‘How is everyone this fine morning?’ Dylan asked as he swept into the room with a tray filled with mugs of tea and chocolate biscuits. ‘It’s snowing outside, I hope you realise. Actually snowing on Christmas Day. Never happens. Should have put a bet on.’

  Harry wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Why was Dylan in their room? When Hannah had said they were going back to her parents’ for Christmas Day she had never mentioned this.

  ‘Budge over, Harry,’ Dylan said, lifting the covers and squeezing in next to Hannah so that Harry was now half off the bed.

  ‘Maybe I’ll go and sit in the chair,’ Harry said, lifting the duvet ready to get out.

  ‘You can’t sit in the chair,’ said Dylan. ‘That’s where Tony sits.’

  As if on cue Tony strolled in in his satin dressing gown and slippers, a cafetiere for one on a tray with a mug and a little jug of milk, and made himself comfortable in the armchair.

  Next came Robyn, her glasses on wonky, her hair a mess as if she’d just woken up. ‘Morning. It’s snowing. Did you see? Ooh, Jemima, can I have a chocolate coin?’

  Harry looked at them all, then back at Hannah who tipped her head to the side and gave him a little smile of pity. ‘Is it all too much, Harry?’

  He frowned. ‘No. No, I can handle it.’

  ‘You sure?’ Hannah asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘We’ll be home tonight,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ Harry nodded.

  Then the door opened again and in came Hannah’s parents, dressed in their matching dressing gowns with a cup of tea each and her dad carrying a handful of stockings.

  ‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ Harry whispered under his breath.

  ‘Harry!’ said Jemima. ‘It’s Jesus’s birthday.’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Harry nodded. ‘Sorry. Yes.’ And then watched as Hannah’s parents sat side by side on the sofa as Robyn leapt up and grabbed the stockings.

  ‘There’s one there for you, Harry,’ Hannah’s mum said as Robyn handed him the red felt sock packed with little presents.

  Harry tried to remember when the last time he’d had a stocking was. Maybe twenty years ago? More perhaps. He wanted to shrug it off, to say that it wasn’t necessary and that he was far too old for a stocking.

  But before he could, Jemima said, ‘And we’ve got ones for you, Granny and Grandpa!’

  Much oohing ensued as Jemima jumped off the bed and went to pick up two stockings that were resting against the side of the sofa out of sight and handed them to her grandparents.

  With the spotlight off him, Harry found himself free to contemplate the strange novelty of having a stocking. He felt the weight of it first, then inspected the lumpiness of the presents poking out the sides, the crackle of the gift wrap, the clink of maybe some chocolate coins in the foot and perhaps a tangerine, and as he reached in to take out the first gift he felt the bubbling sense of childhood rush up through him. He felt his eyes widen and his heart beat slightly faster as his fingers tingled with anticipation.

  Then he looked up to see the whole of Hannah’s family watching, a bit nervous, to see if this was all OK, if Harry was onboard or not. And Harry just about managed a half-smile before instinct overtook him and he started ripping the wrapping off the present. He heard Hannah laugh next to him, felt Jemima cling onto his arm to see what it was, saw Robyn out the corner of his eye already on her second or third little trinket.

  What had they got him? It barely mattered. A pocket cycle map of London, a bar of shaving soap, luminous socks, a snow globe of New York city. The expectation of every package was enough to make Harry feel Jemima’s age. To remember what Christmas could be like when all that mattered was whether Santa would like the sherry and mince pies, if Rudolph would like the carrot and there’d be huge pile of presents under the tree, a bulging stocking at the end of the bed and a massive turkey on the table.

  The last present was Top Trumps Food which Jemima proudly announced had been her idea and should they play a game now.

  ‘No we’ve got to get up. What time’s your mum getting here, Harry?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Harry said, distracted by the array of little gifts, by the pile of chocolate coins, and then by how much he enjoyed the sip of tea as he sat back against the cushion and watched Tony pour his coffee and peruse the paperback he’d been given, Dylan reach over and take the Top Trumps and start a game with Jemima, Robyn start painting her nails with some new nail varnish and Hannah’s parents inspect their surprise gifts.

  ‘Your mum,’ Hannah repeated with a half-laugh. ‘And your sister? What time are they arriving?’

  ‘Oh, erm…’ Harry frowned then looked at his watch. ‘Not for a couple of hours yet. No we’re fine. Yeah. Deal me in, Dylan. I’ll play.’

  Jemima whooped and Harry felt Hannah’s arm around his shoulders as she leant over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Then she pulled Jemima onto her lap so she could sit close to Harry and flick through the Vogue that had been in her stocking while Dylan, Jemima and Harry played Top Trumps and everyone else drank their tea or sipped their coffee and examined their odd little presents in intricate detail. Exactly as this new family’s Christmas morning should be.

  Ready for another deliciously festive read? Turn the page for a sneak-peek at The Little Christmas Kitchen, another sparkling story from Jenny Oliver!

  CHAPTER 1

  ELLA

  Before Ella had checked her emails, the morning had been like any other. The air conditioner was broken and whirring too loudly. The boardroom air smelt of aftershave and strong coffee. Big bushy garlands of tinsel were looped along the wall, baubles hung in bunches like grapes on the windows and a white fake Christmas tree with glittered branches twinkled in the corner. Ella was trying not to look at the new account assistant, Katya, who was shambling through a dreadful presentation and would soon be out of a job by the look of disdain on their boss Adrian’s face. Ella had wanted to jump up and help her out, do anything to stop the blotches of red flushing the poor girl’s cheeks, but instead she’d seen a new message pop up on her iPad and had surreptitiously drawn the tablet down under the lip of the boardroom table so she could read it. She’d presumed it would be from Max finalising details of their anniversary dinner that evening at Claridges. As she opened her inbox she allowed herself a quick admire of the diamond bracelet on her wrist that he’d given her that morning - rolling her eyes at the memory of him saying, ‘Wow, that’s nice,’ as she opened the box, given that, as they tended to buy their own presents nowadays, it was the first time he’d seen it.

  She clicked on the email.

  From: Gerald Austin

  To: Ella Davenport

  Subject: I just thought you should know.

  Ella heard Adrian’s voice in the background. ‘This is all very well but we’ve seen it before. And if I’ve seen it, they’ve seen it. Come on people. We need a bit more blue sky thinking. A bit more oomph. It’s Christmas for crying out loud. Wow them with a bit of s
parkle. Ella can you take charge of this one–’ He paused. ‘Ella… are you with us?’

  Ella wasn’t with them at all. Her eyes were focused on her iPad as her beautifully ordered life cracked down the centre and her stomach tightened like she’d forgotten how to exhale.

  Your partner is having an affair with my wife. Photo attached confirms. Suggest you get yourself a good lawyer. I’m going to annihilate her in court.

  CHAPTER 2

  MADDY

  ‘I told Mum about the possibility of going to London and she just said no. Said I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I think I’d be OK though. Don’t you? Don’t you think I’d be OK?’ Maddy wiped her oily hands on the old rag hanging out her jeans pocket and then took the hand Dimitri was offering to haul herself out of the boat and up onto the jetty.

  ‘Maddy,’ he said, bending down to pick up the board of his windsurfer, the sail already propped up by the side of the taverna. ‘You’re twenty-four. Don’t you think it’s about time you just went anyway?’ He was about to say more, probably to really hit home the fact that she should grow up and take charge of her own life, but he got distracted by a scratch on his board. ‘Shit, when did that happen? It’s those kids isn’t? Oi you lot–’ he shouted at the gaggle of little kids who were messing around at the end of the jetty, dangling bits of rope into the sea with worms on hooks to try and catch the millions of silver fish that darted around the wooden posts. They looked up all big eyed and terrified when Dimitri yelled, ‘Did you mess with my board?’

  ‘No Dimitri,’ they all chorused in unison, faces pale and perfectly innocent.

  He glared at them for a second, six foot with big, broad shoulders, black shaggy hair and at least three days’ stubble, he knew he could terrify them.

  ‘Don’t.’ Maddy bashed him on the arm. ‘They’re only little.’

  ‘They’ve messed with my board. Look at it.’

  ‘You’re mean. Stop being mean to them. Look at them.’ She turned to wave in their direction, all four kids huddled together, their fishing rods clutched in their hands, their cheeks pink, waiting for their telling off.