by Karen Clarke
‘I thought the whole point of me being here was to attract attention but, yah, whatever.’ He’d changed into a crisp lemon shirt and navy wool coat over dark blue jeans, and his boots were slightly more workmanlike than his usual footwear. When I’d queried how he could possibly have fitted all these clothes into his holdall, he confessed to having a couple of suitcases stashed in the back of Craig’s car. ‘I change outfits a lot at home,’ he’d said. ‘I like to keep things fresh.’
I’d stuck with my jeans and sweatshirt combo, under my parka and woolly scarf, hoping to blend in, while Craig was back in his running gear, which seemed to be his uniform of choice. He looked fresh-faced and alert, his camera at half-mast, and I wondered if he was relieved he’d soon be returning to his normal life – hopefully with a new TV series to look forward to.
Disappointingly, the snow had gone as if it had never happened, but the square exuded festive cheer in the dark, late afternoon. Apart from strings of illuminated stars and baubles spanning the shops on Main Street, a market had sprung up in the square, selling everything from roast chestnuts to wooden toys to mulled wine, each stall decorated with tiny fairy lights, like fireflies. People were milling about, wrapped in a colourful array of hats, gloves and scarves, their faces bright and smiling as they browsed the goods on offer.
Next to Ruby’s Blooms was a twinkling Santa’s grotto, where a tall girl dressed as an elf was entertaining a queue of children by telling Christmas jokes.
‘What do you get if you cross Santa with a duck?’
‘Christmas Quackers!’
‘Who’s Santa’s favourite helper?’
‘His wife?’ offered a girl with plaits, to the obvious mortification of her blushing mother.
‘I’m actually a feminist!’ she trilled, but everyone was too busy laughing.
‘It’s Elf-is Presley!’ sang the Christmas elf, which provoked a chorus of groans from the parents and baffled looks from the children.
‘I thought that was rather funny,’ said Ollie, giving the elf a round of applause. A few people cast him sidelong looks but no one seemed too interested in his presence. ‘How about a glass of mulled wine to get the party started?’
‘How about we go and find Barry,’ I said, worried Ollie might get drunk, or start singing, or break out his trumpet to attract attention. He was already scanning the crowd for a receptive face. ‘Not long to go now.’
‘Spoilsport,’ he grumbled good-naturedly, burrowing his hands in his coat pockets.
Craig, who’d been looking around with interest, slid me a glance and smiled.
Luckily, Barry was already in the Christmas tree area, where a small stage had been erected. ‘Councillor Gerald Finch, this is Oliver Matheson,’ he said, gruffly.
Mr Finch was short and broad, with squat legs like a bulldog. In a seasonal nod, a pair of flashing antlers had been clamped over his thinning, metal-grey hair. ‘Good to meet you, Oliver. Never seen the show, but my wife loves it.’
‘Actually, it’s Ollie. Only my aunt ever calls me Oliver, and only when I’ve been terribly badly behaved.’ Ollie was actually flirting with the councillor, as if he couldn’t help himself. Craig shook his head in mock despair.
‘It says Oliver on the board,’ said Mr Finch, and sure enough someone had chalked:
Oliver Matteson from TV show PLAYERS will be switching on the lights!!
They’d also spelt his surname wrong.
Ollie looked about to protest, but I gave him a warning look and he subsided, making a strangling gesture when Mr Finch turned to speak to Barry.
‘When you get the signal, you need to pull this handle, OK?’ Barry said to Ollie, a few strands of hair drifting from his ponytail as he vigorously mimed the gesture. ‘It’s a dummy switch, the power comes from a street lamp so the lights will be triggered remotely.’
‘Sounds straightforward.’ Ollie rubbed his hands together.
‘Local paper’s here, and News South-West will probably turn up too, so when you’ve done the lights and presented the competition prize to Barry here’ – the councillor sniggered – ‘just kidding. Obviously.’ He cleared his throat and adjusted his antlers, which were listing to one side. ‘When you’ve finished, give a shout out to the people of Shipley, thank everyone for the warm welcome’ – he didn’t appear to notice Ollie’s snort – ‘and then you can plug your show if you like.’ Ollie made a pah sound that also went unnoticed. ‘Oh, and the tradition is to meet for a drink in The Anchor afterwards, so we’ll see you there.’
He patted Ollie’s arm and stepped aside.
‘You ready?’ Ollie said to Craig, presumably meaning filming for the ‘show’, and Craig raised his camera as Ollie stepped on to the little stage and continued trying to charm Mr Finch, while Barry backed away, holding his phone as though about to take a call.
‘Are you really filming?’ I asked Craig.
‘Not much point, if the local news is covering it,’ he said, and I noticed a small camera crew, sporting Christmas jumpers with penguins on the front, chatting to bystanders, while Chris Weatherby from The Shipley Examiner – a piece of gold tinsel wrapped around his man-bun – snapped photographs of the stalls. ‘He’ll get his coverage.’
‘Let’s hope it’s enough.’
‘Listen, you didn’t have to say that last night, about wiping the recording,’ he said. ‘But thanks.’
‘He was surprisingly OK about it.’
‘That’s because it was you and he can’t resist a pretty girl saying sorry.’ Craig gave a wry smile, while I tried not to react to him calling me pretty. ‘I’ll tell him the truth when we leave, so you don’t need to deal with the fallout.’
‘If he’s serious about moving into directing, he probably won’t mind,’ I said, stamping my feet, which were starting to numb with cold. ‘And, anyway, it’ll be too late by then.’
‘Unless he suggests doing another one-off show. A shorter one, to wean himself off being in front of the camera.’ Although Craig spoke lightly, his face had tensed and I guessed he was feeling guilty for deceiving his friend.
‘You’ll have to be firm and say no,’ I said. ‘Take your teacher’s advice and start doing what you love, instead.’
He gave me a considering look. ‘Maybe.’
Flustered, I looked at my watch. ‘Nearly time for the big moment.’
Craig nodded, hoisting his camera over his shoulder by its strap. ‘Nice atmosphere,’ he said, glancing around so that the fairy lights reflected in his eyes, giving them an extra sparkle. ‘I could see myself settling somewhere like this, one day.’
My heart bumped. ‘Well, I can highly recommend Shipley,’ I said, dismissing my earlier notion of having to leave. When I’d looked for somewhere to run to, Shipley had been the first place that had sprung to mind. Grumpy neighbours notwithstanding, I had happy memories of being here and I planned to stay around and make some more. ‘Maybe you could come back and visit some time.’ I felt my face go red as I said it, and hoped he hadn’t noticed.
‘If my show gets the go-ahead, I’ll have a permanent link to the place.’ He reached for my hand and pulled me aside as a family in matching reindeer hats jostled past, carrying cones of chestnuts, and the warmth of his touch ran through me like an infusion.
For a moment, it felt as if all the air had left my lungs, and when he looked at me his eyes were shocked, as if he’d felt something too.
‘There you are!’ said a familiar voice. ‘I thought I’d never find you in this bloody crowd.’
I turned to meet a pair of wide blue eyes and a full-lipped smile. ‘Erin!’ I pulled her into a hug, thrilled to see her in spite of everything. ‘I texted you this morning to say everything was fine.’
‘I wanted to see for myself,’ she said, drawing away and surveying my face, as if checking it was really me. ‘You look great,’ she said, with an air of surprise. ‘Living in a tight-knit, small-minded community obviously suits you.’
I laughed. ‘You look gre
at too,’ I said. She was wearing her cow-print coat with high, red boots, her blonde hair sweeping over her shoulders beneath a black beret that was, thankfully, more Marlene Dietrich than Frank Spencer – another of my grandfather’s favourites.
‘I don’t know how,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Traffic on the way over was awful, I’ve been mainlining coffee, and I’m dying for a wee.’
‘Well, you’ll have to hold on,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ I thrust my arm through hers and gave it a squeeze. ‘He’s over there, by the way, where he’s supposed to be.’ I pointed to where Ollie was tapping a microphone that had been placed in front of him. ‘Testing, testing,’ he said through a screech of feedback, and sang a couple of lines from ‘Silent Night’.
‘Oh god,’ groaned Erin, but there was a bright little smile on her face.
I thought about her kissing Ollie and wondered whether he even remembered, and turned to Craig, who’d been watching our exchange with a politely interested smile.
‘Hi, Erin,’ he said, raising a hand. ‘Long time no see, though Ollie mentions you a lot.’
‘He does?’ Her eyes briefly widened in surprise, then her expression cooled. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Craig Daniels.’
His face grew wary. ‘Oh?’
‘Tattie Granger came to see me.’
He went very still and gave her a prickly stare.
‘Erin, what’s going on?’ I said, just as a loud countdown began behind us.
‘Ten… nine…’
‘Apparently, it wasn’t someone on the show that Tattie slept with.’ Erin had to shout above the din.
‘Eight… seven…’
‘It was Craig.’
Chapter Thirty
‘Six… five… four…’
The countdown gathered in pace and volume, while I tried to process Erin’s words, an uneasy feeling sliding through my stomach.
‘Three… two…’
There was a dramatic pause, then Ollie pulled the switch and – as if by magic – the tree burst into glittering brightness to appreciative cries from the crowd.
‘I declare this Shipley tree turned ON,’ declared Ollie, twisting his head to admire the tree, the lights reflecting off his shiny hair. ‘In fact, I’m turned on just looking at it.’ He made seductive eyes at the crowd and a woman next to me tutted.
‘Inappropriate. There are children here, for fuck’s sake.’
Erin caught Ollie’s gaze and made a throat-cutting gesture.
His face lit up as he spotted her and he gave her a happy wave, while I surreptitiously glanced at Craig, my heart behaving weirdly. He was staring ahead, teeth clamped to his lower lip, as if chewing over what Erin had said.
So, Craig was the ‘other man’. I wondered whether Ollie had any idea. Clearly not, or there’d have been quite a lot of awkwardness between them.
I remembered the pad of scribbled plans I’d discovered on Craig’s first day, and realised how much he was capable of hiding. Disappointment rose, thick and choking. You barely know him, I reminded myself. Why are you so surprised?
He caught my gaze and seemed about to speak, when another gasp went up.
The tree lights had gone out.
‘Well, that didn’t last long,’ Ollie joked, to a stony silence. ‘Looks like someone’s pulled the plug.’
The councillor rushed forward and grabbed the microphone. ‘Sorry about this,’ he muttered, before pulling the switch himself, several times, his antlers falling over his eyes.
‘First time that’s ever happened.’ The voice behind me was loaded with portent.
‘It’s bad luck if the lights go out,’ said somebody else.
‘It means someone’s going to die!’
‘Don’t say that in front of the kids, you numpty.’
A doom-laden babble of voices joined in, until everyone was more or less predicting the end of the world.
‘This isn’t good,’ murmured Erin, her eyes still glued to Ollie. ‘He should say something.’
But, for once, Ollie seemed at a loss, glancing up at the tree and scratching his chin, as if the action would make the tree light up again.
The camera crew were filming, and the reporter was scribbling in his notepad, and I wondered whether they were going to somehow blame Ollie for this.
‘Ollie Matheson’s brought a curse to this town,’ someone shouted. It sounded suspiciously like Annabel, but when I looked round, I couldn’t see her.
‘Bit harsh,’ someone muttered.
Without warning, the lights flickered back to life and there was a palpable rush of relief from the crowd. As a tentative cheer went up, Ollie sprang back to life. ‘And now for the results of the Maple Hill Christmas Lights competition!’
‘He got the street name right.’ I looked at Craig, the smile on my lips dying when I remembered Erin’s revelation.
‘Can we talk?’ His eyes met mine at last. ‘Away from here?’
‘Not now,’ I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. They hadn’t felt cold, but now I couldn’t stop shivering as I looked to the side of the stage where Barry stood, arms hugging his chest. He’d been joined by Sheelagh, who looked dressed for a night at the opera in a flowing black cloak, and Jane – who I’d spotted earlier, selling Christmas wreaths on the flower stall – had appeared alongside Dennis, the pair of them in matching bobble hats. The Harassed Couple, Bella and Mark, were each cradling a twin, and Mr Flannery had joined the line-up, eyes darting around as if seeking a sniper in the crowd. Only the Jensens hadn’t made it; presumably because their high-powered jobs didn’t allow them an afternoon off.
‘And the winner IS…’ Ollie paused, looking at each of the contestants in turn with an air of barely concealed excitement. He’d either got better at acting or was genuinely enjoying himself.
Jane and Dennis nudged each other like schoolchildren, while Sheelagh gazed up at Ollie with something approaching reverence, apparently unaffected by having a broken night’s sleep. Barry stared at his feet, encased in biker-style boots, and Mr Flannery stared heavenwards, as if praying, fingers toying with a toggle on his duffle coat.
‘Spit it out, my feet are freezing,’ someone yelled.
‘Why can’t they leave him alone?’ Erin whispered, even though I’d been wishing he’d get on with it too. ‘He’s doing a great job.’
I looked at her in surprise. Ollie was milking the moment for all it was worth and – as usual – not reading the mood.
‘The winner IS… The GINGERbread House,’ he boomed finally, in the style of the voiceover man on The X Factor, and the Harassed Couple broke into delighted smiles. They handed their babies to Jane and Dennis, before stepping up to accept their hamper and Hudson Country House Hotel voucher, and then opted for their fifty pounds to be donated to the local hospice, while the crowd politely applauded.
‘Good decision.’ Doris Day had somehow sandwiched herself between Erin and me, a bag of shopping in one of her mittened hands. ‘They deserve it,’ she approved. ‘They need that hotel break. They’ve barely slept in a year.’
‘I thought they might win,’ I said, giving Ollie a thumbs-up, before realising his megawatt smile was directed at Erin.
I was amazed to see Barry and Mr Flannery applauding too, flashing each other oddly triumphant looks. ‘I thought they’d be furious,’ I said.
‘They’re each glad the other hasn’t won.’ Doris gave me a look that said, Don’t you get it? ‘The competition has always been between the pair of them,’ she elaborated. ‘They’re fine with someone else winning.’
‘Ah.’ I clearly had a lot to learn about the politics of the Christmas lights competition. ‘That’s… good?’ I said. Though, if I was honest, a teensy part of me felt a bit let down. I’d been curious to know what Mr Flannery would do if he didn’t win. Especially as he’d been planning to take Ruby Dashwood away for a dirty weekend. Although, judging by the way she was laughing with Bob the Baker, who was selling mince pies from a nearby s
tall, she wouldn’t have accepted anyway. A blonde-haired girl, who looked like a younger version of Ruby, was trying to attract her attention back to the flower stall, and I heard her shout, ‘Gran, can you tell Dad these red plants have poisonous leaves, because he won’t believe me?’
I turned back to Erin, who was saying to Doris, ‘It sounds like he’s been very fair with his decision,’ as proudly as if Ollie was her firstborn. ‘I can’t wait to see this gingerbread house for myself.’
‘He liked that one the best the night we arrived.’ Craig had raised his camera and was filming the presentation, even though News South-West was covering it anyway. ‘One for the archives,’ he said to me, even though I’d been trying not to look at him. He’d slept with Tattie Granger, for heaven’s sake. How could he act normally around Ollie?
‘Traitor,’ Erin hissed in my ear, as if catching my thoughts. ‘As soon as this is over, we’ll be having words.’
‘In front of Ollie?’
‘No.’ Erin looked to where Ollie was emptying the food hamper, item by item, holding up a jar of goose fat and telling a story about his nanny’s roast potatoes being the best he’d ever tasted, the secret being goose fat, which he’d loved ever since, and how he even took a jar with him to restaurants. The onlookers looked suitably bemused. ‘I’ll get Craig to tell him and if he won’t, then I will.’
‘And then what?’
Erin had a strange glint in her eye that I’d only seen once before: after The Actor had declared his intention to conquer America without her. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, the glint fading.
‘I’ve seen his fancy woman.’
I looked at Doris, noticing her discreet, Christmas tree earrings. ‘Sorry?’
‘Barry.’ She flashed her eyes in his direction, while Erin moved in to eavesdrop.
‘Where?’
‘Well, as you haven’t been keeping an eye out I thought I’d have a wander past the house myself, while Sheelagh was at school yesterday lunchtime, and I noticed a smudge on their front window—’
‘You noticed a smudge from the pavement?’ I said.
