Christmas at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 3)

by Kate Hewitt

  When he’d seen her in the foyer, looking so anxious and sad, something had held him back. Going to her had felt like both the most natural and unnatural thing in the world—what he craved, and yet he couldn’t.

  Wasn’t that how he’d always been? Imprisoned by his own ineptitude, his own fear? Could he even do a healthy relationship? The last twenty-four hours, the isolation and despair he’d felt and his utter inability to do anything about either, made him think he couldn’t. He never would.

  The guests were arriving, everyone mingling and chatting and laughing, and Roger felt a million miles away from it all. He almost felt invisible, skirting the room, trying to avoid everyone, even Lindy. He was in no mood to make idle chitchat, not that he ever could, and the performance loomed in front of him like a bottomless chasm that was just waiting for him to fall into.

  He couldn’t do this. Any of this. He’d been stupid and naïve to think that he could.

  “You must be Roger!”

  He turned to see a woman he didn’t recognise giving him a conspiratorial smile. “Lindy’s new man. I’ve heard about you.” She giggled a bit tipsily while Roger regarded her stonily, saying nothing. “I don’t actually know Lindy,” the woman confided, “but she teaches one of my children, a Year Six.”

  “I see,” Roger said, although he saw nothing.

  The woman leaned forward so her champagne almost spilled from her glass. “I don’t know why she thought you were so unsuitable. I think you’re very sweet.”

  Roger stared at her, unable to form a reply. Unsuitable. He’d actually almost forgotten about that comment Lindy had made months ago now, when he’d seen her in the teashop. Almost forgotten how humiliated he had felt, how ludicrous the idea of a romantic relationship between them had seemed—not just to him or even to Lindy, but to everyone. Apparently the comment had been circulating Wychwood, because he didn’t think this woman had been in Tea on the Lea on the day.

  He didn’t think Lindy would stand by that comment now—at least he hoped she wouldn’t—but even so he wondered if it mattered. He was unsuitable. He’d always known it. Unsuited to romance, to relationships, to the kind of intimacy he found so baffling. Without a word, he turned and walked away from the woman, away from the ball, slipping through a set of French windows that led out onto a night-cloaked terrace. Alone in the freezing darkness, he closed his eyes and wished that everything were different. That he was different.

  *

  The performance was about to start. Lindy stood on the side of the ballroom, Emma clutching her legs and Ollie cavorting around, as she waited for the signal to start from Alice, and wildly scanned the room for Roger. Where was he?

  “Are you ready?” Alice asked as she hurried over. “I’ll get Henry to tell everyone to gather round, if you are.”

  “Er…” Lindy looked around again. No sign of Roger. The Year Sixes were getting antsy, and Ollie had about fifteen minutes more of good behaviour in him, if that. She couldn’t delay any longer, and yet she didn’t want to start without Roger. “Give me one sec,” she said, and gently removing Emma’s arms from around her waist, she hurried from the ballroom, peeking in all the other reception rooms, hunting for the one man she cared about more than any other. The man who had been there for her, and now she wanted and needed to be there for him…if he’d let her.

  Why had she hesitated, when she’d first seen him tonight? Why hadn’t she put her arms around him and told him she loved him? Held him close and never let him go? Instead she’d simply followed his lamentable cues and now she was wandering around, wondering where he was. What he was thinking and feeling.

  She couldn’t find him anywhere downstairs, and as the seconds passed, the window for having a successful performance was surely closing. Feeling she had no choice but to go forward without Roger, Lindy started towards the ballroom—and then her heart leaped into her throat as she saw a shadow beyond the French windows. Could it be…

  Ignoring Alice’s enquiring look from across the room, she practically ran across the ballroom and slipped between the open windows. The cold air hit her like an electric shock, gooseflesh prickling over her skin. But Roger was there, standing by the balustrade, his back to her, moonlight limning him in silver.

  “Roger…”

  He didn’t turn as he spoke. “I can’t do it.”

  “The performance?”

  “Any of it.”

  Her heart felt as if it were sinking like a stone inside her. Lindy drew her wrap more tightly around her shoulders, little protection against the cold though it was. “What do you mean?” she asked, although she was afraid she knew.

  “This. You. Me.” Finally he turned around, but then Lindy wished he hadn’t. His expression, only just visible in the moonlight, was so very bleak.

  “Roger, please…”

  “I’m sorry, Lindy. I wish…I wish I was different.”

  “I don’t.” She took a step towards him, purpose firing both her words and movements. “I don’t wish you were different at all. I love you, Roger. I love you exactly the way you are.”

  Something flickered across his face and then was gone.

  “You don’t believe me?” Lindy challenged. “You don’t think I could love you, all of you?”

  “I think,” Roger said after a moment, his voice both heavy and taut, “I’m too unsuitable.”

  Lindy flinched. She knew, of course, what he was referring to, although she hated to think that it might matter now. “Yes, I said that—I thought that—at the beginning. But then I came to know you, and appreciate you…and fall in love with you.” His expression didn’t change and a frustrated panic seized her. “Tell me you’re not going to hold one remark I made eons ago against me.”

  “No, I’m not.” Roger sighed heavily. “That would be completely childish. It’s just…it made me realise, Lindy, how hard all this is for me.” He gestured to the space between them. “And as for going out there…I’m not sure I can do it, even for my own mother’s sake.”

  “You can, Roger,” Lindy urged. “With people supporting you, loving you. It doesn’t have to be you against the world. It doesn’t even have to be us against the world. There is a whole community out there longing for you to succeed, and more than ready and willing to pick you up when you don’t. I know, because I’ve made friends with them. I’ve been alone my whole adult life and I made myself not mind, but that’s not the same as being able to rely on other people for help and support and love, and that’s what I’ve finally been learning to do now. What I’ve needed to do all along.” She took a deep breath as she continued steadily, “Let me love you. Don’t turn away from me now just because it’s hard or scary or uncertain, because I get that. I know it’s all three, and I’m still here. Still in love with you.”

  The words had poured out of her so fast that Lindy had barely been aware of what she was saying, and yet she knew she meant all of it. Utterly. She loved this man. She should have told him sooner. She should have let her love, rather than her fear, direct her actions, but at least she was here now.

  “When I was alone in the night and I needed help you came,” she said softly. “You were there. Let me be there for you. Please. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

  Slowly, holding her breath, Lindy extended her hand to Roger. “They’re waiting for us to dance together—you and me. Your mother is, too. It won’t matter if you do the samba or if you fall on your face. Everyone there is on your side, and I’ll still love you no matter what happens. All of you.”

  The seconds passed, each one an agony. Then, slowly, achingly, Roger took her hand.

  “I might actually fall on my face,” he warned, and Lindy let out a shaky laugh of both relief and joy.

  “I’ll fall with you. Happily.”

  With their fingers twined, they headed back to the ballroom.

  *

  Roger’s legs were shaky and his heart full as he and Lindy walked hand in hand into the ballroom; almost a
s one, the crowd turned to appraise them, and it took him a moment to realise everyone was smiling. Ollie, fedora rakishly tilted over one eyebrow, was jumping up and down in excitement.

  Alice was beaming as she hurried towards them. “Ready?” she asked, and Lindy glanced at him.

  “Yes,” Roger said as he squeezed her hand. “Ready.”

  The music started up, and Roger watched hand in hand with Lindy as the juniors started. They were crazy, careening around the floor with both pizzazz and polish. Then came twenty-four Year Sixes, all in black with red or green sashes, stumbling slightly through the complex choreography, but with smiles on their face. When the hip-hop section came, everyone clapped and cheered. Neither act was perfect, but they were both obviously roaring successes. And Roger realised Lindy was right. Everyone here wanted them to succeed. Everyone here was on his side.

  Finally, it was their turn. All the eyes—including his mother’s—were on them. He glanced at the tablet positioned in the corner of the ballroom; he could see his mother sitting up in bed, looking tired yet alert. Roger turned to Lindy; she’d never looked lovelier, like a queen, regal and yet gentle, her head held high, her eyes warm with love as they took their places in the ballroom, the mirrors reflecting the glittering light from the chandeliers.

  He was a lucky, lucky man, Roger knew, to have a woman not just love him, but fight for him as well. He was also a foolish man, for nearly throwing it all away—and for what reason? Because he was afraid? Because he hadn’t wanted to be rejected? Because loving someone was the riskiest thing you could ever do, and he’d learned not to take risks. But he wanted to take this one.

  If a guess was an informed estimation, then love was a calculated risk. A wonderful, terrifying, all-or-nothing gamble that he knew he wanted to take on and on, to forever—with this gorgeous woman now floating in his arms.

  “I should have said this before,” he said in a low voice, as Lindy’s eyes widened at his serious, rather severe tone, “but I love you, Lindy. I love you completely and utterly, without reservation or qualification. Comprehensively, in fact, in all conditions or circumstances.” He let out a breath. “So.”

  Lindy’s lips curved in a knowing smile and Roger realised there had probably been a smoother way to say that, but then he’d never been smooth. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to matter.

  “And I love you just as completely, utterly, and comprehensively,” she told him, grinning. “In all conditions and circumstances. Does that cover everything?”

  “I believe it does,” Roger answered seriously. “After all, we want to be prepared for all eventualities.”

  He took her hand and Lindy laughed out loud, as the music swelled and they began to dance.

  Epilogue

  “Who’s that, do you think?”

  Lindy’s nose was nearly pressed to the glass as she watched the rather battered blue estate pull up to Willoughby Close.

  “I have no idea who that is,” Roger replied, “especially as I cannot actually see out the window, and therefore have no view of the person in question.”

  “I think someone’s moving into number three!” Lindy said excitedly. A woman was climbing out of the car, one hand to her back like she had a crick in it. “Who could it be?”

  “Again, I have no idea.”

  “I know you don’t,” Lindy replied, laughing. “But I’m curious.”

  She turned to give him a smile, which he returned warmly. Two weeks on from the ball, nearly New Year’s, and everything still felt new, precious, and just the tiniest bit fragile.

  Their dance had been a triumph—they’d stumbled, yes, and once they’d almost fallen, but still. Lindy wouldn’t have changed a single thing about it—especially not when they’d finished by turning to the camera where they could see Ellen sitting up in bed, tears trickling down her cheeks and a wide smile stretching across her face. Around them everyone had clapped and cheered, and Roger had looked surprised and a bit shaken by the enthusiastic applause. Several Year Sixes had high-fived him, and Ollie had rugby-tackled his legs. Roger had looked pleased, and Lindy’s heart had expanded with love.

  The rest of the ball had passed in a happy blur, and a week later they’d spent Christmas together—a bittersweet and beautiful day.

  Lindy had woken up to snow falling like icing sugar, and she’d thrown on clothes before running over to Roger’s cottage.

  “Merry Christmas!” she’d yelled, and he’d looked bemused, still in his pyjamas. Lindy had gathered up some of the first snow to make a snowball, but it had been too powdery and had fallen apart in her hands. She’d laughed and thrown it anyway, dusting Roger’s pyjamas in white, and he’d caught her up in a kiss that felt magical, the beginning of everything.

  But that Christmas had been an ending of sorts, as well. They’d gone to the hospice that morning to visit Ellen and there had been something both sad and sweet about the scene—the Christmas tree in the entrance of the hospice, the fairy lights spangled on the end of Ellen’s bed.

  “It’s still Christmas,” she reminded them with a papery smile. “And I’m still here.”

  They’d sat by her bed as they’d opened presents—Lindy had bought Ellen a pair of fluffy slippers, which she’d oohed and aahed over, and Roger had given her a watercolour of her cottage, to hang in her room. They’d stayed for Christmas dinner, even though Ellen had insisted they have a proper one later.

  “I hope you’re cooking a turkey,” she told her son severely, and Roger assured her he was. They’d decided, after the ball, to spend Christmas at Lindy’s cottage, so Toby wouldn’t be left alone for too long. As they said goodbye to Ellen, Lindy promised to visit her again soon. Ellen squeezed her hand and gave her a look full of love.

  “You don’t know happy you’ve made me,” she said.

  “And you don’t know how happy your son has made me,” Lindy returned with a smile.

  Ellen had given her a knowing look. “Oh, I think I do,” she said.

  Back at the cottage, Toby had scampered around while Roger had got the turkey ready and Lindy had put on Christmas carols and made mulled wine. It had felt surprisingly easy, to move around each other in the little kitchen, to exchange quick smiles or even a kiss as Nat King Cole had belted out ‘The Christmas Song.’

  This was what normal, regular people had, Lindy thought. What they took for granted, and yet she didn’t think she or Roger ever would. They knew how precious it was, how every moment felt like a miracle, and for that she was grateful.

  While the turkey cooked, they’d opened their presents under Lindy’s little tree while Toby tried to eat the wrapping paper.

  Lindy had got Roger a blue shirt—surely a man couldn’t have too many—and a huge, polka dot umbrella.

  “Because if you’re going to be prepared,” she told him, “you can at least do it with style.”

  Roger had reduced her to sentimental tears by giving her a watercolour of Wychwood’s high street and a small wooden box with a picture of Cornmarket Street painted on its lid.

  “To start a new collection of treasures,” he’d explained, and Lindy had thrown her arms around him in loving gratitude. She didn’t think Christmas got any better than this.

  Since then, they’d spent the last week with Ellen, who was fading a little more every day yet was peaceful about it, or by themselves, walking Toby or watching movies, simply being with each other. On New Year’s Eve they’d gone to Ava and Jace’s for a party, but they’d both been glad to get home to simply be with each other.

  “It’s a woman,” she told Roger now as she twitched the curtain to make it a little less obvious that she was blatantly snooping. “With two kids, I think,” she added as a lanky, sulky-looking boy unfolded himself from the back of the car, and an older girl with long, dark hair and fingers flying over her phone walked into number three without even looking up. “Teenagers. And a dog!” The smiley-faced golden retriever loped behind them, ears perked and tongue lolling. Lindy reached down to pet T
oby, who was seeming anxious by all the unexpected activity. “No dad, though, at least not with them. Perhaps he’s coming separately.”

  “Perhaps you’ll find out in time, from the woman herself,” Roger said as he came to the window.

  “We could invite her over for dinner,” Lindy suggested and Roger slid his arms around her waist.

  “I suppose we could,” he agreed. He was warming up to social occasions, slowly but surely, and they had Simon and Olivia’s wedding to look forward to next week.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Harriet had whispered to Lindy at Ava and Jace’s party. “He’s not unsuitable at all. In fact, he’s completely gorgeous.”

  “I know,” she replied, brimming with both pride and love. “I’ve snagged myself quite a catch.”

  Now Lindy rested her head against his chest as she let the curtain fall and her musings about her new neighbour were momentarily forgotten.

  Really, she had everything she wanted right here, she thought, as Roger’s arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on top of her head, for now and always. For ever.

  The End

  Find out about Willoughby Close’s newest resident in the next book in the series, Remember Me at Willoughby Close!

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  Book 3: Christmas at Willoughby Close

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