Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘The kiss was disgusting or the timing was disgusting?’ he asks me.

  As much as I want to tell him that I was referring to both, I can’t bring myself to be so mean to him.

  ‘The timing,’ I say.

  ‘I kissed you because I wanted to,’ he tells me.

  ‘Yeah, and I tricked you into building bunk beds with me because I’m just oh-so enjoying the time we’re spending together,’ I say, again, with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  ‘I am on your side,’ he tells me. ‘We don’t need to be enemies.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ I reply.

  ‘I’m serious,’ he says. ‘If I can help you, let me help you.’

  ‘Wanna buy the shop for me?’ I joke. Seb laughs. ‘Otherwise, there’s nothing you can do for me. But thank you for the kind offer.’

  ‘You’re quite sarcastic,’ he observes.

  ‘I am,’ I reply. ‘Life has made me this way.’

  Eventually, we have two beds in front of us.

  ‘We just need to attach them to one another, and the ladder, and then we’re done.’

  ‘Great,’ I reply. I just want this evening to be over with, and the thought of having to sit down and have dinner with him is filling me with dread. Eating dinner with Seb is the last thing I want to do.

  ‘Can I just go and check on my sister, while you’re doing that bit?’ I ask, as he assembles the ladder.

  ‘Of course,’ he replies.

  I take a welcome break from talking with Seb to pop to the kitchen and interrogate my sister.

  ‘Hey,’ she says brightly. ‘Where is Seb?’

  ‘Still upstairs working,’ I tell her.

  Holly quickly drops her bright and breezy act. ‘Dinner is nearly ready,’ she tells me. ‘It’ll be nice, to get to know him better.’

  ‘Why on earth would it be nice?’ I ask in disbelief.

  ‘Well, you said he’s going to be living there?’ she replies. ‘And, with Mum and Dad’s ashes both being scattered in the garden…’

  That’s a fact I’ve been ignoring up until now, fighting furiously to keep it out of my mind because it’s just too painful to consider.

  ‘It would be nice if we could visit every now and then, that’s all,’ she says. ‘And, well, you two seem close.’

  ‘We’re not close, I’m just stuck babysitting him,’ I reply.

  ‘If you say so,’ she says as she places spaghetti into a pan of boiling water. ‘I just thought I was picking up on some vibes, that’s all.’

  I feel myself blush.

  ‘Ivy Jones, has something happened between the two of you?’ my sister asks, her eyes wide.

  ‘No,’ I lie. ‘Well, not really.’

  ‘Spill,’ she insists.

  ‘On the day we met,’ I start, lowering my voice to make sure no one can hear me. ‘Seb…flirted with me.’

  I decide not to tell Holly that Seb kissed me, because she’ll get carried away, thinking it was way more than it was. I’m embarrassed that I let him kiss me before I knew who he was, and what he’d mean for the future of the shop. I never would have let him kiss me if I’d known what his plans were, and I can’t stop kicking myself.

  ‘He did?’ she squeaks.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ my sister coos.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ I correct her. ‘This was before he told me who he was, before he told me that he was buying the shop. He was just trying to butter me up.’

  ‘I would let him butter me up any day,’ she jokes. ‘Seriously though, why are you so convinced he isn’t genuine? Maybe, if you stop giving him a hard time, let him get on with what he’s planning, something could happen.’

  ‘Why would I even want that?’ I ask, tearing off a piece of bread to dip it in the pasta sauce. ‘He’s the enemy, Holly. He’s destroying Mum’s shop.’

  ‘Mum would want you to be happy with someone, not a shop,’ she tells me.

  I bite my tongue and turn the focus on her instead. ‘Mum would want you to tell me what’s going on,’ I say.

  ‘Are you changing the subject?’

  ‘Yes, to a more important one.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she insists.

  ‘Except you’re not,’ I point out. ‘You’re keeping secrets, lying about where you’ve got to be and what you’ve got to do – I can just tell.’

  ‘No, you can’t.’ She laughs. ‘Stop deflecting and go and tell Seb his dinner is ready. You guys can finish the bunk beds after you eat.’

  I exhale deeply before heading upstairs. ‘Oh, wow, it looks almost finished,’ I blurt as I walk into the room.

  ‘I told you it was easy. You just needed a man,’ he jokes.

  ‘Well, Holly says your dinner is ready,’ I tell him.

  ‘Amazing,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m starving.’

  Seb follows me downstairs.

  ‘I’ve set the dining table,’ Holly says when she spots us. ‘Go, take a seat. The kids are already in there.’

  When we eat here, we never eat in Holly’s dining room apart from special occasions –we eat at the kitchen table. She’s pulling out all the stops for Seb, which annoys me. Why doesn’t she dislike him as much as I do? Why doesn’t she care that he’s going to knock down our mum’s shop?

  ‘Are the bunk beds done?’ Chloe asks us excitedly as we sit down.

  ‘Nearly,’ Seb replies. ‘You’ll be in them tonight, for sure.’

  ‘Cool,’ she replies.

  Holly brings in a large bowl full of spaghetti and begins serving it, playing mum to each of us, plating up our food, passing us bread and pouring us drinks.

  ‘So, Harry no longer wants a bike for Christmas,’ she tells us.

  ‘Oh really?’ I reply. ‘Well, it’s a good job Santa is working at my shop now – you’ll have to go and tell him what you want instead.’

  ‘I don’t think Santa Claus himself could deliver on this request. He wants a convertible.’

  Seb cracks up with laugher. ‘Oh no, he’s starting young.’

  ‘I’ve tried to explain to him that he’s still too young for a car – let alone a convertible like yours – but he’s not having any of it.’

  ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Harry,’ Seb starts, glancing at his mum for approval. ‘I’ll take you out in my car whenever you like, how about that?’

  ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ Holly says. ‘Say thank you, Harry.’

  ‘Thank you, Harry,’ he quietly jokes. Harry might not say much, but everything he does say is totally worth it.

  ‘I like this kid.’ Seb laughs. ‘Both of them. You have a lovely family.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Holly replies. ‘No kids of your own?’

  ‘None yet,’ he replies.

  Imagine being a man, having the luxury of being able to have kids whenever you like. I am vaguely aware that my biological clock is ticking, but what can I do about it? Sure, I’d love kids one day, I just don’t seem to meet the right men – or any men, for the most part.

  More annoying than that, though, is the fact that Seb is here, offering to take my nephew out ‘whenever he wants’, like he’s a part of the family – he isn’t. Commandeering our family home does not make him a part of our family and, frankly, I find it weird that he has muscled himself in here tonight the way he has. It’s weird, just plain weird.

  ‘So, you’re moving here alone?’ Holly asks him.

  ‘I am – this food is delicious, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she replies. ‘It’s one of the few things I do OK. Ivy is the real chef in this family.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve tried her chocolates and her biscuits,’ he tells her. ‘Just incredible. I keep telling her she should sell them.’

  ‘Oh, Hol, I still need to find you that Mary costume,’ I say to change the subject.

  My sister just nods in appreciation, before turning back to Seb.

  ‘Are you spending Christmas here?’ she asks nosily.

  ‘I
am,’ he replies. ‘I sold my place in Dublin a little while ago. I’ve been travelling around, hotel hopping, while I’ve been looking for somewhere to make my home. Here just feels right.’

  ‘You’ll be spending Christmas in a hotel?’ she clarifies.

  ‘Yeah, well, one of the B&Bs over on the island.’

  ‘You’re spending it alone and in a B&B?’ she shrieks. ‘I think you—’

  ‘Holly, I think I can smell burning coming from your kitchen,’ I interrupt.

  Holly sniffs the air. ‘I don’t smell anything.’

  ‘I think you should check,’ I insist. ‘I definitely smell something.’

  ‘OK,’ Holly replies, puzzled. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  I give her a few seconds before saying: ‘Actually, I’ll go help her, make sure she checks properly.’

  ‘No worries,’ Seb says. ‘I’m sure the kids will keep me company, tell me stories about their Auntie Ivy.’

  As much as I want to stay and police this conversation, I hurry into the kitchen to find Holly, peering inside the oven.

  ‘There’s no burning anywhere. What are you talking about?’ she asks.

  ‘I just needed to get you on your own, to tell you to stop it, right now.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You were going to ask Seb to have Christmas dinner with us, weren’t you?’ I ask.

  ‘Ivy, he’s going to be alone – where’s your Christmas spirit?’

  I gasp. ‘I have Christmas spirit in abundance, lady. You hate Christmas; what do you care if someone is spending it alone? Seb is Scrooge, pre-ghosts, OK? He doesn’t care about us, he just cares about money and getting his own way.’

  ‘I just feel sorry for him, that’s all,’ she says.

  ‘Holly, promise me you won’t ask Seb to eat Christmas dinner with us,’ I insist.

  ‘OK, fine, I promise,’ she gives in. ‘I just feel like if Mum were here, she would’ve asked him.’

  I frown. My mum would be spinning in her grave – if she’d been buried – at the thought of some man muscling in and ruining everything she’d worked hard for. Holly seems to be suggesting that it might be worth giving up the shop if I get a man out of it, which is ridiculous. Not just because no woman needs a man so badly that she should give up her life, but also because Seb doesn’t want me, he wants my shop. I feel like I’m the only person in this whole town who can see through him.

  ‘What do you think Seb would like for dessert?’ she asks. ‘I’ve got all the stuff you’d need to make your famous Nutella soufflés.’

  ‘Holly, please, don’t offer him dessert. I just want this night to be over with, and to go home.’

  She sighs. ‘Well, you’ll be setting off soon enough.’

  I am reminded of the fact that Seb drove us here, which means I’ll need him to drive me back home too.

  After finishing dinner (without dessert) and completing the bunk beds (which, annoyingly, we did need a man for) we say our goodbyes and get in Seb’s car.

  It may only be a short trip but being trapped in such a confined space with him fills me with dread. He’s tried putting the moves on me, flattery, pretending he cares, worming his way in with my family… Who knows what he’ll try next?

  Chapter 13

  ‘Could you do me a quick favour?’ he asks as he pulls out of the drive.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Could you check the causeway times, please?’

  Oh no, don’t tell me he’s stuck over here, please! If the tide is in, the road will be closed, and there will be no way Seb can get back to his B&B.

  ‘Sure,’ I reply, crossing my fingers that it will be open.

  ‘I didn’t realise I’d be staying here so late and I forgot to check,’ he says.

  ‘Well, I’m sure Charlie will put you up,’ I reply, doing everything I can to say each word without a tone of any kind.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Seb laughs.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It was just a drink,’ he tells me. ‘I thought it would be good to try and make some friends but we didn’t have all that much in common.’

  I don’t say anything. I just hurriedly tap my phone to bring up the causeway times. ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘“Oh” doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘It’s not the worst news,’ I tell him. ‘It’s closed, but it will be open again in an hour and a half.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ he replies. ‘Not too long to sit in the car and wait then.’

  Ergh, the last thing I want is to spend more time with him, but I can’t, in good conscience, let Seb sit in his car in the freezing cold for an hour and a half.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t want to keep you up,’ he says.

  ‘No, it’s fine, I need to find a nativity costume for Holly anyway.’

  ‘Well, I’ll help then,’ he suggests. ‘Make myself useful.’

  We head inside and upstairs in silence.

  ‘I’ll just get changed,’ I tell him.

  ‘OK,’ he replies, hovering by my bedroom door. ‘I could go up into the loft?’

  I frown for a split second. I suppose he wants to scope it out, see what it’s like before he buys the place.

  ‘There’s a stick thing propped against the wall over there,’ I say as I point. ‘It opens the hatch and pulls the ladder down.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘See you up there.’

  There’s so much stuff up there – a lot of it from my childhood – so I hurriedly get changed, worried he might see something I don’t want him to.

  ‘When was the last time you were up here?’ Seb asks, blowing dust off a small trophy before examining it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘Not that long, I don’t think. It doesn’t take dust and cobwebs long to take over.’

  ‘So, what are we looking for?’ he asks.

  ‘It will be a box marked “nativity costumes” or something similar,’ I tell him. I haven’t just inherited my mum’s sentimental need to hoard, I’ve inherited everything she ever hoarded too. Luckily my mum kept her things neatly boxed and labelled.

  We take a side of the small loft each, carefully moving boxes, looking for the one I need. That’s when it jumps out at me, a box with ‘James’s Memories’ written on it. It’s things like this that are the reason I don’t come up here as much as I should. It’s all well and good keeping things to help you remember what you’ve lost, but sometimes it’s just too painful to think about. Sometimes, it’s just easier to lock things away in the loft.

  ‘Who is James?’ Seb asks.

  I pause for a second.

  ‘James was my dad,’ I say softly.

  I rest my fingertips lightly on top of the box, wondering whether or not to open it, because I’d be opening up so much more than a box.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Seb replies. ‘You want to take a look? I’m in no rush.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply.

  There’s uncertainty in my voice but the box is opened in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, even when we know something will hurt us, we still can’t help ourselves, can we?

  At the top of the box sits a photo album, which I carefully remove and lay on one of the sealed boxes next to me. As I open the first page I notice Seb curiously slink up alongside me.

  ‘Are they your parents?’ he asks. I’m sure he could’ve made an educated guess, but I feel like he’s making an effort to talk to me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Audrey and James Jones.’

  ‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ he muses. ‘How pictures of our parents look like they were taken lifetimes ago.’

  I nod. There are so many pictures of my parents from the Seventies, before they had Holly and me, before they were married. They look so young and carefree, but the fashion looks so dated, and the pictures all have a warm colouring to them, and a texture that you just don’t get anymore. It makes me wonder if, when I’m older, I’ll be looking back at pictures like this of myself, but then I realise
that I’m already so much older than my parents were in this picture.

  I flick through a few more pictures until finally Holly and I make an appearance.

  ‘It was so nice, spending time with your family,’ he says. ‘I don’t spend much time with families.’

  I smile.

  ‘Wow, even as kids, you and Holly didn’t look alike,’ he points out.

  ‘I know.’ I laugh. ‘There’s always been a running joke in the family that one of us got mixed up in the hospital. Holly always used to say it was her who got swapped, that my parents took her home, when her real parents were glamorous celebrities, not Christmas nerds.’

  I flick through more of our family photos until we hit the awkward teenage years. I’m a little anxious, for some reason, about Seb seeing me when I was even less cool than I am now, but then it occurs to me that at some point while we were thumbing our way through the pages and laughing at the clothes and hairstyles, my dad just stopped being in the pictures.

  ‘Wow, look at your sister.’ He laughs, nodding at a picture of Holly at the height of her Steps obsession.

  ‘I know. She was very fond of her cowboy hat.’ I laugh too. ‘And, you see those jeans she’s wearing, she took a pair of scissors and cut the top couple of inches off, where the belt goes, and then used her friend’s lighter to burn the edges so they didn’t fray. My mum absolutely hit the roof.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Seb says.

  ‘Only the other day, Holly was talking about when Chloe grows up, and how it’s a much scarier time to be a young woman. I reminded her about the house parties she would go to, where she would drink cheap alcohol with strangers, letting them drive her home. It’s a miracle she wasn’t murdered.’

  ‘And what about you?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Me? Look at me. Holly has always stood out, whether it be because of her fashion choices or her wild behaviours, but I’ve always been boring.’

  ‘You’re not boring,’ he objects.

  ‘I am,’ I say firmly. ‘I have the shop, I read, I bake… There’s not much else going on in my life.’

  I am stopped in my tracks by something I find in the box – something I knew would be there, I suppose, but it just wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. I remove two, not quite identical bean-filled cuddly dogs from the box. They’re made from some kind of velvety material that feels just as soft as I remember it feeling the first time I held it to my face, when I squeezed it tightly and covered it in my tears.