by Suzanne Snow
‘Why don’t you come to me instead?’ Olivia was horrified that she’d nearly said ‘us’, reminding herself sharply that she and Tom were definitely not an ‘us’. ‘Only if you have time and I wouldn’t like you to go to any trouble, not with the baby so close.’
‘I’d love that, thank you. I’ve got your number, shall we look at dates and message before we run out of time?’
‘Perfect.’
They said goodbye and Annie disappeared to collect Jon. Olivia went outside into the cold, thinking she had better do something useful before Tom thought she really was a complete wuss.
Chapter Ten
It turned out that helping people choose Christmas trees was more fun than Olivia had been expecting. It was only when her hand went to her pocket about twenty minutes later did she realise that she had accidentally left her phone behind. She wondered anxiously about dashing back to the house to fetch it but was distracted by another new customer instead. Now that Annie and Jon had left, it was just her, Tom and two other volunteers.
Olivia couldn’t miss how easily Tom chatted to people, most of whom seemed to have no idea that they might have seen him on television in something or other. He showed her how to slide the trees through a tube that gathered them into a net. The first time she tried to shove a tree through by herself she couldn’t get the net cut cleanly and it ended up in a bit of a muddle until he came over to help her sort it out.
They were kept busy, her mind flitting to her phone and wondering how many emails or messages might be piling up now that she was here without it. Her annual leave was due to start any time and she never put an out of office on her email, there simply wasn’t any point. She never really was out of office, not for her clients.
The smell of chestnuts roasting on the stall next door was proving a constant temptation. Olivia had never tried them and decided today would be a good time to start, checking she hadn’t forgotten her purse too. A few people were wandering around dressed in Victorian costumes and collecting donations for the fell rescue. She had to admit that this was a lot more fun than juggling clients and contracts on a Saturday morning, especially when Tom caught her eye and winked.
There was a short lull in customers and she called across to him. ‘If this was one of those Christmas TV movies, then after we’d finished at the tree lot we’d share hot chocolate, go home and bake cookies.’
‘You’re on.’
‘What? I was joking.’ She pointed to their surroundings. ‘Seeing as we’re very obviously not in one of those movies. There isn’t any snow left for a start, or giant candy canes lining the street. And you’ve got my dad’s shop to open later.’ Olivia tilted her head. ‘Don’t tell me you watch those movies? Have you actually been in one?’
‘I will admit to having seen a few and no, I haven’t been in one. Don’t you think I’d be great? Playing the good guy and getting the girl at the end?’
‘Nah.’ She waved off a family with their tree, smiling at the excited children waiting to take it home. ‘You’d be better off writing one.’
She went to pick up a tree that fallen over, not realising Tom was so close to her until he spoke. ‘If I was writing a Christmas movie then the cookie baking might look a lot different.’
Olivia swallowed, taking her time with the tree. ‘Oh? How might it look?’
‘More mess. Fewer cookies at the end.’
‘Right.’ She’d finished with the tree and didn’t want to turn around just yet to find those wicked blue eyes tangled with hers. Hearing his voice lowered like that was quite enough. ‘I definitely wouldn’t watch that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’d want there to be cookies at the end. And all that clearing up and mess would stress me out if there was nothing left to eat.’ She’d finished with the tree and couldn’t put off turning around any longer, hoping for a customer to distract her. There were none that needed her help in this moment and she looked up, Tom’s blue eyes locking with hers.
‘Mince pies.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Olivia raised her eyebrows.
‘When we bake. Let’s do mince pies instead, they’re nicer than cookies.’
‘Tom, I was joking! We’re not baking anything, that’s what shops are for. If you’re desperate for a mince pie then get some at The Courtyard, I’ve heard they’re excellent.’
He looked disappointed now and she laughed. ‘Next you’ll be wanting to make a Christmas cake and dose it with sherry every day or whatever it is you’re meant to do.’
‘Feed.’
‘Feed what? Are you hungry?’ She was starting to lose the thread of this conversation, her mind still half on the cookies and the movie she’d suggested he write. She definitely would watch it, that was the problem, especially if he were in it. Forget the mince pies, maybe she could help with the research. She could spread the butter on…
‘The cake. You feed it with sherry, you don’t dose it. It’s not sick.’
‘What?’ Olivia dragged her mind away from that particular daydream. ‘Oh, right, the cake. Well, I saw a cookery programme once when I was in a hotel and the chef was sticking holes in a cake and dabbing it with something that was meant for drinking. And it wasn’t even Christmas when I watched it.’
A couple was approaching them now, tugging a tree, and Tom sauntered off to go and help them. She followed and was quite proud of herself when she fed the tree through the tube, and it all came out in one tidy piece at the other end.
She noticed an older woman staring at Tom from the edge of what she was now thinking of as the tree lot. One glance at him told Olivia that he had noticed her too. The woman was nudging the man alongside her now and saying something that Olivia couldn’t hear but guessed at all the same.
‘They’re coming over.’ Tom straightened his beanie, tugged his scarf a little higher. ‘Probably too late to make a run for it.’
‘Gosh, you’re very like Tom Bellingham,’ the woman said enthusiastically, phone already in her hand. ‘You’re not really him, are you? I loved him as Harrington, I’ve watched it so many times. You’re almost as handsome as him, though.’ She followed this up with a giggle and Olivia saw Tom looking on patiently.
‘He gets that a lot.’ Olivia’s lips were twitching as his surprised gaze dashed across to her. ‘Don’t you, Tom?’
‘You are him!’ The woman giggled again, sidling a little closer to Tom. ‘Well that’s a surprise. Fancy finding you here in Thorndale when all we thought we were going to see was trees and stalls, not my favourite actor. Fancy that, Bob.’ She gave the man with her a nudge and he nodded, then added something to the conversation that Olivia missed.
‘But what are you doing in Thorndale? You’re not filming one of those Christmas movies, are you?’ The woman’s hopeful glance was darting around the market, presumably searching for a film crew that wasn’t there before resting on Tom once again.
‘Research.’ Olivia hadn’t known she was going to say that until she did. ‘For his brilliant new crime novel.’
‘A novel? Ooh that sounds exciting. Will it be on television? Will you be starring in it?’
‘I er, no, I won’t be playing the character.’ Tom seemed relaxed but Olivia recognised the diffidence in his voice.
‘I keep telling him he should consider it,’ she said smoothly. ‘What’s not to like? Looks, charm, charisma. I think he’d make a great detective.’
‘Exactly.’ The woman was beaming now and clearly agreed with Olivia’s opinion of Tom. ‘Are you his…’
‘Publicist.’ It was Tom’s turn to jump in and he gave Olivia his best smile, which she thought was doing a nice job if he was trying to shut her up on purpose. ‘This is Livvy. She never misses an opportunity to tell people about my work. She’s very strict about what I do, though. A bit fierce, even.’ This was accompanied by a conspiratorial nod to the woman and Olivia was struggling not to laugh now that Tom was playing her at her own game.
‘Oh!’ The wom
an’s look rushed from Olivia to Tom and back to Olivia. ‘I was just hoping for a selfie. Would that be all right?’
‘Of course. We always allow selfies with fans, don’t we, Tom?’ Olivia tugged his arm, arranging him into position as the woman darted to stand next to him, presumably before Olivia could change her mind. ‘Shall I take it for you?’
She held up the phone, saw Tom’s smile and the happy face of the woman at his side through the screen. ‘Say Christmas cookies, you two.’ Olivia clicked away for a few seconds. ‘That was great. Here you go.’
She handed the phone back and leaned a little closer to the woman. ‘Tom doesn’t mention his new novel too often yet as he’s still writing it, but as his publicist I always tell him its lovely when his real fans get to find out first what he’s up to.’
‘Oh definitely. It’s very nice of you both to let me have the photo.’ The woman was clearly delighted by her encounter with a bona fide ex-heartthrob, even if he was already edging away to pick up a fallen tree.
She thanked Olivia again and set off with a wave and her partner, her day made. Olivia’s smile stayed in place long enough to hide herself behind the nearest tree before her gasp of laughter escaped. Tom joined her and she knew the glare he was giving her was false.
‘Real fans,’ he protested, shaking his head. ‘Brilliant new crime novel? What did you think you were doing, Olivia?’
‘As your publicist I would’ve thought it was obvious.’ She was wiping her eyes now. ‘Still, telling her I was your publicist was probably better than your wife.’
‘True.’ Tom’s gaze was unfathomable now and Olivia hurried on.
‘That might have taken a bit of explaining on your Wikipedia page.’ She paused. ‘Do you still have a Wikipedia page?’
‘Of course I do. At least I think I do.’
‘Anyway.’ She dismissed that. ‘Your lovely fan will now go and tell…’
‘Next door’s cat most likely.’ Tom sounded flat and Olivia touched his arm, trying to make him understand.
‘No, Tom, she won’t. She will go and tell everyone she knows and a few she doesn’t that she met her favourite actor today, had a photo with him and found out that he was writing a new novel. And if she’s never read crime before in her life she’ll read yours. Or buy it, anyway, and give it to someone who does.’
‘She won’t.’
‘She will.’ Olivia was staring at Tom. ‘Don’t you get it? You still have fans, however long ago you played that part or what they remember about it. And some of them will still be there when your book comes out. You were twinkling away in that photo like a Christmas tree. Crinkly eyes, lovely smile.’
‘I was not.’
‘Oh you so were, Tom. You know you were, and she loved it.’ Olivia was still feeling merry. ‘I’ve had an idea.’
‘Not another one.’ Tom groaned and she gave him a stern look. ‘Does it have anything to do with Christmas movies or buying mince pies?’
‘Definitely not. Has Dad said anything to you about Twitter?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
She heard the suspicion in Tom’s voice, a quick evasiveness she was beginning to recognise. ‘He used to love tweeting about authors and their books, following other booksellers and publishers. Then when the shop in town closed he more or less gave up but he’s never deleted the account.’ She was watching as Tom tied a coloured ribbon to a tree, indicating its price band. ‘I wondered if he had started tweeting again now that you’re opening the shop in the annexe for him.’
‘Not to my knowledge. He knows I don’t have any social media accounts and I wouldn’t be interested.’
‘Do you have a website?’ Olivia asked. Tom sighed and she was aware she was pushing him. But they didn’t have long; someone with a wallet in one hand and trying to carry a tree in the other was approaching. ‘Don’t you have any kind of online profile to connect with readers?’
‘What readers? I don’t have any of those either.’ His mouth set into stubborn lines. ‘What would I put on a website?’
‘Tom, just about everyone has some form of social media. My company use it all the time, we employ one person whose only role is to manage our online presence. Make us look the best, keep us relevant to what’s happening in the market. It’s about connecting.’
‘So? It’s not the same.’
‘Of course it is, it’s just a way of reaching people. And eventually you’re going to need to do that.’
‘Stop, Livvy, please. I’m not interested.’
‘Okay.’ Olivia couldn’t miss the emphasis he placed on Livvy, the role she had adopted as his publicist. She pasted a smile on her face as the customer neared them. ‘Because your readers are just going to magically know you’re there, to flock and buy your book like they did last time.’
She knew that was a bit harsh but she hoped to help him understand and think about connecting with potential readers. Accepting payment from their customer, she watched as Tom fed the tree through the tube. As the two other volunteers were dealing with the only family still choosing, she nipped next door and bought four bags of hot chestnuts. She gave two to the volunteers and went to stand beside Tom. The green was packed and she recognised Mrs Timms from the cafe at a stall selling brownies and other baked goodies.
‘Here you go, try these.’ Olivia gave Tom a bag of chestnuts. ‘Sorry for saying what I did about your previous book.’
‘That’s okay. I wouldn’t exactly call it a “flocking” but I did sell some.’ His lips stretched into a sardonic smile. ‘You haven’t read it, then?’
‘No, sorry. Should I do? I haven’t seen “the series” either.’
‘With fans like you, Olivia, I’m beginning to think I’m going to need all the social media I can get.’
‘I’m not a fan.’ She saw the amusement on Tom’s face as he pulled out a chestnut, knew he enjoyed teasing her as much as she did him. ‘I’m just someone unlucky enough to be sharing a house with you. I’ve seen you all bleary-eyed and sleepy when you come down for coffee in the morning, remember. Oh!’
‘What now?’
‘We should tweet that or post it on Instagram. You all rumpled and cute first thing, hair wet from the shower, sexy little smile. The author before he sits down to write.’
‘Rumpled and cute? That’s what you think I look like? I don’t know whether to be flattered or horrified. And I don’t have “a sexy little smile”.’
‘I’ve heard people say you do.’ That was evasive enough; Olivia hadn’t admitted she thought he did. She took a bite of the warm chestnut and spat it straight back into the bag again. ‘Urgh, that’s horrible!’ Tom was still laughing as she pointed to a stall. ‘See look, Mrs Timms is selling mince pies. I’ll treat you if you like, it’ll be cheaper than buying the ingredients.’
‘No thanks. We’re still making them.’ Tom checked his watch. ‘Our shift’s over, got time for that hot chocolate?’
‘Only if there’s chilli in it.’
‘Done. I want to hear more about how cute you think I am in the mornings.’
‘That won’t take long,’ Olivia retorted. ‘I was going to say rough but wasn’t sure your ego could take it.’
‘My ego is non-existent these days and wouldn’t dare rear its head again now I’ve met you.’
Somehow they were bumping together as they walked and she liked it, liked having him at her side. Friends, she reminded herself firmly. They were friends.
‘I need to check out a few stalls for presents. Come with me?’
‘Sure. Long as the shop’s open by one I’m fine.’
Olivia quickly found a handmade leather bookmark which her dad would love, and bought a different one for Logan, who still preferred to read books on paper instead of digitally like Ellie, something that thrilled her dad beyond measure. She bought organic soap, a hand-knitted sweater and a key ring for her dad, a beanie for Logan, and some vegan sugarplum lip balm and peppermint hand cream for Ellie. Olivia was filling
a bag with her purchases less than fifteen minutes later and handing over cash to pay for a messenger bag from Sam’s stall that her assistant would adore.
‘You’re like some kind of Christmas ninja now, racing from stall to stall, practically knocking people out of your way.’ Tom had kept up with her and they halted as she put her purse away.
‘That’s not very flattering.’ Olivia tried to glare but it was hard to maintain in the face of the amusement she saw in Tom’s eyes. ‘I haven’t got time to window-shop all day and I’d still like that hot chocolate. It was freezing, selling Christmas trees, and now you know I’m not a wuss.’
‘I never thought for one second you were a wuss, Olivia. You’re many things and wuss would be right at the bottom.’
The Courtyard was predictably packed and they turned away, making the decision to go back to the house instead. Tom nipped off to pick up hot chocolate from a stall and Olivia bought two more of the incredible turkey sandwiches she’d had the night she’d arrived in Thorndale.
The brass band had returned from their break and she stood for a moment, peaceful, enjoying the music and the familiarity of the carols she had used to sing. The carol service at church was something she and Ellie had gone to every year with her dad, and Olivia realised she’d dropped that too, when Ellie had moved away.
Whenever Ellie hadn’t been with her for the holidays then Olivia had hurried to Thorndale on Christmas Eve, her online grocery shop already delivered. She’d stay with her dad, happy to have a couple of days together, feet up, book in hand. Then she’d rush back to work, ready to tackle the New Year onslaught as clients decided a new house was just the resolution they needed.
Thoughts of work reminded her that her phone was still in the house and she bit her lip, wondering anxiously what she might have missed. The fun she’d had this morning was her first thought and she was surprisingly glad that she hadn’t brought the phone after all.
