One Family Christmas: The perfect, cosy, heart-warming read to curl up with this winter

by Bella Osborne

  ‘Shirley,’ he said, recognising the old woman and marvelling that she was still alive – she’d been ancient even when he was a child. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ He leaned over the trolley to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘America was a great adventure.’

  ‘Are you stopping for good?’ She scanned him with unblinking eyes.

  ‘For now, yes.’ He gave a cursory check outside before shutting the door.

  ‘Excellent.’ She seemed genuinely pleased. ‘They tried to close down the village stores, you know, but the residents were having none of it. We protested,’ said Shirley, proudly. ‘Now a lovely lady called Beth runs it and there’s a group of volunteers that all do an hour or two each to help out. I’ll put you down for a shift.’

  ‘Er, well, I’ll be busy setting up the new veterinary practice and—’ But it seemed Shirley wasn’t really listening.

  ‘Now, are you sure your fancy American veterinary qualification allows you to practise over here?’ She narrowed her eyes at him.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been accepted by the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, so I’m good to go once I get the practice up and running.’ The nearest vet was in Stow-on-the-Wold in one direction and Cheltenham in the other since the local village offshoot had been closed some years ago. He’d spoken to both practices and, whilst they weren’t over the moon about the competition, they both admitted there was more than enough business.

  Shirley waved her hand as if swatting a fly only she could see. ‘Excellent.’ She popped her hand into the trolley, barely lifting the lid, and he thought for a moment she was going to produce a rabbit like a magician. Instead she pulled out a bottle. ‘Sherry?’ she offered.

  This probably explained why she was so well preserved. ‘No, thanks. What can I do for you, Shirley?’

  ‘Ah, now, here’s the rub.’ She took a swig from the bottle and made an ahhh sound. ‘What would you give someone with arthritis?’ She patted the top of the trolley.

  Joe wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or not. ‘Um, you know I’m not allowed to treat people. Right?’

  This set Shirley off cackling, like a witch from Macbeth but jollier. ‘It’s okay, I’m not after a shot of ketamine.’ She tilted her head as if considering something. ‘Arthritis in animals – what would you recommend?’ She fixed him with a disconcerting stare.

  Joe was puzzled by the random question. It was as if she was checking he was fit to practise. He treated it like an exam. ‘Well, it would depend on the animal, its age, medical history and the severity of the condition.’

  ‘Cat. Sixteen. No other problems. Stiff as a board.’

  Joe chuckled. He was warming to the game. ‘Okay, assuming the stiffness isn’t rigor mortis …’ Shirley thumped him on the arm for his cheek, and as he laughed he marvelled at the force behind the tiny woman’s swipe, ‘then I would ask if the owner would like to try to help the condition with food supplements first. I’d recommend cod liver oil or green-lipped mussel extract. Then I would discuss options like acupuncture.’ Shirley’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I know, makes a change from cats sticking their claws in us, but it has good results. Alternatively, I would prescribe Metacam drops and want to see them again in six weeks’ time.’ Shirley was nodding sagely. ‘Did I pass?’ asked Joe, trying to make eye contact as Shirley returned the sherry to the trolley and patted the lid.

  ‘Hmm.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she said slowly. ‘Right, I’d best be off. I can’t be hanging around here all day.’ She scuttled for the door, trolley first. Joe stepped to the side.

  ‘Okay. Nice to see you again, Shirley. Have a lovely Christmas.’

  ‘Will you be joining us at the pub for Christmas dinner tomorrow?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘Don’t you have to book?’

  ‘Nah, they’ll squeeze another one in. Especially if I say you’re my date.’ She nudged him with a bony elbow and gave another cackle.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, touched at her offer. ‘Take care going down the hill, Shirley.’ He had visions of the trolley setting off with her flying behind it. He picked it up and set it down outside for her.

  She held up a hand as she shuffled off. He’d nearly shut the door when he heard her call his name again. He opened it a fraction. ‘In case I never said. I was very sorry to hear about your parents.’ She gave a firm nod and then carried on down the hill.

  Joe was going to respond but she’d caught him unawares. Instead he just stared after the retreating figure. Eventually he took a steadying breath, closed the door and went in search of a much-needed beer.

  Emily observed that the blue room was large, and indeed, extremely blue: the walls, carpet, curtains, bed covers and even a throw across the end of the bed were all in various shades of the same colour. The only exception was a procession of large dark wood wardrobes and a matching dressing table, like an indoor wooden Stonehenge. Emily unpacked her things whilst Zach and Jessie set about putting up the camp bed where the little girl would be sleeping for the next couple of nights. Emily hadn’t realised they’d be sharing a bedroom with Jessie – this obviously ruled out anything physical. Normally this would have put more than a dampener on her Christmas but, given the fix she might be in, sex was the furthest thing from her mind. Thoughts of the pregnancy test and Lottie in the village shop dominated her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or bad thing that Lottie hadn’t outed her immediately. Initially she’d been relieved, but now she was waiting for it all to blow up. Her own sister would definitely not have kept quiet and, despite what Zach had said about his sister being a good egg, it was hard not to assume that Lottie would be the same.

  Zach and his daughter seemed to be having fun pretending the sleeping bag was a tunnel, so she opened up Zach’s case and started to take things out and hang them in the antique wardrobe.

  ‘Hey!’ said Zach, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. ‘There’s no need. I’ll unpack later,’ he added, in a much softer tone. ‘Why don’t you go and find Lottie? Have some one-to-one time. Get to know her before the rabble arrive?’

  Emily really didn’t want to spend any one-to-one time with his sister. In fact, she was intending to spend the whole of Christmas avoiding exactly that. The last thing she wanted was to be confronted about her pregnancy test. Worse still, what if his sister said something directly to him about it? Actually, it probably wasn’t a ‘what if’; more of a ‘when’. She was bound to, wasn’t she?

  Emily was simply mortified that the woman from the shop had turned out to be Zach’s sister. He’d never said that she worked there. But then Zach rarely said much about his family at all. She wished now she’d not been quite so keen to spend Christmas with them in a remote Cotswolds village.

  ‘Emily?’ Zach waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Sorry. Miles away,’ she said, realising she hadn’t responded. ‘No, I’m sure Lottie’s got enough to keep her busy. It’s probably best if I keep out of the way.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, with a shrug.

  ‘Where’s the loo?’ she asked, picking up her handbag.

  ‘Along the hall. Last door on the left.’ And he went back to trying to capture Jessie in the sleeping bag while she giggled excitedly.

  Emily left the room and tried to control her rampant thoughts. She needed to do the test and find out what she was dealing with. At least then she could work out what, or if, she needed to do anything. She scurried along the dark corridor, her heels making an echoey sound on the wooden boards as they creaked. When she got to the end, there was a door on each side. Which one was it again? She could hear voices. She leaned to the right and the door suddenly burst open, making her squeal in fright.

  ‘Oh my, don’t you look guilty?’ said a tall, well-made-up woman.

  Emily knew she must look like a rabbit in several headlights. ‘Er, I was looking for the toilet.’ The woman cast a critical eye over Emily, making her straighten her shoulders and suck in her tummy.


  ‘Or listening at the door?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Emily, somewhat relieved that that was the assumption this woman had jumped to because she, no doubt, looked guilty of something.

  ‘I believe you,’ said the woman, offering a thin hand to shake. ‘I’m Angie.’

  ‘Oh, hello. Lovely to meet you. I’m Emily.’ Great, it was Zach’s mother. She clutched her handbag a little tighter.

  Angie’s face was blank. ‘Hello Emily. Are you a friend of Lottie’s?’

  Emily felt momentarily stunned. Was this woman trying to unsettle her? Because if she was, she was doing a very good job. ‘No. I’m Zach’s girlfriend.’ Surely he’s mentioned me, she thought.

  ‘Then it’s lovely to meet you too. Scotty, darling, come and meet my Zach’s latest.’

  Emily felt a little winded by the statement. She was in two minds whether to run back to Zach or lock herself in the bathroom. An auburn-haired man with a broad, friendly grin popped his head into the hallway. ‘Sorry, just taken all my clothes off,’ he said. Emily’s face must have registered her alarm. His grin broadened further. ‘I’m going for a shower.’ He offered a hand to shake and Emily took it briefly, looking away in case the door opened too much.

  Then silence fell. Angie and Scott were looking at Emily and she felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Which one was the bathroom again?’ she asked.

  ‘Could you wait until Scott’s had his shower? Or there’s one downstairs?’ asked Angie.

  No! Emily wanted to shout. No, I can’t wait a minute longer, but I also probably won’t be able to pee if I know you’re all hovering outside waiting for me to finish. She gave her sweetest smile. ‘Of course. Take as long as you need.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you over the next few days,’ said Angie, with a smile that would challenge Cruella De Vil for malevolence.

  Emily nodded and tried to look happy about the prospect as she retreated along the corridor.

  Lottie had been avoiding the difficult conversation of where Great Uncle Bernard was going to move to when the house was sold. She had tried a couple of times to go over it in her head, but each time it had seemed so harsh that at the age of seventy-two and in wobbly health he was being forced out of somewhere that had been his home for the last twenty-odd years. Lottie had decided that she would encourage her mother and her uncle to have that conversation with Bernard over Christmas. They would be far better at it than she would be, and hopefully they had already thought through some suitable options for the elderly man.

  A whirring of the motorised wheelchair announced Bernard’s arrival. ‘Hi, Uncle Bernie. You okay?’ said Lottie, without turning around.

  ‘I’m grand, as always. How are you getting on?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Lottie, but the manic giggle that followed gave away that she wasn’t. Despite her list, everything already felt out of control. That feeling hadn’t been helped in the least by the shock return of Joe, who kept popping up in her mind like a cork bobbing to the surface.

  ‘Have you cooked the ham?’

  ‘I don’t think it needs cooking. Does it?’ Lottie had struggled to get the huge joint that had been part of the order Nana had arranged into the fridge.

  ‘It does. Rose did it in the pressure cooker.’

  Lottie knew her eyes had gone into cartoon mode. She hated the pressure cooker. It made a weird hissing noise like it was about to explode, and seeing as terrorists used them to make bombs they were obviously a dangerous piece of kit. ‘I’m not using that thing. It’s lethal.’

  ‘Ah, don’t be a wuss. I’ll show you.’ And Bernard powered off towards the utility room. Lottie added ‘cook ham’ to her lengthy to-do list and then swiftly ticked it off, which gave her a little buzz of satisfaction. Although looking at all the other things still to do, it was a tad misplaced.

  Bernard came back in with the pressure cooker on his lap and the large vacuum-sealed ham balanced precariously on top. ‘I don’t want to be bothering you, Lottie, but you have defrosted the bird. Haven’t you?’

  ‘Bum,’ said Lottie, dashing past him and wrenching open the giant chest freezer where the turkey almost sneered back at her. She managed to lug it out without falling in and plonked the heavy solid mass on the kitchen table with a thud. They both stared at the imposing frozen lump.

  ‘Hot water,’ said Bernard.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘Sit it in hot water to defrost overnight. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘It has to be, otherwise it’s salmonella all round.’ Lottie ran her fingers through her short hair. ‘Or Marmite sandwiches.’

  ‘Ew, I don’t know which of those would be worse.’ Bernard pulled a face and moved round to the cooker. How had she forgotten the turkey? And if she’d forgotten that what else had she missed off her list? ‘It’s okay if Dayea joins us for dinner tomorrow, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Um …’ Lottie was frantically scanning her list but not really taking any of it in.

  ‘Because I’ve already invited her.’

  ‘In which case it’s absolutely fine,’ said Lottie, giving the old man a pat on the shoulder. It was a very big turkey and, assuming it did defrost in time, then there would be enough to go around.

  ‘Champion,’ said Uncle Bernard. ‘You know Rose would be proud of you standing up to everyone over this.’ He looked at her with sincere eyes and hugged the ham. ‘You did the right thing, Lottie. Families should be together at Christmas, despite how much they think they shouldn’t be.’

  Lottie had a lump in her throat almost as big as the turkey, so she just gave him another pat on the shoulder.

  Chapter Six

  Lottie was busy making sausage rolls. She appeared to have more flour on herself than anywhere else. Nana’s handwritten recipe had very few instructions. ‘Knead pastry’ was an example. No explanation of what type of pastry or for how long to knead it or exactly what kneading was for that matter. Lottie had thumped it about a bit and now, despite the abundance of flour, it was firmly attached to the worktop. Lottie huffed and a cloud of flour plumed in front of her. She decided she and flour were not a good combination. This was stupidly hard.

  Footsteps coming down the stairs at high speed announced Jessie’s arrival. ‘Hiya,’ said the little girl, running into the kitchen. ‘Where’s the Duchess? I couldn’t find her before.’

  ‘I don’t know where she’s got to. She had a bit of a fright earlier and she’s had two baths today so I think she’s hiding. Why don’t you help me instead?’ asked Lottie. Jessie nodded happily. ‘Great. Please can you lay the table in the snug with the white tablecloth and the pretty mats? They’re in the sideboard in the dining room.’ She didn’t get a reply because Jessie was already running off.

  Lottie crossed ‘lay table’ off her list. She had another look at the sausage roll recipe, and seeing Nana’s neat handwriting afresh spiked at the sadness inside her. She took a moment to compose herself. It would be ridiculous to cry over a sausage roll recipe.

  The clang of the bell pull sounded through the house. She pulled back her shoulders, grabbed a damp sponge and rubbed at her hands as she went to the front door.

  ‘Auntie Nicola, hello – and happy Christmas,’ said Lottie, greeting her aunt warmly at the door. Nicola dodged a doughy hug and stepped inside.

  ‘I always think it should be merry Christmas – otherwise happy gets overused with Christmas and New Year. Don’t you think?’ said Nicola.

  ‘Um, not really.’ Lottie gave her hands another rub and watched her uncle struggling with a large case and a bag as the rain pelted down on him. He eventually lugged them inside to the background noise of Nicola’s tutting.

  ‘Uncle Daniel,’ said Lottie, giving him a kiss and ignoring the large smudge of flour she left on his cheek. ‘New hair cut?’

  Daniel rubbed his hand over his newly shorn head self-consciously. ‘Bald patch was expanding so it was time to bite the bullet. Happy Christmas, Lottie. Are you baking
?’

  ‘Sausage rolls,’ she said, trying not to sound too pleased with herself. Uncle Daniel was nodding at her. ‘My first time,’ she added. He no longer looked so enthusiastic.

  ‘Come on, Rhys,’ yelled Aunt Nicola, through the open door. Their nineteen-year-old son was sitting in the back of their Range Rover with his head bent down. He didn’t respond.

  ‘He’s got his headphones in, he’ll never hear you,’ said Uncle Daniel, rolling his eyes out of sight of his wife. ‘Leave him. He’ll come in when he’s ready.’

  Lottie pushed the door closed, thankful to shut out the wet and cold. It wasn’t looking like it would be the white Christmas she’d hoped for. She was an incurable romantic, especially during the festive season. She didn’t care that some people thought it was commercial; she loved every little bit of it, from the hustle and bustle of Christmas shopping to pulling crackers – it was all part of the fun to her. But the Christmases when it snowed always felt extra special.

  ‘Are you both well?’ asked Lottie.

  ‘I’m very busy,’ said Nicola.

  ‘What with?’ Daniel was scowling at his wife.

  ‘My business. I’m swamped right now. I did wonder if we should consider dressing the manor for sale. My company could do it for a fee. We could take out all the outdated furnishings and show a buyer its potential.’ Nicola eyed the antique dresser in the hallway, now heaped with coats.

  ‘I don’t know—’ began Lottie.

  ‘We’re not spending money on this place,’ Daniel interjected. ‘Any buyer will need to see its potential with or without new cushions.’

  ‘There’s far more to interior design than cushions,’ said Nicola, giving Daniel a frosty glare.

  ‘Could have fooled me,’ muttered Daniel.

  ‘Shall we take the blue room?’ asked Nicola, shooing her luggage-laden husband upstairs.