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

by Bella Osborne

  ‘It’s okay. We came to say hello,’ said Lottie.

  Bernard’s features settled into a warm smile. ‘Button,’ he said, reaching for her hand. His expression tightened. ‘Have you brought Joe?’ He glanced rapidly around the bed.

  ‘No.’ She kept her irritation under control, he wasn’t a well man.

  ‘Right. There’s a possibility that I may have overreacted yesterday.’ He glanced at Dayea, who was nodding.

  Lottie couldn’t let it go that easily. ‘Joe saved your life.’

  ‘So I hear. It was just that all I could think about was what Joe’s father did. These medical people have your life in their hands. He nearly got away with it you know. The murder.’

  ‘But he didn’t, did he?’

  ‘I guess not.’ Bernard looked contrite.

  ‘And more importantly, it was nothing to do with Joe.’

  Bernard pouted but didn’t say anything. It was too much to hope he’d changed his opinion of Joe overnight.

  ‘Good to see you looking better,’ said Daniel, leaning over and patting Bernard’s shoulder.

  ‘Thanks. I’m feeling better too,’ said Bernard, shuffling himself up on the pillows. Now he was awake, his colour was improving. ‘I’ll be out of here in no time,’ he said, and Lottie saw him squeeze Dayea’s hand. Lottie was pleased he had someone like her to care for him. Dayea failed to stifle a huge yawn.

  ‘Dayea, he needs you fit and well. You should go home and get some rest.’

  Dayea shook her head. Lottie remembered Dayea’s car was still at the manor because she’d gone to hospital in the ambulance with Bernard. ‘Let us drop you home. There’s room in the Range Rover.’ Uncle Daniel nodded his confirmation. ‘Then that’s settled. You need to rest and you need to eat.’ Lottie could have got rid of the rest of the ham sandwiches if only she’d thought.

  Lottie updated Uncle Bernard on the duck race, including Dave’s involvement, and it was lovely to see him laugh. The change in twenty-four hours was quite remarkable. When she’d run out of things to tell him and her mother’s twitching had reached a level where the nurse was paying attention, they said their goodbyes.

  They managed to persuade Dayea to let them give her a lift, although Lottie felt sure she would have a quick shower and change and then get a taxi straight back to the hospital. But in a way, that was reassuring. She didn’t like to see her great uncle this unwell, but she did enjoy witnessing the love they clearly had for each other. Dayea loved Bernard – that was obvious.

  Lottie was also glad of the excuse to see where Dayea lived, especially if she was serious about having Bernard move in with her. Not that they needed Lottie’s approval, but she did care where Bernard went, unlike most of the rest of her family. Dayea sat in the middle seat in the back and gave directions by way of pointy fingers next to Lottie’s right ear. She directed them to Bourton-on-the-Water, one of Lottie’s favourite villages.

  They drove through the main street, with its little stream running alongside the road, perfect footbridges dotted along it. The ducks were huddled together in groups. Not many tourists about to feed them at this time of year, thought Lottie. The small shops were all closed, but with their pretty bay windows all done up for Christmas, they looked enticing.

  ‘Here,’ said Dayea, forcefully pointing across Lottie. Daniel took the next left turn into a wide road with elegant houses. ‘At the next lamp-post. Stop, please,’ said Dayea, and Daniel did as instructed. Everyone peered out to get a look. The house they were outside stood back from the road, like its neighbours, and was built in warm yellowy Cotswold stone. It was beautifully symmetrical with three large windows on the first floor, a central door painted grey and a large sash window either side.

  ‘This is nice,’ said Lottie.

  ‘Yes, who lives here?’ asked Nicola.

  ‘Me, I live here,’ said Dayea, giving Nicola a look that said that was a very dumb question.

  Angie exited first so that Dayea could get out of the middle seat, and she had a good nose around the driveway. ‘There’s a caravan,’ called back Angie delightedly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dayea. ‘I sleep in it. But it has plenty of room.’

  Lottie leaned over to see the tiny caravan, with neat curtains, bunting at the windows and its wheels lodged on bricks. ‘It looks lovely,’ she said, and Dayea smiled at the compliment.

  ‘Who do you live here with then, Dayea?’ asked Angie, eyeing the big house.

  She got the same look as Nicola. ‘Just me who lives here.’ She pointed at the caravan.

  ‘Right,’ said Angie, and she shook her head as she got back inside. ‘She’s a sandwich short of a picnic, that one,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Talking of which; did you enjoy your ham sandwich?’ asked Lottie. Her mother shut up.

  Lottie lowered the side window and Dayea came up to it. She could barely see inside – she was so tiny compared to the Range Rover. ‘If there’s anything at all we can do, please call the house. Okay?’ said Lottie.

  ‘Thank you, Lottie. You are a very kind girl.’ Dayea went on tiptoe and leaned in through the window. ‘Thank you, Mr Collins. You are kind too,’ she said to Daniel. She glanced at Nicola in the back. Then, as if remembering something, she added to Daniel, ‘But you are also a massive ass hat.’ The women in the car erupted into giggles as Dayea turned and walked up the driveway.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Well, that was interesting,’ said Angie from the back seat, as they set off back to Henbourne. ‘I wonder how come she’s staying there.’

  ‘Maybe it belongs to another elderly gentleman with unstable health,’ said Nicola.

  ‘Or perhaps the caravan was left to her when someone died,’ said Angie.

  ‘Not really any of our business, though, is it?’ said Lottie.

  ‘If she’s got designs on ripping off Bernard then I’d say it is,’ Nicola chipped in.

  Lottie looked around to see Angie nodding enthusiastically. ‘You’re right. She’s even keener now he’s in hospital. I suspect she’s thinking she’ll get her hands on his money sooner than she thought.’

  Lottie was outraged. ‘You’re wrong. Anyone can see that Dayea adores Bernard.’

  ‘And his money,’ said Angie. ‘Lottie, you’re very sweet, but do you really think she’d be interested in a cantankerous old man if he didn’t have two pennies to rub together?’

  ‘Well …’ Lottie didn’t like that she was thinking this over. They were making her question things.

  ‘Let’s just say it how it is. She’s a gold-digger,’ said Angie.

  ‘Don’t judge others by your standards,’ said Lottie.

  ‘I think we should investigate Dayea a bit more.’ Aunt Nicola’s tone was serious. ‘You do hear about people befriending the elderly and then bumping them off for their assets.’

  ‘Okay, ladies,’ cut in Daniel, ‘this is Bernard’s choice. I don’t think we should get involved. Whether we’re against them getting together – or for it,’ he gave Lottie a look, ‘I think we should all stay out of Bernard’s affairs.’

  Lottie was stung. ‘You would say that. You don’t care what happens to him as long as he’s not living at the manor and he doesn’t get in the way of the sale.’ And you don’t care what happens to me either, she thought.

  It was quiet in the car for a while. Lottie fumed silently and stared out of the windscreen. She didn’t like being lumped in with her unfeeling mother and aunt.

  ‘Did you open your card from Mother yet?’ Angie asked Nicola.

  ‘Yes. It said something about there coming a time when you have to let go and move on to the next chapter. I’m not sure what she meant. What did yours say?’ asked Nicola.

  ‘Oh, nothing significant,’ replied Angie. Lottie could tell her mother was lying. ‘Daniel, have you opened yours?’ asked Angie.

  ‘Yeah. It said something about there never being a wrong time to do the right thing …’ His voice tailed off.

  They returned to a
thoughtful silence, mulling over the cards and messages that Rose had sent them. Lottie watched the countryside zoom by as the Range Rover hurtled down the narrow lanes, taking every bump, puddle and pothole in its stride. She wished she could be a bit more Range Rover.

  ‘Can we stop at the village shop, please?’ asked Lottie as they neared Dumbleford. It would save her a trip out later.

  Uncle Daniel gave a little huff. ‘Yeah, okay.’

  ‘We’re going to drive right past it. You can drop me off if there’s something you need to get back for.’ But what that could possibly be, she had no idea.

  He softened a little. ‘It’s okay, I’ll wait. As long as you’re not doing a full week’s shopping.’

  ‘At those prices?’

  ‘I’ll pop in too,’ said Angie. Lottie rolled her eyes. That was all she needed. She wouldn’t be able to get the pregnancy test for Emily if her mother was spying on her.

  ‘No need. Let me know what you want and I’ll get it,’ offered Lottie, as casually as she could manage.

  But her mother wasn’t going to let it go. ‘No, I’d like a nose around to see what’s changed. What do you need anyway?’

  ‘Something vegan for Scott’s dinner.’ She had dismissed the sprout curry out of hand.

  ‘Oh, well then, I should definitely come. I can advise you.’

  Lottie balled her fists and thrust them under her thighs. She felt like a teenager – she could easily have gone off in a strop had she not been in a moving vehicle. This was what her mother reduced her to. ‘I’m getting butternut squash, if they’ve got any, to make a curry.’ The village stores’ stock was not the most glamorous, but they had all the basics, as well as things requested and bought regularly by the villagers. Lottie had quite a good insight into the lives of the locals via their purchases. Shirley liked a granary loaf and was particular about her sherry, which she bought quite a lot of; Lottie wondered if it was acting as a preservative, as she was pushing ninety and still going strong. The vicar had a major Curly Wurly habit and Maureen from the tearooms went through enough pickled eggs to sink a flotilla of battleships – or, alternatively, to gas the occupants.

  Daniel pulled up by the village green and put on his hazard warning lights. Lottie figured it was more a gesture to her that he wasn’t planning on stopping long, rather than a warning to other drivers. Lottie hopped out and headed for the little shop without waiting for her mother. Inside, there were so many women chatting near the till that it was like a WI meeting. They gave a chorus of warm welcomes as she entered, and she realised that buying the pregnancy test on the quiet really wasn’t going to be possible whether her mother was there or not. While she scanned the vegetable section, the entry bell announced her mother’s arrival. The women turned to look, but then carried on their conversation.

  ‘Do they have any curly kale?’ asked Angie.

  ‘Nope. And anyway I’m doing butternut squash curry.’ Lottie was emphatic. Her mother followed her to the freezer. Lottie pondered the ice creams and sorbets.

  ‘He can’t have anything cream based,’ said Angie, haughtily.

  ‘I know,’ said Lottie, barely managing to keep her cool. She would be glad when her mother went home tomorrow. She hoped they were booked on an early train. ‘And I’ll get some almond milk, too, so you can have porridge in the morning.’

  ‘Porridge? Darling, I know you don’t watch your weight, but how many carbs do you think there are in porridge?’

  ‘More than there are shreds remaining of my patience,’ she said slowly.

  ‘If you’re going to be passive aggressive, I’m going to wait in the car,’ said Angie huffily, and she stomped out of the shop, making the door chime work overtime. The gathered ladies went on hold for a moment to watch her dramatic exit. The door closed and the chatter resumed. Lottie calmed herself.

  The entry door chimed again, the ladies paused their conversation and, fearing her mother had returned, Lottie’s hackles rose. She needn’t have worried. A woman Lottie didn’t recognise walked in and headed to the wine section. Lottie picked up the raspberry sorbet and checked the ingredients, aware that the ladies had resumed their conversation, although now it was hushed, with a decidedly excited tone.

  The stranger’s phone rang and she answered it. ‘Hi … Yes, Megan speaking … No.’ She had a strong American accent. ‘Tuesday latest. Can you do that? … Okay. Bye.’

  Lottie shut the freezer and glanced at the woman as she headed to the till. She was still studying the wines. She had olive skin and black hair, neatly tied back. Lottie couldn’t help but notice that she was very slim: her waist was tiny; minuscule in fact. And she was dressed like she’d been to a wedding. Lottie smiled, but got no response.

  Lottie paid for her items, said her goodbyes to the assembled women and exited the shop. Outside, she did a double take: pulled up in front of Uncle Daniel’s car was an almost identical Range Rover. She clambered into the passenger seat of her uncle’s car and did up her seatbelt. ‘Did you see who got out of that car?’ she asked as Daniel pulled away. Lottie could see a man sitting in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Meghan Markle!’ shouted Angie and she slapped her hand on the window.

  ‘What?’ said Daniel, making the car swerve a fraction. ‘Bloody hell, Ang,’ he added, full of irritation.

  Lottie swung her head around to see a glimpse of the American woman coming out of the village stores. It was difficult to tell, but she did definitely bear a passing resemblance to Prince Harry’s wife.

  ‘Oh my God. I can’t believe it.’ Angie was jigging about with excitement. ‘Did you see her in the shop, Lottie?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lottie was trying to process it as best she could.

  ‘Did she speak to anyone?’ asked Angie.

  ‘No, but she did answer her phone.’

  ‘Did she have an accent?’ asked Nicola. It was like being interrogated.

  ‘Yeah, a sort of Texan drawl.’ Squealing erupted from the back seat like a classroom full of teenage girls. Lottie turned in her seat. ‘It can’t be the Duchess of thingy. She won’t be here for Christmas,’ said Lottie, totally unconvinced.

  ‘What did she say, Lottie?’ asked her mother, an edge in her voice.

  Lottie sighed. ‘She answered the phone as Megan, but—’

  Her mother let out an excited screech. ‘It was her! It really was.’

  ‘Go back, Daniel,’ instructed Nicola.

  Daniel turned into the driveway of the manor. ‘No way. I’m with Lottie. I don’t think it was her. And anyway, she’ll be gone by now.’

  ‘Lottie, you want to go back too, don’t you?’ wheedled Angie.

  ‘Nope. I think it was one of those lookalike people.’

  ‘In a brand-new Range Rover?’ asked Nicola, incredulously.

  Daniel parked next to Joe’s Land Rover; it was dwarfed by the enormous car. He got out and shut the door. ‘He’s such a killjoy,’ said Angie. She slammed the door and studied Joe’s car. ‘Oh, now look at this.’ She pointed cheerily at Lottie’s artwork.

  ‘It’s very imaginative,’ said Nicola. She peered closely at the letters. ‘It’s not a vinyl stick-on thing either.’

  ‘I did it,’ said Lottie. She felt partly proud and a little embarrassed. It was a long while since she’d painted anything at all. This hadn’t exactly stretched her, but it was a start.

  Angie straightened and Lottie braced herself for the thinly veiled insult. ‘Oh. I quite like it.’ Lottie couldn’t have been more shocked if all of Santa’s reindeers had pirouetted across the drive.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emily had just made a round of teas when the hospital visitors returned in a flurry of excitement. Angie, with some help from Nicola, retold the story of the American woman in an elaborate and dramatic way.

  Lottie coughed. ‘Great Uncle Bernard is doing okay, by the way.’ She gave each of them a hard stare.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Zach, and Scott nodded.

  Angie was
shooting her daggers for interrupting their story. ‘Anyway, we were this close to meeting royalty.’

  Emily had been rapt by the tale. ‘So was it really her?’ she asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Angie, clasping her hands in front of her and flopping into Great Uncle Bernard’s armchair.

  ‘Doubtful,’ said Daniel, pulling the lid off the Quality Street. ‘What on earth would she be doing round here?’

  ‘Didn’t they get a place in the Cotswolds?’ asked Emily. She thought she remembered reading something in a magazine about it. ‘Chippen or Chipping something?’ Uncle Daniel passed her the Quality Street.

  ‘Chipping Norton?’ suggested Zach, leaning over and taking a green triangle from the tin.

  ‘I think so,’ Emily said, hunting for a purple one. They’d all gone.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Angie’s excitement went up another notch, ‘it must have been her.’ She twisted to look at Lottie. ‘I told you it was. How did you not recognise her?’

  ‘Because she didn’t look like her.’ Lottie threw up her hands, looking frustrated.

  Her mother puffed out a breath. ‘Why are you always like this?’ Angie asked.

  Lottie chuckled. ‘Like what?’

  ‘If I say it’s black, you say it’s white. It obviously was Meghan Markle, so—’

  ‘Isn’t she Meghan Windsor now?’ asked Emily. She shrank away from the glare that Angie gave her for butting in whilst she was berating her daughter. ‘Sorry.’ She took a strawberry cream and passed the tin to Lottie.

  ‘Duchess of Sussex,’ said Zach, and Uncle Daniel raised his eyebrows. ‘What? I remember stuff like that.’

  ‘How far is Chipping Norton?’ asked Scott.

  ‘Not far,’ said Angie, walking around to have a rummage in the chocolate tin.

  Scott was watching Angie closely. She pounced on a green triangle. ‘Ooh, I love these.’ She held her prize aloft, but her happy smile slid away when she saw the look Scott was giving her. ‘They’re not vegan friendly, are they?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, darling,’ said Scott. Angie dropped the chocolate back in the tin and Lottie pulled it away from her mother, grinning broadly.