It Must Have Been the Mistletoe

by Judy Astley

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Thea’s parents decide to host a big family Christmas in a house by the sea ... even though they are, in fact, about to split up. Thea herself is newly single. Her sister and brother are both settled, with children, homes and a future. But Thea’s boyfriend has ditched her in favour of his pedigree dogs, and Thea can’t decide whether or not she minds.

  There will be copious food and drink, holly and mistletoe, lots of bracing walks and a wintry barbecue on the beach. If it seems an odd way to celebrate the final break-up of a marriage and the Moving On to new partners, no one is saying so. But then no one had anticipated that the new partners might actually turn up to complicate the sleeping arrangements.

  As Cornwall experiences the biggest snowstorm in living memory, the festive atmosphere comes under some strain. Will Thea manage to find some happiness for herself? Will the mistletoe work its magic on them all?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Also by Judy Astley

  Copyright

  IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE MISTLETOE

  Judy Astley

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A big thank you to Terence Blacker for permission to quote from his fabulous song, ‘Sad Old Bastards with Guitars’.

  And lots of thanks also to Janie and Mickey Wilson at www.chez-castillon.com for the most wonderful place to stay to do masses of writing in absolute peace (and also for the fun).

  ONE

  ‘It’s Christmaaas!’ bellowed Noddy Holder from the radio on Thea’s kitchen window ledge as she opened the back door to let her brother Jimi in.

  ‘Not yet it isn’t, Noddy. Waaay too soon, matey!’ Thea lunged for the off switch and cut Slade’s exuberance into silence.

  ‘Oh, don’t switch it off, Tee. Who doesn’t love that song?’ Jimi reached out to turn it back on but Thea got hold of his long skinny wrist and stopped him.

  ‘Oh, I know, I know, it’s one of the best; the great annual classic and all that – but for later, yes? Since when did Christmas take up half the year? It’s months away.’ She didn’t want to think about Christmas; not this year at all for preference, and even if she really had to, definitely not this soon.

  Jimi shrugged. ‘It’s not that long. It’s already November. I hope you’re not turning into one of those ranting Christmas deniers, Tee. That’s a real sign of age.’

  ‘Cheeky sod. And anyway, what would that make you? You’re years older than me. OK, you can keep the radio on – but quietly. There’s coffee in the thingy so help yourself and I’ll run upstairs and quickly dry my hair. I’ll only be a few secs. It’s very sweet of you to come and pick me up – saves me having to scrape the ice off my car windows and I hate having to do that. Are Rosie and Elmo with you?’

  ‘Not Rosie – she’s got a “headache”.’ Jimi made little quotation marks in the air with his fingers. ‘You know how she is about Mum and Dad – thinks they’re mad, irresponsible old hippies who should have taken up golf and good works by now.’

  ‘Ha! She’d better not hold her breath waiting for that one.’ Thea had a quick vision of their father with his customary Willie Nelson bandana but wearing a pink and yellow diamond-pattern golfing jumper, looking puzzled about where the ball he’d just hit had gone and wondering why he should even be bothered to go and look for it. The game wouldn’t suit him; nothing that involved rules and a dress-code ever did.

  ‘Exactly. I did tell her how they’d been very keen we should all be there, but she just closed her eyes and looked even more pained so I left her to it. But I’ve got Elmo; he’s outside, iPadding. I asked him if he was coming in and he looked at me as if I’d just suggested he step out of the car and do a quick run to Brighton and back.’

  ‘It’s his age. Teenagers need all their energy for growing.’

  ‘Do they? Heavens, if that’s true he’ll be seven feet tall by next summer. Anyway, go and finish your hair off, Thea, or Mum will blame us for the sinking Yorkshire puds and Dad will say it’s our fault that he’s somehow halfway down a wine bottle before anyone’s even sat down.’

  Thea raced up to her room and unwrapped her damp hair from its towel turban, shook it out and pulled a comb through it. Drying it would take a matter of minutes. In a furious sod-you moment, she’d had it cut quite short and spiky after Rich had left her, when she’d realized he’d gone for good. She’d half-hoped he’d come back to collect some forgotten item so she could get the satisfaction of watching him recoil from her new hair. He’d very much favoured a long-blonde look on a woman, having old-fashioned views about the notion of femininity. Well tough, she thought now as she blasted hot air at the fronds and pulled them into pleasing tufts. Before Christmas she must get some fun colour on it – coppery highlights among the blonde would give the tuftiness some definition. Or maybe some bright pink and a bit of scarlet. How Rich would have hated that …

  She could still just hear the sound of the radio. Jimi was clattering about in the kitchen, probably having a second mug of coffee and going through her recycling in search of a newspaper with a number puzzle in it that he hadn’t already done. It felt very cheering to have someone else on the premises, as if Jimi somehow warmed the whole of this little house by a few degrees, even though he had only called in to give her a lift to their parents’ home in south-west London for a big, whole-family Sunday lunch. Sudden solitary living when you’ve been sharing a home for the past three years with the man who had promised to be your happy-ever-after, plus his great big dog, was turning out to be a lonely old way to exist. Thea felt it especially at weekends, however much she went out to be defiantly social and however much bravado she tried to assume.

  It seemed strange now, to think that on the odd occasions she used to have the place to herself, she’d relished the time alone, padding about in her pyjamas till lunchtime or lazing in the garden guilt-free with a book while Rich was away on work trips or at yet another dog show with his sister. And it wasn’t as if Rich had ever been the rackety, crashing-about type even when he was there. Even his giant poodle Benji (Champion Heatherwood Disraeli Gears) had been a quiet sort, mostly to be found stretched out on the floor, easily mistaken for a fluffy orange rug.

  It was just over two months now (OK, two months and three days) since Rich had solemnly announced his decision to leave, packed his stuff and gone, taking Benji, the hundreds of back-copies of Your Dog and Poodle Variety magazines and a surprisingly small bag of clothes and personal possessions. This Sunday morning before Jimi arrived, the quiet had felt like something Thea could almost touch – a mute, lumpen presence that had sneaked into her home and settled, making itself felt in every room.

  ‘Bloody Christmas,’ she muttered as she finished fluffing her hair beneath the blast of the dryer. She felt unseasonably grumpy and her mood had been getting steadily worse since she’d spotted the first fat robins on cards in early September; at the same time, she was also cross with herself for feeling this way. She used to love the run-up to Christmas; loved the crowded shops and their glitter-filled windows, the fresh piny s
cent of the tree that took up too much space and moulted its needles all over the small sitting room, the mince pies she’d make with their delicious toffee-like trail of melted goo that had to be prised from the bottom of the tin while they were still skin-blisteringly hot. She’d even loved Rich’s tradition of putting together a stocking full of treats for the dog. They would get their own card design printed up in early December – last year’s had starred Benji wearing felt reindeer antlers, looking embarrassed. But this year she’d be buying her cards from a charity shop – and would Rich even send her one? Their years together surely qualified her to remain in his address book, even if she had given the ring back. She often wished she hadn’t and had sold it instead – the guttering at the back of the house needed fixing and the cash would probably have run to getting the kitchen painted in a fabulous, lively colour he’d have condemned as ‘not sensible’. Oh well.

  Slade on the radio had made way for the inevitable blast of Wizzard wishing it could be Christmas every day, and as Thea glanced out of the window, she could see Mrs Over-the-Road in her front garden, stringing lights up in her magnolia tree. Or rather, Mr Over-the-Road was doing the stringing. His wife was standing on the path, directing operations and breathing heavy gusts of frosty air as she shouted at her husband. A week ago, they’d put the Advent candle set in their sitting-room window, even though it would be ages till the lighting of the first one. Thea would bet serious money that by the following Sunday there’d also be a wreath of ivy and pine cones on their front door, and their pet Westie would be walked up the road to Tesco Metro wearing his little red and white Santa jacket.

  Thea slicked a bit of serum through her hair then grabbed her make-up bag to take with her so she could apply some eyeshadow on the way, conscious not only of Jimi down in her kitchen but also of Elmo waiting in the car, surely getting cold by now. From the window she could see the toes of his huge trainered feet on the BMW’s dashboard, twitching in time to something that would be blasting those delicate teenage eardrums. Was that another sign of age? Worrying about her nephew’s fragile ears? Surely not – she hadn’t even hit thirty-five yet, though it wouldn’t be long.

  As Thea and Jimi walked down the short path, Mrs Over-the-Road waved cheerily and called, ‘Soon be here, won’t it? Best time of the year, Christmas!’ The Westie joined in, barking and bouncing as if equally excited and Thea smiled and waved back. At least Mrs OTR hadn’t asked her about her plans for the holiday. She hadn’t even given it a thought yet, other than wondering which part of the world she could escape to in order to let the whole event pass her by. If only, Thea thought, there was an option to cuddle up in a cave with a nice warm hibernating bear and not come out till Christmas was all over and the first snowdrops flowered. These November-to-January weeks for the newly single were – as Bette Davis had said about old age – no place for sissies.

  ‘Christmas creeps up on you, doesn’t it?’ she said to Jimi. ‘One minute they’re sneaking cards in among the summer-sale stuff and big tins of chocolates by the supermarket check-outs, and the next you can’t move for tinsel and crackers.’ She could hear herself sounding wistful, only a breath away from pathetic. Rich – so damn sensible – would tell her to get a grip and he’d be right. But then Rich was no longer here, the sod. If he were, she wouldn’t be feeling remotely feeble.

  Jimi was looking at her, with a serious face on. Please don’t ask me if I’m OK, she thought. Still, if he asked and her eyes went leaky as they still occasionally did, at least it was before her make-up had gone on, not after.

  But all her brother said was, ‘I don’t know about creeping up, but Elmo gave me his present list in September, at the beginning of the school term.’ He opened the car’s back door. ‘He said it was to give me plenty of time to save up. So thoughtful.’ Jimi then asked, ‘Would you rather sit in the front, Thea? The boy could move. Should move.’

  ‘No, thanks, it’s fine. Elmo needs the leg room far more than I do.’ Thea climbed into the BMW and reached forward to ruffle Elmo’s blond hair. ‘Hi, boy.’

  He half-turned and grinned at her, forgiving her the gesture that she always made, ever since a few years ago, when he’d mumbled that he hated people touching his hair. He’d decided she was the exception and she felt honoured. ‘Lo, Thea. Y’OK?’

  ‘M’OK,’ she said. ‘You?’

  ‘M’OK too.’

  Jimi started the car and, just as he pulled away from the kerb, he asked his sister, ‘So what do you think it is with the old folks this time? It sounded ominous when Dad said he was rounding us all up because “We’ve got something to tell you all.” That never sounds like good news, does it? Did you get anything out of Mum?’

  ‘No. I did ask but she said to wait till today. It’s anyone’s guess. It could just be something simple, like they’re off to Australia till the middle of January, maybe?’ She hoped it would be something fun like that. A bit of her worried that one of them might be ill but her dad had sounded cheerful enough when he’d called to invite her over.

  Jimi didn’t sound convinced. ‘I don’t know. He seemed a bit over-excited, like a kid with a big bursty secret. I was wondering why he couldn’t just say over the phone.’

  ‘I thought that too – all madly mysterious. Also, the last time they had “something to tell us” it was he and Mum saying they’d decided they were splitting up. And yet that was more than a year ago now and they’re still there, in the same house, just like always. Well, almost, apart from the separate rooms thing and them being competitive about telling us where they’ve been recently with their own friends …’

  ‘That’s true. Anyway, whatever it is, it can’t be more of a stunner than that particular announcement, can it?’

  ‘No, it can’t. I remember it felt like a massive shock at the time. You don’t expect that from two people who never argue about anything more serious than who gets first go at the Sudoku and who’ve been together for nearly forty years. But as you say, it turned out that nothing much changed.’ Thea scrabbled through her make-up bag and pulled out a compact of eyeshadows and a brush. ‘Perhaps they’re thinking of – oh, I don’t know – getting a cat? Taking up hang-gliding? They’ve been invited to be in a TV reality programme about amicable separations? Who knows! Whatever it is, we’ll find out in about half an hour.’

  ‘Sam, did you put Alfie’s special cup in the bag? And some spare pants just in case? And where is Milly’s owl? Please don’t say it’s still on her bed.’ Emily could feel her voice getting shrill. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to remember what they said in her yoga class about being gentle with the moment. With every moment. It wasn’t working, not while she was trying to strap a reluctant four-year-old into his car seat. He could actually do it himself these days but she didn’t trust him to get it quite right. If she left him to it, it would be the one time she drove into the back of a bus and Alfie would come hurtling through from behind and break both her neck and his own. She’d seen the adverts.

  Sensing her tension, Alfie stiffened, sticking his podgy legs out straight in front and arching his back, pulling against the strap, ready to roar a protest. Shouldn’t he have grown out of that sort of thing by now? He’d be starting full-time school in January. Emily moved to try to bend him and hit her head on the Golf’s doorframe. ‘Sodding shit!’ she cursed. Alfie grinned up at her, relaxing at last and suddenly amenable, scraping some ancient dried-on biscuit from his seat belt and putting it in his mouth before she could stop him. Please don’t let him be sick, she prayed.

  ‘Daddy? Mummy said a bad word.’ Sam, waiting in the front passenger seat, turned to smile at seven-year-old Milly who was already tidily strapped in beside Alfie, twirling a mousy plait in her fingers and looking pleased with herself.

  ‘I know she did, sweetie. I heard her. Naughty Mummy!’ The two of them giggled like conspirators and Emily immediately wanted to slap them, which was against both the law and the essential spirit of mindfulness. Another deep breath. ‘
Sam? You didn’t answer about the pants, cup and owl.’

  ‘Did I need to? You’ll have checked the bag twice over already. I know you.’

  Emily climbed into the driving seat and switched the ignition on. ‘Do I have to do everything?’ she snarled. ‘One thing. Just one thing I asked you to do.’

  ‘Chill, Ems. It’s sorted.’ Sam leaned back and put a foot up on the dashboard. There would be scuffmarks, she thought. And would he be the one who wiped them off?

  He yawned, and said with an air of exaggerated patience, ‘Spare pants, cup and owl are all on board, along with the kids’ wellies and mittens in case they want to go out and trash the garden. And why are you so uptight? We’re only going to your parents’. They wouldn’t give a flying one about a potential no-pants scenario. They’ve made being totally laid back into a complete art form.’

  Emily caught him giving her a sideways look and could feel him adding a silent ‘unlike you’ to his statement. She couldn’t blame him for that. She was like a twangy piece of wire these days and she hated feeling like this. Rescue Remedy couldn’t even touch it.

  Emily carefully manoeuvred the car into the right lane at the Chiswick roundabout. ‘Did you check the road situation?’ she asked. ‘Is Hammersmith Bridge open today or are they still mending it?’

  ‘Ah.’ Sam started tapping at his phone. ‘Hang on a sec.’

  ‘I haven’t got a sec, I’ve picked a lane now. Oh bugger, I’ll go the Kew Bridge way. Can’t risk it. I hate being late.’ She did some more deep breathing and tried not to flinch as a motorbike cut in across the front of the Golf.

  Sam reached over to the centre panel and twiddled the controls, putting his seat warmer on to the maximum heat. Emily sighed.

  ‘What now?’ he said. ‘Just because you don’t feel the cold.’

  ‘Keeping the heat off saves fuel,’ she stated, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all. They were only going a few miles, so what difference did it make? All she seemed to do these days was nag. She felt fraught so much of the time, constantly sure that whatever she was doing, there were other things she should be getting on with. Did the children get enough vitamins? Had she bought a present for whoever’s party Milly was going to, and wouldn’t a proper super-parent keep several in a cupboard, already wrapped? Were there notes or emails from the school that she hadn’t seen? All that was really Sam’s responsibility but he was just so relaxed. It was so much easier in the week when she was at work. You knew where you were with numbers. Accountancy might be other people’s idea of a boring job, but for her, the arranging of figures into a tidy order was soothing, safe and satisfying.