‘Generator.’ She shrugged, bending to check the rolls weren’t scorching.
‘You want me to take a look?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not a problem.’
‘You’re not cooking a turkey, or anything?’
‘Nope. Christmas dinner is wicked witch’s pasta.’ She grinned at his confused expression. ‘I hope you’re not allergic to shellfish.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He was looking past her to the kitchen window. ‘It’s started to snow again. Looks like I’ll be staying a little while longer. And breaking a promise.’
‘That’s not a problem either.’ Surprisingly it wasn’t. ‘Can’t leave in this. The radio had weather warnings.’ She looked over her shoulder at the swirling white outside the window. ‘Apparently some freak weather system.’ She turned to reach for a plate to dish up the eggs. ‘These are ready.’
They devoured eggs and warm rolls, with Paulie’s grandmother’s hedgerow jam, and satsumas from the large bag Lori had found marked down in the local shop on Christmas Eve morning. Was that only yesterday?
Drew had a bowl of cereal for dessert.
Then it was time for the serious big box presents. Lori sat on the floor, at Misty’s level, not sure if she was surprised when Drew slid down to join them, but at a slight distance. A watcher, not a participant. Misty seemed to have accepted his presence without question. Well, she lives a life peopled with strangers …
It took nearly an hour to disgorge the content of various boxes and parcels, with pauses to allow Griff to kill his share of the wrappings. He was suitably pleased with a gift of a catnip mouse and a bag of his favourite feline treats. Lori was suitably surprised with the unexpectedly well-wrapped present Misty proffered, which proved to contain a pair of sparkly earrings that Lori had loudly admired at a pop-up jewellery stall in the market, before being conveniently engrossed with a display of local cheeses on the next stall.
‘The lady put it in pretty paper for me,’ Misty confided. ‘And counted up the right money.’
Lori stuck the silver hooks into her ears and tossed her head, making the jewelled stars flash and glitter. ‘Just the thing for Christmas morning.’
‘What all the best-dressed people wear to accessorise their dressing gowns,’ Drew offered, admiring the sparkle.
Lori pulled the belt of the robe a little tighter, hoping her face wasn’t going pink
‘Of course they do.’
She was perfectly respectable in warm brushed cotton and stout terry towelling, but she was sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite a virtual stranger. A very attractive virtual stranger. To give Drew credit, his consternation was visible on his face. He shot her an alarmed glance. Relaxing, she shook her head at him. ‘Now, what’s in that big box over there?’
The wrapping paper pile had reached mountainous proportions and all the boxes were empty, their contents strewn on the floor and furniture. Lark’s presents for her daughter had been a selection of new clothes, with conspicuous designer labels, in tastefully sludgy colours, that barely got a glance from Misty, and a complicated looking fairy castle, which Misty greeted with delight, then pushed aside when she found it had to be assembled. The presents that were the biggest hits proved to be Lori’s own and the one from Misty’s father – a very grown-up looking box of paints and a handful of colouring books featuring animals, which showed that Dan was in touch with his small daughter’s world, even if he was rarely able to see her. Lori had been a little worried that her own present was too young for a mega sophisticated four-year-old, but Misty had been delighted with the battery operated puppy; a furry bundle with a selection of coloured collars and leads and his own brush, food and water bowls. Lori had made sure that the dog was ready to go straight out of the box and Misty was delightedly towing it around the floor as it yapped realistically.
‘She loves animals.’ Drew was watching Misty’s antics as she tried to introduce the so-far unnamed puppy to a wary Griff.
‘Crazy about them. I know she’d love a real puppy.’
Drew slanted her a questioning look. ‘Wouldn’t Griff approve … or her father?’
‘Not an issue for either of them, but her mother would throw a fit.’
Now he was staring at her, clearly confused. Abruptly the penny dropped. ‘Misty isn’t mine. She’s my niece, not my daughter. I’m just … looking after her for the holidays.’
‘Ahh.’ He frowned, clearly putting information together. ‘So … Mummy and Daddy …’ He nodded towards the paint box. ‘Not together any more?’
‘Divorced. And my sister travels a lot … for work.’ Lori began to gather and fold discarded wrapping paper. She didn’t talk about Lark or Dan, if she could help it. Drew was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, knees drawn up in front of him. He seemed to be studying the paint stains on Paulie’s cargo pants. ‘And your … partner?’
‘There isn’t one. The clothes belonged to a friend,’ Lori explained, then bit her lip. Hmmm – Might have been a better move to let him think there was a brawny rugby player in the frame, seeing as you appear to be snowed in with a man you know virtually nothing about. Except that he seems to have at least one potentially homicidal enemy?
He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were glazed over, turned inwards to something inside his head. She stopped smoothing down a piece of paper covered with red-nosed reindeer. It must be weird to be violently dropped into someone else’s Christmas. And I haven’t even asked …
‘I know you said last night that you didn’t want to contact anyone, but is there someone you should be phoning? The landline is off, but my mobile was working late last night.’ She made a face. ‘Possibly down to the weather, there’s not usually a signal out here.’
He shook his head. ‘No-one. I’ve been finishing a book, so Christmas kind of crept up on me. I usually go away, somewhere remote. With no phone.’ Suddenly he grinned. Lori’s stomach did a loop de loop that she was totally unprepared for.
‘Err …’ She scrabbled to regain her cool. ‘Like the Brecon Beacons, in a snowstorm?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Somewhere like that.’ He hitched himself to his feet and she noticed a slight wince. ‘More coffee?’ He put out a hand for her mug. ‘I’ll get it, if you want.’
‘Er … no. I’m fine …but … um … do you do washing-up?’
‘I can be trusted with the plates, yes.’
She looked out at the swirling snow. ‘In that case, you can stay.’
He laughed. Low and deep and with that hint of huskiness. It trickled over her skin like warm chocolate.
What?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christmas Day, Mid-Morning
Lori shepherded Misty and the mechanical pup upstairs, presumably to wash and dress, leaving him with the breakfast dishes and her phone. ‘Just in case.’
He tried it, but as predicted, there was no usable signal. He replaced it carefully on the kitchen counter, running water into the sink and squirting in lemon-scented washing up liquid. There wasn’t anyone he really needed to call.
Not on Christmas Day in a snowstorm.
He looked out at the curtain of white swirling past the windows. If he’d still been chained in that hut … Whoever had set this up would hardly be able to believe their luck. He almost couldn’t believe his.
What was the plan? Send someone in to make a ‘discovery’ or simply to wait? Much safer simply to wait. How impatient are you, you bastard? How soon would you want to know if I’m dead?
The sink was full. He turned off the taps, glancing uneasily at the phone. There was a handful of people who might be worrying about him, his agent and editor, a few close friends. Depressingly few.
Any of those so-called friends could ultimately be behind this, although he still had no idea who. And then there were the police. Lori said they were involved – probably called in by the TV people. Would he be tying up precious resources?
He looked at the phone
again. Still no signal.
The sense of relief was strong enough to surprise him. It was out of his hands. Nothing he could do. By the time he could get out of here, he would have a plan.
There was a jokey pair of rubber gloves lying beside the sink – they looked like hairy paws, and surely much too big for Lori? Carefully he eased them on, over his plastered fingers and the cuff. They fitted.
Washing up?
No problem.
A burst of laughter and the sound of running feet from above made him look up. He wasn’t sure what was going on up there, but it was a happy sound.
Finishing the dishes he left them in the drainer. Filling another mug, this time with water, he ambled back into the main area of the barn, where Christmas had exploded over most of the available surfaces. A tent of shiny paper was moving around the floor in a disconcerting fashion. From the guttural noises coming from inside it, he suspected Griff and the catnip mouse. He began to gather wrappings into a pile, looking round. The tree, the lights, the gifts. The setup puzzled him. Lori was here alone with her niece. Misty wasn’t with her family. The child’s clothes, heaped in a chair, were all designer labels, but the contents of the Christmas stocking were cheap and garish. The barn was a beautiful conversion worth thousands, yet the power and phone line seemed to be off.
He’d gathered all the paper into a heap. He lowered himself onto the sofa and sipped the water. The muscles of his back were stiff from days of restricted movement, and there was a large bruise on his thigh that he couldn’t explain.
Probably came from a boot.
He stretched, cautiously. He was used to living rough, but somehow the simple luxury of clean skin and clean clothes was getting to him this time.
Because this time you didn’t chose to put yourself into that state?
He looked down at the plaid shirt and faded cargoes. How close and how recent a ‘friend’ was the guy whose clothes he was wearing? He hadn’t missed the fact that the paint stains on the knees of the cargo pants matched the paint on the kitchen walls. And none of this has anything to do with you.
Just a writer’s irresistible curiosity.
He cleared a space to put his feet up, still looking around. His breathing slowed, as something inside him stilled.
This was Christmas.
Something he’d been missing for nearly two decades. Not that he really knew what Christmas was, not Christmas with a family. The years in care, and then – with your wife. With Kimberly. And Tyler. Your son.
The Christmas that never was.
The strength of his grip on the mug was sending spasms of pain through his injured hand. He loosened his hold.
And now here he was, in the middle of … something. It wasn’t a traditional family Christmas, but it was still … something.
Something you’ve never had.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christmas Day, Late Morning
Smelling of Lori’s expensive, special occasion shampoo, Misty was engaged in the important task of choosing an appropriate ensemble for the day. The red sweater with snowflakes was a given, considering the weather, and the white canvas boots with red sequins were suitably festive. Now it was a matter of deciding between the pink net skirt, or the purple. Lori, bundled into jeans and a red sweater with glitter in the wool, was sat on the end of the bed, towelling her hair dry. The labels in her niece’s sartorial choices – the cheaper end of the high-street chains – suggested that Gilly had been responsible for buying them. The contrast with the tasteful neutrals and pastels of Lark’s gifts couldn’t have been any greater. Misty had made a decision. She would wear both. Wriggling into them, her eye was caught by the snow, piling up on the outside window ledge. ‘Can I make a snowman? Will Mr Drew help me?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’ Clearly aunts were not considered to be good snowman technicians. ‘It will have to stop snowing first. If you go out in this, you will turn into a snowman.’
Tickled by the idea, Misty laughed, running over to the window to peer out. ‘Lots and lots of snow.’
Lori considered her niece’s back view, the glitter and the clashing colours. It was all very Misty. And her sister was missing this. Although, if her daughter had gone with her to the Seychelles, she probably would be wearing pastels. Lori bent to pick up the clothes Misty had pulled from the wardrobe and rejected. She’d wondered again about her niece’s reaction to Drew’s unexpected intrusion into their Christmas, but Misty seemed to have accepted it without question. Lori inserted a hanger under the straps of a pale blue tutu and carried it back to the wardrobe. From the label and the quality of the fabric, soft and slippery under her fingers, it was one of Lark’s choices, so she did have some handle on her daughter’s preferences. Or someone in the entourage does.
Lori shook her head slowly. Misty was a sunny, outgoing and tolerant child, mature for her years, but was it really the way for a four-year-old to live? Once the holiday was over she had to try to do something about it.
She held out her hand to her niece. ‘Come on, snowflake. Let’s go and check that Griff hasn’t eaten Mr Drew.’ Misty put a small paw into Lori’s, giggling. ‘That’s silly. Griff isn’t big enough. ’sides, he’s had his breakfast.’ She tilted her head on one side, looking up at her aunt, suddenly solemn. ‘Mr Drew didn’t have any presents.’
Lori took a sharp breath. Dangerous ground. In several directions. ‘That’s because we weren’t expecting him to be here,’ she said carefully.
Misty was frowning. ‘But didn’t Father Christmas know?’
‘Father Christmas doesn’t work the same way for grown-ups. All Mr Drew’s presents will be waiting for him at home, where he’s meant to be, with his friends.’ She held her breath. After a second, Misty nodded, but she still had a question. ‘Father Christmas won’t be looking in the place we found him?’
‘No, pet. That was … a joke. A silly joke that someone played on him.’ She knelt down to Misty’s level. ‘But we found him, so that is as good as a Christmas present.’
Misty preened. ‘We were clever. And the fairies in the wood must have helped.’
‘I’m sure they did. Are you ready to go down now?’
When they got downstairs Drew had cleared a space on the floor and laid out the pieces of the fairy castle, watched closely by Griff, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa, supervising.
‘Ahah!’ He looked up with a smile. Lori’s insides did the loopy thing again. ‘I need an assistant who knows about fairies. You look like a good prospect.’ Misty didn’t need to be invited twice. Two heads, one dark and one fair, bent over the pieces of the castle. Lori flipped on the radio, to a station playing Christmas tunes, grabbed a bin bag from under the sink and began to collect wrapping paper.
His damaged hand was making construction of the castle painfully slow, but Misty was proving an able castle-builder’s mate, knowing exactly where and how to hold the pieces so he could fit them together.
‘Tea break.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ He nodded as Lori put a cup of tea down beside him. There was a chocolate biscuit in the saucer.
‘Eat it before it melts.’
Misty was already two mouthfuls into her biscuit. Lori perched on the arm of the sofa that Griff had just vacated, holding her tea. ‘I think she’s going to be an engineer, when she grows up.’
‘No.’ Misty denied it through a spray of crumbs. ‘I’m going to look after animals and paint pictures.’
‘That’s good too.’ Carefully Drew leaned back, lying on the floor, propped on one elbow. He’d just caught a breath of the same scent on Lori, when she bent to give him the cup, as was on the child’s hair. Shampoo, he guessed. That was family. Sharing things. Inside him something twisted. Warmth. Light. People. Close to you and you close to them.
You could have been alone in that hut, slowly freezing …
Lori nudged him with her toe. ‘Don’t think about it.’
He looked up, and got a shock at the understanding in he
r eyes. She knew where your mind was. And then a double shock when he realised abruptly how much he wanted to hold on to that understanding. That, and maybe kiss the woman senseless.
He swallowed the rest of his tea in one mouthful. ‘Ready to go back to work, castle builder’s mate?’
By the time lunch was ready – Christmas was a never-ending stream of food – he and Misty had the castle put together. Carefully, he lifted it on to a side table. Lori was called over to admire it. ‘It looks awesome,’ she agreed. ‘Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea.’ She scooted off, collecting things from around the room. Misty looked at him with a question in her eyes.
‘Dunno mate, your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Wait and see,’ Lori admonished when she came back. Opening the front of the castle she popped a couple of the Christmas tree lights inside, shut it up and scattered some wisps of artificial snow around the base. The lights blinked in the windows and the snow shone. ‘There, now it’s a winter fairy castle.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Misty hugged her aunt’s legs ‘Thank you Auntie Lori.’
Lori gave her a mock bow, laughing. ‘Now wash your hands and let’s eat.’
Christmas lunch was cuttlefish ink spaghetti paired with a jar of clam and tomato sauce. The pasta was as black as a witch’s hat. There was a vegetable casserole too, that had been cooking slowly in the oven all morning, filling the barn with scent – a spicy mix of tomato, peppers and aubergines, topped with cheese, and a plate of warm garlic bread. It looked totally un-festive and tasted delicious. After that, and a helping of Christmas pudding, Drew was too full to move. Lori waved him off from more washing-up. ‘I’ve got this, you can do teatime.’
‘Teatime!’ He groaned and subsided on the nearest sofa, pulling a cushion over his face. ‘Never.’
Lori turned up the radio for the Queen’s speech and came to sit on a chair opposite him. Misty was lying on the rug, nursing Griff and the toy dog, still without a name. Drew eased himself into a more comfortable position on the sofa, careful to avoid the various bruises. His hand was throbbing a little, but not enough to worry about. He’d been using it too much. If he rested it, the pain would stop.
What Happens at Christmas Page 9
